Digital Parties: Oscar Barberà Giulia Sandri Patricia Correa Juan Rodríguez-Teruel Editors

Studies in Digital Politics and Governance
Oscar Barberà
Giulia Sandri
Patricia Correa
Juan Rodríguez-Teruel Editors
Digital Parties
The Challenges of Online Organisation
and Participation
Editors-in-Chief
Norbert Kersting, Institute of Political Science, University of Münster, Münster,
Germany
Karen Mossberger, School of Public Affairs, Arizona State University, Phoenix,
AZ, USA
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Oscar Barberà · Giulia Sandri · Patricia Correa ·
Juan Rodríguez-Teruel
Editors
Digital Parties
The Challenges of Online Organisation
and Participation
Editors
Oscar Barberà Giulia Sandri
Faculty of Law ESPOL
University of Valencia Université Catholique de Lille
Valencia, Spain Lille, France
Patricia Correa Juan Rodríguez-Teruel

School of Social Sciences and Humanities Faculty of Law
Aston University University of Valencia
Birmingham, UK Valencia, Spain
ISSN 2524-3926 ISSN 2524-3934 (electronic)

ISBN 978-3-030-78667-0 ISBN 978-3-030-78668-7 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-78668-7
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Acknowledgements
This book was conceived during the workshop “Cyber Parties: New Parties, ICTs and
Organization in the Digital Age” held at the University of Valencia during December
13–14, 2018. We would like to thank all the comments and suggestions pointed
out during the workshop that was financed by the Valencian Regional Govern-
ment (GVAOR2018-096). Previous versions of the chapters were discussed at the
General Conferences of the European Consortium for Political Research (ECPR).
We would also like to acknowledge all the feedback received in the different panels.
The final steps of the book have been financed by another grant from the Valencian
Regional Government (AICO2020-201). Finally, we would like to thank Springer
for its interest and commitment to the book since its early stages.
v
Contents
1 Political Parties Transition into the Digital Era . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

Oscar Barberà, Giulia Sandri, Patricia Correa,
and Juan Rodríguez-Teruel
2 The Five-Pillar Model of Parties’ Migration into the Digital . . . . . . . 23
Jasmin Fitzpatrick
3 Regulating i-Voting Within Countries and Parties . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Felix von Nostitz, Giulia Sandri, and Jordi Barrat i Esteve
4 Studying Digital Parties: Methods, Challenges and Responses . . . . . 67
Katharine Dommett and Sam Power
5 i-Voting Regulation Within Digital Parties: The Case
of Podemos and Five Stars Movement . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85
Felix von Nostitz and Giulia Sandri
6 Cyber-Parties’ Membership Between Empowerment
and Pseudo-participation: The Cases of Podemos and the Five
Star Movement . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109
Cecilia Biancalana and Davide Vittori
7 Anti-party Digital Parties Between Direct and Reactive
Democracy. The Case of La France Insoumise . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
Marco Guglielmo
8 How to Remain Indispensable in the Twenty-First Century?
The Digital Adaptation of PSOE and PSP in a Crisis Context . . . . . . 149
Alberto Díaz-Montiel
9 The Secret Digital Garden of Politics: Spanish Parties
and Their Intranets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163
Eduardo Blasco
vii
viii Contents
10 Political Parties and New ICTs: Between Tradition

and Innovation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 181
Francesco Raniolo, Valeria Tarditi, and Davide Vittori
11 Pirate Parties: The Original Digital Party Family . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205
Johanna Jääsaari and Daniel Šárovec
12 Is There Such a Thing as a Web-Native Party? Use and Role
of Online Participation Tools in the Green and Pirate Parties
in Germany . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227
Gefion Thuermer
13 Tactical Web Use in Bumpy Times—A Comparison
of Conservative Parties’ Digital Presence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245
Isabelle Borucki and Jasmin Fitzpatrick
14 Digital Parties as Personalistic-Authoritarian Business-Firm
Models. Is Japan Following European Trends? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 269
Florian Hartleb, Hidenori Tsutsumi, and Boyu Chen
15 The Digitalisation of Political Parties in Comparative
Perspective . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 287
Patricia Correa, Oscar Barberà, Juan Rodríguez-Teruel,
and Giulia Sandri
Editors and Contributors
About the Editors
Oscar Barberà is Associate Professor at the Universitat de València (UV). He has

obtained his BA, MA and Ph.D. at the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona (UAB).
He is Lecturer at several Spanish universities (UAB, UOC) and visiting at several
European universities such as the LSE, Firenze, Edinburgh, Exeter and Lausanne.
His main areas of interest are party politics, decentralization and political elites in
both Spain and Europe. His latest contributions in journals are published in South
European Politics and Society, Comparative European Politics, Zeitschrift für Vergle-
ichende Politikwissenschaft, the Revista de Estudios Políticos and European Political
Science.
Giulia Sandri is Associate Professor at the Catholic University of Lille. She was
previously Research Fellow at Christ Church and at the Department of Politics and
International Relations of the University of Oxford. Her main research interests are
party politics, quality of democracy and political behavior. She recently published
in Politics and Policy, Acta Politica, Comparative European Politics, Religion State
and Society, Ethnopolitics, European Political Science and Regional and Federal
Studies.
Patricia Correa is Lecturer in politics and international relations at Aston Univer-

sity, Birmingham, UK. She received her Ph.D. at the Universitat Autònoma de
Barcelona, Spain, and was Postdoctoral Research Fellow at the University of
Exeter, UK. Her main research interests are intra-party dynamics, party member-
ship and territorial politics. Her research appears in Comparative Political Studies,
Comparative Politics, European Political Science Review and Regional and Federal
Studies.
Juan Rodríguez-Teruel is Associate Professor at the University of Valencia. He has

also been Lecturer at the Autonomous University of Barcelona and Visiting Fellow
at the LSE, Edinburgh, Leiden, the ULB and Nottingham. His main areas of research
ix
x Editors and Contributors
are political elites and party politics. He is Author of Ministers in Democratic Spain
(Linz Award 2007, in Spanish). His latest contributions are in the South European
Politics and Society, Ethnic and Racial Studies, Comparative European Politics, Acta
Politica and European Political Science.
Contributors
Oscar Barberà University of Valencia, Valencia, Spain

Cecilia Biancalana University of Lausanne, Lausanne, Switzerland
Eduardo Blasco Universidad Francisco Marroquín, Madrid, Spain
Isabelle Borucki University of Siegen, Siegen, Germany
Boyu Chen University of Niigata Prefecture, Niigata, Japan
Patricia Correa Aston University, Birmingham, UK
Alberto Díaz-Montiel University of Granada, Granada, Spain
Katharine Dommett University of Sheffield, Sheffield, UK
Jordi Barrat i Esteve Universitat Rovira i Virgili, Tarragona, Spain
Jasmin Fitzpatrick Johannes Gutenberg-University Mainz, Mainz, Germany
Marco Guglielmo University of Birmingham, Birmingham, UK
Florian Hartleb Catholic University Eichstätt, Eichstätt, Germany
Johanna Jääsaari University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland
Sam Power University of Sussex, Brighton, UK
Francesco Raniolo University of Calabria, Rende, Italy
Juan Rodríguez-Teruel University of Valencia, Valencia, Spain
Giulia Sandri Catholic University of Lille, Lille, France
Daniel Šárovec Charles University, Prague, Czech Republic
Valeria Tarditi University of Bologna, Bologna, Italy
Gefion Thuermer King’s College London, London, UK
Hidenori Tsutsumi Kagawa University, Takamatsu, Japan
Davide Vittori Université Libre de Bruxelles, Brussels, Belgium
Felix von Nostitz Catholic University of Lille, Lille, France
Chapter 1
Political Parties Transition
into the Digital Era
Oscar Barberà, Giulia Sandri, Patricia Correa, and Juan Rodríguez-Teruel
Abstract This chapter outlines the main dimensions of analysis for assessing how
mainstream and new parties are building their digital platforms and transitioning from
traditional (offline) organisations into the digital world. So far, most of the academic
attention has been focused on the impact of the use of digital technologies on party
competition and campaigning, while the intra-organisational dimensions have been
significantly under-researched. However, several parties in Europe and around the
world, both traditional and digital native, have increasingly used digital technologies
such as online platforms for internal decision-making, funding, communication and
membership mobilisation. We provide here an innovative analytical framework for
empirical exploration of the democratic consequences and technical challenges raised
by the digitalization of party organisations from a comparative perspective.
Keywords Digital platforms · Internet and politics · Party politics
1.1 Introduction
It is hard to imagine our daily life without the use of information and communication
technologies (ICTs). We order groceries online, book tickets to the theatre, museum,
and cinema online, plan our holidays online, get in touch with friends and relatives
using ICTs, and so on. Businesses use ICTs for advertisement purposes, to buy and
O. Barberà · J. Rodríguez-Teruel
University of Valencia, Valencia, Spain
e-mail: o.barbera@uv.es
J. Rodríguez-Teruel
e-mail: jrteruel@uv.es
G. Sandri
Catholic University of Lille, Lille, France
e-mail: Giulia.sandri@univ-catholille.fr
P. Correa (B)
Aston University, Birmingham, UK
e-mail: p.correa-vila@aston.ac.uk
© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 1

O. Barberà et al. (eds.), Digital Parties, Studies in Digital Politics and Governance,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-78668-7_1
2 O. Barberà et al.
sell products, to conduct business with other businesses, etc. ICTs are here to stay, and
this has been translated into politics, as people get informed about politics online,
world leaders have meetings online, politicians use ICTs to communicate among
themselves and to the general public, and an important part of political campaigns
is conducted using ICTs; so why should it be different for political parties? Indeed,
political parties have jumped on the bandwagon of ICTs and their impact on them
has become a growing research avenue. As we will summarise in this section, most
of the academic attention has been focused on the consequences for political partic-
ipation, campaigning and party competition and, more broadly, on representative
democracy (Roemmele, 2012; Kersting, 2012). However, how ICTs shape political
parties’ organisations, which are the focus of this book, has been somewhat under-
researched. That said, there are relevant exceptions in the literature (see, for instance:
Gibson & Ward, 1998, 2009; Margetts, 2006; Ward & Gibson, 2009; Hartleb, 2013;
Chadwick & Stromer-Galley, 2016; Bennett et al., 2018; Gerbaudo, 2019a, 2019b),
but, as we will see, some dimensions have been overlooked or underexplored.
In the following sections, we first provide a brief overview of the study of digital
political participation and its implications in party politics; the next section identifies
current debates about the emergence of a new party model; and then we move to the
organisational features and implications of the digitalisation of political parties. The
final section discusses the main purposes, research questions and expectations, and
describes the plan of the book.
1.2 Digital Political Participation and Political Parties
Since its seminal studies, this field has been largely dominated by three main views
defined by the expected outcomes derived from the digitalisation of party poli-
tics. While cyber-optimists mostly focus on the positive effects of ICTs and cyber-
pessimists tend to point out the negative consequences of the digital transformation,
those following a ‘politics as usual’ approach are mostly sceptical about the rele-
vance of new technologies for political phenomena and point out the need to also
include other factors (see Gibson & Ward, 1998, 2009; Norris, 2001b; Gibson et al.,
2003; Pedersen & Saglie, 2005). All three views have been used extensively as
theory-generating frameworks on different dimensions of the digitalisation of party
politics.
In terms of political participation, the seminal studies on digital politics showed
that the increasing use of ICTs by political organisations was aimed at improving
both the quantity and quality of political participation (Norris, 2001b). For instance,
a positive relationship between internet usage and turnout in US elections was
demonstrated quite early in the literature (Krueger, 2002). More recent studies have
somewhat mitigated such strong and clear-cut early findings (Bimber & Copeland,
2013; Gil de Zúñiga et al., 2014). Whichever the scholarly position on these issues,
it is now acknowledged that ICTs have changed the way people engage in poli-
tics: several digitally-based participation mechanisms have gradually transformed
1 Political Parties Transition into the Digital Era 3
the conventional modes of political engagement towards more citizen-initiated and

policy-oriented activities, while more conventional forms of political participation
have started to decline (Dalton, 2013, p. 79). ICTs, thus, can be regarded as a common
incentive for the emergence of new forms of collective action, which paradoxically
appears to be much more individualised and, eventually, less connected to mainstream
party politics (Deseriis 2020b). Bennet and Segerberg refer to this transformation as a
change from the logic of collective action to a logic of connective action, based more
on self-organising patterns than on organisationally brokered networks (Bennett &
Segerberg, 2013; Chadwick, 2012). This shift was also accompanied by the emer-
gence of new types of digital membership, which stem from the parties’ attempts to
deal with with these new patterns and with the growing use of social media. This has
been particularly relevant for political parties, which have drastically evolved from
the mass-party model of membership that lasted for over a century to newer and more
varied forms of membership, depicting different ties to the party (Gibson et al., 2017;
Scarrow, 2014). Such forms of digital political participation were first implemented
by new and emerging social movements, but they were quickly developed by new
party families such as the pirate parties (Kling et al., 2015; Blum & Zuber, 2016; see
also Jaasaari and Sarovec in this volume). However, the most innovative and exten-
sive use of such connective forms of participation was developed in Southern Europe
when political entrepreneurs (eventually with the support of new social movements)
successfully mobilised the discontent towards mainstream party politics by relying
on new digital tools (Morlino & Raniolo, 2017; Porta, 2017; Vittori, 2018).
Beyond political participation, the digitalisation of political campaigning has been
the area that has attracted most of the attention in this research strand (Kluver, 2007;
Chadwick & Howard, 2009; Lilleker & Jackson, 2011; Stormer-Galley, 2014; Koc-
Michalska & Lilleker, 2017). Much of this literature has analysed the relevance of
new digital technologies in the electoral process and the role of social media in
mobilising the electorate (for a recent review, see Owen, 2017). At the party-system
level, the main debates have evolved around two alternative hypotheses derived from
the above-mentioned perspectives on the impacts of ICTs on political parties (Gibson
et al., 2003). On the one hand, the equalisation thesis has suggested that the use of new
technologies might stimulate political competition between established/traditional
parties and new challenger organisations by giving the latter a competitive advantage
especially in electoral campaigning. On the other hand, the normalisation hypothesis
has tended to interpret the effects of new technologies more cautiously, particularly
when most of the digital tools have become mainstream and the costs of digitalisation
have escalated. By the late 2000s, the assessments of the impact of ICTs on party
competition were leaning towards scepticism (Gibson & Ward, 2009; Ward & Gibson,
2009). However, from 2010 onwards the emergence of new challenger or protest
parties in several European countries through the intensive use of new organisational
technologies and social media suggested that the equalisation hypothesis might have
played a role in the transformation of their party systems (Lisi, 2019).
The literature has also explored whether the emerging landscape in terms of digital
political participation and party competition is connected to broader changes in the
functioning of representative democracies (Held, 2006; Manin, 1997). In the early
2000s, new studies indicated that the connection derived from two major phenomena:
the erosion of representative structures such as political parties and parliaments by
the use of digital direct democratic mechanisms, and a shift towards a new political
pluralism through the transformation of the mass-media landscape and the emergence
of new single-issue social movements and interest groups extensively using new
digital technologies (Gibson et al., 2003). While, as stated before, digital political
participation has favoured a certain revival of political pluralism in Western democ-
racies, it would be presumptuous to suggest that this is mostly due to the mainstream
acceptance of new technologies. On the other hand, the erosion of representative
structures, while it has not led to the erosion of political parties, has facilitated its
transformation. Contemporary political parties in advanced democracies have under-
gone dramatic changes in the last decades (Dalton & Wattenberg, 2000; Dalton et al.,
2011; Scarrow et al., 2017). Indeed, recent research suggests that party organisations
have become more internally democratic, by adopting direct procedures such as ‘One
Member One Vote’ methods to select their party leaders and candidates (Cross &
Pilet, 2015; Hazan & Rahat, 2010). Initially, those procedures were disconnected
from new technologies, but, over time, ICTs have facilitated this direct democratic
turn (Mikola, 2017).
Moving on to the use of ICTs within party organisations, the first studies focused
on its spread among new and mainstream political parties: the latter were often more
resistant to change than new parties, and they had difficulties in adapting rapidly to
new forms of communication (Gibson et al., 2003; Margetts, 2006; Norris, 2003).
Since the early stages, a divide between cyber-optimist and cyber-pessimist views
regarding the impacts of ICTs on party organisation can be found in the scholarly
literature. According to Pedersen and Saglie (2005), the relationship between ICTs
and political parties could lead, in terms of the intra-party distribution of power, to
three likely scenarios: (i) members become empowered and leadership undermined;
(ii) party elites become strengthened and the deliberative aspects of party organisa-
tion undermined; or (iii) politics within parties continues as usual. Their comparative
study on Danish and Norwegian parties concluded that the third scenario was the
most likely. However, Lusoli and Ward (2004) held a more pessimist view and found
‘new media technologies display a small potential to widen party membership and to
assist parties to reach new groups, notably less engaged, younger citizens. They seem
unlikely, though, to alter radically the profile of party membership or activists’ (Lusoli
& Ward, 2004, p. 466). Beyond the intra-party power relations, cyber-optimists
suggested that ICTs would increase participation within parties, flatten organisa-
tional hierarchies, promote decentralisation and intra-party democracy, and favour
democratic accountability and responsiveness. Cyber-pessimists, on the other hand,
feared that the use of new technologies would lead to new forms of centralisa-
tion and disintermediation. Empirical findings found that parties mostly focused on
developing less expensive and more direct intra-party communication channels and
improving their administrative services, but not to promote intra-party democracy
or flatten their hierarchies (Gibson & Ward, 1998; Gibson et al., 2003; Smith, 2000;
Ward & Gibson, 2009). That is because at that point, in the late 2000s and early 2010s,
political parties’ usage of ICTs was mostly linked to internal management and polit-
ical campaigning. Hence, they focused on disseminating information, mobilising
resources and encouraging participation, while limiting their use for other internal
purposes (Cardenal, 2013; Lilleker, 2011). As Kosiara-Pedersen stated, ICTs allowed
parties ‘to both revitalise their existing party activities and add new colours to the
pallet’ (Kosiara-Pedersen, 2012, p. 12). But then, new and fringe political parties
such as the Pirate Parties, Podemos, the Five Star Movement (FSM) or Alternativet
made their breakthrough by using, from their very inception, new digital resources
and tools for organisational purposes. The emergence of such new parties has led to
a relevant transformation of party politics in some Western democracies and, at the
same time, favoured a new research agenda on the digitalisation of political parties
since new and mainstream parties started using ICTs more intensively.
The most recent research on the digitalisation of political parties’ organisational
settings has focused on two aspects. On the one hand, the literature has discussed
the definition of new party models accounting for this online migration of political
parties. On the other hand, it has also analysed how digitalisation is shaping some
organisational features of, mostly, new parties. That said, this research strand is still
lacking a comprehensive theoretical and analytical framework for studying party
organisational digitalisation in new but also in mainstream parties. Some previous
works have contributed to theorising the digital migration of political parties in terms
of their party membership (e.g. Scarrow, 2014) or their public image (e.g. Lilleker
et al., 2011), but many questions remain and other dimensions have hardly been
explored (see Fitzpatrick in this volume). Our framework, which we would like to
contribute to with this book, suggests that we need moving beyond the formulation
of party models, or the discussion of the use of ICTs in various party activities and
electoral campaigning, or the distinction between how digitally native and main-
stream parties are using digital tools. Instead, we identify and critically discuss the
main dimensions of political parties’ migration into the digital world and provide
a new roadmap of the main organisational challenges for empirically and compara-
tively studying hybridisation and digital change in contemporary, intra-organisational
party politics. This is examined in more detail in the next two sections.
1.3 Digital Parties: An Emerging Party Model?
As outlined in the previous section, until the mid-2010s the literature on digital poli-
tics focused almost exclusively on campaigning, social media and communication
issues when looking at the use of digital technologies by political organisations.
Nonetheless, in the last few years, a set of important studies have started to focus
more on the intra-party dimension of digital politics and initiated a dialogue with
the literature on party models, mostly to suggest the emergence of a new ideal type:
the digital party. In that sense, the first mentions of a digital party model were made
mostly in the early 2000s (Margetts, 2001; Norris, 2001b). While Norris’ contribution
was centred on worldwide mainstream parties’ presence on the internet through their
websites, and not on other (digital) organisational features (Norris, 2001a, 2003),
Margetts started suggesting that digital technologies might lead to the cyber-party
model:
The key defining feature is that cyber parties use web-based technologies to strengthen the
relationship between voters and party, rather than traditional notions of membership. […]
Websites can be used to link up local or sectoral units of decentralized parties and could
be used to good effect in making coalition arrangements intelligible to the electorate. Web
presence also provides […] the opportunity to use the style of their site to present their
image to voters. [… and make] political participation virtually cost-free and overcome the
problem of attending meetings […], making political activity possible at home and at any
time. (Margetts, 2006, pp. 531–532)
Margetts’s intuition pointed towards the future emergence of new parties in

Western democracies following this model. However, at that moment most of the
features and consequences—such as the blurring distinction between members
and voters, the lower membership figures, or the more direct democratic decision
patterns—reported were based mainly on the first hybridisation patterns observed
in British mainstream parties. Importantly, this study emphasised the risks that
technologically outdated parties could face when competing with other parties
using new digital technology.
The subsequent emergence of the pirates, the FSM and other fringe parties led to
some new conceptualisations of an ideal party model linked to its digital features.
Building on some fringe and protest new parties, Boyd suggested an additional
conceptualisation with the e-democracy party model. This party model presented
vivid differences with the previous and cartel/catch-all models, at least in its concep-
tion of a party based on direct and deliberative forms of intra-party democracy, on
the absence of membership, and on participatory uses of digital technologies (Boyd,
2008, p. 170). Hartleb, building on examples of several protest parties such as the
pirates or the Italian FSM, developed two alternative types of parties (Hartleb, 2013).
Despite identifying some common trends, such as their populist rhetoric or the blurred
concept of membership, he proposed two sub-party ideal types: on the one hand, top-
down strictly authoritarian and personalist cyber parties that generally promote ICTs
to favour centralisation and enhance political competition; and on the other hand,
bottom-up participatory ones that are mainly experimenting with ICTs as enablers of
more horizontal organisations with more channels of participatory and deliberative
democracy, even if that might be detrimental in terms of party competition. Building
on this distinction, Bennett and his colleagues further contributed to this development
by including the diverging organisational preferences of the members of both sub-
party types. They rebranded the participatory sub-type as connective parties because
of their intensive use of ICTs, their commitment to participation and engagement
with their networks of supporters, and their uses of connective action (Bennett et al.,
2018, p. 13). They also identified some empirical cases of connective parties such as
Alternativet (Denmark), FSM (Italy), Píratar (Iceland) and Podemos (Spain). Further
evidence and theorisation of the authoritarian sub-party type have been discussed by
several political communication scholars. For instance, using social network anal-
ysis, McSwiney analysed how Australian far-right parties combine models of highly
centralised and vertical organisation with the intensive use of digital technologies to
organise and mobilise (McSwiney, 2020).
Following Boyd’s efforts, Klimowicz developed a new party type, the network
party, which compared the main features of bottom-up participatory parties vis-a-
vis previous party models such as the cartel party (Klimowicz, 2018, p. 5). Based
on the case studies of Podemos and Razem (Poland), she identified several key
dimensions to distinguish both types of parties, such as the organisational structure,
the leadership, the decision-making procedures, their use of ICTs, their style of
politics, their models of intra-party democracy and their funding. The cartel type
was portrayed as hierarchical, autocratic and personalistic, based on top-down or
pseudo-participative decision-making styles and mostly based on privately owned
platforms, professional and technocratic elites, and public funding. By contrast, the
network party promoted horizontal and flattened hierarchies, based on collegial or
collective leadership, promoting bottom-up decisions through consensual internal
consultations, mostly based on activism, favouring direct and deliberative forms of
intra-party democracy and crowd-funded.
Gerbaudo’s seminal and thought-provoking book also contributed to theorise
the emergence of a new party model that he branded the digital party. Gerbaudo
suggested that one of its key features was ‘not simply the embracing of digital tech-
nology, but the purpose of democratisation which digital technology is called to fulfil’
(Gerbaudo, 2019b, p. 14). Indeed, his digital party model entailed a much higher and
richer online presence than other models developed previously. Trying to implement
such participationist ideology (Gerbaudo, 2019b, Chap. 4), the party was organised
around what he called hyperleadership (Gerbaudo, 2019b, Chap. 8) and a superbase
(Gerbaudo, 2019b, Chap. 9), as well as several organisational dimensions linked
to the intensive use of digital technologies such as the use of the cloud and digital
platforms instead of the traditional (physical) headquarters and local branches, the
promotion of digital fora, and their rapid growth, scalability and mortality (Gerbaudo,
2019b, pp. 78–80 and Chap. 6). Gerbaudo’s conceptualisation of the digital party was
somewhat closer to Bennett’s connective parties or Klimowicz’s network party. They
even used similar case studies such as the FSM and Podemos. But while the previous
analyses were inspired by a cyber-optimistic view, Gerbaudo revealed himself as
a cyber-pessimist, suggesting that such organisational structure ended up strongly
reinforcing disintermediation and personalisation trends, as well as plebiscitarian and
pseudo-participatory forms of intra-party democracy (Gerbaudo, ) (see next section).
Gerbaudo’s critical assessment of the digital party model blurred the distinction
between the two main sub-party types suggested by the previous literature. Following
Michel’s rhetoric, one of his main points was that regardless of their participatory
ideology and uses of ICTs, digital parties ended up being directed by hyperleaders
with plebiscitary conceptions of intra-party democracy, which risked undermining
their future survival or institutionalisation process (Gerbaudo, 2019b, 2019b).
Nonetheless, Gerbaudos’ thesis has been contested in the literature. Deseriis, who
further developed the empirical analysis of digital movement parties by looking at
the participation platforms of the FSM in Italy and the Piratenpartei in Germany
(Deseriis, 2020a), found that party organisations were shaped by their different
techno-political cultures, which explained why they ended up with the different sub-
party types pointed out in the previous literature. In a further recent study, Deseriis
(2020b) postulated the existence of two ideal-type variants of the digital party model,
namely the platform party and the networked party. In line with Hartleb’s previous
work, in which the platform party ideal type is highly centralised, led by a charis-
matic leader, and strictly focused on the electoral competition, the networked party is
a more decentralised ideal party type, which allows policy proposals and leadership
positions to emerge from the network. Focusing on the type of digital platform, Lioy
and his colleagues proposed a distinction between open and closed digital platforms
based on several key dimensions such as platform ownership, governance, design and
information flow. Such a distinction allowed them to classify new and mainstream
parties according to their different uses of digital platforms (Lioy et al., 2019). On
the other hand, Deseriis and Vittori’s research with the FSM and Podemos also ques-
tioned Gerbaudo’s assessment of both parties intra-party democracy, suggesting that
platforms enhance participation in specific issues instead of a more general return to
the base (Deseriis & Vittori, 2019b; Gerbaudo, 2019a).
While relevant efforts have been made in the literature to develop an ideal
digital party model, little has been done to create a common ideal type that encom-
passes all the different attributes identified as relevant to clearly delimit what corre-
sponds to a digital party and what does not. More importantly, most of the efforts in
the literature to develop a party type have focused on new parties and have ignored
mainstream parties, which could potentially have evolved towards these new types.
Indeed, the lack of a common definition and the clear focus on new parties suggests
that not all parties might evolve towards a digital party. Nonetheless, as previous
literature has pointed out, mainstream parties have moved (at least to some extent)
into the digital world. This suggests that instead of looking for an ideal party type,
it might be more useful, from a research perspective, to talk of the digitalisation of
political parties as an ongoing process that does not necessarily align with an ideal
type or refers only to new parties. If party organisation research has learned some-
thing since Duverger’s seminal work, it relates to how difficult it is to find political
parties nowadays that perfectly match ideal party types. In that sense, a more encom-
passing framework, such as the one we propose, is needed to assess the overall degree
and patterns of digitalisation of parties and the different organisational dimensions
affected by this process, without necessarily creating an ideal party type.
1.4 The Digitalisation of Political Parties and Its

Consequences
Studies on the digitalisation of political parties represent an emerging research strand

mixing party politics, media and communication studies, and, eventually, political
behaviour and cultural studies. This has stimulated a recent but fertile literature
aiming to understand which kind of organisational changes are actually occurring
in different sorts of political parties while providing an understanding of their main
consequences. In this respect, Chadwick’s seminal work suggested that organisa-
tional hybridity was one of the key phenomena defining the transition between offline
and online organisations and allowing organisations to diversify their repertoires
(Chadwick, 2007). Digitalisation takes place in different dimensions and that actu-
ally leads to substantial differences in the way political organisations migrate to the
digital sphere. While the first studies were focused on mainstream organisations,
more recent studies have focused on new digital political actors and movements
(Porta et al., 2017; Morlino & Raniolo, 2017; Mikola, 2018; Vittori, 2018; Deseriis
& Vittori, 2019b; Scattu, 2019; Montesanti et al., 2020). The theoretical underpin-
nings of this research strand are based on the way ICTs shape collective action
and challenge the functioning of existing organisations (namely, political parties
and interest groups). As previously stated, digital technologies enable new forms of
political participation (i.e. connective action) and political repertoires that are indeed
altering the way political actors organise, mobilise and compete/collaborate (Bimber
et al., 2005, 2012; Bennett & Segerberg, 2012; Chadwick & Stromer-Galley, 2016;
Margetts et al., 2015).
Despite an emerging body of literature, the implications of mainstream and new
parties’ migration to the digital sphere are just starting to emerge. As revealed in
the first chapters of this volume, organisational hybridity affects several dimensions
of party politics, each of which has its own analytical challenges (see Fitzpatrick,
Dommett and Power, von Nostitz, Barrat and Sandri, in this volume).
In the late 1990s and early 2000s, the main organisational challenges posed by
ICTs to political parties were linked to setting up and managing their party websites
and top-down internal communication networks. That is why Norris and Margetts’
seminal works focused on political parties’ presence in the emerging world wide
web (Norris, 2001a; Margetts, 2006). However, studying the digital public image of
political parties was soon dominated by a political communication approach focused
on the content analysis of the party websites (Cardenal, 2013; Gibson & Ward,
2000; Kalnes, 2009; Lilleker et al., 2011; Norris, 2003; Wall & Sudulich, 2010).
Moving on to the organisational challenges, Smith analysed the differences in the
organisational digital capabilities of British political parties (for instance in their
communication tools) and their implications (Smith, 1998, 2000). Others such as
Gibson and colleagues used surveys to assess whether political parties’ websites and
intra-communication networks were allowing more influence in decision-making
procedures by promoting accountability and allowing dissent (Gibson & Ward, 1999;
Lusoli & Ward, 2004; Ward et al., 2003). That was followed by similar surveys
in other countries, such as Pedersen and Saglie (2005) on Danish and Norwegian
parties suggesting that ICT tools could be used to empower both the party elite
and its opponents (Pedersen & Saglie, 2005). In the late 2000s, Gibson revised
the state of the art and remained pessimistic about the scope of ICTs to modify
levels of participation in political parties: although they could widen participation
in the margins, they would not necessarily foster internal participation (Gibson &
Ward, 2009; Ward & Gibson, 2009). In the same vein, testing responsiveness through
an original alternative method, Vaccari sent different emails to almost 200 parties
between 2007 and 2013 inquiring about issue information and volunteering, only to
find out that most parties fail to respond properly (Vaccari, 2014).
Towards the mid-2000s, many political parties had started migrating their political
campaigning to the digital world, which, again, was the focus of political communi-
cation studies, analysing their messages, presence on new social media, etc. (Balder-
sheim & Kersting, 2004). Less studied has been the way that political parties changed
the management and organisation of their digital political campaigns. The edited
volume by Lachapelle and his colleagues has contributed a better understanding of
this theme and related topics, focusing on several case studies from Canada, the
USA, New Zealand and the UK (Lachapelle & Maarek, 2015). For instance, some
of their results show how parties might be in need of more technologically savvy
activists or might use digital tools mainly as top-down communication channels
(Lachapelle & Maarek, 2015). A similar approach was taken by Kreiss’ seminal
monography, focused on US parties and the way that these political parties have
digitalised the organisation of their electoral campaigns and how this has impacted
the structure of political engagement (Kreiss, 2016). Similar research has focused on
the digital platforms, such as Nationbuilder, used by a growing number of political
parties to manage and coordinate their political campaigning (McKelvey & Piebiak,
2018). Recent literature has observed a shift in the way campaigns are organised,
moving from centralised management to decentralised and grassroots forms of polit-
ical campaigning (Dommett & Temple, 2018; Dommett et al., 2020; Gibson, 2015;
Karpf, 2016).
One of the first dimensions that migrated to the digital sphere deals with the
administrative services of political parties (Gibson & Ward, 1998; Gibson et al.,
2003). However, most of that transformation received little attention in the schol-
arship, even though it was instrumental in strengthening centralisation processes in
many political parties. By the late 2000s, many party headquarters had gained rele-
vance in managing membership fees and recruitment (Ward & Gibson, 2009). A very
relevant phenomenon linked to the growing digitalisation and centralisation of polit-
ical parties’ administrative services was the transformation of party membership.
Scarrow’s seminal study on party activism focuses on how party membership has
changed in the last decades and discusses how new technologies and social media
have accelerated some of these patterns (Scarrow, 2014). Scarrow suggests that clas-
sical conceptions of activism and linkage to mass parties have substantially changed,
leading to new, more complex and detached patterns that she theorises as multi-speed
membership (Scarrow, 2014, Chap. 2). This perspective has been followed by many
other studies (see for instance Gibson et al., 2017). Gerbaudo has also contributed
to theorising such changes in party activism for new parties through the so-called
superbase, which is defined as supporters of the party with narrower and ad-hoc
participation (Gerbaudo, 2019b, Chap. 9).
The last dimensions to migrate to the digital world related to the democratisation
of decision-making processes: the selection of the party leaders, candidates, and the
formulation of policy programmes and other political choices. Until the late 2000s,
empirical studies were stating that many political parties were reluctant to embrace
digital forms of intra-party democracy (Gibson & Ward, 1999; Ward & Gibson,
2009). Interestingly, this happened at the same time as a growing number of main-
stream political parties were actually democratising their internal decision-making
systems (Cross & Pilet, 2015; Hazan & Rahat, 2010; Scarrow et al., 2000, 2017). The
internal political culture of most mainstream parties and the lack of reliable technolo-
gies were probably the main hurdles that limited the digitalisation of internally demo-
cratic decision-making systems for some time. In this respect, the efforts made by new
protest and challenger parties were instrumental in the promotion and widespread
diffusion of Online Participation Platforms (OPPs), many of them allowing internet
voting (see previous section). Indeed, the academic interest in new political parties’
OPPs started to flourish with the emergence of the pirate parties and, above all,
Podemos and the FSM. This new line of research has focused on the affordances and
democratic conceptions of such platforms (Blum & Zuber, 2016; Dahlberg, 2011;
Deseriis, 2017; Deseriis, 2020b; Deseriis & Vittori, 2019a; Lioy et al., 2019; Mosca,
2018), their regulation, property, management and security (Barrat & Pérez-Moneo,
2019; McKelvey & Piebiak, 2018; Mikola, 2017, 2018; Mosca & Vaccari, 2018),
but also on how committed the participation of party members has been over time
(Deseriis & Vittori, 2019b; Scattu, 2019; Vittori, 2020). Although closely linked
to the regulation of OPPs, the democratic and technical problems faced by internet
voting and, in particular, its implementation within political parties, have started
to receive academic attention (Aichholzer & Strauß, 2016; Barrat & Pérez-Moneo,
2019; Hao & Ryan, 2016; Mikola, 2017; Mitrou et al., 2003). So far, this strand of
research has not properly focused on the hybridisation patterns of mainstream parties
(but see Lioy et al., 2019).
In assessing the consequences and trade-offs of political parties’ organisational
migration towards the digital sphere, the divide between cyber-optimists and cyber-
pessimists has been unavoidable. Cyber-optimist visions of the digitalisation of polit-
ical parties have repeatedly suggested and provided theoretical grounds for its demo-
cratic and deliberative potentials (Abramson et al., 1988; Bimber, 1998; Falkvinge,
2013). On the other hand, several prominent scholars with more pessimistic views
have pointed out how these technological innovations could erode internal party
democracy or, at least, some forms of intra-party representative democracy. A
common outcome pointed out by this literature is that the current patterns of digitali-
sation, democratisation and disintermediation of party organisations could be consid-
ered as a form of emasculation of middle-level elites (Mair, 1994, 2008; Smith, 1998;
Tormey, 2015; Biancalana, 2017; Deseriis, 2020b). In this respect, Gerbaudo’s book,
though shaped by his cyber-pessimism, provided an insightful theoretical framework
to understand how digitally distributed centralisation dynamics inside new parties
favour the emergence of hyperleaderships (Gerbaudo, 2019b, Chap. 8), the pseudo-
empowerment of the party members (Gerbaudo, 2019b, Chaps. 4, 7 and 9), and
the erosion of intermediate representative elites and institutions (Gerbaudo, 2019b,
Chap. 5). In the same vein, Deseriis has highlighted how digital technologies and
OPPs seem to replicate (if not outright strengthen) organisational reforms already
triggered by the processes of party cartelisation and internal democratisation, namely
increasing the individualisation of political engagement of members, supporters and
voters (Deseriis & Vittori, 2019b; Deseriis, 2020b). Hence, digitalisation and disin-
termediation can be also seen as subsequent steps reinforcing ongoing party cartelisa-
tion processes and internal democratisation trends: all might be interpreted as forms
or different modes of the dematerialisation of party organisation.
A closely linked controversy has to do with the consequences of political parties’
migration to the digital on intra-party deliberation processes. Deliberative democratic
theory has traditionally remained sceptical on the real possibilities of deliberation
inside political parties (e.g. Biezen & Saward, 2008). That said, internal democrati-
sation trends inside political parties and new approaches on deliberative democratic
theory have favoured an emerging strand of research assessing both their theoretical
possibilities and their implementation (Teorell, 1999; Wolkenstein, 2016). Generally
speaking, deliberative theorists have pointed out that recent intra-party democratisa-
tion trends in candidate and party leadership selection methods have favoured direct
democratic and plebiscitarian conceptions of democracy. Most of these assessments
have also been sceptical about the introduction of digital technologies to favour
democratic deliberation within political parties, favouring offline and local ways of
engagement (Wolkenstein, 2018). In the same vein, Gerbaudo follows similar argu-
ments suggesting that most of the new digital democratic procedures implemented
by political parties follow plebiscitarian trends, hence eroding intra-party deliber-
ation and reinforcing hyperleaderships (Gerbaudo, 2019b). Comparative research,
on the other hand, has been more receptive of the possibilities of digital technolo-
gies favouring internal party deliberation. In this respect, Spanish academics assessed
intra-party deliberative practices in the early formative stages of several new Spanish
political parties and concluded that they fulfilled most of the structural and tech-
nical criteria for fostering deliberation (Borge & Santamarina, 2016). Italian scholars
have been more critical of the uses of the Five Star Movement OPPs since its early
stages (Bartlett & Deseriis, 2016; Mosca, 2018). More recent comparative research
has confirmed a more critical stance on Podemos but not on other Spanish parties,
and it has pointed out further deliberative practices in other countries (Gad, 2020;
Gherghina et al., 2020; Mikola, 2018; Scattu, 2019).
Overall, the increasing use of digital technologies raises crucial challenges for
parties and their role in representative democracy. Increasing the use of OPPs could be
counterproductive for the functioning of core dimensions of intra-party democracy,
but also for party democracy in general, changing how parties function internally
and changing their role in democratic regimes (Dutton, 2020). So far, most of the
assessments seem more shaped by cyber-pessimist or cyber-optimist views, rather
than by hard evidence.
1.5 Research Questions and Plan of the Book
As stated in the previous sections, most academic attention has focused on the
impact of digital technologies on party competition and campaigning, while the intra-
organisational dimensions have been under-researched. However, several new parties
in Europe and around the world, such as the Pirate Parties in several Northern Euro-
pean countries, Podemos and other regionalist parties in Spain, La France Insoumise
in France, the Five Star Movement in Italy, Alternativet in Denmark, have decided to
embrace Online Participation Platforms (OPPs) over the past decade. This trend has
been followed by other mainstream parties such as the Green Party or some liberal
and social-democratic parties, although unevenly. Such OPPs allow for an increasing
number of party members and supporters not only to interact and campaign, but also
to participate and have a say in the drafting of their parties’ electoral manifesto
and their policy proposals, in voting on strategic party decisions (such as entering
government) or in selecting their party leaders and candidates.
The present book analyses how new and mainstream parties are building their
digital platforms and migrating from traditional (offline) organisations into the digital
world. In this respect, it provides a comprehensive analysis of how digital party plat-
forms work in Europe and around the world. It also presents different analytical
frameworks to map the main organisational dimensions of the digitalisation of polit-
ical parties and to explore their democratic consequences and technical challenges
from a comparative perspective. The book aims at providing an original account of
how party digital platforms are regulated and used, as well as the dimensions and
faces of party politics that might be affected by such transformation, together with
the crucial discussion of the main technological and democratic issues and trade-
offs faced by political parties in their digital transition. It further provides a broader
assessment of the consequences of this digitalisation for party membership, internal
political participation, and the impact on party organisational models and electoral
campaign potential. As outlined above, recent literature has discussed the implica-
tions of the increasing use of online decision-making software, online participation
platforms and other digital technologies for campaigning, mobilising and deliber-
ating. However, the empirical and comparative assessment of such democratic and
technological innovations’ impact on traditional party functions, their linkage role
and their organisational settings remain underdeveloped.
In other words, the book aims at answering three main research questions: How
are ICTs shaping political parties’ intra-organisational dynamics? How are new tech-
nologies interacting with other contextual and party-related factors in influencing
intra-party democracy and the internal distribution of power? And, to a broader extent,
what is the relevance of technology as a driving force of party formation, institutional-
isation and change? In order to answer these research questions, the different chapters
included in this book will also address, to a different extent, other more narrowly
defined questions such as: How are parties changing by using more OPPS and digital
technologies? How is their organisation consequently evolving and adapting? How is
the performance of their traditional functions changing through these digital transfor-
mations? To what extent can digital platforms help political parties to re-connect with
citizens? And how? Are parties really deepening their internal democracy through
digital tools, or are ICTs used for strengthening leadership’s power and centralisa-
tion trends? Which country-specific characteristics determine different digitalisation
patterns? What is the role of contagion or path dependency within and outside party
families?
To answer these questions and broaden the theoretical debates, this strand of
research literature needs to further engage with party politics research, especially
research focused on elements of party organisation. In this respect, we suggest
that some party-related factors might be shaping digitalisation patterns in different
parties, something that has not been properly highlighted in the previous literature
(see Raniolo, Tarditi, and Vittori, in this volume). The most noticeable factors that
might be shaping the different dimensions of political parties’ migration into the
digital world as explored in this book are the differences between new and main-
stream parties, between left and right party families, and between the party central
offices and the respective regional branches. Based on previous literature on the
evolution of party digitalisation across different types of political parties, we have
formulated some initial expectations about how it will affect new and mainstream
parties, how ideology might impact on the use of digital platforms, and the extent to
which we can still observe centralisation trends.
Starting with the distinction between new and mainstream parties, we expect
them to follow different organisational digitalisation patterns. New parties, whether
movement parties (Podemos, FSM, pirates, greens) or personal parties (Japanese,
right-wing populists), adopt different digitalisation patterns and strategies from main-
stream ones such as the social democrats, liberals or conservatives. New parties have
often been pioneers in the implementation or the expansion of the use of digital
technologies for internal matters and, accordingly, we expect the new parties’ online
transformation to be more disruptive than the transformation of mainstream ones. In
the same vein, their weaker institutionalisation or less developed organisation will
affect their offline-online interactions and consequences. Thus, we expect it to be
more complex and sometimes problematic in new parties, which are less institution-
alised, than in mainstream ones, with some digitally native parties following both
online and offline organisational hybridisation patterns.
Moving on to the impact of ideology, and following some of the rationales
suggested by the literature (Hartleb, 2013; Bennett et al., 2018; Deseriis, 2020b;
Hartleb, Tsutsumi and Chen, in this volume); we suggest that, depending on the
ideology of the party members and followers, party organisations will suffer different
levels of pressure to strengthen their levels of internal digital democracy through their
OPPs. In that sense, we expect most left parties to use OPPs primarily for strength-
ening internal digital democracy, while mainstream right and radical right parties
would use them for e-campaigning and top-down communication rather than power
diffusion.
Finally, although the literature is divided on this issue between cyber-pessimists
and cyber-optimists, most of the empirical evidence presented so far indicates that
one of the most common patterns of organisational hybridisation tends to be some

form of centralisation. While this might affect intra-party democracy, it surely has
consequences for the pace of digitalisation between the party in the central office
and the periphery. We suggest that hybridisation processes will be more prominent
at the national level (party central office) than in the periphery, mostly because the
majority of the OPPs tend to be developed at the national level, with the regional
branches having a secondary role in their design and implementation.
Up until now, the literature has mostly been developed on the basis of a few
cases of new parties from Southern Europe, typically through in-depth case studies
or, eventually, comparative case studies with few parties. In order to test the initial
expectations suggested previously, we apply a mixed-methods approach combining
case studies and country comparisons, while using more traditional techniques such
as interviews or document analysis with the analysis of online platform content. We
approach classical examples such as Podemos and the Five Star Movement, but we
also go beyond them in several different directions: first, we include examples of
digitally new parties that have been little explored by the literature such as La France
Insoumise or some pirate parties; second, the geographical range of the book is much
wider than the previous literature, encompassing most of the main European countries
(UK, Germany, France, Italy, Spain) and other intercontinental examples from Japan;
third, the book takes into account both mainstream parties and new parties from all
Southern European countries (France, Italy, Spain, Greece, Portugal), Germany and
the UK. This wide range of countries and parties should be able to push forward
comparative research on this subject.
Plan of the book
The book is divided into three parts. The first part is devoted to the theoretical and
methodological chapters. The second part is focused on several comparative case
studies from Southern Europe. Finally, the third part takes into account examples
from other European countries and Japan.
The book starts with Jasmin Fitzpatrick’s analysis of the Five-Pillar Model of
parties’ migration into the digital world (Chap. 2). Her chapter provides a basic theo-
retical underpinning of the main dimensions (pillars) and sub-dimensions (bricks)
that might be associated with the digitalisation of mainstream and new political
parties. This framework is applied in most of the empirical chapters dealing with the
comparative case studies analysed in this book. Fitzpatrick’s chapter also explores
how the literature has tried to address and analyse each pillar and brick, which results
in a very interesting review of the state of the art and, at the same time, a future research
agenda pointing to understudied topics, such as the digitalisation of political parties’
resources. The third chapter is authored by Felix von Nostitz, Jordi Barrat and Giulia
Sandri and focuses on how to regulate i-voting within countries and parties. This
chapter provides an in-depth theoretical exploration of Fitzpatrick’s pillar devoted to
the direct involvement of citizens and party members in both countries’ and parties’
digital elections. In this respect, it provides a clear-cut conceptualisation of internet
remote-voting systems and explores the main technical (security, verification process,
data ownership and control) and democratic (participation, representation, competi-

tiveness, responsiveness and transparency) challenges faced by such voting systems.
This chapter provides two practical examples (Estonia and Switzerland) of state regu-
lation, implementation and the main challenges of i-voting systems, and it also sets the
ground for the comparative analysis of political parties (see below, in Chap. 5). The
fourth chapter is co-authored by Katharine Dommett and Sam Power and analyses the
main methodological issues and challenges in analysing the digitalisation of political
parties. Their contribution starts with a systematic account of the different method-
ological traditions analysing political parties and then focuses on new methods for
studying digital parties based on scholars’ different possible research aims: classifi-
cation, intention, practice and implication. The last section is devoted to assessing
some of the main methodological challenges (rapid change, data scope, accessibility)
that the literature is facing when analysing digital phenomena, as well as the skills
needed to study them.
The second part of the book focuses on the study of different new and mainstream
parties in Southern Europe. Chapter 5 is written by Giulia Sandri and Felix von
Nostitz and analyses Podemos and the Five Star Movement’s i-voting systems. This
chapter provides a review of the main challenges in analysing the technical and
democratic requirements provided by the literature on intra-party democracy and
electronic voting systems, as well as some of the main trade-offs between them. Their
theoretical framework is then applied to both new parties in Italy and Spain. Cecilia
Biancalana and Davide Vittori co-authored Chap. 6, which analyses the impact of
Podemos’ and the Five Star Movement’s OPPs and decision-making systems on
intra-party participation. Their chapter provides an extensive and updated account of
all the affordances allowed by both parties’ platforms and decision-making systems
and, more importantly, a detailed assessment of the quantity and quality of their party
members’ participation in party referenda and party primaries on candidates and party
leaders. Chapter 7, written by Marco Guglielmo, is devoted to new South European
parties, particularly the LFI (La france Insoumise-Unbowed France). His chapter
starts with a critical assessment of the meaning and the organisational challenges
derived from what he conceptualises as anti-party digital parties. He then summarises
the evolution and anti-party features of the LFI and describes the main affordances
allowed on the party’s OPPs. His last section assesses the main organisational tensions
between the ideological protest and digital nature of the party and its leadership, the
constraints imposed on the participation of the party membership, and the growing
role of factionalism.
Antonio Díaz-Montiel focuses in Chap. 8 on the organisational hybridisation
processes of two South European social-democratic parties, the PSOE (Spanish
Socialist Workers’ Party) and the PSP (Portuguese Socialist Party). His contribu-
tion highlights the main affordances of both parties’ OPPs, distinguishing between
bottom-up and top-down participatory tools. The last two chapters of this section
are devoted to comparisons between new and mainstream parties, first in Spain and
then in Southern Europe. Eduardo Blasco’s contribution provides a detailed descrip-
tion of the main affordances of all the most relevant Spanish political parties. In
the last section of Chap. 9, Blasco discusses the extent to which new and main-
stream, regional and state-wide Spanish parties have migrated their organisation
according to Fitzpatrick’s five pillars of party digitalisation. This section finishes
with Chap. 10, a comparative study of digitalisation in mainstream and new political
parties in four South European countries (France, Italy, Spain and Greece), written
by Francesco Raniolo, Valeria Tarditi and Davide Vittori. As in Blasco’s chapter, the
authors provide an in-depth account of how advanced the organisational hybridisation
is in several pillars. They also apply several party-related factors (new/mainstream,
left/right) to assess how they might affect the pace of the digitalisation process.
The third section expands to address other case studies beyond Southern Europe.
In Chap. 11, Johanna Jääsaari and Daniel Šárovec focus on the pirate parties, high-
lighting the relevance of the digital world for their ideology and organisation as a
party family. Their chapter then examines the political evolution and digitalisation
trends of two contrasting cases: the Finnish and Czech Pirate Parties. In Chap. 12,
Gefion Thuermer analyses the conceptions and affordances of different online partici-
patory tools by two other somewhat contrasting cases from Germany: the Green Party
and the Pirate Party. She then assesses the effects that both parties’ OPPs have on
the integration and management of their party membership. Isabelle Borucki and
Jasmin Fitzpatrick focus their Chap. 13 on the evolution of the digital public pres-
ence of the British and German conservative parties. Drawing from both parties’
websites and Facebook posts between 2013 and 2018, they assess how these parties
have changed over time and the uses made of the overall digital public image of
the party, as well as the image projected of their membership and leadership. This
section concludes with Chap. 14, written by Florian Hartleb, Hidenori Tsutsumi and
Boyu Chen. Their chapter starts with a critical assessment of the digital party type,
distinguishing between two sub-types: the ‘liquid’ democratic-participatory digital
party and the business-firm personalist-authoritarian digital party. This is followed
by an analysis and discussion of the political evolution, key affordances and political
participation provided in two fringe Japanese business-firm personalist-authoritarian
parties. The book concludes with Chap. 15, which discusses the main findings of the
book, identifies potential patterns, and appraises avenues for future research.
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Chapter 2
The Five-Pillar Model of Parties’
Migration into the Digital
Jasmin Fitzpatrick
Abstract Scholars have examined how political parties cope with web-based tech-
nologies for about 20 years. This body of literature on party digitalisation covers
many different aspects of parties’ migration into the digital, yet usually, the term
digitalisation is used equally for all kinds of web-related changes in party behaviour
and routines. This contribution distinguishes five key dimensions (pillars) of parties’
migration into the digital, which resonate with classic approaches of party research.
These pillars cover (A) membership, (B) leaders and candidates, (C) policy program,
(D) public image, and (E) resources. Each pillar consists of three bricks addressing
sub-dimensions. This enables a matrix-like utilisation and helps clarifying different
fields in online party research. In addition, a thorough literature review (meta-
analysis) of current research on parties’ migration into the digital is provided to
verify the usefulness of the Five-Pillar Model. Most importantly, this procedure
made current trends and current gaps within the field of research visible.
Keywords Political parties · Web-based technologies · Meta-analysis
2.1 Introduction
Political parties are undoubtedly a core element of modern mass democracies. Their
functions, especially the aggregation and articulation of political interests and the
recruitment of political personnel, make them important mediators between the
people and the state apparatus. However, they face challenges. Daalder’s statement in
2002, that ‘we all speak about the crisis of party,’ is followed by the question, ‘but are
we clear what we mean?’ Daalder and other forerunners of party research—Lawson
(1988) and Katz and Mair (1995), and even Michels (1989 [1911])—focused on
party change, party decline or linkage failure before the dawn of the internet. Yet,
many of their observations remain unchallenged and influential for party researchers
today. Like society, political parties are exposed to the challenges of digitalisation
J. Fitzpatrick (B)
Johannes Gutenberg-University Mainz, Mainz, Germany
e-mail: fitzpatrick@politik.uni-mainz.de

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-78668-7_2
24 J. Fitzpatrick
and online adaptation. With regard to Daalder’s remark, we probably are clear in
our thoughts, but we lack clarity in describing what we mean. This also extends to
parties’ digitalisation.
When observing the migration of parties into the digital sphere, it is useful to
distinguish dimensions that can be moved into the digital.1 I suggest five pillars:
party membership, virtual presence of candidates and leaders, the policy programme
formation, the public image, and the allocation of resources. The following para-
graphs (i) describe the Five-Pillar Model in more detail, (ii) locate different examples
of scholarly literature within the five pillars, and (iii) point to open questions.
2.2 The Five-Pillar Model of Parties’ Migration

into the Digital
While diving into the literature on political parties, it becomes clear that new publi-
cations all point to the well-known classics that create the fundament of party
research. The debate was mostly established on the common grounds that parties
change while adapting to their societal environment. Starting with the mass party
(Michels, 1989 [1911]), the catch-all party (Kirchheimer, 1966) and later the cartel-
party (Katz & Mair, 1995), the focus was on parties and their relationship to society,
their members and the political apparatus. Consequences in terms of party demog-
raphy and intra-party decision-making were implied. However, recent studies appear
more specialised, either with a focus on very particular aspects of party routine or
they discuss specific examples.2 All these valuable studies provide important pieces
to the puzzle of what party research comprehends today. The contribution at hand
intends to provide a scheme to organise the body of scholarly literature on parties
and their relation to the digital.
Contemplating the brilliant stimuli provided by so many colleagues, I was inspired
by the four basic elements of organisations according to Leavitt (1965): technology,
participants, social structure and goals. All four elements are connected to and affect
each other. To disseminate the basic element ‘goals’, I follow Strom (1990), who
distinguishes vote-seeking, office-seeking and policy-seeking as goals of parties.3
1 The term ‘the digital’ was identified as common ground in a debate within the steering committee
of the ECPR Standing Group on Internet and Politics. It opens the field not only to online-related
aspects of organisational and communicational change, but also a wide range of elements transferred
from an analog phenomenon into digital equivalents without imposing the necessity of an (online-
based) connection. It, therefore, conceptualises a counter sphere as an equivalent to the palpable
sphere. Many thanks to Tim Büthe for pointing out this lack of clarity.
2 For an overview, see Farrell (2006).
3 Following Scheuch’s (1999) distinction, goals can be differentiated in visions, milestones and
resource collection (translation JF). For political parties, goals were differentiated by Strom (1990).
Policy-seeking can be viewed as part of the mission, office-seeking a milestone, and vote-seeking
as a form of resource allocation.
2 The Five-Pillar Model of Parties’ Migration into the Digital 25
With this in mind, I propose five pillars that each describe a dimension that parties
can choose to migrate into the digital.
Before I describe each pillar and its bricks, I would like to state some general
remarks. The Five-Pillar Model does not claim that every party moves every aspect
into the digital, nor does it necessarily make sense to move all aspects into the
digital. In particular, due to different national contexts and different cultural demands4
of internet use, some bricks or pillars might not appear in some environments. In
addition, it might seem appropriate to alter the number of dimensions displayed or
the content of dimensions, because of the rapid speed of technological developments
and societies’ adaption to these developments. This last disclaimer might appear
self-explanatory: no one can really foresee the future. However, the general idea of a
migration process from one sphere into the other claims somewhat of more general
validity.
One benefit of the model is its compatibility with the almost classic literature of
political parties online: Margetts introduced the cyber party ‘as a possible response
to these trends in political participation, a new “ideal type” of political party’ (2006,
p. 530). This puts Margetts in line with the above assumed common grounds of
party change. Margetts defines typical characteristics of cyber parties. She states that
cyber parties ‘use web-based technologies to strengthen the relationship between
voters and party’ (2006, p. 531), which may lead to a depreciation of traditional
membership. Parties can ‘use the style of their site to present their image to voters’
(2006, p. 532). Margetts also points to the possibility that parties might conduct
online election processes for leader selection or manage their administration online
(2006, p. 532). Parties can also save money by cost-efficient communication channels
such as e-mail and generate funds (2006, p. 533). All these aspects are accounted for
in the Five-Pillar Model. In contrast to my understanding of Margetts’ outline of the
cyber party, the Five-Pillar Model does not assume an ideal type.5 Adding to those
dimensions proposed by Margetts, policy selection is displayed as another possible
web-based process.
The model suggests a matrix-like utilisation by subdividing each pillar into three
bricks. The pillars concern (A) membership, (B) leadership and candidates, (C) policy
programme, (D) public image, and (E) resources (Fig. 2.1).
(A) Party Membership
Party membership has been a constantly changing concept because parties must
adapt to the zeitgeist of the society they are embedded in. While at first glance this
might mainly refer to changes in member demography, this pillar addresses changes
in (a) recruitment, (b) integration and (c) administration that eventually affect the
composition of the membership; however, the changes are caused by parties’ attempts
to migrate this dimension into the digital.
4 The term ‘cultural demand’ tries to avoid the assumption that societies adopt online possibilities
at different speeds. Privacy awareness and transparency, for example, have a different salience in
different countries, especially when one is considered to come at the stake of the other.
5 In this concept of an ideal, the cyber party differs from the recently introduced ‘digital party’
(Gerbaudo, 2019; Dommett et al., 2020a).

26 J. Fitzpatrick
Dimensions of Party Routine in the Digital
Leaders and Policy

Membership Public Image Resources
Candidates Programme
(A) (D) (E)
(B) (C)
selection of
recruitment recruitment accessibility fundraising
goals
(a) (a) (a) (a)
(a)
communication selection of
integration transparency spending
/ campaigns strategy
(b) (b) (b)
(b) (b)
administration accountability agenda setting responsiveness investment

(c) (c) (c) (c) (c)
Fig. 2.1 Five pillars for the analysis of parties’ migration into the digital
The location and mode of parties’ recruitment procedures are central for the
composition of membership: you reach different crowds on Saturdays at the local
farmers’ market than through online campaigns. However, even remaining in one
sphere—the online sphere—every step a party takes to recruit new members affects
who they attract. If they provide information on membership only on their website,
they will only reach those already interested in the party and willing to visit the
party’s site. If parties use social media channels, they are more likely to expand
their reach, because of shares and re-tweets.6 In addition, the design of a website
and options offered will influence whether someone interested turns into a regular
visitor, supporter or even member (e.g. King et al., 2020; Slattery et al., 2019).
Apart from design-related aspects of recruitment, parties have been experimenting
with different forms of membership. This idea was most prominently described by
Scarrow (2014). Membership as political participation appears in many contexts
somewhat outdated: it might not fit into the picture of requirements of today’s
reality based on individuality and flexibility. This might deter individuals from
rigid membership concepts. Yet, people did not become necessarily less interested
in politics. The offer of flexible membership and ubiquitously available (online)
participation formats might cater to these individuals.
This points to the next challenge: (b) integration. Political parties must accomplish
the difficult task of satisfying different demands among their members. Brick (Ab)
points to measures that parties take to integrate members, but also to the space they
6 One might think of echo chambers or filter bubbles here. However, especially when it comes
to political attitudes and party adherence, there were always echo chambers and filter bubbles in
place—we just used to call them homogenous environments (Lazarsfeld et al., 1948) or milieu (e.g.
Andersen & Heath, 2002; Mochmann & El-Menouar, 2005).
leave for members to actively engage in the party’s affairs. The active integration of
members is important to create a common spirit and tie individuals to the party as a
collective. Some members have been part of their party for years or even decades.
These individuals are used to local units and meetings, party newspapers and personal
contact with their representative. A sudden digital change in routines might upset
them. Newer members, however, might consider these routines outdated and prefer
more flexible, permeable modes of connecting with other members, representatives
or the party as such. The third brick (Ac) is related to these different expectations and
concerns the migration of party administration. The administration of members is
pivotal to party hierarchy (Michels, 1989 [1925, 1911]), but also to members’ sense
(emotional) and perception (cognitive) of being part of their party. Regular informa-
tion about the party, invitations to meetings, elections and intra-party democracy, the
payment of membership fees and even a birthday card: the array of facets of party
administration is wide and concerns every aspect where members (and adherents,
supporters and voters) are in touch with the party organisation. While digital tech-
nologies open cost-efficient opportunities for the management of members’ data,
news dissemination and connecting with members, some members might consider
web-based technologies less personal. This can create a feeling of distance between
the party (elite) and the grassroots. Again, the other side of the same coin shows
a different picture. Information and contact modes have expanded through web-
based technologies. This could also be perceived as low-barrier accessibility and
professionalism.
(B) Leaders and Candidates
The formation of a party’s elite and its self-perception is key to a party’s develop-
ment. Following Downs (1957, p. 24): ‘In the broadest sense, a political party is a
coalition of men seeking to control the governing apparatus by legal means.’7 This
triggers the question: Is the party and especially the leading group rather a political
caste or a network with permeable boundaries?8 This affects the (Ba) recruitment
of leaders and candidates. Becoming a leader or candidate presents a late or last
step in a party member’s political career. Many parties demand proof of a long
and intense commitment to the party and its core values before supporting candi-
dacy (German: Ochsentour for hard slog, working one’s way up). Individuals must
become members at an early age, have protégés or be quite advanced in age, when
they become eligible for an important (party) office. Sometimes all these factors
come into play. The advantage for the party is a leader who is well-known within
the party and appears reliable or even predictable in terms of their programme and
character. The disadvantage is a hierarchical appearance and a ponderous manner.
In their analysis of 1450 German politicians, Ohmura and colleagues (2018) present
7 Downs specifies ‘legal means’ as ‘gaining office in a duly constituted election’ (1957, p. 25).
8 This question points to the self-concept of a party: is the vision of an ideal society the driving
force of political work or the maintaining of political offices? This self-concept was recently linked
to the survival or death of political parties by Bolleyer and colleagues (2019).
28 J. Fitzpatrick
evidence that the ‘Party Animal’ career path is most common. Party Animals are
professional politicians with an intense preparation time within the party.
Accounting for the demand of change and fresh ideas, many parties try to avoid
the picture of secluded party elites and establish candidate elections where participa-
tion and competition are welcome (e.g. Hazan & Rahat, 2010, p. 89). However, the
nomination process often follows rigid routines and candidate selections might serve
rather as a clumsy cover-up than real intra-party democracy. Hazan and Rahat (2010)
recommend a ‘multistaged method’ of candidate selection. They suggest presenting
a pre-selection of suitable candidates to members (2010, p. 168). This suggestion
addresses the important topic of primary abuse by members through mass enrolment
shortly before section processes; however, they also point to the dangers arising
from centralisation and a ‘single-minded elite’ (2010, p. 170), i.e. lack of pluralism.
Moving candidate recruitment online does not completely solve this power disparity.
Yet, it holds the potential for underdogs to campaign effectively and to reach out to
the membership base.
Party elites face responsibilities connected to field (Ab) membership integration:
the mode and frequency of leaders’ communication (Bb; during the campaign or
normal season) affect the enthusiasm and commitment of members. Especially with
tendencies of increased personalisation as observed by many scholars (e.g. Enli &
Skogerbø, 2013; Lobo & Ferreira da Silva, 2018; Rahat & Kenig, 2018), the role
of individual leaders becomes more important: they have to be addressable, respon-
sive, accountable and able to unite large shares of the grassroots and the electorate.
A carefully considered, authentic use of social media can create this appearance.
Accounting for recent developments, the tone or rhetorical style is another relevant
aspect splitting public opinion. While some regard harsh wording as courageous
and true in simple terms, many are probably appalled by this tone of language—
especially from leaders who are expected to act as role models.9 In addition to the
tone, the channels chosen by leaders provide an area of interest. It appears that
offline as well as online, new modes of communication are (re-)discovered and
combined. For example, personal visits by candidates to local units can be accom-
panied by live streams, televised debates complemented by second-screen debates
on social media platforms, or door-to-door canvassing enhanced by micro-targeting
technology. Leaders seek support from communication professionals to realise an
optimised mix. Yet, they are accountable (Bc) publicly for all decisions, successes
and failures. They can use web-based solutions to justify decisions, claim success
for bills passed or console and (re-)motivate supporters after a backlash.
(C) Policy Programme
Scheuch (1999) distinguishes different types of organisations’ goals: an overarching
mission, milestones and the allocation of resources to maintain the organisation. This
9 For the US case, Valentino and colleagues (2018), provide evidence that strong rhetoric concerning
racial hostility is no longer rejected by many respondents. Additionally, in their analysis on the
US Presidential Election 2016, Hooghe and Dassonneville (2018) conclude that Trump’s rhetoric
(especially on his stance on immigrants) did affect vote choice.
process of defining goals (e.g. sustainability, social justice, etc.) can be moved into
the digital (Ca). This does not necessarily implicate broad involvement of members:
it is possible that only the leading group would employ web-based applications
(clouds, video conferences etc.). This is similarly true for the selection of strategies
(and tactics; Cb).10 Brick (Ca) is important for parties that have not yet developed a
full mission statement or intend to re-adjust it. In organisational studies, a leader or
the members of an organisation can create a vision. Berson and colleagues (2016)
present a concept of constructing a shared vision by leader and followers connected
to social identity theory: leaders may use the vision to strengthen the cohesion of
members (2016, p. 177). This refers to the bricks (Ab) membership integration and
(Bb) leader communication.
Selection of strategies (Cb) concerns concrete processes in policy formation or
even coalition formation. Rather deliberative processes can be conducted in the digital
sphere employing ICTs. Again, this does not necessarily lead to an inclusive process
with members having a say.
Parties can also employ web-based technologies to set the agenda or at least
attempt to do so (Cc) and to advertise their policy programme. Especially new and
smaller parties can attempt to bypass mass media using a well-developed social media
strategy. At best, established media formats become aware of the policy programmes
of these smaller competitors and report on them.11
(D) Public Image
The public image as conceptualised in this context is a meta-dimension. The party
(elite) decides how the party should be perceived by others12 : the electorate, the
media, the competition, actors from abroad. The public image is, therefore, created
by the interaction of the party with the public. Parties can use the web to create
an image that fulfils the requirements of accessibility (Da), transparency (Db) and
responsiveness (Dc). Accessibility (Da) can be generated by a strong online appear-
ance: a user-friendly website with contact information, a mix of social media channels
catering towards different communities. Transparency (b) is relevant within the party
10 Many (larger) parties find themselves regarded as interchangeable, without a clear profile. Adher-
ents even of parties from the same area of the political spectrum, however, do find differences when
it comes to shared values or important moments that formed a party’s identity (Fitzpatrick & Mayer,
2019). Bringing them in for programme formation integrates members (Ab) and may enhance the
party’s profile. The influence of members and adherents during the process of creating a policy
programme can be fostered by the employment of web-based technologies. While the integration of
many members (Ab) into the process is probably time-consuming and difficult, it can create more
support for policy decisions.
11 This last aspect stresses that competition is a good thing in pluralistic societies. Some political
forces use ICTs to facilitate opinions that oppose the very core of liberal democracy. This topic
leads to a different direction of research and will not be addressed in this contribution. For further
information, see, for example Krämer (2017).
12 Information published by the party itself is obviously not neutral. Yet, it helps us to understand
how a party wants to be perceived. Websites are predominantly under the influence of the website
owner; social media profiles and information distributed through them, however, underlie the opaque
algorithms in the hands of providers.
30 J. Fitzpatrick
and for actors outside of the party. Transparency means information is available or
made available on request, including information on decisions, structures and proce-
dures, background information and contact information. For members, transparency
can be achieved in different ways of intra-party communication, e.g. newsletters or
secluded log-on areas on the website. It is up to a party to what degree they distin-
guish between different groups in their information policy. Providing information
for members only can have an integrating effect (Ab) and make membership more
attractive. By contrast, it might give leeway to the assumption that the party does not
operate transparently. This might foster mistrust and drive possible supporters away.
It is necessary to develop a strategy specifying who gets what information (when)
and estimate possible consequences (Lasswell, 1948). Responsiveness (Dc) is simi-
larly important. Whether a party responds to inputs by members, supporters, media
or (critical) citizens and the speed and sincerity of the response have an important
effect on a party’s image. Responsiveness refers not only to verbal response but also
to consequences. This is especially important if criticism is articulated. If the criti-
cism is considered justified, the party’s reaction and the implementation of changes
are necessary. If criticism appears unjustified, it is necessary to explain why and
perhaps convince the critic or at least appear to value their time and effort.13
One aspect refers to all three bricks and addresses a general necessity: the terms
and phrases used by parties have in many contexts experienced an academisation. This
is a side-effect of the professionalisation of parties and their staff. Even labour parties
often recruit academic staff and expect benefits from their administrative and political
knowledge. However, it entails the danger of losing the (majority of non-academic)
voters, if the language used in manifestos, leaflets and other public information
become too academic. Moreover, people with language difficulties due to learning
disabilities, migration backgrounds or many other reasons are in danger of being
excluded from parties’ information. In addition, children and young adults with an
interest in politics might be restricted from becoming informed and later involved. All
these individuals make up quite a large share of the public. The quality of information
shared with the public should be evaluated in terms of its comprehensibility.
(E) Resources
The four above-mentioned dimensions focus on rather non-material aspects. This
dimension brings parties’ assets into the debate. Party-financing has provoked contro-
versial debates in many cases (e.g. Stelzer, 2016 on Austria; von Arnim, 2011 on
Germany). When parties move part of their fundraising online (Ea), this may have
two results: web-based tools provide scope to circumvent conventional fundraising
tactics within the country-specific contexts and, therefore, favour new competitors.
By contrast, fundraising online can accelerate existing disparities between estab-
lished and new competitors—depending on existing networks and the scope of mobil-
isation. However, fundraising is not the only resource-relevant aspect. Their spending
(Eb) is interesting as well. Do parties purchase software licenses to establish an
13 Again the style of how criticism is articulated is important. However, an appropriate, polite
response can be expected by interested citizens.
intranet and what functionalities does this intranet have? Is it more a hub for campaign
material (cloud) or is networking between members possible? Is the website main-
tained professionally or are interns in charge? Do parties employ specially trained
staff for web-based communication? What software do they use to administrate their
members/finances etc.? These questions address only a portion of the overlap of spent
resources and the digital. The third aspect investment (Ec) might appear even more
futuristic. Starting with an offline example, parties have quite considerable assets
in form of an estate. Usually, they own buildings for their headquarters, local units
etc., and they invest in real estate. Online investments in bitcoin, but also in stocks
of internet companies for example, make up another possible interesting target for
parties’ investment and the digital. The difference between spending (Eb) and invest-
ment (Ec) is the expectation of a return on investment, maybe even with interest in the
case of (Ec). All pillars and their bricks cover dimensions that parties might decide
to move online. Oftentimes, this migration process is already a work in progress or
considered finished.
2.3 Current Literature Located in the Five-Pillar Model
Many scholars have already analysed aspects that can be located within the model.
The following paragraph will place existing studies within the model to test its
relevance and accuracy.
Figure 2.2 is the result of an extensive literature search with different search
engines and databases. The references displayed comprise published papers in
journals with and without peer review and published conference papers. In some
instances, I am not able to report all relevant contributions because the body of liter-
ature is extensive. In these cases, I offer a selection of contributions which in my
opinion enable me to demonstrate my understanding of the content of the specific
brick and pillar. In other cases, I was not able to find any contribution that fits the
specific brick.14 The contributions mentioned do not necessarily result in a posi-
tive evaluation of parties’ migration into the digital in the respective brick. Yet, the
scholarly attention suggests the expectation that parties do intend to migrate into the
digital.
The distribution of publications within the table illustrates that scholarly attention
is focused on pillar (A) membership and on pillar (B) leaders and candidates. The
recruitment (Aa) and integration (Ab) of members is an emphasis in digital party
research as is (Bb) candidates (campaign) communication.
Turning to (Aa), early contributions suggest typologies of party-member relations
with an emphasis on parties’ use of ICTs. Roemmele (2003, p. 10) writes that ‘[t]hese
14 I reviewed the literature in German and English. In addition, I consulted with colleagues from
other national contexts. If there were contributions for the bricks (Bc) and (Cc), I believe that either
they would have come up in my research or the literature I viewed would have referred to these
contributions. I especially thank the editors of this volume for their support in this regard.
32 J. Fitzpatrick
Fig. 2.2 Location of scholarly literature in the Five-Pillar Model
electronic linkages make possible the forging of new group identities and thus new
interests among party members that are not limited by geography’.
Schweitzer’s analysis of parties’ use of websites in the German 2002 federal elec-
tion is an example for the many case studies in brick (Ab) and reaches the conclu-
sion (2005, p. 345) that ‘[a]s hypothesised, the German party websites […] served
primarily informational functions while neglecting interactive features in terms of
mobilisation, integration/networking, or participation’. Vaccari and Valeriani look at
the UK, Germany and Italy after the 2014 European elections (2016, p. 305):
[…] we have shown that digital media should be considered part of the solution rather
than the problem of party crisis. The fact that party activists are more likely to engage with
parties’ social media presence is just one half of the story—the other is that activists use these
platforms to, among other things, distribute party messages beyond supporters. Nonmembers
who engage in informal political discussions online also perform activities that are valuable
for parties.
However, this also indicates that parties do not exploit the opportunities to
the full extent. One of the most comprehensive contributions dealing with the
migration of party membership into the digital sphere is Scarrow’s ‘Beyond Party
Members’ (2014). She suggests multi-speed membership, a concept essentially built
on Duverger’s concentric circle model (Scarrow, 2014, p. 27). Multi-speed member-
ship respects followers, cyber-members and new audiences with membership forms
linked to the web (Scarrow, 2014, pp. 30–35). Scarrow discusses all aspects of pillar
A: (a) recruitment, (b) integration, and (c) administration.
Brick (Ab) integration receives a lot of attention. This in part stems from the
conceptualisation of integration in this context: it points to active measures that parties
take to integrate members, but also to the space that parties leave for members to
actively engage in the party’s affairs (see above). Scarrow’s (2014) concept of multi-
speed membership with varying degrees of commitment and attachment respects
this aspect. Scarrow takes a party-centred perspective and analyses parties’ websites
from different national contexts. Gibson and colleagues (2017) base their analysis
of French voters on a modification of Scarrow’s model and identify different types
of adherence varying in attachment. Webb and colleagues (2017) compare members
and supporters of UK parties in their campaign behaviour and observe that members’
willingness to dedicate time is higher than the willingness of supporters with no
formal ties to the party. Yet, they point to the accumulated impact that supporters’
campaign efforts have (Webb et al., 2017, p. 72).
Jackson and Lilleker explore websites and social media profiles of UK parties (and
their leaders) and come to the conclusion that although parties have implemented
social media in their routine, they do not exploit the potential especially in terms of
interactivity (2009, p. 247).
Pedersen and Saglie (2005) investigate the Scandinavian countries and use survey
material. They focus on the links between members and elites to their party by
examining, for example, how often members visit their party’s website. While they
found that across all levels the majority was in favour of using technologies, office-
holders seem to be more optimistic than average members (2005, p. 273). Dommett
and colleagues’ (2020b) observation of the UK’s Labour Party fits into this line of
research. Through interviews, they focus on the digitalisation of grassroots practices.
While they observe a party rich in tradition, Kling and colleagues (2015) provide
an in-depth analysis of the German Pirate Party—a rather recently emerged party.
Taking a technical approach to the analysis of Liquid Democracy, their study refers
to membership integration (Ab) and administration (Ac). The Pirate Party is in itself
an interesting and well-researched object. It sparked comparisons with other parties
and even serves as a blueprint. Gomez and Ramiro (2019) build on the literature
on multi-speed membership and the pirates, but focus their analysis on Podemos in
Spain. Their findings indicate differences in the commitment and ideological posi-
tion of the members and supporters of Podemos (2019, pp. 7–9). Hartleb (2013)
compares the pirates with Grillo’s Five Star Movement. He questions their claim of
anti-elitism and compares their demeanour to (right-wing) populist parties.
Turning to brick (Ac) membership administration, it appears that this aspect is part
of studies that analyse the integration of members through web-based technologies.
34 J. Fitzpatrick
Roemmele (2003, p. 10) states: ‘Day-to-day administrative processes are simpli-

fied and accelerated via intranets; coordination of different party branches becomes
easier.’ Pedersen and Saglie (2005) asked respondents whether they received an email
from the party organisation, which many members did not or did not recall. Looking
at the pirates, the use of LiquidFeedback as an administration system for the voting
process and the analysis of voting behaviour was evidence of the Pirate Party’s use
of digital technologies for administrational purposes (Kling et al., 2015).
Focusing on pillar (B) leadership and candidates, we see that the pillars are not
strictly separated within the scholarly literature. Kling and colleagues (2015) deal
with leadership recruitment in addition to aspects of membership (pillar A). They
examine the existence of ‘super-voters’ and the concentration of delegation votes.
This is a form of leadership recruitment (Ba) within the LiquidFeedback framework
of the Pirate Party. In his work on Podemos and the Five Star Movement, Mikola
(2018) deals with members’ influence on policy and coalition formation, which is
also part of membership integration (Ab) and pillar (C).
The use of social media by candidates and leaders, especially throughout campaign
season (Bb), is quite well researched. For the UK, Jackson and Lilleker (2009)
observe party and leader websites and social media profiles, while Davis (2010)
interviews politicians, journalists and civil service representatives to examine their
communication ties and whether new media changed their behaviour. Although the
design allows only for subjective conclusions through the lenses of the interviewees
(Davis, 2010, p. 750), it appears that communication between these actors became
intensified by their use of new media (2010, p. 757):
Online spaces and forums may fill the gap but only for those already engaged. The online
networks now forming are tightly linked, cross-referencing and self-regarding. As engage-
ments increase at this level, those on the outside, whether through active choice or exclusion,
become more removed.
Other case studies focus, for example, on Norway (Karlsen & Enjolras, 2016
on Twitter), Germany (Stier et al., 2018 on Twitter and Facebook), Italy (Ceron,
2017 on Twitter), the Netherlands (Kruikemeier, 2014 on Twitter), and France
(Koc-Michalska et al., 2014), or on the European elections (Nulty et al., 2016 on
Twitter; Braun & Schwarzbözl, 2018 on Facebook). While European countries with
their party-centred political systems are increasingly focusing on candidates (e.g.
Poguntke & Webb, 2005), the best-researched country in this perspective is the USA.
I only point to a few studies to exemplify the content of brick (Bb). The Howard
Dean 2004 campaign is widely considered to be the first real online campaign (e.g.
Hindman, 2005). Obama and later Trump perfected the use of social media during
their campaigns. Kreiss’ (2016) analysis of the Obama and Romney campaigns illus-
trates their successful employment of Twitter and how Twitter gained importance
between the two Obama campaigns. Enli (2017) observes the 2016 US election
where social media were mainly used for marketing purposes. Professional campaign
demeanour was challenged by amateurism (at least apparently on Trump’s side; Enli,
2017, p. 59). While these studies focus on the frontrunners in presidential elections,
Evans and Clark (2016) provide a gender perspective in their analysis of female
candidates on Twitter during the 2012 US House elections. Gender is a determinant

of tone and types of tweets, however, they suggest that these differences ‘may decline
over time’ (Evans & Clark, 2016, p. 344). All these studies reflect different facets of
candidates moving their communication de facto online. In comparison, the analysis
of Öhberg and Naurin (2016) goes in a somewhat different direction. They conduct
a survey experiment with politicians in Sweden and ask them how they respond in
certain situations, e.g. email communication with citizens or convincing their party
to act. Although pointing in the direction of brick (Bc) party leaders’ accountability,
beyond the hypothetical approach chosen by Öhberg and Naurin (2016) (with limited
links to ICTs) it appears that accountability has either escaped scholarly attention
when it comes to evaluating whether leaders use web-based technologies or leaders
just do not use the internet in this regard.15
Pillar (C) concerns the use of web-based technologies for the policy formation
process. The first aspect, goal selection (Ca) is especially important for parties,
which have not yet developed a full mission statement or intend to re-adjust goals.
Interesting test cases reflected in the scholarly literature include especially the Pirate
Party (Kling et al., 2015), Podemos and the Five Star Movement (Hartleb, 2013;
Mikola, 2018). While (Ca) concerns the more abstract level of an overarching vision,
(Cb) addresses concrete policy (or coalition) formation processes. With its attempt to
implement Liquid Democracy, the Pirate Party again acts as an example (e.g. Kling
et al., 2015), while other studies cover Podemos (e.g. Tormey & Feenstra, 2016).
Cross and Gauja (2014) examine established parties’ use of web-based technologies
in Australia. They observed that the ALP employed online fora to involve members
in the policy formation process (2014, p. 617).
While other channels (TV, newspaper) or other actors (e.g. legislative agenda-
setting) appear within the research landscape, parties’ use of social media in order
to set the agenda (Cc) is widely terra incognita in political science. From a commu-
nication science perspective, Skogerbø and Krumsvik (2014) examine cross-media
influences: do social media influence coverage in other media and set the media
agenda? Political agenda-setting remains uncovered.
The (D) public image is often part of studies that choose a party’s online shop
window as a unit of analysis. Lilleker and colleagues’ (2011) assessment of parties’
websites is a well-suited example for brick (Da). With their comparative analysis of
parties in different national contexts for the European election 2009, they provide
categories that (campaign) websites cover: information, engagement, mobilisation
and interactivity. The sheer number of websites they were able to use for their anal-
ysis indicates that parties have moved their accessibility online by providing well-
designed websites. Their main finding relevant to (Da) is that ‘Party websites can no
longer be described as static or boring’ (2011, p. 208).
15For the offline sphere, it seems that governments are held accountable rather than party leaders
and candidates. The focus is usually on the winners of an election, not the losers, which partly
explains the research gap. In addition, for parliamentary systems, the chain of accountability is
complex (Strom, 2000), which makes it difficult to analyse.
36 J. Fitzpatrick
The analysis of (Db) transparency by technology has quite a long tradition in

the field of party research (e.g. Nixon & Johansson, 1999). If parties provide online
discussion fora, for example, they create an open space for members. Ward and
colleagues (2003, p. 656) address the potential of web-based discussions to provide
a ‘transparent record of participation’.16 Additionally, parties can create transparency
in their public image by providing suitable content on party websites. The dissemi-
nation of information is a pivotal aspect of transparency. Hence, the frequency and
quality of information provision is an indicator of a party’s effort to make politics
comprehensible to its website’s visitors. Although Tormey and Feenstra do not use
the term ‘transparency’, much of what they write in their paragraph on ‘bringing
the “street” directly into politics’ (2016, pp. 595–596) corresponds to the idea of
transparent political structures. They cite one PX activist, who claimed that the party
would foster ‘true democracy where the citizens have a voice and control over deci-
sions that affect us’ (2016, p. 595). This statement highlights the importance of brick
(Dc) responsiveness. If parties are perceived as closed shops not responding to their
constituents, this leads to frustration. Populist forces can utilise this emotion and
display an ‘us-against-them atmosphere’ in party politics. Web-based technologies
can help in responding to the input that parties receive. This idea was part of early
contributions (Nixon & Johansson, 1999; Ward et al., 2003, p. 660) and has been
developed over time. Elter (2013) presents an analysis of the German Länder elec-
tions in 2011. He examines the response pattern of parties reacting to user comments
on their profiles on Twitter and Facebook and concludes that parties avoid dialogue
with citizens. Similarly, Ramos-Serrano and colleagues (2018, p. 135) state:
Twitter debate occurs fundamentally among the politicians themselves, and does not so
much engage Spanish citizens, which would be the most desirable scenario considering the
potential of the tool.
Vaccari (2014) conducted a comparative analysis of political actors’ response

patterns following citizen-initiated emails. Although Vaccari’s analysis is not exclu-
sively based on parties (but candidates and politicians), he distinguishes party families
in his observations and, therefore, focuses on the aggregate party level rather than
the individual politician (2014, p. 252). He finds that responses to emails by citizens
come rather slow. When the content of the mail is related to volunteering, this slightly
increases the likelihood of an answer (2014, p. 254).
The fifth pillar (E) seems to attract the least attention. The aspect of fundraising
(Ea) in connection with web-based technologies gained interest especially after the
Dean campaign in 2004. Although this is not strictly party business but rather candi-
date business, the fact that the Democrats transferred knowledge between different
campaigns justifies a location in this brick:
Adopting ways of working with supporters online and applying them to complement an
unprecedented field effort, Obama’s staffers vastly extended the online organising first
developed on the Dean campaign. (Kreiss, 2012, p. 189)
16 Yet, they point out that the experience is disappointing because individuals often do not consider
themselves tied to the same social norms online and offline (Ward et al., 2003, p. 656).
One of the first analyses documenting the Dean campaign is Hindman’s assess-
ment of ‘Real lessons of Howard Dean’ (2005). Hindman emphasises the impact
of small donors and spontaneous web donation via the campaign website (2005,
p. 125). Chadwick similarly analyses the 2004 campaign with a focus on online-
offline hybridity and claims (2007, p. 289): ‘Indeed, probably the most significant
online citizen action during the 2004 presidential campaign was fundraising.’ Kreiss
(2012) provides an in-depth analysis of Dean’s campaign and its links to Obama’s
2008 campaign, thereby displaying the evolution of online campaigning in the US
context. On the European side, very few publications focus on fundraising by parties.
Anstead and Chadwick (2008) compare the British and the American cases, while
Gibson (2015) analyses the UK parties only. Some studies point to the possibility
of donations as a form of participation, but they do not elaborate the thought much
further and therefore are not quoted here. Overall, (Ea) is therefore mainly dedicated
to the US campaigns after 2004 and to some extent the lessons learnt in the UK.
The next brick (Eb) seems rather not covered by political science literature. While
there is literature on party regulation that explores spending to some degree, this has
not been systematically linked to online spending. As pointed out above, the share of
a campaign budget or party budget for digitalisation (software, licenses, webspace,
training, staff etc.) is quite a good indicator of a party’s sincerity about moving
online. However, this aspect remains terra incognita. The same holds true for brick
(Ec), which in part overlaps with (Eb). The difference is in the future orientation: to
what degree does the party expect a financial return on investment? This brick also
opens avenues for future investigation.
2.4 Range of Application and Open Questions
After elaborating the Five-Pillar Model, I would like to sum up important clues.
First, the possibility to locate the main literature of digital party research within
the model suggests its usefulness to structure the current debate and to distinguish
dimensions that parties can migrate into the digital sphere. Another finding is the
observation that similar case studies are conducted for many European countries, the
US and Australia. Parties’ migration into the digital is, therefore, a relevant discus-
sion in all Western democracies, although some cases are more intensely explored
than others. In addition, an apparent observation concerns the multitude of methods
accompanying research on parties’ migration process into the digital. Content anal-
ysis, expert interviews, survey-based analyses and automated text- mining are the
most commonly used methods.
I would like to point to possible applications and research that I hope to inspire.
Most obviously, to the best of my knowledge, not all bricks are covered. This is not
necessarily a flaw in scholarly attention, but rather relates to restrictions in data avail-
ability or possibly the absence of empirical evidence. However, this poses a challenge
for party advisers, campaigners and researchers. This challenge especially addresses
political science scholars. Many of the cited studies are published in journals not
38 J. Fitzpatrick
really known as political science journals, but instead are located in communication
science or sociology. The migration of political parties and all affiliated routines and
circumstances deserve more attention by political science.
The next point concerns a methodological challenge. The matrix outlined here as
the Five-Pillar Model can serve as a base for an index expressing the digitalisation
of a party. This does not necessarily imply that total migration into the digital is
a positive achievement; nevertheless, it would enable us to verify the existence of
cyber parties as such and to describe their anatomy. An easy assessment is an additive
index with a scale from 0 to 15, where every brick successfully migrated by a party is
rewarded with a score of 1. Accordingly, a total score of 0 would describe an offline
party and a score of 15 an ideal cyber party.
The main purpose of the Five-Pillar Model, however, is the systematic elaboration
of case studies and the comparison of different cases. Potential research questions
include: Why do parties migrate some aspects into the digital sphere, while others
remain (better) offline? Are there systematic differences between countries, areas
or party families? Do parties learn from each other and can we identify a learning
pattern?
Despite all the brilliant work out there, the systematic analysis of parties’ migration
into the digital is still only at its beginning, given the rapid changes in technology.
Acknowledgements I would like to thank Jakob Gutmann, Friederike Holthuis and Sarah Kromin
for their assistance. I would also like to thank all participants of the Workshop on Cyber Parties
in Valencia 2018 for their useful comments. Special thanks go to Giulia Sandri and Oscar Barberà
who encouraged me to dedicate a whole chapter to the concept of the Five-Pillar Model.
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Chapter 3
Regulating i-Voting Within Countries
and Parties
Felix von Nostitz, Giulia Sandri, and Jordi Barrat i Esteve
Abstract This chapter is a first explorative attempt to study how and to what extent
states have regulated i-voting in common law and in general elections so far, in
order to strike a balance between adherence to democratic norms and management
of the challenges imposed by technical aspects. The chapter first discusses the legal
definition and framework of i-voting in Europe. This is followed by a discussion on
how to analyse the process of i-voting on the basis of electoral cycles. The aim is to
build an analytical framework for assessing the regulations and standards that states
adopt for implementing their i-voting systems and that are or can be used by political
parties too. The analytical framework builds on the main relevant democratic norms
(participation, representation, competiveness, responsiveness and transparency) and
technical aspects (security, verification process, data ownership and control) that
need to be considered by both parties and states to achieve legitimate and effective e-
decision-making. The chapter provides insight into the type and nature of regulations
that need to be considered in the intra-party context.
Keywords i-voting · Digital platforms’ regulation · Political parties
3.1 Introduction
Digital tools, digital democracy platforms and information and communication tech-
nologies (ICTs) are increasingly used by the state (Chadwick et al.2009; Margetts,
2009), but also by parties, movements and civil society organisations (Hartleb, 2013).
This digital move of both party and state politics is supposedly initiated in order to
F. von Nostitz (B) · G. Sandri

e-mail: felix.vonnostitz@univ-catholille.fr
G. Sandri
J. B. Esteve
Universitat Rovira i Virgili, Tarragona, Spain
e-mail: jordi.barrat@urv.cat

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-78668-7_3
44 F. von Nostitz et al.
make decision-making and policy processes more effective (Coleman et al., 2015). In
this chapter, we focus on a specific dimension of digital democracy and e-decision-
making, namely internet voting. Regardless of the enabling technology, there are
(mainly1 ) two distinct types of cyber elections: e-voting and i-voting. E-voting
commonly refers to the use of direct-recording electronic voting machines (DRE) in
electoral management processes, or as on-site e-voting, which means that electronic
machines are used by the voters inside the polling stations on election day in any kind
of state-led elections (Goos et al., 2016). E-voting thus means using DRE machines
on-site for running elections. I-voting on the other hand means using remote digital-
voting systems, and it is also known as internet or online or remote digital voting. The
latter allows citizens to express their vote remotely over the internet, usually by using
a digital democracy or online participation platform (Barrat et al., 2012; Garnett
& James, 2020). The latter instrument has recently been used increasingly across
Europe for non-state-led elections as well, specifically for party and movements’
internal ballots (Deseriis, 2020).
Just as more and more states allow for i-voting in national or even local elec-
tions, several parties have started to allow members and/or supporters to vote on
a variety of issues such as electoral manifestos, governmental coalitions, leader-
ship and candidate selection using online platforms (Gerbaudo, 2019; Fitzpatrick in
this volume). Therefore, nowadays both public administrations and private political
organisations such as parties make important and often binding political and organ-
isational decisions online (Krimmer et al., 2007). In order to warrant the legitimacy
of such internet voting systems and voters’ trust in such operations, both parties and
states are required to ensure and provide guarantees that those decisions are made in
a democratic manner. This means that for fostering broad political consensus around
these procedures, the whole process should respect democratic norms and standards,
such as those related to the constitutional principles of electoral law. Any internet
voting system, whether organised at state or party level, should thus respect the main
legal principles concerning elections, namely of universal, equal, free, secret and
direct suffrage (Goos et al., 2016).
When adopting and conducting e-decision-making procedures, parties and states
alike need to consider not only legal theory, but also various technical and security
challenges (Trechsel, 2016). However, as discussed in greater detail in Chap. 5 of
this book concerning more specifically parties’ online decision-making, it is often
quite challenging to combine the respect of democratic norms with maintaining high
technical standards when designing digital electoral processes. The difficulty in effec-
tively combining legal and technical standards in implementing i-voting systems can
be shown by the numerous countries, out of the 14 which repeatedly used internet
1 This is discussed in the next section: there are actually several types of electronic voting systems.
3 Regulating i-Voting Within Countries and Parties 45
elections, that have recently either suspended remote i-voting (e.g. France2 ) or aban-
doned it (e.g. The Netherlands) or decided not to adopt it after careful consideration
of its functioning (e.g. United Kingdom) and apparent risks.
Therefore, this chapter is a first explorative attempt to study how and to what
extent states have regulated i-voting in common law and in general elections so far,
in order to strike a balance between adherence to democratic norms and manage-
ment of the challenges imposed by technical standards. The chapter first discusses
the legal definition and framework of i-voting in Europe. This is followed by a discus-
sion on how to analyse the process of i-voting on the basis of electoral cycles. The
analytical framework builds on the main relevant democratic norms (participation,
representation, competiveness, responsiveness and transparency) and technical stan-
dards (security, verification process, data ownership and control) that need to be
considered by both parties and states to achieve legitimate and effective e-decision-
making. It then outlines the national legal regulation in place for i-voting in Estonia
and Switzerland. Both these cases are often considered as best-practice case studies
and thus provide insight into the type and nature of regulations that need to be consid-
ered in the intra-party context. This chapter constitutes a general exploration of the
topic for both states and parties.3
Throughout the chapter, we discuss the degree to which the national-level regula-
tions can be transferred to the intra-party context. Overall, the chapter is innovative,
as it bridges previous literature on digital politics, on regulation of national i-voting
and on intra-party e-decision-making. This is crucial, as ineffective types of regu-
lation might undermine the potentially positive externalities and meta-affordances
of these new electoral management processes. Further, insufficient regulations on
i-voting will have negative consequences for policy processes and decision-making
processes at state level and democratic systems’ legitimacy as a whole.
3.2 Defining i-Voting and Its Legal Framework
A vast variety of digital technology is used during the voting process today. This
chapter looks at internet voting systems (referred to here as i-voting) only. We do
not focus on the use of voting machines in polling stations to cast the vote directly,
replacing traditional ballot papers and boxes, or on machines that count ballot paper
digitally. Following the literature, we identify three main types of technologies of
internet voting: poll site, kiosk and remote (Goos et al., 2016). Poll site internet voting,
in which voters cast their ballots via the internet from client machines physically
situated in official polling places, is similar to DRE voting but runs through the
2 In France, a moratorium was adopted for the 2017 and 2019 elections, but this election management
solution has not yet been excluded for the upcoming 2021 elections. The Netherlands’ case is
different because laws have been passed to exclude remote i-voting from future potential polling
methods.
3 For an empirical analysis related to parties as a unit of measurement, see Chap. 4 by Sandri and
von Nostitz in this volume.

internet. Kiosk internet voting means that voters cast their ballots via client machines,
but the machines are distributed in public places such as kiosks, shopping malls,
libraries, petrol stations, etc. The difference with the previous system is that in poll site
i-voting the hardware and software are controlled by election officials, while in kiosk
i-voting the physical environment and voter authentication are not directly under
the control of election officials. However, in both poll site and kiosk digital voting
the ballots are cast using an electronic display and then transferred and computed
via the internet. Finally, remote internet voting is a technology for running voting
operations in which voters are able to authenticate themselves and cast their ballots
at their convenience via any kind of private or public internet terminals. In this case,
again, neither the client machines nor the physical environment is under the control
of election officials.
While all three methods share two central features in that they allows voters to
‘cast a ballot remotely over the Internet and during more than a few hours on or
before voting day without supervision by official authorities’ (Goos et al., 2016,
p. 138), we focus here only on remote i-voting. The adoption of remote i-voting is
a radical shift away from the traditional voting at a polling station, with or without
the use of voting machines, as it moves a public act into the private sphere, but also
from the two other forms of i-voting—namely poll site and kiosk. The latter allow
voters to cast their ballots via the internet, but both types require the use of client
machines physically situated in official polling or public places. Remote i-voting is
the only method that allows voters to cast their ballots with the lowest participation
costs, via home, workplace, or public internet terminals (Hall, 2012, 2015). Thus,
from this point onwards we use the concept of i-voting as corresponding only to the
sub-type of remote i-voting, since the latter is the ‘truest’ form of internet voting.
Unfortunately, this method presents the greatest security risks (Goos et al., 2016,
p. 139). This shift thereby poses fundamental challenges for guaranteeing the key
role of elections for liberal representative democracy and its functioning. Thus, states
that use remote i-voting (and not poll site or kiosk) reacted to these challenges by
adopting targeted legal frameworks. In addition, various international organisations
produced guidelines and recommendations in cooperation with states.
Moreover, the process of adopting legal frameworks and guidelines by interna-
tional organisations and state institutions stemmed from a lively discussion on the
actual nature of i-voting. In this regard, in 2017 the Council of Europe updated its
i-voting recommendation, which was already a leading international reference in the
field, and the very definition of i-voting was modified. The first recommendation
(2004) defined internet and electronic voting as ‘an e-election or e-referendum that
involves the use of electronic means in at least the casting of the vote’ [Rec 2004
(11)]. In 2017, the same term (i-voting) was defined as ‘the use of electronic means
to cast and/or count the vote’ [Rec 2017(5)]. The Council of Europe has now aligned
with the definition used by OSCE/ODIHR in its handbook on how to observe and
monitor electronic voting mechanisms (Driza Maurer et al., 2014).
If a comparison is made between what is to be considered as i-voting and what is
not, the rationale behind the Council of Europe and OSCE/ODIHR’s approaches will
shed light on specific features of any i-voting mechanism, encompassing both on-site
and online voting systems. In this regard, the transparency of the process becomes
a key indicator. When digital means are used, both casting and counting ballots will
likely provide no evidence that can be understood by laymen unless compensatory
measures are implemented. On the other hand, steps that are not covered by the
institutional definitions referred to above deal with data that can be double-checked
and verified by any citizen. In offline elections, if a voter’s list contains errors, for
instance, citizens could report to election officials that their names have not been
duly considered; such complaints should take place before any electorally sensi-
tive activity (e.g. casting ballots) is undertaken. Similarly, scanners can be used for
results transmission, but the relevant information (i.e. electoral results) should have
been established beforehand in a way that can be understood by laymen. I-voting
mechanisms do not provide such a transparent approach and they struggle to comply
with the public nature of the elections. In i-voting, therefore, legal, operational and
technical aspects will have to be laid out in a particular way that may not feature in
similar technological devices or services (Maurer & Barrat, 2016). I-voting needs a
specific customisation to be fully compliant with basic legal and normative standards
for democratic elections.
Finally, it is worth recalling that i-voting applications within political parties
normally go beyond casting and/or counting ballots. There are other stages in the
processes for taking decisions on digital platforms that raise technical and legal
concerns and that affect crucial functions of parties. The definitions of i-voting
within parties mention at least both stages, casting and counting ballots, since they
are the ones that always raise concerns on how to verify performances in a trans-
parent manner, but an electronic voting solution may encompass other sensitive
functions too. Internet voting, which is used by most political parties when imple-
menting internal digital decision-making processes, includes, for instance, remote
voter authentication, which adds more complexity to a situation; this will require
strategies combining, among other factors, efficiency of the process and voter inclu-
siveness, but also accountability and legal compliance. In such cases, the design of
the authenticating infrastructure is also very important (Deseriis, 2020). That is why
we need to focus on the broader concept of the electoral cycle if we want to assess
the regulatory and technical challenges of such party internal digital affordances.
Accordingly, in the next section we explore the notion of the electoral cycle applied
to cyber elections.
3.3 How to Analyse the Process of i-Voting in States

and Parties on the Basis of the Electoral Cycle
The notion of the electoral cycle is often used for improving electoral assistance and
observation activities. According to the ACE Project, the electoral cycle is ‘a visual
planning and training tool designed to assist development agencies, electoral assis-
tance providers and electoral officials in partner countries to understand the cyclical
nature of the various challenges faced in electoral processes’ (Braun Binder et al.,
2018). Three chronological segments (i.e. pre-election, election and post-election)
cover all the tasks that electoral stakeholders need to undertake for a successful elec-
tion. Pre-election activities encompass voter register, training strategies or prelim-
inary logistics, among which staff recruitment and procurement play an important
role. The election period covers the nomination of candidates, the campaign, the
voting period as such or the transmission of results. Finally, post-election periods deal
with evaluation and follow-up activities that suggest recommendations for further
improvements. The electoral law will also be updated accordingly.
Such a methodology is crucial for a proper understanding of electronic voting
mechanisms because they have a direct impact on the whole electoral cycle. However,
many approaches prefer a limited point of view that just analyses what happens during
the election period. With this recurrent bias in mind, the following paragraphs are
intended firstly to identify how all three segments of the electoral cycle relate to
i-voting (these remarks mostly apply to remote i-voting, but in some aspects could
also concern poll site and kiosk i-voting). Secondly, the electoral cycle is also an
excellent starting point that allows for a deeper segmentation of certain electoral
tasks. Voting activities, for instance, belong to the election period, but they could
even be split into smaller steps (e.g. ballot-delivering, filling out ballots, casting)
that can be totally or partially digitalised by electronic voting mechanisms (Loeber,
2020). Such micro-targets are analysed below in detail. If we take firstly the broad
notion of the electoral cycle, it is easily established that all three segments contain
important tasks related to i-voting. Procurement or training are good examples from
the first stage (i.e. pre-election period), illustrating the importance of i-voting within
parties. I-voting is increasingly used by parties to select candidates, leaders and
electoral manifestos. This phase of ‘intra-party elections’ is part of the pre-selection
phase (see Fig. 3.1) and thus impacts directly on the subsequent official (national)
election.
Remote i-voting technology needs to be either purchased from private suppliers or
developed by in-house experts, but both options should be launched well in advance
of the election day (Loeber, 2020). I-voting procurement and implementation could
also cover more than one election cycle. Feasibility studies, which would consider
legal, operational and technical details, as well as comparative analysis, piloting
strategies, drafting of requirements and the certification procedure, would be carried
out together with the procurement. Although most of these tasks determine at this
Intra-Party Level:
Pre-elecƟon Intra-Party ElecƟon NaƟonal ElecƟon Post-elecƟon

NaƟonal Level:
Pre –elecƟon NaƟonal ElecƟon Post-elecƟon
Fig. 3.1 Election cycle phases for intra- and inter-party contests (timeline)
early stage how electronic voting will be implemented—and cannot be revised later—
pre-election periods are often neglected by monitoring activities. The longest inter-
national election observation missions, for instance, are deployed two months ahead
of the election day and, if electronic voting is used, the experts will likely realise
that many crucial steps for implementing such technology will have already been
completed. Similar reasoning may apply for domestic observers or even election
assistance projects.
Secondly, training follows similar criteria. Despite their role in an election, either
with or without i-voting, digital means alter traditional procedures, and a supple-
mentary effort is required to familiarise electoral staff and other stakeholders (e.g.
political parties, media or voters) with the technology. Reasonable timeframes are
also necessary; that is, training cannot be carried out in just a few weeks, or months,
ahead of the elections. Parties can play a key role here, as they can provide a training
opportunity for the new voting technologies. Pre-election periods are much more
important when i-voting is used than in traditional scenarios, and therefore analyt-
ical approaches should be customised accordingly. Greater importance should be
given to this stage.
Moreover, electoral cycles within political parties are heterogeneous and much
more informal than official electoral procedures. Political parties may decide to
launch public consultations to be held in a matter of a few days. Other more formalised
and longer processes would not be helpful for the political goals that the party intends
to achieve. Such features make it even more difficult for political parties using digital
technologies to undertake full consideration of pre-election periods. However, in
most cases, the ‘intra-party election phase’ coincides with the ‘pre-election phase’ at
the national level (see Fig. 3.1). Thus, while parties select their candidates, electoral
leaders and manifestos in intra-party settings, they are also getting ready for the inter-
party competition. The use of i-voting by parties in this phase can have a positive
effect on elections by preparing and training voters in the use of this new way of
casting a ballot and thus increase the level of trust and technological skills of voters.
However, if intra-party i-voting is seen as an undemocratic, manipulated, exces-
sively complex solution or/and is affected by major technical problems and scandals,
it can have a very negative effect on perception and the use and trust of i-voting in
state elections. This highlights the need to study the regulation of intra-party i-voting,
its adherence to democratic norms and what parties can learn from state-level regu-
lations that aim to ensure those democratic norms. Post-election periods also embed
particular tasks that raise new concerns when electronic voting mechanisms are
applied. Election dispute resolutions, for instance, cannot be addressed with criteria
that are valid for paper-based elections. Electoral authorities and courts need new
solutions that should be customised to the specific nature of electronic elections.
Having explored both pre- and post-election periods, consideration should also
be given to the changes that any i-voting solution makes to the core of any election,
i.e. casting and counting ballots. Beyond what is obvious (i.e. usage of electronic
applications for such activities), the real world provides a range of solutions that need
more nuances. Casting a ballot, for instance, may be split into different segments
that can be computerised either totally or partially. Such distinctions are important
for determining whether the technical solution in place should be considered as an

actual i-voting mechanism. They will also indicate the specific measures needed for
achieving full legal compliance.
All in all, i-voting solutions face a wide array of challenges. The voting process
cannot be properly understood just by referring to casting and/or counting in general.
Both terms encompass smaller segments deserving specific assessments that explain
how computerised means alter traditional procedures. In some cases, where a full
i-voting mechanism is not in place, and only some steps of the voting process are
digitalised -such as voters’ registration-, only certain i-voting requirements will be
needed. On the other hand, when remote i-voting systems are in place, which is the
common hypothesis for political parties, neither traditional ballot papers nor voting
receipts are normally available, and therefore the voting solution should seek to
compensate for such gaps. New i-voting technologies intend to address the challenge
through so-called end-to-end (E2E) verification tools.
Having detailed the main election cycle phases for intra- and inter-party contests,
in the next section we discuss the legal and technical requirements developed for
managing official elections that can also be applied for intra-party internet ballots.
3.4 Key Aspects of Democratic Norms Applying to i-Voting
As mentioned above, several countries have recently implemented internet voting

at the national, regional or local level, including Estonia, Norway, Canada, Spain,
France and Switzerland. In this perspective, the organisational practices of political
organisations have also evolved in the direction of greater digitalisation. Several
parties across Europe nowadays use online participation platforms or internet voting
tools to manage internal decision-making (Gerbaudo, 2019; Vaccari, 2013). For
parties and states alike, internet voting promises significant benefits, including
increased accessibility for the disabled and elderly, the prevention of voter errors
that lead to the invalidation of ballots, reductions in the cost of electoral administra-
tion, increased accuracy and speed in the tabulation of results and increased electoral
turnout (Dandoy, 2014; Serdült et al., 2015).
However, electronic and internet voting at both state and party levels also come
with unique challenges in terms of regulation and for guaranteeing electoral integrity.
This section outlines the way internet voting is (and should be) regulated within
parties and states in order to manage and control as effectively as possible the impli-
cations for electoral administration, and, more generally, provides suggestions for
the successful implementation of internet voting. Specifically, the section identi-
fies best practices among legal standards developed by states for regulating i-voting
affordances for official elections and then discusses their application to intra-party
i-voting. To do so, the chapter proposes an analytical framework based on an elec-
toral cycles perspective. The chapter aims to answer two research questions: what
are the main technical and legal standards that electoral management bodies uphold
in official remote internet elections? And which of these standards can be applied to
remote internet voting within parties?4
Whereas some states have developed strict rules on how to regulate and govern
the use of internet devices in electoral affairs, remote online voting or referendums,
the extent to which such regulations also exist to govern i-ballots within political
parties is not clear. In order to address these questions, this section offers a theoret-
ical discussion of the democratic norms (participation, representation, competive-
ness, responsiveness and transparency) and technical aspects (security, verification
process, data ownership and control) that need to be considered by both parties and
states to achieve democratic and valid e-decision-making. In Sect. 3.5, the chapter
explores how i-voting is regulated in a sample of countries using i-voting in official
elections at various government levels and the extent to which they respect democratic
norms and incorporate technical aspects.
This is relevant because scientific research on i-voting has been prolific, especially
in recent years (Goos et al., 2016). However, most of these works approach i-voting
from a technical and technological standpoint (see, for instance, the large literature
on security and cryptography in e- and i-voting processes). Only a small share of the
research focuses on the users (i.e. the voters) and on the institutional and political
dimensions of this phenomenon. This gap in the literature is even more relevant when
we take into account the fact that the use of i-voting affordances within parties is
rapidly increasing. In Tables 3.1 and 3.2, therefore, we briefly outline an analytical
framework for studying the regulatory and technical standards of i-voting, at both
state and intra-party levels. Please refer to Chap. 5 for a more in-depth analysis of
how to apply the framework to political parties.
Many scholars have provided lists of democratic features that i-voting systems
should respect (Barrat i Esteve 2005; Barrat i Esteve et al. 2012; Driza-Maurer and
Barrat i Esteve 2016). Here we select five democratic norms that are most often listed
in the context of party politics and democracy (Kersting, 2012; Kersting & Balder-
sheim, 2004; Rahat & Shapira, 2017). Therefore, we focus on the norms relating
to participation, representation, competiveness, transparency and responsiveness for
managing online decision-making processes. On the basis of the rich literature on
technical standards for i-voting (see for instance: Beroggi, 2014; Siddiquee, 2016),
we have selected four main standards: security, verification process, data ownership
and control over the overall electoral process. Tables 3.1 and 3.2 below detail each
democratic or technical dimension to be analysed further empirically, provide a brief
definition of each dimension, and also discuss their individual impact for represen-
tative democracy processes. Further, for each dimension, the legal measures usually
adopted for maintaining each standard are outlined, as well as the potential opera-
tionalisation of each dimension for empirical analysis. In Sect. 3.5 of this chapter,
the analytical framework is tentatively applied to two empirical cases of official elec-
tions, in Estonia and Switzerland. Finally, in Chap. 4 of this edited volume, the same
4 The reader can refer to Chap. 4 of this edited book for a more in-depth application of this framework
for parties as units of analysis.
Table 3.1 Democratic norms for i-voting
52
Democratic Definition (i-voting context) Impact Legal measures Measurement

Dimension
Participation Actions to influence political Affects the degree of • Clear definition of electorate • Turnout ratios
decision-making inclusiveness and accessibility • Voting limited to eligible
of intra- and inter-party voters only
electoral processes • Provisions for voters with
less technical know-how
and from areas with no or
poor internet access
• Detailed information
materials provided to all
voters about process
Representation Elected officials, chosen by Affects the capacity of Measures to increase voting • Turnout ratios
universal, equal, free, secret and representatives to be access for underrepresented • Characteristics of electorate of
direct suffrage, represent groups socio-economically close to groups (young voters, women, i-ballots compared to
of citizens those whom they represent voters with disabilities) traditional paper/non-digital
(gender, age, socio-economic ballots
status, etc.)
Competiveness Number of candidates that • Allows for real political • Clear candidacy rules • Number of candidates
compete and the vote margin choice by voters • Limits to veto rights competing
between the top two candidates • Allows for new and • Equality in allocation of • Margin between the top two
innovative forces to emerge financial resources among candidates
and revitalise the party/party competing units • Number of preference votes
system
• Reduces the potential of
coercion of i-voters
(continued)
F. von Nostitz et al.
Table 3.1 (continued)
Democratic Definition (i-voting context) Impact Legal measures Measurement
Dimension
Transparency (and Mechanisms by which public • Allows verification of the • Mandatory use of open • Formal reports by impartial
accountability) officials can be held responsible accuracy of the i-voting source software auditors
for their actions and to link process • Mandatory use of • Feedback on open source
public policies back to deciders. • Guarantees the legitimacy of independent audit of each software
Transparency requires that all the results of the digital i-ballot • Press reporting on the i-votes
steps of the electoral process are ballots
advertised to the public • Ensures trust and acceptance
of i-voting as a democratic
and legitimate method
Responsiveness The capacity of elected Allows verification that • No legal rule can directly Difficult to empirically assess,
representatives to respond to the representatives’ actions and ensure responsiveness of the especially at intra-party level
preferences of citizens and to policies represent the process
shape their role as delegates or preferences of the voters • Ensured by effective
trustees implementation of the other
3 Regulating i-Voting Within Countries and Parties
factors
53
Table 3.2 Technical standards for i-voting

Technical Definition Impact Legal measures Measurement
Aspects
Security Minimisation of Allows smooth • Minimum legal Degree of
risk of attacks by operation of requirement for compliance
viruses/external i-voting processes website or with legal
actors and the and democratic digital-voting requirements
possibility of vote norms of i-voting platform security
manipulation • Mandatory use of
open source
software
Verification Technology and Allows • Voters’ ID Degree of
process and processes ensuring implementation of verification compliance
secrecy that only those democratic • Requirement of with legal
voters eligible to standards of strict verification requirements
cast a vote in the i-voting regarding in all the steps of
election could representation and the process
participate participation (voting,
registration,
tabulation)
• Requirement of
effective
encryption
methods
Data Technology and Allows • Clear and Degree of
ownership processes ensuring implementation of detailed rules on compliance
that privacy democratic data management legal
protection is standards of • Mandatory requirements
guaranteed, i-voting regarding compliance with
(public or transparency, national and
party) ownership electoral integrity international data
and secrecy of both and secrecy of the and privacy
voting technology vote protection laws
and resulting data
Control Legal, technical Allows • Mandatory use of Degree of
and administrative implementation of end-to-end compliance
control over: democratic verifiability with legal
server, software, standards of schemes which requirements
process, i-voting regarding make it harder to
encryption transparency and tamper with the
accountability elections
• Independent
election
management body
analytical framework is discussed and applied to a selection of empirical cases of

parties using i-voting affordances.
3.5 Practices of i-Voting at National Level
Having outlined what parties can do online, the disadvantages and advantages of
doing so, and finally the democratic norms and technical requirements they need to
consider, this section outlines how i-voting is currently regulated at national level and
the extent to which these regulations can be transferred into the intra-party context.
We do so by discussing regulations in two real cases of i-voting usage: Estonia and
Switzerland. For each case, the chapter provides a short overview and then focuses on
the national legal regulations governing the i-voting process. The empirical material
for these case studies mainly stems from legal texts, expert reports by the OSCE,
literature research and newspaper articles and online governmental information. The
cases presented reflect the state of affairs in both empirical and legal terms on i-voting
in Estonia and Switzerland up to the end of 2019. We also link the discussion to the
democratic norms and technical aspects outlined above. It is important to stress in
advance that neither Estonia nor Switzerland has fully replaced traditional voting
methods (polling station and postal vote) with i-voting. Thus, i-voting is seen for
now more as a complementary method rather than as an alternative to traditional
paper ballots.
3.5.1 Estonia
Estonia is the first country in Europe to allow remote internet voting on a national
scale, and it has even legislated internet access as a social right (Trechsel, 2007,
p. 9). Legally, i-voting was adopted in 2002, was first used in the 2005 municipal
elections and then extended to other elections, and is now a permanent feature of
Estonian elections. The key motivation to adopt i-voting was to increase accessibility
by providing a new voting method. The expectation was that a simplified and more
convenient method would lead to an increased turnout and could reduce feelings of
political alienation especially among Estonia’s young voters (Madise & Martens,
2006).
3.5.1.1 Regulations
The adoption of i-voting was underpinned by a supportive political culture and well-
developed legal structure and framework regulating the development of digital-voting
infrastructures. The Digital Signature Act in 2002 marked the start of i-voting regula-
tions in Estonia. It approved the use of digital signatures to confirm voters’ identity in
i-voting and for this purpose introduced ID cards with an embedded digital certificate.
Subsequent regulation approved the application of i-voting to all types of Estonian
elections and outlined the electoral process governance. These laws established the i-
voting timeline, the authentication process and the process for merging and counting
all ballots after the election (Goodman et al., 2010).
In addition, the various laws introduced the following principles of i-voting:
providing reliable, secure and accountable methods of counting, ensuring simplicity
for electors, provisions for experts to audit the system, uniform and secure ballots,
access to e-vote for all voters and one vote per voter (Maaten, 2004). The last two
aspects might sound obvious, but Estonian law allows i-voters to change their elec-
tronic ballot any number of times during the i-voting period.5 In both cases, only the
final ballot counts and previous e-ballots are deleted (Alvarez et al., 2009; Madise
& Martens, 2006). This regulation was brought before the Supreme Court based on
the argument that it constitutionally violated the principle of uniformity that each
citizen has the right to vote once and in a similar manner (Goodman et al., 2010).
Nevertheless, the court upheld the legislation arguing that, ultimately, voters still
only cast one ballot and e-voters had the same effect on the final results as any other
voter (Madise & Martens, 2006).
3.5.1.2 Democratic Norms
It can be seen that a developed and detailed regulatory framework of i-voting does
exist in Estonia, intended to ensure that i-voting adheres to and strengthens demo-
cratic norms. A central democratic norm is participation. We look here at both access
to and use of i-voting. With regard to the first, Estonia has a high degree of internet
penetration with 53% of all Estonian households owning a computer, of which
89% are connected to the internet (Alvarez et al., 2009; Estonian National Elec-
toral Committee, 2009). For those who wish to use i-voting but have no computer or
internet access, there are public access terminals (55 terminals per 100,000 citizens)
(Alvarez et al., 2009; Madise & Martens, 2006).
With regard to the use of i-voting, the share of votes that have been cast using the
i-voting method increased with almost each election. Whereas only 1.9% of votes
used i-voting in the 2005 local elections, for the 2009 European Parliament elections
this rose to 14.7% (Estonian National Electoral Committee, 2009). For the national
elections, the same picture emerges: in 2007, 5.4% of votes were cast online, and
this increased to 30% in 2015 (Riemann, 2017) and to even higher rates in 2019
(OSCE/ODIHR, 2019a).
This positive trend is also visible in the overall turnout, with parliamentary elec-
tions’ turnout increasing from 58.2% in 2003 to 61.9% in 2007 and then to 64.2%
5 Electronic voting stops 24 h before the election day, and e-voters will not be able to go to a polling
station and use ballot papers. On the other hand, what is true is that citizens can use both advanced
paper-based voting and internet voting, which allows for multiple voting. The last i-vote or, if it
is the case, the advanced paper-based vote, which could have been cast before any i-vote, will be
retained as valid.
in 2015 (ParlGov database—Döring & Manow, 2018). For EP elections, the turnout
initially increased from 26.8% (2004) to 43.9% (2009), but dropped again in 2014
to 36.5% (ParlGov database—Döring & Manow, 2018). Turnout in local elections
also improved (Estonian National Electoral Committee, 2009). Survey data further
confirm this positive effect of i-voting, with 20% of e-voters in 2005 reporting that
without i-voting they would have abstained, and 11% in 2007 stating that they ‘prob-
ably wouldn’t have’ or ‘for sure wouldn’t have’ voted if not for i-voting (Goodman
et al., 2010). Thus, overall, i-voting seems to have a positive impact on participation
in Estonia.
The next democratic norm to consider is representation. Here the question is
who is using the i-voting affordances and is thus more likely to be represented.
While this might be less of a problem as long as other forms of voting co-exist, if
a country or party decides to adopt only i-voting it is important to assess how this
could generate negative externalities and thus result in electoral disadvantages and
under- or over-representation of certain groups of society.
A study by Alvarez et al. (2009, p. 501) showed no left/right political bias among
Estonian i-voters. Further research found that the system is neutral with respect
to many socio-economic factors such as income, education, gender and geography
(Goodman et al., 2010). For example, Alvarez et al. (2009) surprisingly found that
the highest levels of usage of i-voting were among those aged 18–44 and again
those 60 and older. However, not surprisingly, electors who choose to vote using
i-voting affordances have better computer knowledge. The most problematic aspect
with regard to representation and i-voting is that it is only available in Estonian
(the official language), thus excluding the very large Russian-speaking minority in
Estonia and leading to low use of i-voting among this group (Alvarez et al., 2009).
Nevertheless, overall it appears that i-voting does not trigger undemocratic biases
due to socio-economic factors or the digital divide.
Another factor that might undermine representation is potential coercion and the
lower level of privacy of voters in remote i-voting systems. In order to mitigate these
aspects, Estonian law provides the possibility for i-voters to change their vote as
many times as they like as long as the online polls are open. Also, voters can still
vote by paper ballot on election day, thus disqualifying their previous electronic
ballot (Maaten, 2004). This measure should mitigate the risk of vote-buying and
ensure greater voter secrecy (Madise & Martens, 2006).
The last norms to look at are transparency and accountability. They allow the
independent verification of electoral integrity. The central question here is the extent
to which existing i-voting regulations are sufficient to detect fraud and to protect the
privacy of voters, which might be more complicated in remote i-voting compared to
voting at polling stations. This requires reliable external control bodies. If regulations
are not thorough or effective enough, i-voting might negatively affect the legitimacy
of this voting method and the election in general.
According to the OSCE report (2019a, p. 4), the 2017 amendments to the Election
Act mean that elections are managed by a dedicated electoral management body, the
National Electoral Committee (NEC), as well as a network of election managers and
polling staff, led by the State Electoral Office (SEO). The NEC is an autonomous
body responsible for overall electoral management, including decisions to supple-

ment the legal framework, manage candidate registration, consider complaints and
validate election results. The SEO, which was established in 2017, leads the executive
branch of the election administration and is in charge of all operational preparations
and the conduct of elections. Its responsibilities include the supervision and training
of election officials and the organisation of internet voting. This means that elec-
tion technology is owned and implemented by a public, independent body, which is
required to be transparent in its functioning and is at least to some extent account-
able to citizens. Transparency and accountability are further enhanced by involving
additional actors in the process. For example, the 2017 reform of the Election Act
requires 79 city and rural municipality secretaries to manage the preparations of
elections at municipal and city levels (OSCE, 2019a, p. 4).
In addition, 451 Voting District Committees (VDCs) organise elections at the
polling-station level. However, the operations of collecting and securing internet
votes have been outsourced to the state Information System Authority (RIA) and to
the Registration Service operated by a private company (OSCE, 2019a, p. 8). This
means that at least part of the electoral management process is in the hands of a private
actor. From 2017 onwards, election observation provisions were further liberalised
with the Election Act explicitly stating that election observation is open to everyone,
without prior accreditation requirements. Despite this, the 2019 OSCE report clearly
outlines some shortcomings in regard to these democratic norms: ‘The technolog-
ical specifications accompanying the legal framework could define acceptable voting
systems in more general terms, but include additional requirements related to crypto-
graphic strength, quality assurance, software development and deployment, as well
as accountability and verifiability’ (p. 9). Nevertheless, the OSCE concludes that the
Estonian election administration enjoys broad trust among stakeholders, is known
for the openness of its election officials, and it has an established reputation of being
independent, professional and pro-active.
3.5.1.3 Technical Aspects
The key technical aspect of the Estonian model is its digital identification system
(Alvarez et al., 2009). It provides voters with a unique personal identification number
and allows e- signatures. In the past, this was only possible with an ID card that can be
used at home with a smart card reader or at one of the public access terminals (Alvarez
et al., 2009; Madise & Martens, 2006). Today, voters can use a ‘mobile ID or digital
identity document with valid certificates and PIN codes’ (https://e-estonia.com/sol
utions/e-identity). This system provides verification throughout the entire voting
process. Once the voter provides their details, it displays the list of candidates based
on the elector’s personal identification number. Once the voter completes the ballot,
it is encrypted and the voter confirms the choice with a digital signature and receives
confirmation that the vote has been recorded (Estonian National Electoral Committee,
2009). A cast-as-intended verification method has also been implemented recently.
When the votes are counted, the digital signature is removed and only the anonymous
encrypted vote is placed in the ballot box. This method is similar to the ‘double
envelope scheme’ often used in postal voting.
Nevertheless, this shared verification process between voters and the state initially
resulted in some obstacles to i-voting. As Maaten (2004) outlined, approximately
20% of Estonians did not have an identity card and so had no access to i-voting.
Further, even with an identity card, citizens had to have a smart card reader, which
cost about e20 (Maaten, 2004). Today, voters can use multiple identification methods
that require a physical ID card or card reader. This has helped to increase the number
of voters using i-voting methods over time: whereas 14.7% of the participating
voters in the 2007 national election were i-voters, this proportion increased to 43.8%
in the 2019 national election (https://www.valimised.ee/en/archive/statistics-about-
internet-voting-estonia). Further, notwithstanding the already advanced verification
system, the method faced heavy criticism (Springall et al., 2014). In response, the
authorities improved the system further by providing cryptographic proofs that votes
were ‘counted as cast’ and ‘cast as intended’, allowing for further steps in verification.
Overall, the above discussion has shown that the detailed and extensive regulations
of the Estonian i-voting system intend to adhere to democratic norms, limit threats to
the digital electoral process, and uphold effective technical requirements. Therefore,
it is not surprising that the electors have a high degree of trust in remote electronic
voting (Alvarez et al., 2009) and that it has managed, to a certain extent, to engage
non-voters.
3.5.2 Switzerland
The Swiss i-voting system has a long history starting in 1998. A key role was played
by three pilot projects in the first half of the 2000s in Neuchâtel, Geneva and Zurich.
The positive evaluation of these projects in 2006 led to a gradual diffusion of the e-
vote systems. Until recently, this expansion had accelerated thanks to the experience
to date and the 2011 Roadmap Vote électronique (Maurer & Casanova, 2013a).
However, in the run-up to the 2019 election, one i-voting system after another was
withdrawn. Firstly, the Zurich platform did not manage to become re-certified after
new regulations were approved a couple of years ago. Secondly, Geneva decided
to stop the project mainly due to high costs. And in the case of Neuchatel and the
broader initiative launched by Scytl and SwissPost, these i-voting programmes are
subject to a moratorium due to technical pitfalls identified in spring 2019. In the end,
there was no scope for i-voting in 2019, and the future of i-voting is less certain than
it was just a year before.
Currently, the Federal Act on Political Rights and the Federal Decree on Political
Rights provide minimum legal standards for internet voting. They determine under
what conditions a maximum of 30% of the cantonal electorate, with no more than 10%
of all federal citizens, is allowed to use internet voting, and under what conditions a
maximum of 50% is allowed (with no more than 30% of the federal electorate). These
limits do not apply to Swiss citizens living abroad (OSCE, 2019b, p. 9). Given the
Fig. 3.2 Map of different

i-voting systems used in
Swiss Cantons (Maurer &
Casanova, 2013a, p. 5071)
federal organisation of Switzerland, it is not surprising that responsibilities are shared

between the national and cantonal levels. The electoral management responsibilities
are allocated to a multi-level governance network comprising a complex set of vertical
and horizontal connections between all state levels and private actors (Serdült et al.,
2015, p. 128). Due to the institutional heterogeneity of the cantons and from a security
perspective, it is not desirable to have one single i-voting system but multiple ones.
This led to the introduction of three different i-voting systems (Neuchâtel, Geneva
and Zurich) that spread to other cantons until their abrupt stop in 2019 (Fig. 3.2).
Due to limitations of space, it is not possible to discuss the three different types of i-
voting and their regulations here. Consequently, we decided to focus on the Geneva
model. Geneva conducted more e-elections than any other country or jurisdiction
where i-voting is possible (Alvarez et al., 2009). We also focus on this model because,
as Chevallier et al. (2006) or Braun Binder et al. (2019) pointed out, the Geneva
model inspired other i-voting systems across different cantons and it has been in
place for a long period. This facilitates an outline of the development and changes
in the technical design and legal regulations of i-voting over time, and makes it an
ideal case for identifying best practices. Similar to Estonia, the main motivations for
change were to strengthen the usability for electors and to increase turnout, which
was relatively low for an established democracy, i.e. around 50% (Auer & Trechsel,
2001). Additionally, the i-voting system was seen as a way to facilitate a higher
participation of the large proportion of Swiss citizens living abroad (580,000 from a
total of 7 million at the time—Maurer and Casanova 2013a).
3.5.2.1 Regulations
In 1998, the Swiss e-government project introduced the possibility of i-voting for
the first time. In 2002, the parliament passed a law that allowed for remote internet-
voting trials (Chevallier, 2009), which were initiated in three of the most urbanised
cantons (Neuchâtel, Geneva and Zurich). The legal basis for this was established
with an amendment to the 1976 federal law on political rights (Braun & Brändli,
2006). The success of these initial trials led the federal government to adopt a bill in
2008 allowing for i-voting throughout the country (République et Canton de Genève,
2009).
At the cantonal level, Geneva used a law passed in 1982 that legally enabled
the canton to experiment with voting methods. Under this regulation and later in
combination with the 2002 national law, Geneva started various e-decision-making
trials in 2001. These were initially restricted to participation in referendums, but
later extended to elections resulting in eight official online ballots between 2003
and 2005 (Chevallier et al., 2006; Kies & Trechsel, 2001). Geneva relied on this
provision to use and develop i-voting until the parliament (June 2008) and the citi-
zens (February 2009) approved a constitutional amendment that permitted internet
voting (Chevallier, 2009; Chevallier et al., 2006). The already existing centralised
and computerised voters’ lists, the Swiss experience with direct democracy, and its
‘soft’ approach to voter secrecy (République et Canton de Genève, 2009) further
facilitated the insertion of i-voting into Swiss law and its general success.
3.5.2.2 Democratic Norms
The next aspect to discuss is the extent to which Swiss i-voting adheres to the demo-
cratic norms outlined above. In terms of participation and access, 55% of Swiss
households have internet access and survey data showed that two-thirds of internet
users wished they could vote online (Goodman et al., 2010, p. 37). However, there is
currently a legal limit on the share of i-votes permitted at national and cantonal levels
(OSCE, 2019b, p. 9). This reduces access and might also lower the participation of
individuals who would be motivated to participate only through i-voting.
The second norm is representation. If certain groups use i-voting more than others,
and if i-voting is used exclusively, they might be over-represented. A study by the
République et Canton de Genève (2009) revealed that i-voting is mainly used by
voters under 50 and with greater education and income levels. Nevertheless, the
same study points out that there is no digital divide with respect to education or
gender, but only in terms of age and internet competence. The 2009 study also found
that 12–27% of online voters previously described themselves as being frequent
abstainers, particularly among electors aged between 18 and 39 years old. Thus,
i-voting can have a positive effect both on the participation and representation of
young voters, and consequently lead to better representation of certain groups.
The last democratic norms to consider here are transparency and accountability.
In order to respect norms of transparency, every Swiss citizen normally has the right
to attend ballot-counting at his or her polling station. However, this is more compli-
cated in the case of centralised ‘e-ballot boxes’. For now, creating a new method
of providing electoral oversight by allowing representatives selected by political
parties and the public in general to oversee the counting of e-ballots might solve this
problem. In this regard, the e-voting systems in use must comply with the defined
security measures and be evaluated by an independent body (Ordinance on Political
Rights, Art. 27 k ff.)
3.5.2.3 Technical Aspects
In order to participate in an election, Swiss voters based in Geneva receive a voting

card. Each card contains a unique 16-digit number designating the particular election,
a 4-digit control key and a secret 6-digit code that is concealed under a scratch-away
opaque layer (Chevallier et al., 2006, p. 439). These codes allow for i-voting and are
used at the various steps of the verification process. First, the voters need to provide
the 16-digit code online, and once verified by the server the system sends back the
4-digit key to the elector as self-authentication. This establishes a secure connec-
tion between the elector’s computer and the server facilitating the vote (Chevallier
et al., 2006; République et Canton de Genève, 2009). The website then displays the
electronic ballot for the voter to complete.
At the end, the choice is presented to the voter for confirmation, rejection or
modification. In order to complete the voting process, the elector needs to provide
his or her date of birth, municipality of origin and the 6-digit secret code printed
on the voting card. The vote is then authenticated and the voter receives electronic
confirmation that a ballot has been cast (Chevallier et al., 2006). Similar to the
Estonian case, the voting process implements verification at various steps to ensure
that only eligible electors voted, that votes were correctly cast and that votes were
correctly recorded. All these steps increase the security and democratic legitimacy of
the i-voting process. The advantage of this method compared to the initial Estonian
one is that from the start it did not use digital signatures or require an additional
e-card reader to vote online. In order to further increase the security of the e-vote
before opening the ‘e-ballot box’, all votes are mixed so they do not correspond with
the order in the voter registry.
The key lesson from the Swiss case is the step-by-step approach used to develop
and implement the i-voting system in which both the stakes of the vote and the
number of potential voters were progressively increased (Chevallier et al., 2006:
439). This strategy allowed all stakeholders to spot problems early and to improve
the system both in terms of technical aspects and adherence to democratic norms.
The multidisciplinary team in charge of developing the system further intended to
ensure that legal, political, security and technical issues were taken into consideration
(Chevallier et al., 2006). These features and the careful design of regulations make
the Swiss i-voting system a useful case study from which parties can learn.
3.6 Conclusions
The aim of this chapter has been to present a new innovative endeavour bridging
previous literature on digital politics and the regulation of national i-voting and
intra-party e-decision-making. By doing so, the chapter contributes to the theoretical
and empirical understanding of the relatively new concept of political organisation
in the digital era and how new ICT affects both the internal and external functions of
parties, both as electoral actors and as membership organisations. In order to do this,
the chapter started by defining the type of i-voting to be studied, focusing on remote
internet voting that allows voters to ‘cast a ballot remotely over the Internet and
during more than a few hours on or before voting day without supervision by official
authorities’ (Goos et al., 2016, p. 138). Next, the chapter outlined the democratic
norms that parties and states need to adhere to and the technical requirements to
consider, particularly the creation of effective verification processes, when using
e-decision-making and voting. Starting from the party organisational literature, we
selected five democratic norms that are most often listed in the context of party
politics and in relation to intra-party democracy (Rahat & Shapira, 2017).
Therefore, we focused on the norms relating to participation, representation,
competiveness, transparency and responsiveness for managing online decision-
making processes. This section also outlined the four technical aspects covered in this
chapter: (i) technical rules and standards for guaranteeing the security of the voting
process, (ii) technical rules and standards for guaranteeing voters’ ID verification and
secrecy/privacy protection, (iii) technical rules and standards for guaranteeing control
over server, software, process and encryption and (iv) technical rules and standards
over data ownership and secrecy. The empirical part outlined how both Switzerland
and Estonia have put in place regulations and procedures to adhere to the democratic
norms, fulfil the technical requirements and manage the challenges, mainly technical
in nature, that emerge from i-voting. It outlined lessons that could be learned from the
two best-practice cases for other countries and especially for political parties in terms
of regulations and practices for the successful use of e-decision-making process.
The chapter clearly showed that there is a need for a legal framework requiring
and supporting the respect of democratic norms and effective technical requirements.
The Estonian and Swiss examples of legal frameworks and regulations could be
used as a template for stringent intra-party regulations on i-voting by other countries
currently using i-voting in official elections. In order to make sure that intra-party
e-ballots are effectively regulated, beyond the general rules stated in the EU General
Data Protection Regulation (2016/679), it might be necessary to adopt state laws
requiring parties to have such internal regulations and perhaps even impose certain
minimum public standards on parties for i-voting process management. The extent
to which parties have already adopted good regulations that adhere to democratic
norms and technical standards concerning i-voting is discussed in Chap. 5 of this
volume.
As mentioned above, there is no no-risk solution, but risks can be limited with care-
fully designed regulations. Whereas internet and ICT presently play only a limited
role in decision-making within countries and even less within parties, one can expect
that—similar to the use of ICT for other state and party activities—it is most likely to
spread in the years to come. This is crucial, as ineffective types of regulation might
undermine the potentially positive and empowering nature of these new methods of
involving members and supporters in party decision-making processes (Gibson &
Ward, 2009). Furthermore, insufficient regulation of intra-party e-decision-making
processes might have negative consequences for the parties not only as membership
organisations, but also as electoral actors, and for the decision-making process as a
whole within representative democracy.
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Chapter 4
Studying Digital Parties: Methods,
Challenges and Responses
Katharine Dommett and Sam Power
Abstract Digital technology is becoming an increasingly familiar part of the land-

scape of party politics, but to date few scholars have directly considered methodolog-
ical questions about how we study digital parties. In this chapter, we address this gap,
asking: ‘how can digital parties be studied, and what barriers do researchers need
to overcome?’ Drawing insights from a wide range of existing literature devoted to
party scholarship, we consider available methods and reflect on how digital parties
can be examined. Highlighting a current interest in their classification, as well as
studies of their intentions, practices and implications, we consider the utility of
diverse methodologies that can be implemented in this field. We also outline a range
of challenges—from the rapid pace of change this field encompasses, the scale of
the research which often needs to be undertaken and issues surrounding access and
competency—and how these can be overcome.
Keywords Methodology · Study of parties · Challenges
4.1 Introduction
The study of political parties has a long and industrious history. Around the globe,
academics have mapped party organisation and structures (see, e.g., Katz & Mair,
1995; Scarrow, 2015), offered insights into parties’ strategic thinking and rationale
(see, e.g., Lipset & Rokkan, 1967; Meguid, 2008) and traced electoral successes and
failures. These insights have been gathered using interviews, ethnographies, survey
analysis and scrutiny of official records (Faucher-King, 2005; Katz & Mair, 1992;
Scarrow et al., 2017). Such methods have served scholars of party politics well, but
K. Dommett (B)
University of Sheffield, Sheffield, UK
e-mail: k.dommett@sheffield.ac.uk
S. Power
University of Sussex, Brighton, UK
e-mail: S.D.Power@sussex.ac.uk

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-78668-7_4
68 K. Dommett and S. Power
as parties have embraced digital technology, questions have emerged about how best
to study digital parties.
In this chapter, we engage with the question of method, focusing on how digital
parties can be studied and the barriers that researchers need to overcome. These
questions are particularly important, because it is not always obvious how a study of
digital practices should proceed. Whilst many established methods can be deployed
to study practices online, there are some aspects of digital parties that appear to
require different methodological approaches. In addressing this situation, we discuss
the methods available for conducting research in line with Fitzpatrick’s ‘5-Pillar
Model’, thinking about the type of analysis that scholars may wish to pursue. We
then outline existing studies that adopt different methods, offering illustrations of how
this analysis could be done. Following this, we discuss the challenges that scholars
of digital parties confront and consider how these may be overcome. Throughout this
discussion, we therefore outline possible avenues for analysis and consider the varied
competencies that we may need. These insights will be valuable to those studying the
emergence of new, inherently digital parties, and those who study more established
parties that are (to varying degrees) adapting to the rise of digital technology.
4.2 How Have Parties Traditionally Been Studied?
The study of party politics is one of the most enduring in contemporary political
science. It is a topic that has been studied in many different ways, but which is
nevertheless tied to a relatively consistent toolkit of methods. In introducing these
methods, it is illustrative to look at the contents of the very first issue of Party
Politics published in 1995. This journal—the first to focus exclusively on political
parties—has been host to leading scholarship on this topic. The first issue contains
many methods and approaches that have since become common. They include a
(re)visitation of May’s Law of Curvilinear Disparity (1973) based on surveys of
politicians, local constituency officers, party members and voters at the 1992 United
Kingdom General Election (Norris, 1995); an expert survey to better understand how
political parties operationalise and understand the terms ‘left’ and ‘right’ (Huber &
Inglehart, 1995); and the introduction of a new data set/approach to better understand
party organisation (Appleton & Ward, 1995). Whilst a range of methods has been
adopted beyond this (such as content and discourse analyses), for the sake of brevity
we have identified four approaches that are commonly found: the survey, analysis of
party records, interviews and ethnographies.
Survey analysis remains one of the most prevalent forms of (party) political study.
For example, those interested in political party membership and in ascertaining
exactly who joins a party, why they do it and what kind of benefits they provide
often do their research via surveys of members (see, e.g., Seyd & Whiteley, 1992;
Cross & Young, 2008; Poletti et al., 2018). Many other surveys are long-running and
gather data on public opinion at the local or national level, with examples including
the British Election Study (see Johnston et al., 2007; Campbell & Childs, 2015;
4 Studying Digital Parties: Methods, Challenges and Responses 69
Green, 2015; Evans & Mellon, 2019) and the American National Election Survey
(see Beck & Heidemann, 2014; Dinas, 2014; Jacobson, 2019). Others gather data
on the international level, with studies such as Eurobarometer and the World Values
Survey, or the Members and Activists of Political Parties (MAPP) project, asking
common questions in multiple jurisdictions.1 Longitudinal studies of these kinds are
of particular value in allowing scholars to study trends over time, offering valuable
insight into, for example, levels of citizen trust in parties (Keele, 2005). Another form
of survey, that of experts, is also often used to offer additional insights, with scholars
studying electoral integrity (as seen in the Electoral Integrity Project) and partisan
effects of Brexit in Europe (Taggart & Sczcerbiak, 2018). Expert surveys offer a quick
and easy means to identify and measure partisan preferences and perceptions—and
carry with them the authoritative weight of the expert—yet they are not without their
detractors (see, e.g., Budge, 2000).
Political parties have also been studied by collating data from various party
records. Most recently, this was undertaken by Scarrow et al. (2017) as part of their
Political Party Database (PPDB) project. This research took inspiration from Katz
and Mair’s pioneering handbook (1992) and gathered data on 122 political parties
in 19 democracies using a team of country-level experts (Scarrow & Webb, 2017).
Other scholars have sought to extend this database to produce an ‘online database
of political parties worldwide’ titled ‘Party Facts’ (Döring & Regel, 2019). The use
of official party records can also be more localised and micro-scale. For example,
we (Dommett & Power, 2019) have previously used official party spending returns
submitted to the UK Electoral Commission to study digital campaign spend on Face-
book. Other work has also used ‘grey literature’ (i.e. documents of historical record)
to understand how and why certain decisions were made (Robinson, 2012; Watts,
2018; see also Theis, 2002).
In addition to often quantitative and comparative analyses of parties, a wealth
of studies utilises or ‘rediscovers’ (see Vromen, 2017) qualitative methods. The
toolkit of methods deployed here is wide, but they have highlighted intricacies in
partisan politics that the (necessarily) broader quantitative work might miss (see,
e.g., Evans, 1979; Lovenduski, 2005). Elite interviews have therefore been used to
understand democratic partisan processes (Vromen & Gauja, 2009); decisions made
around political party financing (Power, 2017, 2020); the effect of membership surges
on party organisation (Garland, 2017); and changes in migration policy (Conster-
dine, 2018). Furthermore, ethnographies have thrown light onto other party political
processes such as party conferences (Faucher-King, 2005) or political campaigning
(Nielsen, 2012).
As well as being deployed in isolation, these methods are also often combined.
This ‘mixed-methods’ approach allows scholars to combine breadth and depth,
offering nuanced insight into the way that parties work. Recent examples include
McMenamin’s (2013) detailed investigation into why businesses contribute to polit-
ical parties, Ford and Goodwin’s (2014) work outlining the drivers of United
1 These surveys often do not focus exclusively on parties, but they contain many questions that
scholars of party politics use.
Kingdom Independence Party support and Annesley et al.’s (2019) cross-national

study of the gendered processes behind cabinet formation.
Looking back over the history of the study of parties, then, it is possible to identify
a range of different methods that have offered insights into the way parties work. And
yet, as scholars begin to study the emergence of new, inherently digital parties and
explore how established parties are adapting to digital, it is not clear how suitable
these methods are or whether alternative approaches are required.
4.3 Methods for Studying Digital Parties
For scholars interested in digital parties, many of the methodologies and approaches
outlined above are applicable when looking to study practices online. Indeed, scholars
have already shown how surveys (Gibson et al., 2017; Hansen & Kosiara-Pedersen,
2014; Lusoli & Ward, 2004), documentary analysis (Bimber, 2014), interviews
(Dommett et al., 2020; Kreiss et al., 2018; Penney, 2017), content analyses (Gibson,
2015; Van Selm et al., 2008) or a mix of these methods (Jungherr, 2016; Karlsen,
2009) can be used to offer insight into parties’ digital practices. However, whilst
many established methods can be employed to study practices online, it is important
to recognise that these are not the only available tools. In particular, recent studies
have shown scholars to be using computational methods such as data-scraping and
‘big data analysis’ to offer new forms of insight into parties’ behaviour online. It
has therefore become common for scholars to query the Application Programming
Interface (API) of social media companies to gather data on Twitter usage (Ceron
& d’Adda, 2016; Ramos-Serrano et al., 2018). And scholars such as Larsson (2016)
have used automated data collection services to gather data on platforms such as
Facebook. These examples show that new data collection techniques and methods
are being deployed to study different aspects of digital parties. At present, however,
there have been few attempts to outline and classify what is being done and which
approaches are available for scholars interested in studying this realm.
In seeking to address this gap, we argue that it is useful to think about the kind of
insights that a scholar of digital parties may be interested in generating when studying
each of Fitzpatrick’s five pillars. We do not, therefore, provide a list of available online
and offline methods and consider the merits of each. Instead, we consider the types
of insight that scholars may seek to generate, and discuss examples that showcase
how offline and online methods can be used to do so. This approach allows us to
consider the very different methods and approaches that can be used to gather data,
introducing readers to a range of alternatives and showing how these can be applied.
4.4 What to Study in Digital Parties?
The study of digital parties is, as indicated above, not uniform—a range of different
questions and objects of study can be of interest. As Fitzpatrick has shown,
scholars may wish to study party membership, leaders, policies, public image and/or
resources. Given these varied possible interests (and others besides), we argue that
it is useful to think about the different kinds of research activity that scholars of
digital parties may wish to carry out. With reference to leading studies in this area,
we use the discussion below to show how different methods and techniques can be
employed, providing an overview of what is possible.
In specifying the types of study that scholars of digital parties may wish to pursue,
we identify an interest in:
1. Classification
2. Intention
3. Practice
4. Implication.
These are applicable to each part of the ‘5-Pillar Model’ outlined in Fitzpatrick’s
earlier chapter.
Classification
The first activity scholars of digital parties may want to pursue is what we call
classification. This term is used to describe an interest in identifying and categorising
the way in which digital characterises party activities. Such analysis is important
because existing scholarship has shown that digital can inform parties’ activities in
different ways. As Gerbaudo (2019) has discussed, whilst many parties such as the
pirate parties, Podemos, Insoumise and Labour have embraced digital technology and
promised to ‘deliver a new politics supported by digital technology’ (p. 4), others have
not approached digital in this way. It is therefore possible to find examples of parties
that have adopted only a few digital tools or who use digital to exercise control
(rather than to promote participation) (Chadwick & Stromer-Galley, 2016). Such
variations suggest that it is important to map the way in which digital is being used
by parties, classifying differences in each pillar of the ‘5-Pillar Model’ to improve
our understanding of what is happening and how parties differ from one another.
A number of existing studies have sought to classify parties’ digital character-
istics. At the international level, Norris (2001) sought to map the extent to which
parties were online, using aggregate data and content analysis of 339 party websites
in 179 nations worldwide to provide comparative analysis. At a more localised level,
Casero-Ripollés et al. (2016) undertook a study of Podemos that sought to deter-
mine the extent to which old and new media were being used by the party. Their
approach saw the adoption of qualitative documentary analysis, wherein eight sources
(including website text and political speeches) were used to classify party practices.
Also focusing on European parties in Spain, and specifically the legacy of the 15 M
movement—and the extent to which political parties had been reinvented in the digital
age—Tormey and Feenstra (2015) used a mixed-method approach, combining anal-

ysis of in-depth interviews with content analysis of journalistic materials, websites,
Facebook pages and Twitter accounts. Elsewhere, scholars have focused on specific
aspects of party activity and their relationship to digital with Kefford (2019), for
example, using interview data to argue that two Australian parties can be classified
as exhibiting ‘stratarchical’ adoption of digital campaigning tools.
What appears from these examples is that scholars engaged in classification are
currently using established techniques, but are analysing data collected offline and
online. Content analysis of party websites and interviews has therefore been a pivotal
technique by which academics have aimed to classify and analyse trends online.
This demonstrates that, far from requiring entirely novel techniques, established
methods can be employed to study these developments. Nevertheless, it is apparent
that existing classificatory work is at present undeveloped. Whilst texts such as
Gerbaudo’s Digital Party (2019; see also 2020) trace party practices, there is as
yet no comprehensive framework by which to classify and compare parties’ digital
adoption practices—showing the need for more studies of this type.
Intention
In addition to classifying practice, scholars can also be interested in studying inten-
tions in digital parties with regard to each of the five pillars. By intentions, we
mean the objectives, aims and stated ideals of political actors within parties. Whilst
attention has often been focused on the motivations of party elites and representa-
tives (reflecting their power within party structures), intentions can also be observed
amongst grass-roots activists. A study of this type allows scholars to gather data on
perceptions of digital affordances and plans or aspirations for digital adoption. Such
insights can be used to explore the degree to which these objectives are shared
throughout party hierarchies and across different party organisations. They also
allow for researchers to ‘shift the focus away from institutions and organisations
and towards the analysis of impulses, emotions, identities and beliefs’, providing a
more holistic understanding of (digital) party activity (Chadwick, 2020, p. 2).
Intentions have often been the focus of scholarly analysis, and it is common to see
interviews and documentary analysis of official and unofficial or public and private
sources used to gain insights. These approaches are often distinguished by their
focus on what Schmidt terms communicative and coordinative discourse—whereby
communicative refers to discourse between ‘political actors and the public engaged
in presenting, contesting, deliberating, and legitimating those policy ideas’, and coor-
dinative captures discourse ‘among policy actors engaged in creating, deliberating,
arguing, bargaining, and reaching agreement on policies’ (2011, p. 115). Scholars
can therefore explore how intentions are expressed to different audiences and use this
approach to gain insight into what actors are prepared to say in different contexts.
Intentions for digital in the party realm have primarily been studied using qualita-
tive techniques. Lusoli and Ward (2004), for example, used a survey of party activists
in the UK to explore activists’ perception and use of new media, and to generate data
on the Internet’s potential for members’ participation and engagement. Elsewhere,
Dommett (2018) conducted interviews with party elites to determine the motivations
behind digital adoption with regard to activist participation. Others have adopted
more theoretical approaches. For example, Cardenal (2013) draws on rational choice
theory to explain why parties are not exploiting digital tools for political mobilisa-
tion. Highlighting the uncertain benefits and high costs that inform decision-making,
and the relevance of party characteristics for party behaviour, the study diagnoses
why certain types of party display the digital adoption practices they do.
These studies often require qualitative techniques in order to identify and explore
the thinking behind parties’ digital behaviour. They can be challenging to execute
because of issues of access—especially (as discussed further below) where digital
actors are scarce and difficult to identify. And yet, as digital becomes a more ubiq-
uitous tool used by party activists and not just elites, the range of actors available to
study begins to increase, facilitating this form of analysis.
Practice
Third, there is a focus on identifying the practice of digital parties. By this term, we
refer not to the study of intentions which spotlights stated objectives and goals (as
articulated in public and private), rather a study of practice looks at what it is that
parties actually do in regard to each of the 5 pillars. Previous work in this tradition
has used a range of methods, but it is perhaps here that there is most evidence of
scholars utilising tools from beyond the established social science toolkit.
Looking at methods familiar to social science, Baxter et al.’s (2011) study of
Internet use by parties in the 2010 UK General Election campaign used three methods
to gather data. They first analysed the content of party and candidate websites, second
traced the extent of parties’ social media adoption and finally monitored parties’
responsiveness to requests for information. This strategy was conducted in accor-
dance with a defined coding framework that assessed, amongst other things, whether
parties ‘provided opportunities for online interaction and debate’ (p. 467). Similarly,
Serazio (2018, p. 131) focused on a different kind of actor within party political
organisations altogether, using elite interviews with political consultants to outline
the ways in which ‘consultants seek to re-position political narratives from traditional
media formats to more pleasurable genres…by scripting campaigns and messages
with attentiveness to visual stunts, personal appearance, pop culture and social media
opportunities’. In a different way, Gerl et al. (2018) used an online survey to explore
why only some party members and supporters used digital mechanisms for intra-party
democracy.
However, in addition to these forms of study, scholars have also begun to integrate
and combine these methods with more computational techniques. Studies such as
Gibson et al.’s (2013) analysis of virtual grass-roots spaces and their relationship with
more formal party websites therefore used semi-structured interviews, qualitative
content analyses of three blog sites, audience/user statistics and hyperlink network
analysis. These techniques allowed the research team to map intentions and practices,
providing a range of insights.
The study of practice is therefore wide and can vary dramatically in scope. Whilst
some scholars will have an interest in parties’ internal adoption of digital tools,
others will focus on practices such as digital campaigning. Whilst the precise object
of analysis can vary, this form of scrutiny allows scholars to trace how digital is
actually used and (related to the last section) how this differs from intentions.
Implication
Finally, we argue that scholars interested in digital parties can also generate insights
into the implications of different practices. By implications, we mean the outcomes
(empirical and theoretical) that arise from digital parties’ existence or from the
specific digital activities that parties engage in within each pillar. Work on impli-
cations can run in two directions. A first tradition can look at the implications of
parties’ use of digital (on society, citizens, our understanding of parties), whilst a
second can look at the implication of digital for parties (studying how parties have
to react to developments online).
The first tradition is perhaps the more familiar, as a wealth of studies has sought
to map and theorise the implications of digital party practices. In this style, Følstad
et al. (2014) used interviews with 11 users of a political party website to explore their
views of website features in terms of information, engagement, mobilisation and
interaction. They sought to contribute ‘new understanding of how different features
of political party websites affect users’ experiences’, generating insights into the
implications of different practices. In a similar manner, Lee (2014) asked whether
constituency-level Web campaigns empowered local supporters. This study used
secondary survey data, content analysis of websites from one region of England
and semi-structured interviews to conclude that whilst campaigns are keen to adopt
new technology, they have eschewed the interactive potential of this technology.
Other studies have used experimental techniques to determine the impact of digital
practices. Kruikemeier et al. (2013), for example, conducted both a scenario-based
survey-embedded experiment and a laboratory experiment to test the effects of
personalised and interactive online political communication. Studies under this
heading can therefore focus on a wide range of questions and gather data for analysis
in many different ways—what is common is an interest in effects.
The second type of work looking at implications focuses instead on the impact
that digital has had on parties. Jensen (2017), for example, used his study to ask
whether ‘campaign supporters’ social media communications affect the communi-
cations of campaigns in some consequential manner’ (p. 24). To answer this, he used
computational methods to collect tweets and retweets from Twitter’s API, producing
a data set of 22,408 items. Account types were then coded as belonging to one of
four categories using natural language processing to match key words and phrases
and a random sample as a check to detect coding error. Using such methods, he was
able to find little evidence that Twitter was empowering supporters and affecting
parties’ behaviour. This alternative focus therefore gathers data on how parties are
being affected by changes beyond their control.
In presenting these four types of analysis, it is of course the case that many studies
can generate more than one type of data. Metz et al. (2019), for example, conducted a
quantitative content analysis of German parliamentary members’ Facebook posts—
which were gathered using the extracting tool Facepager. This data was used, first, to
classify and trace the professional, emotional, private self-personalisation practices
of politicians on Facebook and, second, to examine the effects of each strategy.

Insights were therefore provided at the level of practice and implications. What we
hope to have achieved by discussing available methods and approaches in this way is
to show the very different approaches, tools and techniques that can be used to study
the five pillars of parties’ digital activities. Rather than possessing a standard toolkit,
scholars of digital parties can utilise different approaches. In particular, within this
overview, we have discussed examples that use Web-scraping tools, natural language
(or advanced quantitative) processing techniques and online experiments to generate
insights. This suggests that scholars of digital parties should not be confined to using
established social science methods, but can also beneficially utilise other less familiar
data collection and analysis techniques.
4.5 The Challenge of Studying Digital Parties
In recognising the different types of study that scholars of digital parties may wish
to undertake, and outlining the many different forms of analysis that scholars have
already begun to mobilise, it appears that a range of different approaches are available.
In many ways, this is likely to be reassuring to scholars, as it appears that the digital
party is just the latest iteration of a long-standing process of party evolution and
change (Dommett, 2020; Mair, 2002) to which established methods can be applied.
However, we argue that the study of digital parties is in many ways distinct from
what has come before. Indeed, digital parties pose new challenges for researchers.
At a theoretical level, they have fundamental implications for our understanding of
what a party is (as they can now exist as solely online organisations), how parties
are organised, what parties do and what the impact of their online behaviour is. Yet,
at the methodological level they also have implications for the type of data scholars
gather, for the type of analysis it is necessary to deploy and for the claims that can
be made from different data sources. The study of digital parties, therefore, can be
frustrated by certain traits that are inherently linked to digital. In this section, we
discuss the challenges posed by rapid change, data scope and accessibility, before
thinking about the skills that researchers need to possess.
The study of digital parties is marked out from previous forms of analysis because
it focuses on a field that is rapidly changing and difficult to gather data on. Rather
than being a static medium, digital technology changes rapidly over time. Indeed,
in just over a decade parties have gone from using simplistic websites and email,
to deploying sophisticated targeted advertising, content production and dissemina-
tion tools. The rapid emergence of these new affordances makes it difficult to keep
abreast of current practice. It is therefore hard to determine what should be studied
and what data is available at any given point in time. Bosetta’s (2018) study of digital
architecture on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat indicatively showed that
platforms are ‘subject to rapid and transformative change’ with available data and
analytics changing within the course of even one campaign (p. 492). The significance
of change, whilst not novel to digital practices, is particularly notable online where
there is a tendency—captured in Facebook’s motto—to ‘move fast and break things’

(Vaidhyanathan, 2018, p. 28). It also has far-reaching implications for scholars of
digital parties, as it is challenging to know what should be studied, let alone how
it can be analysed. As Dutton suggests, we must traverse the fact that ‘the study of
digital politics is more subject to demands to focus on the latest technological innova-
tion’—and the subsequent methodological challenges therein—whilst ensuring that
‘agendas do not simply chase the most recent technical innovations, but pursue more
fundamental questions’ (2020a, pp. xx–xxi).
A study of digital parties also confronts a challenge of scale and capacity when
compared to analyses of parties offline. To illustrate this point, it is useful to consider
the example of election campaign material. Whilst offline campaign leaflets have to
be printed and distributed manually at high cost and taking significant time, online
campaign materials can be designed, sent, evaluated and altered with limited cost
and time investment. This means that there can be a greater quantity of data produced
online. Indeed, coverage of the US election led to claims that in the Trump campaign
alone:
On any given day… the campaign was running 40,000 to 50,000 variants of its ads, testing
how they performed in different formats, with subtitles and without, and static versus video,
among other small differences. On the day of the third presidential debate in October, the
team ran 175,000 variations. (Kreiss & McGregor, 2018, pp. 173–174)
The amount of content that can be generated online is therefore often exponentially
larger than that evident offline. This raises significant challenges for scholars, as it
is not only difficult to gather and identify such material, but also hard to analyse or
even fully appreciate the content of such material (especially if using manual coding
techniques). The study of digital parties therefore raises issues of scale, particularly
with regard to what offline methods are able to capture and analyse.
Attempts to study digital parties can also raise issues around access—both online
and offline. As has been widely documented in recent years, access to party activ-
ities is often challenging. The existence of privately owned infrastructure (such as
Facebook or WhatsApp) means that data is often not freely available to researchers
(Bosetta, 2018; Margetts, 2017). This makes it difficult for analysts to gather data
retrospectively that matches their research questions. It can also lead analysts to
focus on available data sources (such as Twitter, which has a public API), meaning
that some aspects of digital party activity are understudied, whilst others receive
disproportionate attention (see, e.g., Karpf et al., 2015).
Yet, issues of access are not only experienced when using computational methods.
Political parties and the actors that inform their digital work are also the potential
focus of much qualitative and survey analysis, but problems can arise here as well.
These largely mirror methodological issues in the offline world in which participants
‘are usually very busy and have to be provided with some convincing motivation for
seeing a researcher’ (Burnham et al., 2004, p. 208). However, in a climate of the
increasing professionalisation of parties’ digital activities, it has become common
for parties to contract work to digital experts. This trend has led to a proliferation
of non-disclosure agreements (NDAs) that prevent many actors involved in parties’
digital activities from participating in research. This can make it particularly difficult
to gather insights about intentions, but also about party practices. In addition, it is
notable that the number of people within parties who are responsible for digital is
often minuscule. This places a large burden on a small number of individuals when
it comes to requests from researchers to conduct qualitative research or surveys.
Issues of capacity—whilst not exclusively related to digital—can therefore impact
on research.
These issues are not insurmountable. Indeed, there have already been develop-
ments that mitigate some of these effects. The move by some platforms to provide
access to researchers (such as the Social Science One initiative) and the emergence
of new social enterprises that gather and analyse data in real time (such as Who
Targets Me, a UK initiative tracing digital advertising practice) help to overcome
some issues of access and data collection. Despite these advances, it remains the
case that scholars of digital parties confront challenges that are particular to a study
of practices online. Whilst being able to draw on established methods, therefore, it
is also necessary for scholars to think about and respond to the distinct aspects of
digital parties.
In addition to challenges that arise from the nature of the digital trends and data
that researchers want to gather, scholars of digital parties also face challenges that
relate to the range of competencies that research in this area appears to require. As
detailed above, a wide range of methods is being used to study digital parties, many of
which differ from established political science tools. Indeed, new techniques such as
digital ethnography, data-scraping and sentiment analysis can be and are being used
to generate insights about parties online. This tendency expands the range of possible
tools available for analysts, but it also raises questions of capacity by highlighting
a need for scholars to possess (or at least understand) a range of new techniques
and skills. This requirement is problematic because, as Margetts has powerfully
noted, much methodological guidance and training for political scientists gives the
impression that: ‘…the toolkit of methodologies for political science was pickled
sometime in the 1990s, and they are not going to change’ (2017, p. 202). Indeed,
much training given to scholars of parties in the political science tradition continues
to focus on the established divisions and methods and pays limited attention to
developments in the online world. Party scholars therefore often do not possess the
skills required to conduct big data analysis (Margetts, 2017, p. 204). This poses
a significant challenge for those scholars interested in digital parties, as it limits
available tools and prevents the cross-fertilisation of different approaches.
Different responses can be made to this challenge. First, it is possible to extend
existing methodological training to include digital technologies. Courses in digital
methods are beginning to emerge, and software packages such as R are enabling
scholars to conduct quantitative textual analysis, for example, and to extract digital
content. A second possible response is to pursue greater degrees of collabora-
tion between political scientists and those with computational skills and expertise
(Dommett & Bekir, 2020). Such collaboration can help to develop richer measures
of online activity with, for example, Tromble and McGregor showing how social
science insights can be used to build better measures of engagement than a simple
study of social media clicks and shares (2019, pp. 4–5).
These challenges demonstrate that there is something distinctive about a study of
digital parties, and that whilst scholars can draw on a long lineage of methods and
approaches when conducting studies in this realm, they also need to think about what
is distinct. In recognising the unique challenges posed, we argue that there is a need
both to learn from the past and to draw upon new methods and techniques—helping
the study to evolve.
4.6 Conclusion
The above analysis has outlined the approaches and challenges that scholars of digital
parties face when conducting their research. We described the methods that those
who study party politics employ offline and the ways in which they differ to the
study of parties online. In doing this, we highlight four areas that those interested
in studying the five pillars of digital parties might pursue: classification, intention,
practice and implication. Classification is conducted by those that seek to identify
and categorise the way in which digital characterises party activity; understanding
intention is to highlight the objectives, aims and stated ideals of political actors
(at both the elite and grass-roots levels) within parties; a focus on practice is the
study of what parties actually do (beyond merely their intentions); implication means
to reflect (both empirically and theoretically) on the outcomes that arise from the
existence of digital parties and/or from the specific digital activities parties engage in
(either as a challenge to society at large or specifically to the party itself). Whilst we
have separated these four types of analysis into ideal types, it is of course perfectly
plausible—and indeed desirable—that research will generate data from more than
one area. For example, it is likely that a researcher might study both what digital
parties intend to achieve and actual outcomes in practice.
We have also suggested that the study of digital parties presents important chal-
lenges to those engaging in the field. First, it is rapidly changing, and as such it
is hard to determine what should be studied and how best to do it. Digital also
presents an unprecedented challenge of scale, with content often exponentially larger
than is evident offline. This can lead to an effective pragmatic empiricism in which
researchers ask questions led by the availability of data, analysing what we can, rather
than addressing the range of research questions we would like to (or, indeed, should).
Issues of access are also prevalent, not least in the proliferation of NDAs for those
that conduct digital work within parties. Organisationally, parties often employ a
small number of individuals to conduct their online activities, which raises questions
with regard to capacity.
Finally, we suggested that there are important questions to ask surrounding compe-
tency. A wide range of methods is being used in this field, many of which may be
new to those of us trained in classical political science (and party politics) methods
courses. We pose two, by no means mutually exclusive, solutions to this: the first
is to update our existing methods courses to take into account these new digital
affordances; the second is to pursue a far greater and deeper collaboration outside
of traditional research silos with, for example, those that work in computational
sciences and machine learning.
We conclude by simply stating that many of these issues may well seem like some-
thing that might face any researcher, in any research field, at any time. Yet, we argue
that there are challenges outlined above that are particular to studying the online
world as it relates to parties. In the past few years, we have seen a range of episodes
and perceived scandals—from Cambridge Analytica to the growing influence of
Facebook—that have caused politicians, the public and, yes, political scientists to
reflect on the ways in which politics ought to work in the twenty-first century. We
argue that these questions are not merely normative or empirical but also fundamen-
tally methodological. Indeed, if broader questions are being asked about the proper
functioning of democratic society by those within parties and legislatures, then it is
only natural, and necessary, that researchers should also reflect on these challenges
(see Bennett & Lyengar, 2008; Bimber, 2015; Karpf et al., 2015; Dutton, 2020b). In
this sense, we hope this chapter represents the continuation of a conversation, not
the final word.
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Chapter 5
i-Voting Regulation Within Digital
Parties: The Case of Podemos and Five
Stars Movement
Felix von Nostitz and Giulia Sandri
Abstract Over the past decades, digital technologies have developed into tools
of political deliberation and decision-making by the state and parties alike (Chad-
wick, 2007, 2012; Koc-Michalska & Lilleker, 2016). However, while some states
developed strict rules on how to regulate and govern the use of internet devices in
electoral affairs, online voting or referendums, it is not clear to what extent such
regulations also exist to govern online decisions within political parties. In order
to address these questions, the chapter bridges previous literature on digital poli-
tics, state electoral regulation and party organisations. The chapter explores how
e-decision-making (mainly i-voting) is regulated in a sample of digitalized parties in
two European countries (Italy and Spain) and to what extent these respect democratic
norms and incorporate technical aspects. The chapter concludes with a discussion
on how national-level regulations can be transferred into the intra-party context and
what lessons can be learned from the discussed case studies to facilitate successful
introduction of e-decision-making.
Keywords Political parties · Digital technology · Electoral engineering
5.1 Introduction
As outlined in the introductory chapter and in the chapter by Jasmin Fitzpatrick

in this edited volume, the past decades have seen an expansion in the use of
the internet and information and communication technologies (ICT) by the state
(Hilpert, 2015) and by political actors (Karpf, 2016; Kreiss, 2016). Digital tech-
nologies are now a common feature of many political parties’ and movements’
organisations (McSwiney, 2020). Parties mainly use ICT to provide information, to
organise digital campaigning and to facilitate donations and the recruitment of party
F. von Nostitz (B) · G. Sandri

e-mail: felix.vonnostitz@univ-catholille.fr
G. Sandri

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-78668-7_5
86 F. von Nostitz and G. Sandri
members and supporters (Gibson & Ward, 2009). However, an increasing number
of parties also use ICT to discuss, consult and deliberate with party members and/or
supporters on programmatic and organisational issues (Dommett, 2018). Recently,
a few parties have started to allow members to vote on a variety of issues such as
coalition strategies, electoral manifestos, leadership and candidate selection using
online participation platforms (Gerbaudo, 2019b; Bickerton & Accetti, 2018). A
number of political parties and movements have introduced digital democracy or
online participation platforms (OPPs, such as Rousseau for the Five Star Move-
ment or Participa for Podemos or non-proprietary software like DemocracyOS,
Liquid Feedback or X.Piratar) as instruments for internal communication and for
decision-making (Deseriis & Vittori, 2019).
Therefore, parties nowadays make important and often binding political and
organisational decisions online. This last use of ICT is very different from the others,
as it requires parties to provide assurances that decisions are made in a democratic
manner. Nowadays, citizens expect parties to respect democratic norms internally,
and parties claim to uphold them not only at the national-level but also within their
organisation (Gauja, 2015; Cross & Katz, 2013; Deseriis & Vittori, 2019b). More-
over, as Dommett notes in her chapter in this edited book and as Gerbaudo underlined
(2019b), (often) binding decision-making digital platforms and their regulation, be it
state- or party-based regulation, are key aspects for studying digital parties. By digital
(or cyber, networked or connective) parties, which are the core issue of this edited
book, we mean all-new or traditional parties that have adopted forms of ‘organisa-
tional hybridity’ by transitioning from mainstream offline to online organisations and
by intensively using digital resources (Hartleb, 2013; Bennett et al., 2018; Deseriis,
2020b.). They can be native digital parties or traditional parties transitioning part
of their decision-making online. Native digital parties such as the pirate parties,
Podemos, France Insoumise, La République en Marche, the Five Star Movement,
Alternativet and UK Labour have embraced digital technology and have transitioned
some or most of their decision-making processes online, via OPPs. Understanding
how these platforms are regulated, both technically and legally is therefore crucial
for assessing the internal functioning of digital parties and their role in contemporary
party democracy (Deseriis, 2020a; Deseriis & Vittori, 2019b).
Beyond democratic norms, when adopting and implementing e-decision-making
procedures, parties also need to consider various technical aspects (software design,
technical features of OPPs, their affordances and their usability). Norms and technical
features often go hand in hand, as the correct use of technology and awareness of
its limitations allow for e-decision-making processes that respect democratic norms.
However, concerning parties’ online decision-making, there is sometimes a trade-off
between democratic norms and technical aspects, such as in terms of security vs.
inclusiveness standards (Goodman et al., 2010). This raises the question of how and
to what extent such e-decision-making processes are regulated by states or parties
themselves in order to maximise their adherence to democratic norms within the
limits and risks posed by technical features. The difficulty in regulating i-voting and
in upholding such standards can be shown by the numerous countries that recently
either abandoned (e.g. The Netherlands) or suspended (e.g. France) a remote internet
5 i-Voting Regulation Within Digital Parties … 87
voting system (i-voting) for general elections or decided not to adopt it after careful
consideration of its functioning (e.g. United Kingdom) due to its risks (Garnett &
James, 2020; Krimmer et al., 2020). It can be also exemplified at party level by the
disastrous online vote used in the UMP Paris Mayoral primary in 2013 (Clavel, 2013;
Hullot-Guiot, 2013).
Therefore, this chapter studies how and to what extent parties have regulated
e-decision-making, and i-voting in particular, to strike a balance between adher-
ence to democratic norms and management of the challenges imposed by technical
features. The chapter does so first by theoretically outlining the democratic norms
(participation, representation, competiveness, responsiveness and transparency) and
technical standards (security, verification process, data ownership and control) that
need to be respected by parties to achieve democratic and valid e-decision-making.
It then outlines how two native digital parties, the Italian Movimento 5 Stelle (Five
Star Movement, M5S) and the Spanish party Podemos (We Can) have adopted or
are required to integrate regulations for e-decision-making to ensure adherence to
democratic norms and reduce the risks related to technical standards of i-voting.
The concluding section discusses what lessons we can draw from these two case
studies that other parties need to follow if they want to adopt and implement i-voting
successfully.
Overall, the chapter is innovative, as it contributes to our theoretical and empirical
understanding of the concept of political organisation in the digital era and how the
new ICT affects both internal and external functions of parties, both as electoral and
linkage actors and as membership organisations. This is crucial, as ineffective types of
regulation might undermine the potentially positive and empowering nature of these
new ways to involve members and supporters in party decision-making processes
(Gadras & Greffet, 2013; Gerbaudo, 2019b). Furthermore, insufficient regulation of
intra-party e-decision-making processes might have negative consequences not only
for the parties as membership organisations but also as electoral actors and for the
decision-making processes of representative democracy as a whole (Dutton, 2020).
5.2 Democratic and Technical Norms of i-Voting Within

Parties
As outlined above, the use of ICT by parties to make decisions is relatively new
and boomed only in the latter half of the 2010s. Parties are using digital tools
as channels for internal (i) mobilisation/communication, (ii) participation and (iii)
organisation (Cardenal, 2013). The organisational function is the most recent that
parties have started to transfer online, but it is the one with the most relevant conse-
quences for the functioning of representative democracy. This dimension is explored
in very recent literature (see the chapters by Dommett and Fitzpatrick in this book;
as well as Gerbaudo, 2019b; Deseriis & Vittori, 2019; Montesanti et al., 2020). It
also raises significant questions concerning efficacy and challenges in terms of regu-
lation and security of the e-decision-making processes (Gerbaudo, 2019b). Previous
literature focused mostly on digital tools for party communication, campaigning and
participation (Dommett, 2018; Bennett et al., 2018).
E-decision-making and more specifically i-voting within parties are (relatively)
understudied dimensions of digital party organisation. New theorisation and analyt-
ical frameworks are required, as well as future comparative empirical studies that
can explore the benefits and challenges of the increasing use of such digital tools of
party internal governance. We discuss the legal and technical implications of the use
of digital tools for intra-party decision-making and their interaction with increasing
intra-party democracy in Western Europe.
At first sight, there are various advantages in adopting i-voting processes within
parties, such as easier and broader access to voting procedures, faster and more
accurate results, lower participation and logistics costs and lower ballot errors and
spoiled ballots. Also, i-voting solutions can also outperform some functions of offline
voting systems. For example, i-voting (or e-voting) allows zip-lists or quotas to be
combined with preferential voting, which is more complex to do ‘by hand’. The
cost-reduction logic of digital platforms represents its main benefit (Krimmer et al.,
2020; Deseriis, 2020a). Nevertheless, there are also clear disadvantages such as
security concerns and potentially reduced deliberative democracy (Gerbaudo, 2019b;
Mosca, 2015, 2018). Furthermore, in order for voters to trust this new decision-
making technology and to accept its outcomes as legitimate, it is vital that any
e-decision-making process adheres to democratic norms and that parties are aware
of the technical challenges and risks. The chapter argues that this can be achieved by
carefully designed, appropriately funded and effectively implemented regulations.
The section below first discusses the democratic norms that parties should bear in
mind when designing internal regulations for e-decision-making, then presents a
discussion of the technical standards they need to consider and regulate.
5.2.1 Democratic Norms
Many scholars have provided lists of democratic features that e-decision and i-voting
systems should respect (Maurer & Barrat, 2016; Deseriis & Vittori, 2019b; Garnett
& James, 2020). Here, we select five democratic norms that are most often listed
in the context of party politics and in relation to intra-party democracy and that are
also relevant when looking at the overall governance of the electoral process within
parties (Hazan & Rahat, 2010; Rahat & Shapira, 2017). Therefore, we focus on
the norms relating to participation, representation, competiveness, transparency and
responsiveness for managing online decision-making processes. Most commonly,
participation refers to participation in general elections, but we focus on the degree
of inclusiveness and accessibility of intra-party e-decision-making processes. The
use of e-decision-making can be seen as a tool for enhancing participation, preventing
further membership decline and revitalising existing party membership and support
(Scarrow, 2015). While this might be the case in theory, some hurdles remain in
practice, limiting or even preventing inclusive online participation.
Nevertheless, various regulatory tools can be used to positively affect participation
in e-decision-making (Boschler, 2010). First, the rules need to clearly define the
concerned group and put measures in place that allow only eligible voters to vote
online. Further, parties need to make sure that members with less technical know-how
(i.e. digital gap), and from areas with no or poor internet connection and coverage,
can also participate effectively in the decision-making process. This might require
the party to send out detailed information materials to all members and set up digital
voting centres rather than using remote polling tools.
Before going further, it is important to point out that the conceptualisation of
‘participation’ presented above differs according to the epistemic perspective adopted
and between new and previous research on party digitisation. Previous literature
on the digital transformation of parties (see the introduction to this book)—and
particularly research developed within the field of political communication—does
not conceptualise political participation in the same way. Several of these studies use
a broader sense of participation as ‘engagement’ or ‘contact’ between parties and
ICT users, mostly intended as voters and social media followers. We suggest that
there is actually a double trend of evolution going on regarding the topic of digital
transformation of political participation: on the one hand, parties (Podemos, M5S,
LFI, UK Labour, Alternativet, etc.) are changing the way they organise. On the other
hand, new empirical research produced mostly by party politics academics are trying
to understand the phenomenon in a different way from their political communication
colleagues.
The second norm to consider is representation. By most accounts, modern democ-
racy is representative by definition. However, democracy often falls short of descrip-
tive representation, meaning that representatives ought to be demographically similar
to those whom they represent. Representatives are dominantly white, male and finan-
cially better off (Cotta & Best, 2007). This can be partially explained by the fact that
most voters have the same characteristics, but also that women and minorities are less
frequently selected to run for elective or party mandates. The question that emerges
is to what extent e-decision-making and i-voting can positively affect the represen-
tation of certain groups, particularly young voters, women, minorities, voters abroad
and voters with disabilities (Maurer & Casanova, 2013a).
However, similar to the argument put forward by Rahat et al. (2008) that a more
inclusive selectorate may actually result in less representative candidates, the same
might be said for more inclusive e-decision-making. Thus, in order to evaluate if
e-decision-making is representative, the overall turnout and the characteristics of its
users must be examined. Where i-voting is offered alongside other voting methods,
it is important to study if overall turnout increases or if already existing voters just
shift to the new i-voting method (Germann & Serdült, 2017). Again, there are various
regulations that parties can use to ensure the representativeness of e-decision-making.
One effective way is to set a minimum turnout requirement.
The third norm to consider is competitiveness. It is a central condition for democ-
racy, even more so in intra-party elections (Deseriis & Vittori, 2019). In intra-party
elections, it is seen as a positive feature, since it allows for new and innovative
forces to emerge that can revitalise the party. Nevertheless, competition might also
revive internal factionalism, with long-term negative consequences for the party. E-
decision-making processes have the potential to bring healthy internal competition
into party organisations. For example, party members might feel freer to vote against
the party elite in either programmatic or recruitment issues from the safety of their
homes than at face-to-face party meetings or congress. They also might endorse
maverick or minority candidates more freely via i-voting solutions, if the technology
provides privacy, anonymity and security standards.
On the other hand, the decentralised nature of the process and the lower level
of secrecy of and public control over the voting environment provided by remote
digital polling systems might also more easily allow for vote-buying, gifts to voters
and pressures to vote in a certain way. Eventually, this would entail manipulation of
the results in favour of the incumbents or the party elite. In addition to the often-cited
factors that might affect competiveness (candidacy rules, veto rights and financial
resources), i-voting bears the extra risk of deliberate or accidental manipulation of the
process and of the resulting votes through the software design of the voting platform
and vote-counting software. This is especially relevant when the election technology
and equipment are not owned by the public sector or the party itself (Loeber, 2020).
In order to reduce coercion of i-voters as much as possible, regulations could allow
scope to change the vote as much as one wants before the process closes and ensure
higher privacy and anonymity by guaranteeing high technological standards, but also
improve the usability for voters (Budurushi et al., 2016).
To avoid the technical issues interfering with the competitiveness of e-decision-
making, adherence to the norm of transparency is required. This goes hand in hand
with the norm of accountability. Both concern the verification of the accuracy of
the i-voting process, the legitimacy of the resulting e-votes and the overall quality
of intra-party digital decision-making. The provision of full and reliable data on
the e-decision-making process is required to ensure trust and acceptance of it as a
democratic and legitimate method of decision-making. Therefore, e-decision-making
requires formal rules guaranteeing the transparency and accountability of the voting
process and verifiability of the votes. This can be achieved by the use of open-source
software and independent audit of each e-decision (Deseriis, 2020a, 2017).
The last norm to consider is responsiveness. While there are different concep-
tions of the principle of responsiveness, with elected representatives seen as either
delegates or trustees (Rehfeld, 2009), in reality they combine both forms. It is often
argued that responsiveness is a salient ingredient not only for state-level democ-
racy (Powell, 2004), but also intra-party democracy (Hazan & Rahat, 2010; Lehrer
et al., 2017). Rahat and Shapira (2017, p. 87) point out that it ‘is difficult to evaluate
such responsiveness at the party level, because the connection between the public
and the party representatives is made primarily through informal or private channels
(group meetings, personal requests, emails, etc.) and therefore cannot be system-
atically followed’. There seem to be no regulations of e-decision-making that can
directly ensure the responsiveness of the process. Yet, overall well-designed and
well-regulated e-decision-making procedures that adhere to the democratic norms
listed above should contribute to increasing responsiveness of the individuals elected

through them and to the effective implementation of the decisions taken.
5.2.2 Technical Standards of E-Decision-Making

and i-Voting
Having discussed the democratic norms that e-decision-making needs to adhere to in

order to be seen as a legitimate organisational tool within parties, it is now necessary
to discuss the technical standards that need to be considered not only for e-decisions to
be legitimate but also to actually take place in the first instance. While in some cases
parties need to accept a trade-off between technical requirements and democratic
norms (e.g. the trade-off between accessibility and security), in other cases the two
are complementary (e.g. the ‘one member, one vote’ principle and voter verification
requirements). This section discusses some of the key technical standards that parties
need to consider when using e-decision-making.
We decided to focus also on the democratic underpinnings of technical standards
to fill a relevant gap in the recent literature on i-voting. The most recent litera-
ture on digital democratic affordances and party digital participation platforms has
addressed either the technical aspects of security and transparency of the voting
processes, or the broad consequences of their affordances for the emergence of new
party models or for intra-party democracy in its participatory conception (see, for
instance, Deseriis, 2020a, 2020b; Gerbaudo, 2019a; Deseriis & Vittori, 2019). What
is less explored is the legal and technical determinants of the digital affordances
provided by i-voting solutions within parties’ OPPs and their consequences for the
users (namely, members and voters). This is relevant because of the political nature of
digital affordances (Deseriis, 2020a) and because of the importance of the criterion
of usability in assessing internet voting, i.e. the degree to which individuals find it
easy and satisfying to use systems and to perform the expected tasks accurately and
within a reasonable amount of time. The discussion of the technical standards for
internet election management within parties focuses in particular on the following
requirements:
1. Technical rules and standards for guaranteeing security of the voting process
(anti-virus protection, rules for preventing external or in-house manipulation,
etc.);
2. Technical rules and standards for guaranteeing voters’ ID verification and
secrecy/privacy protection;
3. Technical rules and standards for guaranteeing (the members’ or at least) the
party in central office’s control over: server, software, process, encryption
(private vs. public control);
4. Technical rules and standards over data ownership and secrecy.
The first aspect is security. The apps and websites used by parties need to be
designed in a way that reduces the risk of attacks by viruses and the possibility
of vote manipulation. This is particularly important due to the centralisation of

the management of digital votes on one server, which, compared to decentralised
methods (i.e. postal voting), makes manipulation of the entire results easier. One
key aspect would be the provision of an ‘end-to-end encryption system’: to ensure
complete privacy, the votes are encrypted on the online voting device, guaranteeing
that they cannot be tampered with during transmission or when received by the voting
server. Recent literature on electoral management technology has shown increased
attention to issues of security regarding i-voting solutions (Nguyen & Dang, 2013).
This highlights how difficult it is to provide a secure online voting environment even
at the state level, where much more funds are available compared to the resources
usually accessible by individual political parties.
Also, the disastrous aftermath of the UMP Paris Mayoral Online Primary in 2013
was mainly due to the technical design, which allowed for multiple votes per voter.
This example further stresses the importance of considering the technical standards
of i-voting (Clavel, 2013; Hullot-Guiot, 2013). Returning to the above-mentioned
trade-off between security and accessibility, Goodman et al. (2010) outline that
while remote i-voting might increase accessibility, it also provides a lower degree of
control and therefore lower security than other electronic and non-electronic forms
of decision-making.
In order to ensure the security of the process and the trust of the voters in e-
decision-making processes, i-voting requires a strict verification process of all steps
in the voting process. The aim of the verification process is to ensure that systematic
errors in the election and voting processes due to software errors, human errors or
intentional manipulation are identified without risking electoral integrity (Maurer
& Casanova 2013a, p. 5181). A well-functioning verification process would allow
the identification of these errors already during the voting process, or at the latest
before the publication of the results. There are two ways to achieve verification: (i)
by the client, in this case the voter, or (ii) by the server, in this case the one belonging
to the party. However, due to various factors (logistical, financial, technical skills,
etc.), vote verification by the voter at party level is often seen as unrealistic, and so
the server verification processes are preferred. The functioning of the verification
process and the measures for ensuring its efficacy can be discussed on the basis
of four key questions from the voters’ point of view (Maurer & Casanova, 2013a,
pp. 5184–5186, 2013b, Appendix 7).
The first question relates to whether the person is eligible to cast a vote in the
digital decision-making process (and particularly in digital intra-party elections). In
order to verify this, voters should be sent robust-enough identification codes that
allow access to the i-voting platform. Once the person is logged in and has voted, the
second verification question arises: did the voter cast the vote as intended (i.e. ‘cast-
as-intended’ verification)? There are two possibilities here that can be combined
to achieve maximal verification. First, a control code is given to the voter for each
candidate or possible voting option, and, second, there is a final confirmation code
at the end of the i-voting process. Such verification only takes place after casting
the ballot, since it intends to prove that the computer has not altered the voter’s will.
These ‘cast-as-intended’ systems ensure individual verifiability and thus allow voters
to check if the encrypted votes received by the server contain the selected voting
options, without breaking vote secrecy (for instance, by providing return codes to
voters).
The next question that arises is: was the vote correctly recorded-as cast (‘recorded-
as- cast’ verification)? Once the vote is received by the server and recorded, the
voter will be able to enter the finalisation code to check that the vote was recorded-
as cast. Some private i-voting companies, such as ES&S or (the now liquidated)
Scytl, provide an additional individual verifiability mechanism specifically intended
to double-check for ‘recorded-as-cast’ verification, by issuing receipts that allow
voters to verify that their votes have been stored in the ballot box by checking on a
public bulletin board. In some cases, voting servers can verify that the contents of the
encrypted votes are valid without needing to decrypt them. This allows verification
that invalid votes are not cast accidentally, all without breaking vote secrecy. Again,
both cast-as-intended and recorded-as-cast take place once the voting process is over.
In some cases, the voter will receive information, but no further codes are necessary
to finish the voting process as such.
The final ‘counted-as-recorded’ verification question is concerned with the ques-
tion of whether the vote was counted as it was recorded. In the online voting
systems where votes are decrypted using a verifiable mix-net and secret sharing
scheme, the latter ensures that voter anonymity is maintained when vote contents are
counted. The mathematical proofs produced by the mix-net and decryption processes
provide evidence of accuracy of the counting process and, therefore, the accuracy
of the results. This ensures universal verifiability and provides a crucial ‘counted-
as-recorded’ verification. However, in the systems that use a verifiable mix-net and
secret sharing scheme but are not decrypted, the ‘counted-as-recorded’ verification
goes beyond the individual votes’ control protocol (Volkamer & Grimm, 2009).
It thus requires a reliable external control body such as an independent electoral
commission to verify the translation from each vote cast and recorded into the elec-
tion results. This third verifiability is intended to allow any interested actor to conduct
relevant supervision of the counting process. If such activities were undertaken by just
one authorised actor, either electoral authorities or auditors, the verification would
become useless in terms of transparency, since any actor could be compromised.
This shows that the verification procedures of e-decision-making are based on
complicated methods consisting of multiple independent steps, each providing a
control point to ensure the security of the process. This is necessary if outcomes
of e-decision-making are to be accepted as legitimate by both the party and its
voters/members/supporters and for e-voters to trust the process. Furthermore, the
verification steps also contribute to the adherence to the democratic norms (i.e. right
to participate) outlined above. Nevertheless, there is also a potential trade-off here
between the verification process and the secrecy of votes (Maurer & Casanova,
2013a). If voters are sent out codes for the cast-as-intended verifiability, the secrecy
of the vote will always be a concern. Multiple voting may mitigate the risk, but the
trade-off will remain.
The next technical aspect to consider is who has control over the server, soft-
ware type, development and ownership, encryption and data produced during and
after the digital decision-making process. The central question here is whether the
technical requirements should be developed and managed by a public institution or
by a private company. For example, to ensure the implementation of the democratic
norms of transparency and accountability, it would be important to guarantee that
the e-decision-making software would be a publicly accessible open-source code.
This would allow everyone to view the code and spot potential errors. However, if
the software is developed by a private company for profit, this accessibility would
most likely not occur. Furthermore, the question emerges about who is responsible
and accountable if something goes wrong with the server, software, encryption or
data. The reply to this question again depends on whether it is a private company,
the party or a public institution that manages the whole process (Loeber, 2020).
The last technical aspect to consider is the control over the data produced by the e-
decision-making process. How and by whom can the data be used after the e-decision
process is completed? For example, in the case of intra-party online candidate or
leadership selection procedures, do parties have the right to use the data for their
electoral campaign? In addition, the question emerges about how long the data need
to be stored to allow verification in case of complaints before it can be deleted.
Overall, if one wants to maximise trust and the democratic legitimacy of such
decision-making processes, it is vital to account for the technical requirements of
e-decision-making and be aware of the technical risks. There is no zero-risk solution,
but various measures exist to help reduce the risks. However, such measures can be
very costly. Organisations using e-decision-making platforms face—to just mention a
few—the costs of software and voting-platform development, costs to send out infor-
mation and verification codes to eligible voters, costs related to materials to inform
and educate members about the new processes, and maintenance and staff costs. For
example, at state level, Switzerland invested 10,146,944 francs between 2006 and
2012 in building their i-voting system. Further, the estimated annual maintenance
costs are 44,000 francs and, in order to update and expand the current i-voting system
to 30% of all voters, the upgrade will cost 1.7 million francs. Overall, the cost per
e-vote in Switzerland is estimated to be between 11.80 and 22.80 francs (ca. 11.87
to 22.94 USD) (Maurer and Casanova 2013a, p. 5160).1 The question that arises is
how much money (should) parties devote to secure their digital infrastructure?
There is a substantial short-term development cost in the remote i-voting process,
and this will become cheaper in the long run, if compared to more traditional voting
methods. While this is an investment and risk that a state might be able to take
for various reasons, parties are less able or even unable to do so. First, parties’
financial resources might vary substantially from one election to another, depending
on their electoral performance; more generally, their organisational survival is more
precarious. Further, party elites might not be willing to clearly and expensively
regulate the e-decision-making process, as it might limit their control, power and
room for manoeuvre, or they might be generally unwilling to adopt new methods
(Dommett, 2018).
1 For a methodology to estimate e-voting costs, see Krimmer and Dueñas-Cid (2018).
Overall, it might be necessary for the state to both regulate intra-party e-decision-
making and provide financial means for parties wishing to adopt e-decision-making
processes. Otherwise, there is a risk that parties might opt for cheaper but less secure,
less accessible and lower-usability—and therefore less legitimate and democratic—i-
voting technologies and governance methods. This is not in the interest of parties, as a
badly run e-decision-making process can have negative organisational and electoral
consequences for a party. In addition, it is surely also in the state’s own interest
to support and regulate party e-decision-making processes, if it wishes to develop
citizens’ trust in e-decision and i-voting mechanisms that they already use or wish
to adopt in the future in the public sector. The extent to which this is feasible and
already exists, as well as how states have regulated e-decision-making and especially
i-voting to date, is discussed by Barrat Estevez, Sandri and von Nostitz in Chap. 1
of this edited volume.
5.3 i-Voting Within Parties
Using the case studies of the Italian M5S and the Spanish party Podemos, this section
explores the regulations for e-decision-making and i-voting used by a selection of
digital parties. These cases were selected as, in terms of votes, they represent the
largest digital native European parties using digital participation tools on a regular
basis and (almost) since their creation. Initially, these tools were used with very
different goals. In the case of Podemos, the OPP was used mainly by members for
horizontal and vertical communication and deliberation, and only to a lesser extent for
decision-making. However, in its latest version, the Podemos platform Paticipa is now
used mostly for i-voting (Deseriis & Vittori, 2019b). The M5S Rousseau platform i-
voting also represents one of the main affordances of M5S’s OPP. However, although
the decisions taken with online ballots are the only binding ones, Lex (a tool that
facilitates a non-binding, crowd-sourcing process for lawmaking) is also an important
OPP affordance. The M5S is one of the few parties in Europe that provides this type
of online participatory tool (Bennett et al., 2018; Gerbaudo, 2019b).2 All in all,
both platforms now prioritise decision-making, namely i-voting, over horizontal and
vertical deliberation (Deseriis & Vittori, 2019). We look here at the regulation and
functioning of the two OPPs until the end of 2019.
2 Contrary to Liquid Feedback, Rousseau is not endowed with a delegation system. It only allows
users to give suggestions or instructions to party elites, but not to receive delegations. Rousseau is
designed to centralise and de-materialise several political processes that are usually managed sepa-
rately within a traditional party, such as candidate selection and forms of collaborative lawmaking
(Deseriis, 2017).
5.4 The M5S
The M5S’ online ‘Rousseau’ platform was launched in 2016, but a less elaborate
version of the platform known as the ‘operating system’ (sistema operativo) existed
from October 2013. In the absence of a party structure, it serves as the party’s online
headquarters and main platform for communication, participation and decision-
making, and it is open to all registered members. Within the M5S, the online platform
replaces the party organisation at the national-level (see, for instance, Biancalana and
Vittori’s chapter in this book, and also: Mosca, 2018; Vittori & Deseriis, 2019). If
needed, the ‘vote’ functionality is activated on the platform, and all users are called to
vote in online primaries, on policy issues, or to approve the party programme. Since
August 2017, the platform also has a non-members guest mode, without voting power
or rights to post comments or submit proposals (Biancalana, 2017; Deseriis, 2017).
5.4.1 Regulations
The M5S party regulations detail several aspects of i-voting, such as the rules for
candidacy, selectorate/voter eligibility and the voting/appointment system to be used
for online recruitment processes and digital primaries in particular. However, there is
no mention of the regulations applicable to the voting process (for technical standards,
security rules, audit of the results). Until the reform of the party statute in 2017,
the online primaries were mainly regulated on an ad hoc basis before each i-voting
session, detailing a not very comprehensive but distinct set of rules. With the adoption
of the new statute, a more detailed list of rules now exists for managing all sorts of
e-voting procedures (for candidate and leadership selection, elaboration of party
programme, coalition strategies, etc.), but the process remains quite vague and the
rules are often unilaterally changed by the party leadership (Biancalana, 2017).
Article 4a of the party statute explains the rules managing the ‘direct and
participatory democratic processes’ of the party. It states that enrolled members
can select various party bodies through online voting, including the leader (capo
politico), the authority (the auto-proclaimed Garante, i.e. Beppe Grillo himself),
the appeal committee (comitato di garanzia) and the board of arbitrators (comi-
tato dei probiviri). They can also select candidates for elections, define the elec-
toral programme, authorise law proposals and impeach the political leader and the
authority. The article also states that online consultations are conducted ‘in order to
determine the fundamental choices for the political action of the M5S’ more broadly.
The vote will be called on the party website at least 24 h in advance and shall not last
less than 8 h (but the voting period does not usually exceed this very narrow window).
Article 4 also explains selectorate rules, meaning that only members enrolled for at
least 6 months and up to date with their enrolment requirements can vote. In the
case of the last candidate selection process in 2018, this rule was not respected, as
all members, without restriction, could vote. The results of the i-voting procedures
are valid without any turnout requirement. The article also states that within 5 days
from the official proclaiming of the results on the party website, the party leader or
‘authority’ can call for a new i-voting on the same issue/selection.
Within 24 h after the online polls close, the appeal committee uploads the voting
results onto the party website. Interestingly, Article 4 states that all the verifications
on voters’ eligibility and vote counts are the exclusive responsibility of the Rousseau
platform. The audit and certification of the vote is provided by an external indepen-
dent body chosen by the appeal committee or a notary. Further rules concerning the
voting system are provided by the specific regulations drafted by the party leadership
before each consultation. Thus, for example, in the 2013 primary the eligibility crite-
rion for who could vote was reduced from six to two months. In general, the rules
of the M5S have been incrementally defined over time, due to the need to regulate
contingent issues or to adapt to specific normative requirements (Mosca, 2018).
5.4.2 Democratic Norms and Technical Standards
In terms of participation, studies have shown that over approximately 160 online
voting sessions at national3 level between 2012 and 2019 (Mosca, 2018; Vittori
& Deseriis, 2019), voter turnout declined from an initial 60% of eligible users in
December 2012 to an average of 30% between 2014 and 2016. In the following
years, it was as low as 12% in some cases, and it averaged 25% in 2018 (Mosca,
2018). For instance, in the September 2017 online primaries for the selection of the
M5S prime ministerial candidate in the following general election, only 37,442 votes
were cast out of 140,000 members entitled to vote (Vittori, 2019).
However, these binding consultations have allowed the 5SM leadership to present
Rousseau as a large-scale experiment in direct democracy (Deseriis, 2017) despite
the fact that most decisions only represent the view of a minority of members and
are essentially plebiscites used to ratify decisions taken by the leadership. This is
not surprising, given that the party leadership states that Rousseau was designed
to function as an ‘operational tool’ rather than an outlet for extended discussions
among party members. Furthermore, Deseriis (2017) points out that the rules and
functioning of Rousseau are designed to minimise deliberation among members and
to stress i-voting as the key participatory intra-party decision-making phase.
In terms of participation, it is important to point out that members register online
and so gain the right to access Rousseau with voting power. All Italian adult citizens
who are not affiliated with other political parties can register via the party online
platform for free. In theory, thus, the main meta-affordance of the OPP, reducing
participation costs, seem to be effective. In practice, however, the registration proce-
dure can take months, as users often encounter difficulties scanning and uploading
3Online votes are also organised at regional and local levels. Overall, 227 online ballots were
organised between 2012 and 2019: 156 national, 49 regional and 22 local ones (see the chapter by
Biancalana and Vittori in this book).
their IDs (the scanned image has to be kept within a 150 KB limit, see Deseriis,
2017). Also, it is important to underline that members cannot take the initiative or
request an online vote to be held on a given issue.
Several studies (Biancalana & Piccio, 2017; Deseriis, 2017; Mikola, 2017; Mosca,
2018) have pointed out relevant weaknesses of such i-voting processes with regard
to accountability and transparency. For instance, uncertainty prevails about the way
sensitive data related to voting are managed. Also, there is a significant lack of
publicly available detailed information on the results of the primaries and other i-
voting procedures, and there is a complete lack of detailed regulations referring to
how and through which organ of the party disputes over contested results should
be resolved, besides the general statements provided in Art. 4 of the party statute.
I-voting via Rousseau is not anonymous and is supported by a highly vulnerable
and obsolete content management system (as showed by the Italian Data Protection
Authority—see below).
Moreover, Rousseau does not use open-source software; as stated by Deseriis
(2017, p. 54), ‘the source code of Rousseau is not available for public inspection’.
This means that it is not possible for programmers or technically literate citizens
to verify the code’s integrity. This lack of transparency is particularly troublesome
for the security and quality of i-voting procedures on the platform. For instance, the
code might hide algorithms that may be used for data-mining or marketing purposes
(Canestrari & Biondo, 2017, p. 323). In addition, this type of software increases
the chances that electronic attacks may succeed, as occurred in August 2017, when
two hackers claimed to have appropriated sensitive data from platform users. Addi-
tionally, most online votes are not audited or certified, and in cases where they
are certified, it is done by a simple private notary office (Deseriis, 2017). Further-
more, voting is always conducted through the party’s website/platform without any
third-party monitoring, meaning that the voting process is conducted with limited
transparency (barring two specific episodes, see below).
The sole control over the regularity of voting operations, and overall online
decision-making processes, is exerted by the Rousseau platform, which is owned
by the non-profit organisation Associazione Rousseau (AR). Whereas the M5S has
had its own Rousseau platform since its creation, it is not managed directly by
the party. Initially, it was managed by a private company, the Casaleggio Associati
(CA), a for-profit web-marketing company run by party officials—the CEO is Davide
Casaleggio, the son of Gianroberto, co-founder of the party with Grillo. Since 2015,
Rousseau has been run by AR, which was also created and owned by Davide Casa-
leggio, but which is a non-profit association. The AR, though, is not owned by CA,
and they appear to be two separate entities: a private company and a non-profit associ-
ation. They have the same president (Davide Casaleggio) and address, but officially,
there are no other links (Biancalana, 2017). The AR is in charge of verifying and
certifying the membership enrolment procedures. The new party regulations adopted
in 2017 state that AR has the right to manage indefinitely all the online decision-
making processes of the party and that members have no control over them. M5S
members cannot become members of the AR, per its statute, and are prevented from
exercising any control over the internal functioning of the platform or to contest the
AR’s role within the party organisation. M5S members have no say over the technical
standards of i-voting or over the norms regulating online decision-making processes
(Biancalana, 2017).
The whole process of i-voting, from the creation of the rules for each specific
online selection (that are often released in a top-down way) to the actual polling,
happens online and is managed by AR, which can thus be considered as an unoffi-
cial party in central office (Biancalana & Piccio, 2017, p. 446). The AR—a private
company for which state laws on party regulations, transparency and democratic
quality of the internal voting processes do not apply—owns and controls the party.
This clearly affects the quality and transparency of i-voting procedures (Mosca,
2015).
Further, the i-voting platform is not satisfactory in technical terms. As Deseriis
explains (2017, p. 63): ‘because voting in Rousseau is not based on an end-to-end
auditable voting system, which is currently considered the most resistant system to
vote tampering, the integrity of the vote is hardly guaranteed. An E2E auditable
voting system would in fact allow Rousseau users to verify that their encrypted
vote has been correctly registered in the database, while preventing administrators
from linking the vote record to specific individuals’. The fact that voting on Rousseau
cannot be verified does not mean that it is necessarily manipulated, but it is significant
that in one of the two circumstances in which a third party certified the vote, the voting
operations had to be repeated because of an electronic attack (Ruescas & Deseriis,
2017). The lack of open-source software and the fact that the majority of e-ballots
are not validated by an external body eliminate any guarantee that the votes are not
manipulated.
Moreover, some 5SM commentators, as well as insiders, have suggested that
some of the online primaries may actually have been manipulated, for instance to
favour specific candidates (Agostini in Canestrari & Biondo, 2017, pp. 300–302;
Gerbaudo, 2019a). Furthermore, the AR and CA control a large database of voting
records potentially allowing the party leadership (and the two external companies) to
identify voters via the connected phone numbers and then to profile any Rousseau-
registered user. In practice, this abolishes secret voting within the party platform.
These weaknesses were picked up by the Italian Privacy Authority in 2017 and early
2018, and formed the basis for a formal complaint against the AR. The complaint also
argued that the vote on the platform is not secret and that software obsolescence was
problematic, identifying several security and privacy issues. The authority required
that the AR (and not the M5S, which is revealing) should adopt various measures
necessary to ensure the digital security of their platform (Tonacci, 2018). In April
2019, the Italian Privacy Authority considered the follow-up measures adopted by the
AR for complying with the transparency and internet security requirements imposed
by the authority to be inadequate and imposed a fine of e50,000. It is important
to stress that, as of the end of 2021, despite the official complaints there have been
no changes and the platform still operates as outlined above. In the spring of 2021,
following a splinter of the party - because of which the Rousseau Association and
the Casaleggio Associati legally separated from the M5S - the party entirely lost
control over its own platform. Having subcontracted to a private company its digital
platform and membership roll management, the MS5 in July 2021 had to rebuild
from scratch its OPPs and find a new way to keep track of and interact with its
members. Apparently, the party now is going to use the platform “SkyVote” and its
new website “Movimento5stelle.eu” to organise its internal ballots and mobilise its
members.
5.5 Podemos
In contrast to M5S, Podemos provided an OPP in the beginning that was designed
more for discussion and deliberation than e-decision-making. The party now uses
its own platform called Participa, but it started by using a website, Plaza Podemos,
based on the social site Reddit, for building its supporter communities, where it
allowed its followers to debate and vote on the main issues to be included in the
party manifesto or citizens’ initiatives. For a while, it also used a new app called
Agora Voting to select its local, regional, national and EU candidates, as well as
party mandates (Barberà & Rodríguez-Teruel, 2017). In 2015, both online tools (the
new Plaza Podemos 2.0, for deliberation and the i-voting solutions) were included in
the new Podemos OPP, Participa, which required membership to access it (Ardanuy
& Labuske, 2015). In fact, over the last six years, Podemos has experimented with
various internet platforms and social media venues, using platforms such as Agora
Voting, TitanPad, Appgree, Loomio and its own Plaza Podemos to hold inclusive,
citizen-led discussions on policy development. Overall, though, studies have shown
that these platforms have a limited impact on policy-making, but allow for more
extensive, transparent and effective vertical and horizontal discussion (Bartlett &
Deseriis, 2016; Mendoza, 2015).
The adoption of Plaza Podemos 2.0 and then Participa corresponded to a greater
centralisation of party functions on the new digital platform, but in contrast to the
M5S the Spanish party owns the platforms and directly runs all its affordances. The
party internal general regulations (documento organizativo – organisational princi-
ples) adopted in 2017 state that the Participa platform is to provide a locus for debate
and deliberation and to complement the role of the local branches. The platform
allows for five main affordances. First, members can take part in popular citizens’
initiatives (inciativas ciudadanas populares, ICP). ICPs are law proposals that can
be drafted and submitted by party members to all the users for consultation. If (the
very high threshold of) 10% of members or 20% of local branches support the law
proposal, then it will be put to a vote. The second affordance, called ‘debates and
opinions’, allows members to discuss political issues. The third affordance consists
of a system called ‘open seat’, which allows users to put questions to their represen-
tatives during parliamentary commissions or plenary sessions. The fourth affordance
allows members to donate to the party, and the fifth and last one allows them to vote in
internal consultations. When the party launches a vote, registered members can log in
to Participa and cast a vote through a system managed by the internet voting solutions
company nVotes (Deseriis & Vittori,2019b). Overall, these features make Participa
more oriented towards deliberation than Rousseau (Deseriis & Vittori, 2019b).
5.5.1 Regulations
The Podemos internal regulations called ‘primary elections regulation’ (reglamento

de primarias para las instituciones de representación 2017) and the ‘regulation for
internal processes’ (reglamento para los procesos internos 2017) outline a set of
very detailed rules for guaranteeing the smooth development of i-voting procedures
and for auditing the processes. In addition, the party statutes outline which body is
allowed to call primary elections and is responsible for their organisation (see the
2017 estatudos, Art. 12.3b and Art. 31–33). This includes who can vote, the deadlines
and rules for calling a vote and the bodies responsible for proclaiming the results and
controlling the processes (i.e. rules on electoral committees). The important point,
beyond the specific procedural details, is that—contrary to the M5S—Podemos’
internal regulations mean that the internally elected bodies can adopt and change the
rules on candidate and leadership selection online, and that members can convene
the extraordinary online assembly (asemblea ciudadana). Members and party organs
are thus involved in all steps of internal decision-making both online and offline.
Focusing on rules for candidate selection, they state that all party members regis-
tered before a specific date are allowed to vote. This might provide very little time to
organise a full-scale verification process as outlined above, and it might undermine
the legitimacy and security of the vote. Further, the rules also outline that if a vote
does not reach a minimum of 20% membership turnout it is invalidated.
The rules also divide responsibilities between the technical teams (equipos
técnicos) for overseeing the legal and technical requirements of the voting processes,
and the electoral commission (comisión electoral) and the commission for demo-
cratic guarantees (comisión de garantías democráticas) for possible complaints and
appeals and for controlling the validity of candidatures and any technical problem.
A ‘net neutrality’ protocol is also detailed in the documents, specifying the rules
for running all political debates and communication during the campaign and voting
period on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Telegram, Whatsapp and the party website,
as well as the rules for using the members’ email addresses. The party website even
details the regulations managing the platform users’ data privacy protection and
data-handling rules. Even the rules for managing the financial aspects of the primary
elections campaigns and processes are outlined there. The documents also call for
external auditing of the processes.
5.5.2 Democratic Norms and Technical Standards
Participation in i-voting and more specifically online primaries is slightly higher in

Podemos than in the (recent) e-votes in the M5S. In the same way as M5S, Podemos
also organises online votes at national, regional and local levels. Up to the summer
of 2019, Podemos had organised 21 national consultations, plus several e-votes for
selecting candidates and leaders at regional and local levels (Vittori, 2019). The trend
however is similar: turnout in national e-ballots has substantially fluctuated over time,
reaching an all-time low of 15% annual average ratio of members over eligible voters
in 2018 and then moving up to 39% at the end of the same year (Vittori, 2019, p. 10,
Fig. 6). Overall, participation figures have been decreasing during the last few years,
reaching their lowest point in 2015 when only 4% of members e-voted on the party
manifesto. They are nowadays stabilised around an annual average of 30% of the total
membership (Barberà & Rodríguez-Teruel, 2017). Podemos’ membership reached
519,468 registered affiliates in August 2019 (according to the Podemos website).
As with the M5S, the steady growth in membership has heavily affected the turnout
ratios in internal consultations, as the number of eligible voters (registered members)
has substantially increased over time.
The new participation requirements introduced since 2017 have reduced the
turnout ratios even further in all online votes. Initially, one of the main problems
with participation resided in the blurred definition of membership provided by the
party’s internal regulations and in the low enrolment requirements. The party only
required prospective members to provide a valid national identification number and a
phone sim card. This allowed manipulation of the census, especially at the local level
where a handful of votes could decide an election. Since 2017, however, Podemos
requires prospective members to upload a scanned copy of the national identification
document, which constitutes a substantial step forward in order to avoid fraud.
In order to adhere to the democratic values of transparency and accountability,
Podemos now relies on two external firms to run, audit and certify its internal digital
polls: Agora Voting and OpenKratio. Since the adoption of the new platform in 2016,
all the voting procedures are certified by Agora Voting. The aim is to avoid e-voting
fraud. However, they only can investigate under Podemos’ guidelines. Until 2017,
only a handful of fraud scandals at the regional (e.g. Rioja, Balearic Islands) and the
local (e.g. Alicante) levels affected the voting system (Lanzone & Rombi, 2018). With
regard to the technical aspects, Podemos outsources all i-voting to the two above-
mentioned Spanish companies, both of which use an E2E auditable voting system.
Even if this cannot completely eliminate the risk of vote tampering, it reduces the
security risks by allowing individual voters to verify that their vote has been counted
as cast. Moreover, this system makes it impossible for the party or platform owners
to internally profile its users.
Our exploration of party rules and practices shows that, while in both cases there
is no state legislation over intra-party use of remote digital polling systems, Podemos
has some (albeit limited) internal regulations on participation, transparency and
accountability of intra-party e-decision-making. By contrast, the M5S has adopted
only very vague and often non-respected internal rules, despite the extensive use of
i-voting for candidate and leadership selection, programmatic and other organisa-
tional decisions, both inside the party and related to the party in public office. The
same picture emerges with regard to conformity with technical requirements such as
voters’ identification, privacy protection, control over server and software, and over
data ownership and protection. The section shows that the absence of state regulation
and—if it exists—minimalist party self-regulation on e-decision-making hinder the
inclusiveness, competitiveness and transparency of such procedures, significantly
undermining their legitimacy.
5.6 Discussion and Conclusion
A number of political parties and movements have recently introduced digital plat-
forms (such as Rousseau for the Five Star Movement or Participa for Podemos,
or other non-proprietary software such as Liquid Feedback or Loomio) as instru-
ments for obtaining funding, for internal communication and for decision-making.
Despite the rapid expansion in the use of digital platforms, empirical studies on their
functioning are quite rare. In particular, the use of i-voting instruments for intra-party
decision-making (and not simply fundraising, communication and campaigning) still
needs to be systematically addressed in the academic literature.
What needs to be empirically studied is, for example, how online platforms are
built, by studying the types of software, ownership and development. The functions of
online platforms should also be further empirically explored, for instance by looking
comparatively at how digital processes for internal information exchange and debate,
for candidate and leadership recruitment, for elaborating party manifestos, for voting
on strategic political decisions and for fundraising are organised on various party plat-
forms. Also, the main affordances of online platforms need to be empirically and
comparatively studied, in particular, whether they allow horizontal or only vertical
interactions and who is responsible for setting the i-voting agenda. Moreover, the
degree of actual use of online platforms needs to be explored, mainly by studying
users’ engagement measures and data. The platforms’ effects on party organisation
also constitute a new, under-explored avenue for research and particularly whether
they tend more to empower members or to strengthen the party leadership, and the
extent to which they complement the role of territorial branches. Finally, the inter-
actions emerging between online and offline participatory processes within parties
need to be further assessed, in order to determine the main patterns of organisational
hybridisation within digital parties.
The chapter has attempted to outline an analytical framework for studying some of
the above-mentioned issues and particularly the regulatory and technical standards
used by parties to manage their online platforms’ functions and affordances. The
chapter started by presenting the democratic norms that parties (and states) need to
adhere to when using e-decision-making and voting. It further discussed the technical
requirements they need to consider and in particular the creation of effective verifi-
cation processes. Next, the chapter outlined the extent to which M5S and Podemos,
both parties with extensive use and experience with e-decision-making, have similar
regulations in place. It found that while Podemos already have a broad range of
rules in place, in the case of the M5S they are rather underdeveloped, which risks
undermining the democratic legitimacy of the e-decision-making processes.
The wider question that emerges is what lessons can be learned from the two-
party case studies in terms of regulations and practices for the successful use of the
e-decision-making process. First, parties need to ensure equal access and allow only
eligible groups to gain access. This includes making sure that double voting is not
possible. In order to ensure equality of access, parties might need to set up public
internet voting sites, or make other voting methods available in areas of lower internet
connectivity and for certain groups of voters.
Second, to allow for a smooth introduction and running of e-decision-making, it
is important that all parties affected by the change be supplied with sufficient and
clear information. Goodman et al. (2010) argue that the marketing and information
campaign appears to be an important step toward not only launching, but also main-
taining, a successful internet voting programme. Thus, creating a general culture
of support and the feeling that concerns are addressed is important. Third, analysis
of the outcomes, preferably by an independent auditor, is essential. This allows for
procedural verification and transparency, but also further development and improve-
ment of the i-voting method. This might also involve conducting surveys among
stakeholders to see if the new method meets the desired objectives, and if they are
satisfied with the change and its consequences.
In relation to this, a gradual, practical testing appears to be a necessary step.
Gradual trials would involve introducing internet voting in sequential electoral races,
whereby the number of voters affected would increase with each pilot and the
perceived importance of the election. Next, it is vital to use a multidisciplinary team
when planning and conducting i-voting. This allows for designing and running a
system that considers legal, technical and political aspects. Only a multidisciplinary
team and approach can conform simultaneously to the technical requirements of
i-voting and to democratic norms. Furthermore, it is important to learn from other
cases. Consequently, it would be insightful to conduct a more detailed study of
party cases that either never introduced i-voting, or that abandoned it or experienced
problems with it (UMP).
Last, there is a need for a legal framework requiring and supporting the points
outlined above, as well as democratic norms and technical requirements. As stressed
above, a no-risk solution does not exist, but risks can be limited with carefully
designed regulations. At present, internet and ICT play only a limited role in decision-
making within parties, but one can expect that, similar to the use of ICT for other party
activities, its use will become widespread in the years ahead. Effective regulations
governing e-decision-making need to be adopted to avoid negative consequences for
parties as membership organisations and as electoral actors and for the democratic
decision-making process as a whole.
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Chapter 6
Cyber-Parties’ Membership Between
Empowerment and Pseudo-participation:
The Cases of Podemos and the Five Star
Movement
Cecilia Biancalana and Davide Vittori
Abstract Recently, digital technologies have become part of the daily life of parties.
The vanguard in the implementation of digital tools within party organisation is
represented by Podemos in Spain and Movimento 5 Stelle in Italy. In particular,
these two parties use digital technologies to provide new tools of participation for
party members. This chapter critically assesses this attempt comparing the two cases,
focusing on how parties framed online participation and to what extent they succeeded
in promoting members’ involvement in the party’s decision-making. Overall, both
parties give to members the opportunity to decide on many important party decisions.
However, the formal power granted to members clashes with the predominance of
the leadership in both organisations. To frame this contrasting tendency, we use the
concept of ‘pseudo-participation’: digital tools are used to give the impression to
members to participate in the party’s decision-making, but, in reality, they cannot
question neither the pre-eminence of the leadership nor have a say on the ‘rules of
the game’. Similarities and differences between the two cases are discussed.
Keywords Digital parties · Pseudo-participation · Internal party democracy
6.1 Introduction
During the great recession, Southern European political and party systems were
shaken by the irruption of populist (Kriesi & Pappas, 2015) and movement parties
(Della Porta et al., 2017) successfully challenging mainstream parties in many
respects. Among them, the Spanish Podemos and the Italian Five Star Movement
(Movimento 5 Stelle, FSM) are two genuinely new parties known for having used
digital tools extensively. While the two parties’ policies have been analysed in depth
C. Biancalana (B)
University of Lausanne, Lausanne, Switzerland
e-mail: cecilia.biancalana@unil.ch
D. Vittori
Université Libre de Bruxelles, Brussels, Belgium
e-mail: Davide.vittori@ulb.ac.be
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-78668-7_6
110 C. Biancalana and D. Vittori
by scholars (among others, Della Porta et al., 2017), organisational changes seem
to have been less covered by the literature (Biancalana & Piccio, 2017; Rodríguez-
Teruel et al., 2016). More generally, despite the fact that in recent years digital tech-
nologies have become part of the daily life of parties (Lusoli & Ward, 2004; Pedersen,
2012; Pedersen & Saglie, 2005), the impact of the internet on party organisation
remains an underdeveloped topic (Deseriis, 2017).
Accordingly, in this chapter, we analyse the use of the Internet for organisa-
tional purposes by the two parties and in particular the impact of the use of digital
tools on party membership, which is the ‘first pillar’ identified by Fitzpatrick in this
volume. The two parties have many similarities, both in terms of genesis and organi-
sational innovations, but also relevant differences (Vittori, 2017a). Our aim is to focus
on one specific issue—member participation, to understand whether Podemos and
FSM were able to reinvigorate party membership and to foster members’ empower-
ment with the use of innovative digital tools—and to illuminate the respective paths
undertaken to achieve this goal.
6.2 Members’ Empowerment or Pseudo-participation?
In the last decades, an apparently paradoxical trend has affected European parties: on
the one hand, the party on the ground, the organised membership, declined in number
(Van Biezen et al., 2012). On the other, thanks to the introduction of direct-democratic
decision-making procedures, such as party primaries, party members have appar-
ently become more powerful (Scarrow, 2015). They are increasingly involved in the
internal life of parties, for instance in the selection of the party leader (Pilet & Cross,
2014), of candidates (Hazan & Rahat, 2010) and in some cases of policies (Gauja,
2017) through direct votes: this well-known trend in increased intra-party democracy
(Cross & Katz, 2013) has affected parties for several years. Moreover, political parties
have tried to go beyond traditional affiliation procedures (Scarrow, 2015), allowing
party supporters to be registered as sympathisers or opening up candidate selection
procedures to non-members. Against this backdrop, the spread of the Internet and
of 2.0, social media further blurred the boundaries between members and supporters
and made all kinds of supporting activities within parties even more relevant than in
the past.
Although the literature disagrees on the importance of information and communi-
cation technologies (ICTs) in boosting political participation (Bimber & Copeland,
2013; Saldaña et al., 2015), ICTs can certainly influence the different dimensions of
party activities: the recruitment, integration and administration of members; leaders’
and candidates’ recruitment, communication and accountability; the selection of a
party’s goals and strategies, as well as its agenda-setting tactics; its public image;
and the management of its resources (see Fitzpatrick in this volume). This chapter
touches upon many of the dimensions outlined above, but our contribution focuses
specifically on the digitalisation of party membership.
6 Cyber-Parties’ Membership Between Empowerment … 111
In their seminal 2005 article, Pedersen and Saglie wondered: ‘What would happen
to party organisations if traditional party activities were replaced by electronic partic-
ipation?’. The cases of Podemos and FSM offer us the opportunity to answer that
question. Pedersen and Saglie envisaged three scenarios. In the first one, the new
ICTs undermine the power of the party leadership in favour of the empowerment of
party membership. In the second one, the individual participation fostered by ICTs
weakens the deliberative aspect of party organisations and thus gives more power to
the leaders and the party elites in general. In the third, the impact of ICTs on power,
democracy and participation is ‘limited’. This does not mean that the new media
are unimportant, but that, for instance, increased access does not necessarily create
greater interest in political participation.
Drawing on the work of Pateman and Verba, we can imagine a fourth scenario
according to which ICTs perform mainly a symbolic function. According to this
hypothesis, digital tools are not used to give members more power, but to give them the
impression that they can influence the decision-making processes of the party. This
is what Pateman (1970, p. 69; see also Verba, 1961) called ‘pseudo-participation’.
Pseudo-participation is a situation in which no participation in decision-making actu-
ally takes place: for decision-makers, the concern is to create a feeling of participa-
tion and openness, while retaining power in their own hands. Pateman, dealing with
participation in industries, defines it as a situation in which participation is limited
to an endorsement of a decision made elsewhere; for instance, a situation in which
the supervisor instead of merely telling the employees of a decision, allows them to
question him about it and to discuss it—but without changing the desired outcome.
The same can be applied to democracy and participation within political parties.
Indeed, writing about the general process of intra-party democratisation, Mair (1994)
hypothesised the meaningless and/or illusory nature of members’ empowerment:
individual and docile ordinary members are more inclined to endorse policies and
candidates proposed by the party leadership in internal ballots (for instance, with
respect to the middle-level elite during a party congress). In the same vein, some
have claimed that the essentially legitimating function of (open) party primaries are
used just to give an additional investiture to a ‘natural’ candidate (Sandri et al., 2015).
However, is this kind of participation really ‘meaningless’? Writing about party
reforms, Gauja (2017) acknowledged that the symbolism of change and the discourse
surrounding it can be just as important as the substance, having an impact on both
citizens’ perception and parties.
The aim of this chapter is to understand whether Podemos and FSM have rein-
vigorated party membership and fostered members’ empowerment, or whether they
aimed only to create a ‘feeling of participation’ among members. If the latter prevails,
we want to evaluate the purpose of this kind of participation, besides the obvious
reason of making decisions acceptable. We hypothesise that even the feeling of partic-
ipation can be important, because we know that if a situation is defined as real, its
consequences will be real. So, even if the participation is ‘pseudo’, the feeling of
participation that it creates can have effects, for instance on members’ identification
with the party or on its positioning vis-à-vis other parties in the public sphere, i.e. on
its public image.
In order to answer these questions, we first evaluate the extent to which Podemos
and FSM innovated member participation. We start by providing a brief overview
of the genesis and the overall organisation of the two parties, and then, we analyse
the formal requirements to become a member and the kinds of membership that are
allowed within the two parties. Secondly, we analyse members’ online participation
practices on the Participa and Rousseau platforms.
6.3 The Easiest Way to Become a Member: Podemos

and FSM Online Membership
6.3.1 Genesis, Evolution and Organisation
Podemos is a genuinely new party, whose origin can be dated back to January 2014,
when several left-wing activists, trade unionists and university professors launched a
document titled Mover ficha: convertir la indignacion en cambio político. The elec-
toral results of Podemos’ first participation in an electoral competition (European
elections 2014) were quite impressive, as the party received 7.98% of the votes. In
the 2015 general election, the party managed to increase its share to 12.7%, and in
the following elections (2016), it obtained its best result (13.4%) yet in alliance with
Izquierda Unida and other minor parties. The first congress (October 2014) delin-
eated the characteristics of the party organisation: in some aspects, it resembled the
structure of the Spanish traditional parties, as it replicates its national ‘party in central
office’ (called state citizen council, SCC) in the different autonomous communities
(Rodríguez-Teruel et al., 2016), granting them a certain degree of independence; it
also introduced some major innovations, such as a digital platform called Participa,
through which members can participate to the internal life of the party.
All members are part of the state citizen assembly (SCA). The SCA is the highest
organ of the party and directly elects the secretary and the state citizen council (SCC).
Among several other functions, the SCC is responsible for the convocation of the
assembly, the elaboration of the party guidelines and, mostly, for the coordination
between the party and the parliamentary groups. It has been noted that over time,
the organisation’s centralisation increased: during the second congress (2017), the
minority factions criticised the oligarchisation of the party and the excessive asym-
metry between the leadership and the grassroot movements. In 2019, the criticism
over the centralisation of the party, as well as over the positions held by the party
vis-à-vis other policy issues, such as Catalan independence, led to a major split of the
faction led by Iñigo Errejón, as well as other minor splits of several office-holders
in Andalusia and Catalunya. In 2021, Podemos leading figure Pablo Iglesias stepped
down as party secretary.
FSM was officially founded in October 2009, yet the genesis of Grillo’s party can
be dated back about four years earlier, when Beppe Grillo and Gianroberto Casaleggio
opened Grillo’s blog and created a loosely organised movement of supporters through
the online platform meetup.com (Tronconi, 2015). In 2009, after few sporadic partic-
ipations in local elections, Grillo officially launched his own lists, but the greatest
electoral success came in 2013, when at its first national electoral test, the FSM
obtained 25.6% of the votes in the Chamber of Deputies and elected more than 150
MPs. In 2018, after five years in opposition, the party managed to further increase
its electoral appeal, obtaining 32.7% (Biancalana & Colloca, 2018) and forming a
coalition government at first with the populist radical-right party League (Lega),
and subsequently with the centre-left Democratic Party (Partito Democratico, PD).
In 2021, the FSM participated to the Draghi cabinet, a national unity government
formed with both politicians and independent technocrats.
From the organisational standpoint, local members have been free from the begin-
ning to organise and establish local units and to participate in local elections. In order
to do so, the only requirement was to obtain the ‘certification’, that is the permis-
sion to use the party logo, which was owned by Grillo. With the official creation of
the national FSM, in 2009, the statute became the main organisational guideline for
the party. According to the party’s rhetoric, the FSM would not have been organ-
ised like the other parties (for instance, with a recognised ‘party in central office’ in
charge of major party decisions, and in general with professional politicians within
the party); on the contrary, the backbone of the decision-making processes should
be a form of online direct democracy, exercised by members through the party’s
platform. However, the literature has shown that this push towards direct democracy
was coupled with a strictly hierarchical organisation, in which Casaleggio and Grillo
had the last word on the most important decisions (Biancalana & Piccio, 2017).
Over time, and on several occasions, the statute and party rules were reformed,
and intermediate bodies and a party-like structure were created. From 2017, the
Capo Politico (substantially a party secretary, the MP Luigi Di Maio1 ) has acquired
a substantial role within the party, but shares this power with the Guarantor of the
party (Beppe Grillo), who has the non-negotiable last word on the interpretation of
the statute. After the disappointing result in the 2019 European elections (17.1%),
Di Maio started a process of reforming the party structure, with the creation of
‘facilitators’. Regional facilitators have the task of liaising between the centre and
the territories, and national-level facilitators are responsible for the organisational
aspects of the party and for the articulation of policies. Together they compose
the so-called Team del Futuro (future team), the new organisational structure (not
yet codified in the party structure) of the FSM. Finally, Davide Casaleggio, the
son of Gianroberto Casaleggio, who died in April 2016, holds considerable power
within the organisation, as he is the president of the association that manages the
online participation platform of the FSM, which was renamed Rousseau in 2015.
In 2021, Davide Casaleggio and other leading figures of the FSM left the party in
open contrast with MPs and Grillo’s decision to support the grand coalition headed
by former ECB governor Mario Draghi. Consequently, Rousseau ceased to be the
official participatory platform of the party.
1 Di Maio resigned as party secretary in January 2020.

6.3.2 Similar, Not Identical: The Membership Within

Podemos and FSM
While devising new ways to recruit party members, both Podemos and FSM substan-
tially reduced the costs of joining the party. The main difference with respect to
traditional parties is that it is possible to become an online member only, through the
party Web site. Becoming a full member of Podemos and FSM requires only a valid
ID, as there are no fees to be paid to be enrolled in the party. The main difference
between the two parties is that since 2015 Podemos distinguishes between active and
inactive members. Inactive members are those who have not logged in to the party’s
online platform for at least a year, while active members have logged in at least once
in the year preceding the latest internal consultation. Within FSM, failing to upload
a valid ID does not per se exclude participation in the digital platform, even though
these members can only navigate through a few functions: these ‘light’ members
cannot vote in internal consultations, and they have only limited access to Rousseau,
but they can still take part in the daily activities and can support the party financially.
Similarly, within Podemos, supporters, both registered and non-registered, can use
their ‘voice’ (Hirschman, 1970) in the old Reddit-based platform; however, only
registered members can be part of the new digital platform.
In both cases, all online registered members are part of the national assemblies and
have the same voting rights. Herein lies a discrepancy with other parties: usually, to
encourage participation, parties create new figures, such as the party sympathiser or
the party supporter (Scarrow, 2015; Vittori, 2019). These ‘light’ members usually do
not pay any fee, in contrast to the full members: yet, they have limited voting rights.
This innovation does not appear in the cases of Podemos and FSM. Both Podemos
and FSM—although with different degrees of autonomy, higher in Podemos—allow
the participation of non-members in the local cells: they may have voting rights in
local decision-making, but the only way to have the rights granted to members is to
officially enrol online. More generally, local cells have a different role in the two
parties: within Podemos, local cells elect their own representative in the SCC and,
thus, are officially recognised and represented within the party. By contrast, within
M5S, the role of meet-ups is ancillary to the organisation, as they are not included in
the party’s formal structure, and—at least in the most populated cities—they cannot
propose their own candidates, since local primaries are also organised within the
national digital platform.
The low barriers for entrance to the party and (probably) their electoral success
have had important consequences in both cases, even though with different magni-
tudes. At the time of writing and taking into consideration the most recent data
available for the other two main nationwide parties (PP and PSOE), Podemos is
the party with the largest membership in Spain: based on 2017 data (Vittori 2017b),
PSOE has slightly less than 200,000 members, while PP has few more than PSOE; by
contrast, Podemos has more than 280,000 active members (and more than 500,000
if inactive members are included). On the other hand, FSM lags behind the Demo-
cratic Party, the only party for which reliable data are available (450,328 members
in 2017, 374,786 in 2018, 412,675 in 2019): yet, FSM has a considerably larger
membership than other relevant Italian parties, such as the League, which had about
17,000 members entitled to vote in the party primaries in 2013. In December 2019,
FSM had more than 130,000 members. The difference between Podemos and FSM
is substantial: this may be due to the structural difference in the overall membership
of all political parties—in Spain, the membership trend is much more stable than
the descending Italian trend (Barberà et al., 2014)—but Podemos members are still
three times more numerous than FSM’s.
6.4 Members’ Involvement: How Innovative

and Participatory Are Digital Platforms?
6.4.1 The Digital Platforms and the Rules for Participation
In both cases, the online procedure for recruiting members is administered by a digital
platform through which the parties organise their internal life. Yet, despite these simi-
larities, the two platforms are quite distinct. The Podemos digital platform is called
Participa. Before the construction of its own digital platform (2015), Podemos relied
on Reddit, a social media site. Reddit was used along with Appgree and AgoraVoting
and Loomio as online tools to organise the party (Ardanuy Pizarro & Labuske, 2015).
When the party started structuring after the first congress (October 2014), Plaza
Podemos became one of the affordances of the new digital platform. Similarly, in the
FSM case, the very first platform of the party, Lex, allowed only voting and interac-
tion between MPs and members; afterwards, in 2015, FSM integrated Lex into the
new platform called Rousseau.
Before 2015, the main difference between the two parties was that Podemos’ first
platform was not owned by the party, whereas FSM had its own platform from its
beginning, although it was not controlled directly by the party but by Casaleggio
Associati, the company for online strategies owned by Gianroberto Casaleggio.
Although not formally recognised by the party statute, Casaleggio Associati and its
CEO Gianroberto Casalaeggio headed FSM, thus increasing the asymmetry between
the platform participants and the leadership. In 2015, a new association was created
by Casaleggio’s son, Davide, called Associazione Rousseau; even though formally
outside the party structure, it manages all the participatory tools within the party.
Consistent with the provisions of the statute published at the end of 2017, it has the
right to manage indefinitely all the online decision-making processes of the party,
but members have no control over it. For instance, it is impossible for a member of
the M5S to become a member of the association, to control its internal functioning in
any way or to contest its role in the organisation. M5S members thus have no control
over either the ‘technological’ management of the platform or the rules regulating
the decision-making processes that it supports.
Greater centralisation occurred in Podemos in 2016, when Plaza Podemos turned

into Plaza Podemos 2.0, the new internal digital platform of the Spanish party: yet,
in this case, it is Podemos that owns the platform and manages all its affordances,
while the voting procedures are certified by an external entity (Agora Voting). In
the organisational document, the presence of this platform is mentioned only once,
through a reference to the commitment of the party to develop open-source software
in order to improve its usage. In the organisational principles document, the party
highlighted the role of Plaza Podemos 2.0 as ‘a place for debate and deliberation’,
complementing the role of the territorial circles.
Plaza Podemos 2.0 is defined as the ‘deliberative space’ of Participa: it has a
homepage where users can track the daily activities within the party, following which
it divides into three main areas. The first is dedicated to the Inciativas Ciudadanas
Populares (popular citizen’s initiative, ICP). ICPs are broad proposals advanced by
Plaza Podemos users; if supported by 0.2% of the total members, they can be voted
upon by the whole membership in an internal consultation. Once this threshold has
been reached, 10% of the members or 20% of the circles must support the proposal,
and the party structure helps the proponent to draft a law proposal which will then be
put to a vote.2 The second area is labelled ‘debates and opinions’: here, members can
activate discussions that may be thumbed-up or thumbed-down by other members, as
well as commented on by other members. The third area is labelled ‘open seat’ and
allows Podemos members to pose questions during commissions and plenary sessions
in parliament. This area seemed inactive at the time of writing. Another affordance
related to the Participa platform is the project Impulsa (literally ‘propelling’), through
which members can vote on social projects to be supported through donations from
the salaries of the elected representatives of Podemos. Members can donate to the
party through the Participa platform, and they can also use it to vote in internal
consultations.
Compared to Participa, Rousseau has many more functions, and it is constantly
being updated with new ones. Rousseau consists of several areas devoted to both
‘deliberative’ and ‘direct’ democratic procedures. The former comprise Lex Parlia-
ment, Lex Europe, and Lex Region, through which members can discuss laws with
MPs and MEPs, enhancing their accountability. Elected representatives that want
to present a law to their assembly must post it on Lex beforehand, together with a
brief explanation and a video. Then, for a period of two to four months, members
can comment on the law. After that period of time, the elected representative can
integrate the law with the members’ comments and present a written report in which
he or she explains the modifications that have been incorporated and also why some
comments were not accepted. No such affordances were developed in the Participa
platform: while the ‘open seat’ tool allows direct interaction between members and
MPs, not only this channel only allows questions to be merely voted upon, but also
it seems to have been abandoned. Lex has similar problems, in the sense that the
interaction between MPs and members has decreased over time and, in general, the
2 No ICPs reached the second threshold since Plaza Podemos 2.0 was activated.
overall participation of members has declined (Mosca, 2018), but it still functions
on all levels.
As in Participa, members can vote on a range of topics through a tool called Vote
FSM, with the most important themes relating to leader and candidate selection.
However, contrary to Participa, members have to follow an online procedure to
stand as a candidate in national and local competitions: this function is called open
candidature.
As with Participa, Rousseau includes a fund raising function, which allows
members to vote on regional and national projects, funded with donations from
the regional councillors’ salaries. However, Rousseau has developed other tools: the
most relevant is Lex Iscritti (Lex members), through which members propose and
vote on their own law proposals. Although prime facie this function may appear
similar to Podemos’ voting function on ICPs, it is quite different: in each session (16
up to December 2019), members can cast a vote on different law proposals written
by other members and previously reviewed by Rousseau’s staff (Deseriis, 2017). The
two most-voted proposals for each session are then drafted in detail and discussed
with MPs in order to become official law proposals issued by FSM.3
Rousseau also allows users to create or find events or local actions organised
by elected representatives, other activists or the party, and it offers the opportunity
to local representatives to upload acts and laws approved at the sub-national level
in order to spread best practice in FSM policy-making (a function called ‘sharing’).
Other functions include Scudo della rete (Web shield), which assists FSM supporters
who are facing lawsuits for their activities; e-learning, which consists of a series of
online courses; and Segnala un iscritto (report a member), through which members
are encouraged to report rule violations to the party.
The differences between Podemos and FSM extend beyond the functions offered
by the digital platforms. Another relevant discrepancy relates to the codification of
the rules for participation. At the outset, Podemos codified the rules relating to calls
for internal consultations in the party statute. Even though it approved further rules
from 2015 for candidate selection in order to set timing and criteria, the statute clearly
specifies who can call for internal consultations.
In the case of FSM, this was initially regulated informally and defined incre-
mentally over time to be codified in the various reforms of the party statute and
rules (2015, 2016 and 2017). Yet, as the most recent primaries for the selection of
MEP candidates prove (2019), the rules for the primaries are not debated among any
elected officials, as in the case of Podemos, but they are decided by the party leaders.
Similarly, it is important to note that members have (or had) the opportunity to
request a consultation related to some aspects of party functioning. In the case of
Podemos, members can convene the state citizen assembly. The extraordinary online
assembly can be activated by the party leader, 10% of members and 20% of the active
territorial circles, unified municipal spaces and the coordinating bodies that have the
right to participate in that decision-making process. For revocatory consultations,
the threshold is increased. The most important revocatory consultation, i.e., the vote
3 As of 2019, no law proposal had been presented to parliament.

of no-confidence for the party secretary and the spokeswoman in parliament, can be
activated by the party secretary. Within FSM, a similar opportunity was introduced
in the reform of the 2015 statute, but it was then discarded when the new statute was
approved in 2017. At the time of writing, however, no Podemos or FSM members
have ever requested to convene the assemblies of the parties.
Finally, it is important to consider the discourse surrounding these innovations
in members’ participation. FSM’s Internet rhetoric that emerges from analysis of
the leaders’ discursive production has been defined as ‘cyber-optimistic’ or ‘cyber-
utopian’ (see Biancalana, 2014; Mosca et al., 2015; Mosca, 2018). The Internet is
understood by FSM as an ontologically positive technology, a natural creator of
horizontal, transparent, participatory and non-hierarchical processes. Significantly,
this kind of rhetoric is absent in Podemos (Vittori, 2017a).
However, it has been shown (Vittori & Deseriis, 2019) that the deliberative aspect
of those platforms is quite limited—in both cases, online votes are central and repre-
sent a direct link between the party on the ground (members) and both the party
in public office and the party leadership. The centrality of voting and the lesser
importance given to deliberation is also testified by the fact that there is no space in
Rousseau where members can have discussions before or after the vote. In Participa,
such spaces do exist, but their functioning is rather limited.
Thus, digital platforms in both cases serve in the first place as the medium
through which the parties perform the function of candidate selection: similar to
traditional parties, which are increasingly involving members in the selection of
leaders and candidates (Cross & Katz, 2013; Sandri et al., 2015), these two parties
use digital platforms to perform this crucial function. Yet, contrary to other parties,
the digital platform also serves other important functions, such as fund-raising, polit-
ical socialisation, coordination of activists and, in general, interaction between party
faces.
6.4.2 Participation: ‘Quantity’ and ‘Quality’
As the literature has shown (among others, Scarrow, 2015; Scarrow et al., 2017),
the use of one-member-one-vote (OMOV) direct-democracy tools within political
parties have increased in the last decades: members were empowered with the right
to decide on candidates, leaders and, in some cases, also policies. Yet, contrary to
other parties, the internal party democracy within these two parties is much more
developed (Vittori, 2019), since they have extended the scope for members to vote
on a vast array of issues4 ; Podemos and FSM online consultations are the subject of
this section.
4 As no public archive of the consultations held by the two parties is available, the data presented in
this article were drawn by the authors from the websites of Rousseau and Participa.podemos. Data
are relevant up to December 2019.
As of December 2019, Podemos had launched 22 national consultations plus the

candidate and leadership selections at the regional and local levels. With regard to
the internal consultations held by FSM, what is striking in comparison with Podemos
is the high number of consultations. Members within FSM are constantly involved
in the decision-making process of the party. Between December 2012 and December
2019, a total of 99 votes were cast at national level (as well as 58 at the regional level
and 23 at the local level).5 Indeed, online ballots can involve not only national but
also other territorial levels. In that case, only people that live in the territory involved
in the ballot can vote. The consultations held by the two parties can be grouped into
10 macro areas (see Table 6.1).
Overall, online consultations held by the two parties cover most of the ‘pillar’ and
the ‘bricks’ of the digitalisation of parties’ activities identified by Fitzpatrick in this
volume. In both cases, online consultations have been used to recruit candidates at
various levels and—mainly in the case of Podemos—also to select the leader. They
were extensively used in both cases to select policies and to define the party’s strategy.
More generally, through online consultations, members have been integrated in the
internal life of the party, having the opportunity to vote on party documents as well
as to decide on the election and recall of party personnel. In the case of the FSM,
members also had the possibility to vote on expulsions of MPs and to ‘direct’ their
activity in the assemblies. Members can make law proposals in both cases, but this
possibility has been concretely implemented only in the case of the FSM. Finally,
consultations have been used to choose how to allocate the funds saved by cutting
the salaries of MPs. In general, these consultations contributed to build the image of
the two parties as accessible, transparent and responsive organisations, albeit with
some nuances that will be pointed out below.
Regarding turnout, while the number of consultations differs markedly—Podemos
being much more reluctant to involve members—their participation rates show a
similar trend.
In the case of Podemos, participation in internal consultations has a wavering trend
(Fig. 6.1). With the exception of the first congress, the turnout was always below 50%.
What must be underlined here is that overall turnout is highly affected by the growth
of the membership from 2014 onwards. In 2014, Podemos had slightly more than
200,000 members; in 2019, this figure had more than doubled. Thus, while overall
turnout indicates a tendency towards disenfranchisement, one also should highlight
the total participation trends. During the first congress, more than 110,000 members
voted in the most-voted consultation after the 2016 ‘record’ achieved by the motion
of no-confidence on the leadership (see below), where more than 180,000 members
participated. However, since 2014, the participation started decreasing rapidly, up to
a minimum of 4% in the internal consultation for the party programme (2015). The
data in Fig. 6.1, however, suggest that Podemos was able to revitalise participation in
the following years, especially when crucial decisions for the party strategies were
5Our tally refers to voting sessions. In some cases (e.g. definition of the electoral programme), the
FSM opened a single voting session in which more than one question were put to members. In these
cases, we counted the ballot as one.
Table 6.1 Summary of the online consultations held by Podemos and FSM
Podemos FSM
Selection of candidates At the local, regional, national At the local, regional, national
and European levels and European levels; plus, in
one case, selection of the
candidate PM (for the 2018
elections). In one instance,
members also voted on the
reversal of the result of local
primaries
Selection and recall of the The party leader is selected Never. Di Maio has been voted
leader through online primary only as candidate PM, and not
elections during the congress. In as a party leader. In one case, he
one case, the leader himself called for a recall vote
called for a recall vote
Definition of electoral Yes, only for the 2015 and 2019 Yes, for the 2018 national
programme elections (in the latter case it elections and the 2019
was confirmatory vote) European elections
Political strategy Alliances EP group (two times)
Coalition government’s Meeting with MP candidate,
approval Matteo Renzi
Coalition government’s
approval (two times)
Vote on Salvini’s parliamentary
immunity
Electoral alliance (regional
level)
Whether or not to participate in
regional elections
Election and recall of party State citizens’ council Direttorio
personnel Ethic committee Board of advisors
Appeal committee
Future team
Definition of party Congress (different documents Party logo
documents and organisation voted during the congress) Party statute
New organisation
Expulsions No Yes (between 2013 and 2015)
Members’ law proposals Formally exist, but no law Lex Iscritti votes
proposal has exceeded the basic
threshold to be discussed
Votes that influence the No Rarely used
legislative activity of MPs Various issues
Allocation of party funds ‘Impulsa’ project (support to ‘Facciamo scuola’ project
socially oriented projects) (support to local schools)
How to allocate funds resulting
from MPs salary cuts
600,000
500,000
400,000
300,000
200,000
100,000
0
2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019
Members Active Members Voters
Fig. 6.1 Podemos average turnout (national) and declared membership, 2014–2019
at stake, i.e. the participation in a coalition government with PSOE and Ciudadanos
and the proposal of an alternative majority (where 72% of the active membership
voted), the alliance with Izquierda Unida (61%), the leadership selection during the
second congress of the party (2017) (55%) and the 2018 consultation on Iglesias and
Montero’s resignations (75%). Primaries for candidates to the national (16%) and
European (22%) parliaments were only relatively attractive for the membership.
The same wavering trend can be detected for FSM (Fig. 6.2). The turnout
constantly decreased over time, although it peaked on a few relevant occasions,
i.e. the participation of Grillo in a meeting with PM candidate Matteo Renzi (with a
turnout of 48% of the membership), when FSM expelled some MPs from the party for
the first time (51%), the selection of the President of the Republic (59%) during the
approval of the new party statute (62.3% mean turnout for the three consultations),
the approval of the contract stipulated by FSM and the League to form a coalition
government (45%), and two other recent consultations on a criminal case against the
160,000
140,000
120,000
100,000
80,000
60,000
40,000
20,000
0
2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019
Voters Members
Fig. 6.2 FSM average turnout (national) and declared membership, 2013–2019. Note The mean
for the year 2013 includes the only consultation held in December 2012
League leader, Matteo Salvini (44%), and on the alliance between FSM and PD in
September 2019 (69%). The participation in Lex Parlamento shows a similar trend
(Mosca, 2018).
While it is true that, despite the fluctuating members’ participation rate, the two
parties extended the scope for members to express their opinion on a vast array of
issues, thus increasing the overall quantity of participation, we also need to evaluate
its quality. In order to do that, besides issues relating to the administration of the
platform and the rules of participation—which lacked transparency in the case of
the FSM, as we have noted—the framing of the questions and the outcomes of the
consultations must be considered.
Regarding the framing of the questions, Podemos and FSM often frame questions
of internal consultation clearly indicating the most preferred option for the party
élites. We have some examples, starting with Podemos. When members voted on
the participation in the coalition government with PSOE and Ciudadanos or whether
they wanted to support a coalition government with Podemos allies and other minor
forces, the questions were:
(1) Do you want a government based on the Rivera-Sánchez pact?
(2) Do you approve the proposal of the government for change, which is endorsed
by Podemos, En Comú and En Marea?
In this case, the preference of the party élite was already present in the second
question and, thus, favouring the first would have meant going against the official
party line sketched in the weeks that preceded the consultation. Other questions were
framed in a more neutral fashion. The consultations on the vote of no-confidence in
the PP-led government read: ‘Do you agree with Podemos voting in favour of a
no-confidence motion to oust the PP and M. Rajoy from the government?’, and ‘Do
you want us to propose a vote of no-confidence in the PP?’ In both cases, while the
position of Podemos can be detected from the framing of the questions, there is no
clear-cut indication of the preferences of the party élite. The revocatory consultation
on the Iglesias and Montero resignation had a more neutral framing: ‘Do you think
that Pablo Iglesias and Irene Montero should be appointed as party secretary and
parliamentary spokesperson?’.
FSM provides similar partisan questions to its members. Moreover, the partisan
information given to members concerning the topics for the vote, for instance in the
case of the definition of the electoral programme, also contribute towards ‘guiding’
members’ decisions. In examples from consultations in December 2017 and June
2017 respectively, the questions were framed in a way that makes the desired outcome
obvious:
Do you think that the constraints on our economic sovereignty contained in the European
treaties must be radically renegotiated, and that if negotiations would lead to downward
compromises, they must be rejected for the good of the Italian people? (Yes/No answer).
Are you in favour of the approval of a German electoral system, respectful of the Constitution,
possibly with the introduction of constitutionally legitimate governability corrections?’
In other cases as well, the result of the consultations was practically predetermined.
For instance, in the consultation for the Eurogroup (June 2014), the choice was
between EFL, ECR and non-attached members, although it was known that some
members and MEPs wanted to enter the Green group. However, this option was not
offered, as Grillo wanted an alliance with UKIP’s leader Nigel Farage (EFL). In
cases relating to the selection of party personnel for the most important and powerful
roles, members had only the opportunity to vote on closed lists of people prepared by
the leadership, to either approve or reject. The same happened in the consultation on
the new statute (September 2016) and on other major organisational changes (July
2019).
Does this framing have a consequence for the outcomes of the consultations? In
the case of Podemos, there are no instances in which the preference of the leadership
has been reversed. In the case of the FSM, members have expressed opposition to
the will of the leadership on some occasions, but in most cases the position of the
leadership prevailed.
6.5 Conclusions
The aim of this chapter was to assess whether Podemos and FSM were able to rein-
vigorate party membership and to foster members’ empowerment with the use of
innovative digital tools. Moreover, we asked whether this form of members’ empow-
erment would result in a ‘pseudo-participation’, in which only an impression of
participation is given to members, and if, in the end, this feeling of participation
could be considered as effectively ‘meaningless’.
Although both Italy and Spain are very receptive to innovations regarding party
organisation, there is no doubt that the opportunity to become a member online,
without any fee, is a relevant novelty. On the other hand, it should be noted that—
although it is possible for citizens to access some parts of the digital platform and
to become ‘digital supporters’ in the party platforms and other social media—both
Podemos and FSM allow only their registered members to participate in their internal
decisions. Moreover, both parties give individual members the opportunity to partic-
ipate directly, from home, in a number of important decision-making processes of
the party, such as the selection of the leader (at least in the case of Podemos), the
selection of candidates at all levels, and partially also of policies, in addition to the
possibility to donate to the party and decide on the allocation of some party funds.
Perhaps because these opportunities were available, they attracted a relevant number
of members with respect to their mainstream counterparts that have a longer history
and more resources, thus contributing to innovate and reinvigorate party membership
in Italy and Spain.
While both parties use the Internet to facilitate member participation, some rele-
vant differences also emerged between the two. The first concerns party organisation
in general: while Podemos has had, from the very beginning, a ‘party-like’ structure,
the FSM—at least in the first phase—carried out more radical innovation, giving the
party only an informal structure based on the Casaleggio Associati company. This
had consequences for the management of the platforms. In the case of Podemos,
the party controls the platform; in the case of the FSM, it is an association that is
separate from the party, over which members have no control, and which manages
all the internal decision-making processes. In parallel, the rules for participation are
more codified in Podemos, and this guarantees members a greater degree of fairness
and transparency.
A second difference concerns the different functions and tools present in the
platform, as well as their use, together with the absence of ‘cyber-optimistic’ rhetoric
in the case of Podemos. While it has been noted that voting is central to both platforms,
compared to Participa, Rousseau has many more functions. Although FSM uses
online consultations more frequently than Podemos, the member participation rate
is low in both cases; however, when the stakes are high, we have seen that members
do mobilise.
With respect to the online consultations, which comprise the main function of the
platforms, there are similarities and differences. The main difference between the
two parties is that Podemos officials have always been elected by members, while
in FSM they have often been nominated by the leadership or, at most, submitted for
members’ approval with closed lists. In contrast to the FSM, criticism of Podemos
arose because of a closed-list election procedure during the voting for the second
congress (the so-called lista plancha), through which candidates belonging to the
majority faction were favoured. But the most striking difference between the two is
the use of online consultations made by the FSM leadership to expel MPs, something
that would be impossible for Podemos. Unlike Podemos, however, FSM members
have voted on a regular basis on law proposals and more generally to influence the
party’s legislative activity.
Nevertheless, is this empowerment genuine, or are members only given the impres-
sion of participating in the decision-making processes of the party? It is impossible
to answer this question with a clear ‘yes’ or ‘no’: if members formally have a lot
of power, the predominance of the leadership is never questioned. Due to the fact
that the ‘rules of the game’ are not shared, that members have no control on the
management of the platform (FSM), that the rules make initiatives difficult to call
(Podemos), and that the questions are often framed to make members accept deci-
sions taken elsewhere (both), the outcomes of the consultations rarely contest the
leadership. And, whenever that does happen, the leadership manages to succeed in
its purpose anyway. For these reasons, despite the substantial innovation introduced
by these tools with respect to the decision-making processes of traditional parties,
we can say that their power is mainly symbolic.
But does ‘symbolic’ equate with ‘meaningless’? Even the feeling of participation
can be important, because we know that if a situation is defined as real, it will have real
consequences. Even if the participation in digital platforms can be defined as ‘pseudo’
in some cases, the induced feeling of participation can have effects, for instance, on
members’ identification with the party or on its positioning vis-à-vis other parties
in the public sphere, that is, on a party’s public image. After all, both Podemos and
FSM are successful new parties. Their investment in online participation must be
considered as contributing to their success.
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Chapter 7
Anti-party Digital Parties Between Direct
and Reactive Democracy. The Case of La
France Insoumise
Marco Guglielmo
Abstract This chapter analyses the use of digital platforms and its intra-party conse-
quences by the radical left party La France Insoumise (Unbowed France—LFI),
founded in 2016 by the Presidential candidate Jean-Luc Mélenchon. First, we concep-
tualise LFI as an ‘anti-party digital party’, a type of movements designed around
cyber tools both as organisational means to mobilise citizens and as new disruptive
spaces prompting novel opportunities of contestation towards mainstream parties.
Secondly, we focus on the digital tools through which LFI is organised, mainly
structured around the ‘Action Platform’ Agir, integrating multiple functions such
as registering membership, organising locally- or theme based ‘action groups’ and
online voting. Thirdly, we identify the intra-movement tensions associated with the
use of digital platforms, mainly between, on the one hand, the promise of horizontality
and participatory democracy and, on the other hand, the centralisation of strategic
decisions by party leader resulting in plebiscitarian decision-making. We conclude
that digital parties as LFI constitutively oscillate between opening new opportunities
of activation for citizens otherwise excluded from politics when their organisations
remain open to further innovations and demobilising effects when parties’ leaders
reduce the transformative potentialities of online participation to reactive means to
retain their intra-party power.
Keywords Digital parties · Digital democracy · Participatory platforms · La

France Insoumise
7.1 Introduction
This chapter presents the use of digital platforms by the French radical left party La
France Insoumise (Unbowed France, LFI) and their intra-party consequences. The
analysis seeks answers to two broad questions. First, how have digital technologies
M. Guglielmo (B)
University of Birmingham, Birmingham, UK
e-mail: MXG875@student.bham.ac.uk
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-78668-7_7
128 M. Guglielmo
contributed to the renewal of political parties? Second, to what extent have digital
platforms improved their democratic performance?
Since the first definition of ‘cyber-parties’ (Margetts, 2006), scholars have paid
increasing attention to the emergence of new types of political organisations concep-
tualised as ‘anti-establishment cyber-parties’ (Hartleb, 2013), ‘network’ (Klimowicz,
2018) or ‘digital’ parties (Gerbaudo, 2018). Ongoing debates have been confronting
optimistic views, claiming that digital technologies are incentivising horizontal
discussions and further democratisation (i.e. Chadwick & Stromer-Galley, 2016),
and pessimistic accounts according to which the promise of democratic expansion
through platforms has been betrayed by the imposition of a plebiscitary ‘democracy’
(i.e. Gerbaudo, 2019). However, there appears to be a consensus on (i) the relevance
of digital platforms in reshaping the repertoires of action and interrelation within
and between parties and (ii) the variations in the functions played by the platforms
between ‘digital native’ and established parties. Typical cases of the former are the
Spanish Podemos (We Can), the Italian Movimento 5 Stelle (5 Star Movement, 5SM),
LFI and the pirate parties.
Research efforts have been mostly dedicated to the Italian and Spanish cases
(i.e. Kioupkiolis, 2016; Caruso, 2017; Ramiro & Gomez, 2017; De Blasio & Sorice,
2018; see also Chaps. 5 and 6 in this volume) for two main reasons. First, these parties
seemed ‘newer’, as they were founded by outsider leaders, whereas LFI was launched
by a long-lasting professional politician (Marlière, 2019): indeed, it was created in
2016 as the movement to support the presidential candidacy of Jean-Luc Mélenchon.
Second, although LFI attempted to present itself as a ‘network-movement’ and a
‘non-party’—beyond left and right—the recognisable nature of the leader as a leftist
reduced the disruptive effect on established patterns of parties’ competition. However,
the double nature of the ‘digital’ for LFI as a crucial organisational device and as the
prefiguration of a new democratic model makes it largely comparable with Podemos
and 5SM. Therefore, the assessment of LFI’s platforms will enrich the debates about
the features of the ‘digital parties’.
The chapter is structured as follows: the second section specifies the theoret-
ical background to analyse LFI as a specific hybrid cyber-organisation, an ‘anti-
party digital party’, and focuses on the specific tensions arising for these types
of movements; therefore, the main organisational and ideological LFI’s trends are
summarised in order to set the scene within which to describe the architecture of
digital tools around which the movement is structured (Sect. 7.4) and to analyse
the related intra-party tensions (Sect. 7.5). The concluding remarks deduce from the
analyses a potential range of new questions to be explored to better understand the
political impacts of digital platforms.
7.2 Theoretical Background
In order to understand the features and directionalities of LFI’s digital platforms, we

conceptualise it as pertaining to a peculiar party type, the ‘anti-party digital parties’.
7 Anti-party Digital Parties Between Direct … 129
According to Paolo Gerbaudo, ‘digital party as a new party type is not simply the
embracing of digital technology but the purpose of democratisation which digital
technology is called to fulfil’ (2018, p. 14), meaning that parties are ‘digital’ not
only when integrating the use of digital platforms in their processes, but also when
promising to overcome the fallacies of an unjust political system. More specifi-
cally, this theory implies that digital technologies are consciously conceived by polit-
ical actors as a new mediating factor through which new parties aim to overcome
the ‘traditional’ leaders-structure trade-offs, whereby parties would be inherently
affected by tensions between the goal of the leader to secure control over the party’s
strategies and the institutionalisation of intermediate structures and procedures of
discussion to guarantee the stabilisation of the organisation over time (Bolleyer,
2013; Panebianco, 1988). Therefore, digital spaces are presented as the ‘golden key’
to disentangle the parties’ recent crisis as determined by their reduction to electoral
centralised machineries to secure the continued persistence of their élites in public
offices (see Katz & Mair, 2018). Furthermore, digital platforms would allow the
disintermediation of relations between leaders and activists, contributing to reaching
a virtuous balance between massive levels of democratic participation and the efficacy
of leadership functions. However, if parties are classified as ‘digital’ without further
specifications, some obstacles may arise in identifying variations in the consequences
of their digitisation. Moreover, this flaw would not resolve the debates between those
authors arguing that digital technologies paved the path for a ‘positive’ renewal of
all political parties, reshaping their ability to connect citizens’ and parties’ élites (i.e.
Lachapelle & Maarek, 2015; Margetts, 2019; Vaccari, 2014), and those stating that
the ‘digital’ is inherently disruptive of established parties, as its political character
would be that of networking otherwise dispersed instances of protest (i.e. Castells,
2015; Fenton 2016b; Smith, 2017).
Even the distinction first proposed by David Karpf (2010), based upon different
uses of digital platforms by ‘digitally native’ or established parties, does not capture
the implications of the substantive differences related to the understanding of the
digital, as both these party types could potentially end up being ‘digital’. On the
contrary, what we propose here is that the distinction between ‘anti-party’ and ‘pro-
party’ parties is better suited at clarifying the distinctive features of parties’ digiti-
sation, and more specifically, with regard to the former, to identify ‘the digital’ as a
crucial fuel through which they have reconfigured new forms of political contesta-
tion. Indeed, anti-party parties have been defined by their claims to ‘oppose the polit-
ical class as a whole, the institutional forms assumed by the representative system’
(Viviani, 2019, p. 106), and to reject mainstream parties as supposedly corrupted
institutions (Mudde, 1996, p. 267). Accordingly, we define ‘anti-party parties’ as
those organisations based upon (i) the ideological refusal of the constitutive policies
pursued by mainstream parties and (ii) the refusal to undertake visible cooperative
interactions with them (see Zulianello, 2019, pp. 49–52). Further, this party type
will be ‘digital’ when we can observe the implementation of platforms emphasising
(i) the activation of popular and direct participation and (ii) narratives around the
‘digital’ as a space opening up new opportunities to radically disrupt ‘politics as
usual’ (Fenton 2016a).
130 M. Guglielmo
Therefore, as these parties have common ground in promising an alternative to

the established parties through digital participation, the contradictions between this
imaginary and the observed ‘reactive’ styles of democracy, whereby the activists
would be mostly reduced to ‘followers’ of the ‘hyper-leader’ (Gerbaudo, 2018),
require a specific understanding of the underlying processes. More specifically, two
main areas of potential intra-party tension must be detected to understand whether
digital platforms have generated new forms of democratic participation. The first
relates to the control by parties’ elites over the horizontal participation boosted
by digital platforms (Chadwick & Stromer-Galley, 2016). This feature would hold
particularly for those organisations adopting a ‘party-as-movement mentality’ (ibid.,
p. 289), while at the same time their elites attempt to control the ‘base’ through
more-or-less-formalised hierarchical mechanisms. The second affects the horizontal
(dis)integration between insiders and outsiders, whereby the former would be those
officers and activists sharing an ‘instrumental’ vision of platforms as devices to revive
traditional ideologies and forms of activism, and the latter would correspond to those
conceiving the digital as constituting new radical democratic creeds and prefigurative
of novel forms of political participation (Vaccari, 2017). As will be observed through
our case study, these tensions seem constitutive of the experimentations aiming at
hybridising political parties and protest movements resulting in the steady instability
of ‘anti-party digital parties’.
Consequently, the ‘public image’ built upon the digital is the crucial pillar (see
Fitzpatrick, Chap. 2 in this volume) to analyse the specific tensions of anti-party
digital parties. Indeed, not only does it concern the organisational use of digital plat-
forms, it also concerns whether these parties implement their narratives around the
transformative potentialities of the digital. This perspective will be the lens through
which to scrutinise the other digital dimensions—membership, leadership, policy
programme, resources—and will aim at defining the features of the specific tensions
inherent to anti-party digital parties.
7.3 La France Insoumise: An Anti-party Digital Party
This section summarises the origins, ideology and organisation of LFI to highlight
its peculiar interplay with a digital architecture constitutive of its declared status as a
‘non-party’. LFI is conceived as an anti-party digital party based upon: (i) an ideology
aiming at overthrowing current institutional arrangements, namely the French Fifth
Republic and European Union (Ivaldi, 2018); (ii) a strategy avoiding any cooperation
with governmental forces, especially with the Parti Socialiste (Socialist Party, PS)
(Cautrès, 2017); and (iii) ‘action-oriented’ digital devices as the main organisational
tools to activate citizens (Marlière, 2019).
As mentioned above, LFI was launched to support the presidential candidacy of
Mélenchon. The former Socialist MP gained popularity in 2005 as an ‘outsider leader’
by championing the victorious referendum campaign against the ratification of the
European Constitutional Treaty (Damiani, 2016). In 2012, after he quit the socialists,
he was selected through the primaries of the Communist Party as the unitary Pres-
idential candidate of French Radical Left Parties (FRLPs), gaining around 11.1%
(Chiocchetti, 2016). Since then, steady tensions have emerged between the commu-
nists and Mélenchon, as his strategy was opposed to any form of cooperation with
the socialists. Therefore, when Mélenchon launched his candidacy for the 2017 elec-
tions, he did not interpellate established FRLPs but instead asked the ‘unbowed’
citizens to register on a dedicated platform (jlm2017.fr), and so co-participate in
the writing of the electoral manifesto ‘L’Avenir en Commun’ (A Common Future)
(La-France-Insoumise, 2016). Consequently, online activation became crucial for
organising the defining moment of Mélenchon’s campaign, the March for the ‘6th
Republic’, held in Paris in March 2017.
According to Philippe Marlière (2019), the ‘6th République’ initiative signalled
the populist turning point operated by Mélenchon, through the claims for a new
model of participatory—and to some extent direct—democracy. This appeal for a
re-foundation of the state was implemented through the call for a ‘citizens’ revolution’
(Mélenchon, 2014) to be operated through the ballot box in order to ‘let them go’
(Mélenchon, 2010): ‘them’, in this construction, would represent a re-articulation of
the frontier between the unbowed citizens and the corrupt élites (Hamburger, 2018;
Mouffe, 2018). Two overarching narratives sustained this articulation: the claim for
‘dégagisme’—the act of cleaning out politics (Premat, 2019)—and the construction
of movement-based participatory democracy. More specifically, the latter refers to the
normative vision aiming at modelling a digital movement network and at prefiguring
a new model of democracy (Escalona, 2017). These strategies were essential to
gain LFI’s momentum after the surprising electoral results, when Mélenchon gained
19.58% of the votes, being the most voted candidate by unemployed and young
voters, scoring around 30% among these categories and consistently getting back
many of these constituencies from abstention (Cautrès, 2017).
Organisationally, LFI can be classified as a ‘quasi’ movement party, a concept
referring to actors coalescing political activists through ‘unconventional’ strategic
practices modelled on social movements and transposed into the arenas of parties’
competition (Della Porta et al., 2017; Kitschelt, 2006). Indeed, Mélenchon attracted
leading intellectuals of the street movement ‘Nuit Debout’ (Standing Nights) as a
constitutive moment of LFI (Damiani, 2020). The movement is based on a free
registration through the platform ‘Agir’ (To Act), and reached substantial levels
of membership of up to 540,000 citizens (Gerbaudo, 2018). This engagement is
presented as a process of activation through the ‘groupes d’action’ (action groups),
the backbone of LFI’s network model. They can regroup up to 15 ‘insoumises’ based
on territory or policy areas (LFI, 2017a). Each member can join one or more groups
or participate in the activities of six national ‘digital participatory spaces’, corre-
sponding to six areas of intervention (i.e. policies’ elaboration, ‘social struggles’,
organisation, etc.) coordinated by staff nominated by the leader and by members
selected through online random selections. Drawing is also the typical technique
used to select the participants for the national assemblies, completed by a number
of experts directly nominated by the leader (Gerbaudo, 2018). This model implies
the absence of intermediate formalised structures: indeed, the action groups cannot
132 M. Guglielmo
coordinate themselves permanently in homogenous portions of territory (Marlière,

2019). Although a national assembly of the action groups was established in 2019
(LFI, 2019a), its functions are limited to sharing good practices and elaborating
policy proposals. The selection of candidates—even for local elections—remains
largely the responsibility of the national leadership. Consequently, this organisa-
tional model was increasingly questioned by critical factions, resulting in increased
internal clashes and decreasing levels of activism.
7.4 LFI Online: Features and Use of Digital Platforms
This section presents an overview of the digital tools through which LFI is organised,
and the functions carried out with regard to party membership, leaders and candidates,
policy programmes, and resources.
As mentioned above, LFI originates from the call by Mélenchon to register on his
presidential campaign website (jlm2017.fr), in order to contribute to the definition
of the manifesto. The platform was implemented through NationBuilder (https://nat
ionbuilder.com/), a single system to integrate the construction of a voters’ database,
communication, email and donations (McKelvey & Piebiak, 2018). It was mainly
used for the ‘collaborative’ writing of the manifesto: around 3,000 contributions were
received through the platform and re-elaborated by the convenors, the academics
Charlotte Girard and Jacques Généreux. Finally, the registered ‘unbowed’ voted
online to prioritise ten emblematic measures among the six chapters of the mani-
festo. In addition, a relevant contribution for the manifesto came from spontaneous
online communities on gaming websites, namely through the Forum Blabla 18–25,
and ‘Discord Insoumis’, a VoIP similar to Slack or Skype, allowing parallel conver-
sations and the organisation of campaign activities (Plancq et al., 2018). These Web-
spaces were then transferred to the main website of LFI (https://lafranceinsoumi
se.fr/), which also incorporates a parallel website for evolutionary discussions on
the manifesto (https://avenirencommun.fr/). From the homepage, it is evident that
the main goal of the platform is to invite visitors to register and to ‘activate’ as
‘unbowed’. Besides the common functions as a showcase for the news and activities
of LFI, the core of the website is the Action Platform ‘Agir’ (see Fig. 7.1, https://
agir.lafranceinsoumise.fr/).
Furthermore, it is worth mentioning two digital tools that have been created to
support the movement. First, the Web-TV canal FI (https://canalfi.fr/), implemented
to spread video productions by LFI, through two main formats: (i) the ‘unbowed’
news, whose declared aim is to ‘demystify’ the political news from mainstream
media; and (ii) documentaries self-produced by the ‘unbowed’. Second, ‘l’école de
la France insoumise’ (The Unbowed France School), whose aim is to train activists
and to play the role of a ‘popular university’. Inaugurated in January 2018, the
school is articulated through two main fields of activity: first, through courses on
policy issues; second, through video tutorials for the activists related either to intra-
party life—for instance on public speaking and the use of social media—or social
Fig. 7.1 Action platform. Source LFI action platform https://agir.lafranceinsoumise.fr/
militancy such as how to apply for social housing. A recent evolution in this area of
intervention comprises the launch of a political foundation, ‘Institut La Boétie,’ whose
aim is to better articulate the training activities of the unbowed, and the associated
publication of a journal (LFI, 2020c). Overall, the platforms for Web-based video-
communication are relevant, as they mirror the ability of Mélenchon to reinforce
his presidential campaign through his YouTube channel (https://www.youtube.com/
user/PlaceauPeuple), which alone gathered 420,000 members, the highest audience
among French political leaders (Marlière, 2019). This was part of a strategy by the
leader to master the digital platforms as a way to disrupt the ‘old politics’. Mélenchon
is indeed the leader within the French Left with the highest numbers of followers
on social media, and he famously was the first leader to use the technology of 3D
holograms to hold several simultaneous meetings during his campaign.
With regard to party membership, LFI fits into the model of the ‘digital party’
aiming at the construction of a ‘superbase’ blurring the boundaries between formal
members, activists and followers (Gerbaudo, 2018; see also Scarrow, 2015). The
membership corresponds to a no-fees registration exclusively on the website: it is
sufficient to fill in a form with an email address and a postcode. After registration, the
‘unbowed’ are required to indicate their data, then their skills and whether they agree
to be entered into the draw for participation in the national ‘digital participatory
spaces’—or more recently to the assemblies of the action groups. Although the
data on membership are not accessible on the website, they were declared to have
increased from 430,000 in April 2017 to 540,000 in 2018 (Gerbaudo, 2018). There
are several options and functionalities available to the members, aiming at their
integration—and activation—in the movement’s initiatives. Three main functions
should be mentioned: (i) the action groups; (ii) the collaborative tools; and (iii) the
134 M. Guglielmo
national and local campaigns. As mentioned in Sect. 7.3, the action groups are the
core of LFI’s structure. The platform ‘to act’ has also been used for the evolution
of this organisational model. Since August 2017, four ‘calls for ideas’ with regard
to organisation, tools, campaigns and methods of action have been launched on the
website. This led to the approval by 93.14% over 69,007 voters that cast their digital
ballot to the resolution proposed by the convention held in Clermont-Ferrand in
November 2017 of the ‘Action Groups Chart’ (LFI, 2017b).
According to this model, they can be created exclusively online, they must collect
between 2 and 15 members—groups beyond this limit are ‘invited’ to split—and be
managed by two ‘unbowed’ of different gender. In order to be certified by the national
operational platform, the action groups must demonstrate their activity by publishing
their meetings, campaigns, and reports of activities on the Web platforms. A new
proposal has been elaborated through the ‘representative assembly’ of LFI held in
June 2019, which led to the ‘collaborative writing’—by the drawn participants—of
the resolution ‘La France insoumise, un mouvement évolutif’ (LFI, a movement in
evolution), approved by 84.38% over 20,527 voters who cast a ballot (LFI 2019b).
Two main changes were defined: first, the institutionalisation of a national assembly
of spokespersons from the action groups (see Sect. 7.3); second, a coordination
structure for the national ‘digital participatory spaces’, with a mixed composition
between representatives of each space and four spokespersons from the action groups.
In order to facilitate the participation and communication between members, two
‘collaborative tools’ are currently available: Jitsi Meet, for the organisation of video-
conferences; and Etherpad, software for the collaborative writing of proposals. The
evolution in the organisation includes, in 2019, a vote to open an online space called
‘Agora’ (Fig. 7.2—LFI, 2020a).
The platform has been operative since July 2020, and it is conceived as a place for
debate on strategic issues: its first experiment is dedicated to the collection of contri-
butions about the ‘State as an actor facing the environmental crisis’. During a first
stage, each member can submit their own contributions, which will be discussed at a
later stage through a dedicated assembly, both in physical presence and online, open to
the national ‘digital participatory spaces’ and to members randomly selected between
the participants. However, in cases of disagreement, the mechanisms of discussion
and decision remain undefined, as they seem oriented towards a centralised defini-
tion of a synthesis between diverging ideas (LFI, 2020b). Concerning the campaigns,
the members are provided with different options to take the initiatives. For example,
during February 2020, LFI was mobilised against the retirement reform by Philippe’s
Government, and each member had access to two ‘digital participatory spaces’ for
action: the first to get information on strikes, and to download ‘memes’ to be shared
on social networks, and the second to organise an ‘offline’ point of distribution for
LFI’s counter-proposals (LFI, 2020d).
The leaders’ and candidate ‘pillar’ is an area of experimentation and tension for
LFI. Indeed, as mentioned above, the LFI foundation has been strongly related to the
unilateral initiative of Mélenchon as the presidential candidate. Since then, the leader-
ship has never been voted on by the members or through open primaries. As a relevant
example, the national coordinator of LFI is nominated by Mélenchon: the office was
Fig. 7.2 Participatory platform ‘Agora’. Source LFI participatory platform https://agir.lafranceinso
umise.fr/formulaires/contrib-agora-etat-urgence-ecologique/
occupied by Manuel Bompard until June 2019 and is currently fulfilled by the MP
Adrien Quantennes (Marlière, 2019). Furthermore, the candidates for the legisla-
tive elections in 2017 were proposed by a convention of the action groups for each
constituency but then selected by the electoral committee, at that time composed of
a majority of spokespersons for the national ‘digital participatory spaces’ nominated
by the leader (LFI, 2016).
Afterwards, relevant developments took place in the preparation for the Euro-
pean elections in 2019, changing the nature of the ‘recruitment’ of candidates. Each
136 M. Guglielmo
unbowed could propose their candidacy for this competition through the digital plat-
form. However, the selection of the candidates and the order of the list were deter-
mined by the electoral committee and proposed as a single vote to the members. It
must be noted that the composition of the committee was reformed after the 2017
convention and is currently made up of 14 representatives of the national ‘digital
participatory spaces’ and 18 ‘unbowed’ drawn from among the members. More than
650 self-candidacies were presented, and the committee auditioned each of them to
formulate the final proposal. On 9 December 2018, the list was finally approved by
89.9% over 8,836 total voters. With regard to the communication and campaigns by
the leaders, the platform works for the parliamentary groups to explain their positions
and proposals, at least on a weekly basis.
The ‘informal’ leadership of LFI strongly relied on the digital platform to present
itself as accountable, and to gain support for the main positions or to re-motivate the
rank-and-file of the movement after electoral defeats. Two examples help to clarify
this point. The first regards the (non-binding) online consultation of the unbowed
that took place immediately after the first round of the presidential elections, in order
to test reactions and so identify the attitudes to take for the run-off. This has also
been the only ballot with ‘open’ options and with a close result: indeed, among the
243,128 participants, 36.12% opted for a blank ballot, 34.83% to vote for Emmanuel
Macron, and 29.05% to abstain from the vote (LFI, 2017c). The second concerns one
of the organisational innovations approved in the aftermath of the deceptive result
at the elections for the European Parliament. Beyond the aforementioned evolutions
for the action groups and the national ‘digital participatory spaces’, an ‘improvement
committee’, based on a mixed composition between the staff of the ‘operative space’
and drawn ‘unbowed’, was created to support the action groups and, among other
tasks, to support the online presence of the members.
Online participation in the ‘policy programme’ is crucial for LFI, as the archi-
tecture of its platforms is strongly related to the narratives around a movement that
aims at being a ‘federation of citizens’. Regarding the selection of goals for the
movement, three main functions are in place. First, every year prior to the national
convention, a ‘call for ideas’ asks the members to formulate proposals for the policy-
related campaigns, which are then synthesised by the national ‘Espace des luttes’
(‘claims space’) and discussed at the annual convention. The final stage of this
process is the online vote by the members to prioritise the campaigns. In 2017,
for instance, 30 campaigns were selected from over 300 proposals, and each voter
could cast three votes between them: in this case, the campaigns and proposals to
fight against all forms of poverty were listed first with 30% of preferences, followed
by the abandonment of nuclear energy (26%) and the fight against tax avoidance
(25%).
The same procedure was adopted in 2018, when LFI members selected campaigns
about: first, the march towards a 6th République (12%), second, a ‘green rule’ to face
the environmental crisis (8.5%), and third, the defence of free public services (6.9%)
(Fig. 7.3—LFI, 2018a). The second function under scrutiny is that of ‘Les ateliers
des lois’ (Law laboratories—Fig. 7.4—https://avenirencommun.fr/latelier-des-lois/),
an initiative thought to deduce from the 2017 Manifesto and its related thematic
Fig. 7.3 Online ballots to prioritise national campaigns. Source LFI website https://lafranceinso
umise.fr/2018/12/08/resultats-des-votes-sur-les-campagnes-du-mouvement-pour-2019/
Fig. 7.4 Law ‘Laboratories’. Source LFI manifesto website https://avenirencommun.fr/latelier-

des-lois/
138 M. Guglielmo
pamphlets and legislative proposals at local, national, and European levels. This tool
is meant as a virtuous integration between offline and online participation, as the basic
texts are elaborated through regional meetings, and then published on a wiki-page
(wiki-atelierdeslois.lafranceinsoumise.fr), whereby each ‘unbowed’ can amend the
original version, adding notes and contributions. However, although more than 20
national law proposals are available on the website, the outcome of this collaborative
process is far from clear. Indeed, the wiki-pages do not use, for instance, a ‘liquid
feedback’ system, allowing a choice between contrasting options should they emerge,
nor is it clear at which point these proposals should be taken forward by LFI MPs or
EPs. The third function regards the elaboration of the electoral manifestos. We have
already described the ‘foundational’ nature of the 2017 Manifesto. More recently, the
programme for the European Elections, first elaborated by the ‘Programme Space’,
was opened to members’ contributions. The representative assembly synthesised the
400 contributions received into six amendments, and the final draft was proposed
for approval by the members. The internal ballot, organised on December 2018,
approved the proposed electoral manifesto with 93.4% votes cast in favour of the
proposal over a total of 27,511 votes digitally cast (LFI, 2018b).
With regard to the selection of strategies, the online integration seems to highlight
the tensions within the anti-party digital party. As already mentioned, the strategy of
disentanglement from coalitions with established parties has been a benchmark of
Mélenchon initiatives in recent years. However, as noted above, the consultation on
the run-off for the presidential elections showed a more nuanced picture of the wishes
of the militants. More recently, in preparation for the local elections held in March
and June 2020, a resolution has been proposed for online ratification by members,
stating that the LFI is willing to give ‘the power back to the people’ and aims at
the creation of ‘popular federations’. The resolution, however, sets strict conditions,
for example forbidding coalitions with actors sustaining the national government or
who have approved any measure of privatisation of public services in a previous local
mandate. Most importantly, though some autonomy is granted for the action groups
at each city level, the national electoral committee is in charge of (i) surveillance that
those principles are respected, (ii) the selection of the heads of list in cities above
20,000 inhabitants, and (iii) the resolution of eventual disagreements between local
groups (LFI, 2019c): the report was submitted for an online vote in June 2019 and
approved by 88.64% over a total of 20,257 votes cast.
With regard to the analysis of resources related to the use of digital tools, the
website displays a section on financial transparency, but several concerns arise.
Indeed, it only reports the budgets for the presidential campaign and for 2017.
Furthermore, the chapters are aggregated, which impedes any detailed analysis of
the financial fluxes. For example, on a total cost of around e10 million for the pres-
idential campaign, around e90,000 have been spent on ‘telematic services’, but no
detail is provided; neither it is possible to know how much of the staff costs have been
dedicated to officers taking care of online activities. Similarly, no detail is provided
about the e3 million of revenues from individual contributions to the campaign, such
as how many contributors and therefore the average amount of donations.
Two innovations have been planned for the movement. First, to provide resources
for the European elections campaign, a dedicated website for crowd-sourcing was
launched on March 2019, allowing collection of the maximum amount legally
permitted—around e2 million—in ten days. However, also in this case, there is
no report of how many contributors have donated through the platform, preventing
a calculation of the average donation. Secondly, as stated by the representative
assembly in 2019, a participatory budget has been established as an online process
dedicated to support the auto-organisation of local struggles and solidarity actions
directed to the weakest social groups. In June 2020, the procedures for its functioning
were more clearly defined. The certified action groups will vote every year on a
number of options defined by their national assembly and the national ‘digital partic-
ipatory spaces’ for organisation and for ‘local claims’, and when a certain threshold
(currently not defined) is reached, the available resources will be distributed to the
groups implementing the initiatives (LFI, 2020e). As with other mechanisms of deci-
sion, it is not entirely clear to what extent the participation is meant to elaborate the
initial lists of options or mainly dedicated to the order to be assigned to pre-chosen
initiatives.
7.5 Effects of Digital Organisation: Conceptualising

the Organisational Tensions of LFI
Mélenchon opened the first national LFI Convention with the following statement:
La France Insoumise has emerged from the match between citizens on the internet. These
relations are virtual but also dense. There is no regret of the past, and now the internet allows
the liberation from certain structures of the past. Internet allows to participate according
to our philosophy of life, that is to participate individually, in full freedom of conscience.
(2016, our translation)
Digital platforms, therefore, are constantly referred to as crucial tools to overcome

the ‘past’ structures of political parties portrayed as closed castes, while encouraging
the value of individual participation (see also Mélenchon, 2014). The goal to set up a
virtuous cycle between online activation and on- and off-line campaigning to disrupt
the fallacies of the French political system has constantly been at the core of the public
image that LFI intended to project. In the previous sections, we described how this
goal has been related to the adoption of multiple digital devices. In this section, we
discuss the extent to which the use of digital platforms has matched its declared goals
or instead paved the way for the emergence of new tensions between the functions
of political integration and representation typical of the political parties (see, for
instance, Bardi et al., 2014). We have identified three areas of organisational tension
for LFI, namely (i) between the ‘superbase’ and the ‘hyper-leader’, (ii) between
participatory and reactive intra-party democracy, and (iii) between the movement’s
pluralism and centralism.
140 M. Guglielmo
LFI fits into the description of digital parties by Gerbaudo in being articulated
through ‘tense’ relations between the ‘superbase’ and the ‘hyper-leader’ (Gerbaudo,
2018, pp. 145–162). The superbase refers to the ability to attract a diverse base of
supporters—in the case of LFI gathering, for instance, unemployed and precarious
workers together with urban middle classes (Cautrès, 2017)—whose engagement
is facilitated by the lower barriers for participation offered by the digital platforms
and by the normative goal of a network-based model ‘by the people and for the
people’ (Klimowicz, 2018, p. 1). The hyper-leader encompasses two attributes of
leadership: firstly, the ability to champion the presence on traditional and new media;
and secondly, the goal to appear as a down-to-earth figure, in constant connection
with the base in order to incarnate the alternative they proclaim to wish for political
systems at large. However, this relation is inherently tense inasmuch as the void
represented by the lack of formal intermediate structures and/or institutionalised
mechanisms of discussion in cases of internal dissent determines new patterns of
confrontation between the horizontal participation and vertical hierarchies.
Therefore, this type of organisation seems affected by a conflict between the
formal opportunities open for a massive activation of citizens through disintermedi-
ated networks, and a re-mediation of popular claims by hardly accountable leaders
and their closer professional staffs (for a similar analysis with regard to Podemos,
see Kioupkiolis, 2016). Therefore, the crucial question arising from this tension is
whether digital parties represent a new phenomenon reviving some of the features of
mass-parties or further evolutions towards electoral-professional ones (Panebianco,
1988). The mismatch between the large number of affiliates and the declining turnout
in internal consultations seems to point to the second type of evolution by LFI. Indeed
(see Fig. 7.5), the participation in intra-party votes dropped from 65% with regard
to the strategy to be adopted for the ballot round of the presidential elections, to less
than 4% in the most recent votes on the movement’s organisation (see Sect. 7.4). The
lack of transparency in the party’s platform affects the possibility to provide a definite
answer to the implications of this phenomenon. As any procedure to certify the status
of members is missing, it is hard to assess whether this decline also corresponds to
a reduction in the integration by the movement, or if it signals that a large share of
affiliates fit into the categories of followers (Scarrow, 2015) that activate themselves
only at times of relevant election campaigns.
A second related pole of tension regards the nature of democratic participation
improved through digital platforms. Three main problems arise in this area: first,
the accessibility of participatory devices; second, the actual permeability of parties’
élites to contributions from the base both in terms of policies/proposals and leadership
recruitment; and third, the overlap between participatory tools and plebiscitarian
decision-making processes. Though formally open to the individual participation
of each citizen agreeing with LFI’s principles, the digital nature of LFI tends to
exclude those with no access to the party’s platforms. The recent establishment of
a support group for online activism signals the awareness of this issue, but it only
relates to assistance for the use of digital devices, without integrating offline tools,
so it excludes from the random selection for the membership of ‘digital participatory
spaces’ those affiliates who are not constantly active on the platforms.
Fig. 7.5 LFI levels of membership and turnout at intra-party ballots. Source elaboration on data
available on LFI website https://lafranceinsoumise.fr/
With regard to the permeability of the élites, two contrasting trends can be
observed. On the one hand, LFI offers a wide range of instruments to formulate
proposals for policies, organisation, and campaigning (see Sect. 7.4). On the other
hand, the architecture of the movement seems affected by a certain lack of trans-
parency: for example, the process through which the contributions by members for
relevant papers, i.e. electoral manifestos or organisational reports, are synthesised is
not fully transparent, therefore impeding verification of the extent to which diverging
positions are weighted and taken into consideration. The ‘evolutionary’ rather than
‘established’ nature of LFI, though justifiable in terms of producing continuous inno-
vations in comparison with established parties, presents a reverse side in shadowing
the extent to which it allows activists to reach positions of high responsibility.
For instance, even though 21 of 23 MPs and 6 of 6 EPs are at their first mandate
(https://lafranceinsoumise.fr/les-parlementaires-de-la-france-insoumise/), it is not
clear whether this indicates a sign of openness in this movement-party or is evidence
of the ‘hyper-power’ of Mélenchon in selecting the candidates. These omissions in
the structuration and transparency result in constitutive tension between participatory
and plebiscitarian democracy. This tension has been conceptualised as the practice
by digital parties towards a ‘reactive’ democracy, whereby, in contrast to the promise
of an encompassing participation, the members would be asked only to react to the
leadership’s wishes for example with ‘likes’ on social networks (Gerbaudo, 2019). A
potential indicator of this trend lies in the diffuse tendency to use online voting as a
confirmatory tool rather than for choosing between viable alternatives, as displayed
in Fig. 7.6, summarising the level of approvals by the members in the main votes
142 M. Guglielmo
Fig. 7.6 LFI—Share of approval for national proposals in online ballots. Source elaboration on
data available on LFI website https://lafranceinsoumise.fr/
from 2017 to 2019. It is worth noting that the only occasion when the preferences
were more articulated corresponds to the only vote on a crucial party strategy.
The nature of internal democracy and its organisational articulation through digital
platforms is foundational for the third area of tension for LFI, the one between
pluralism and centralism. The political principles of LFI established that ‘internal
competition, conflicts among members and factional disputes have no place in the
movement’ (own translation. https://lafranceinsoumise.fr/principes/). However, two
main positions emerged after the presidential election, the first claiming the need
to enhance the republican-populist stance of LFI, and the second aiming at placing
LFI as a new umbrella movement for the dispersed French Left (Damiani, 2020).
Although Mélenchon has represented a synthesis between these tendencies, and the
goal of avoiding the structuration of factions is justifiable in the French context,
whose Left parties have historically been affected by an ‘over-factionalism’ (see
March & Keith, 2016), internal democracy has become the main space of internal
contestation.
Indeed, since 2018 LFI has been affected by turbulent discussions and a relevant
number of defections, all justified in terms of the lack of internal democracy and
excesses of personalisation by Mélenchon. Among them, the defection by Charlotte
Girard (one of Mélenchon’s closer advisors) was particularly challenging. The public
statement released by Girard on the occasion of her defection presents two questions
that are relevant for the assessment of the nature of LFI. First, how can a de-structured
movement deal with internal dissent when it emerges, without simply suppressing it,
given that the contestation towards the ‘rulers’ is crucial for a movement declaring
itself ‘as revolutionary’? Second, after the emergence of the protests by the ‘Yellow
Vests’ movement, how to combine the nature of ideological laboratory aiming at
activating citizens, and at gathering and aggregating their claims, with the participa-
tion in power, institutions and in electoral politics? Although these questions raise
dilemmas that seem constitutive for hybrid movements such as anti-party digital
parties, the lack of strategic and organisational democratic mechanisms to address
them is a critical consideration for the evolution of LFI (Damiani, 2020). On the one
hand, LFI has shown some responsiveness to the pressures around these demands,
as witnessed by the organisational changes adopted in 2019 (see Sect. 7.4) and the
nomination of a new national coordinator, the MP Adrien Quantennes, considered
more open to the compliances of militants. On the other hand, these changes may
appear more superficial than substantial, posing some doubts that the evolutionary
nature of LFI can effectively adapt to the participation of the unbowed through the
action groups.
7.6 Conclusions
To sum up, LFI’s organisation is inextricably related to its digital form and affected
by ongoing tensions affecting its democratic performance. Table 7.1 displays these
features through the five-pillars model of parties’ digital migration.
LFI’s action platform facilitates a number of functions, amongst others, for the
members: (i) to join or create action groups; (ii) to self-candidate for elections; (iii)
to submit policy, organisational and strategic proposals; (iv) to participate in random
selections for choosing the composition of the various national ‘digital participatory
spaces’, including the electoral committee; (v) to vote on reports and electoral mani-
festos; and (vi) to approve or reject pre-selected lists of candidates at elections. Three
main areas of tension have been identified, cross-cutting these functions.
1. The relations between the base and the leadership, in correlation to the absence of
intermediate structures. LFI is characterised by a problematic balance between
the claims for horizontality and consistent levels of centralisation of crucial
choices regarding its core strategies. Indeed, consistent evidence points to
the fact that the openness of LFI’s participatory mechanisms correspond to
a substantial unaccountability of the leadership and to limited scope for internal
debate.
2. The nature of intra-party democracy. Although several devices are available
for participatory democracy, when it comes to strategic decisions members
are asked to approve or reject in toto the syntheses drafted by the national
‘digital participatory spaces’ (whose members are mostly directly appointed).
The nature of a ‘gaseuse’ organisation, explicitly refusing to replicate the typical
confrontations between party factions justifies this model to some extent, but
on the other hand it could be understood as an alibi to prevent discussion.
3. (Im)balances between pluralism and centralism. Many scholars have recognised
the abandonment of ‘democratic centralism’, the practice of banning internal
factionalism, as a crucial innovation for radical left parties (Chiocchetti, 2016;
144 M. Guglielmo
Table 7.1 LFI in the digital five-pillars model

Digital Online tools Source of tension
Party membership (A)
• Recruitment (a) Y • Platform ‘Agir’ • Mass membership vs
• Skills repository low participation
• Integration (b) Y • Action groups • Lack of rules for
• Unbowed school coordination
• Collaborative writing
• Administration (c) Y • Online random • Unclear procedures to
selections for reach consensus
conventions
• Call for proposals on
organisation
Leaders and candidate (B)
• Recruitment (a) Y/N • Online self-candidacies • Openness vs
• Mixed nominated• centralisation
drawn electoral • Unelected leadership
committee • Participation vs
• Online vote on lists reactive democracy
(Y/N)
• Communication/campaigns Y • Reports from • Top-down
(b) Parliament communication
• Tools for online/offline
campaigns
• Accountability (c) Y/N • Action group’ meetings • Members of national
• Improvement ‘digital participatory
committee spaces’ directly
appointed
Policy program (C)
• Selection of goals (a) Y • Call for proposals • No votes on
• Vote on priorities alternatives
• Law laboratories • Unclear outcome of
• Agora, co-elaboration law proposals
of strategies
• Selection of strategy (b) Y/N • Call for proposals Same as above
• Vote on
strategies—local
elections (Y/N)
• Agenda-setting (c) Y/N • Campaigns from • Unclear linkage for
priorities prioritised campaigns
and their outcomes
Public image (D)
• Accessibility (a) Y • Action platform • No integration for
• Canal FI (Web-TV) offline ‘unbowed’
(continued)

Digital Online tools Source of tension
• Transparency (b) Y/N • Report of activities • Unclear procedures
for convention
discussions
• Responsiveness (c) Y/N • Organisational reform • Superficial rather than
substantial
• Lack of procedures in
case of dissent
Resources (E)
• Fundraising (a) Y/N • Donations to central • Lack of data on
office or action groups donations
• Platform
crowd-sourcing EU
Elections
• Spending (b) Y/N • Budget 2017 • No details on
• Participatory budget spending. No updated
(under construction) data
• Investment (c) NA
March & Keith, 2016). Moreover, ‘over-factionalism’ has been recognised as

particularly detrimental for the performance of left parties. However, the imbal-
ances between the right to organise intra-party groups and the need to secure
unitary syntheses to build a reliable public image seem a major flaw for LFI.
Two main conclusions can be drawn from this evidence. First, they confirm that
parties originally designed and built through digital architectures display new features
with regard to their repertoires of actions and internal tensions, on the one hand poten-
tially improving the exercise of political participation by citizens and constraining
the centralisation of decisions by unaccountable parties’ elites, whilst on the other
hand leading to delusional de-mobilisation effects when the leadership is observed
as betraying these promises about the digital. Second, they enrich Gerbaudo’s theori-
sation on digital parties (2018) in a threefold way. First, by better specifying that the
production of discourses about the digital as inherently ‘democratising’ holds true for
parties to be ‘digital’ inasmuch as this feature is associated with their ongoing stance
as ‘anti-parties’ and ‘movement’ organisations, that is to say under the condition
that they can retain their image of openness and diversity from mainstream politics.
Second, and relatedly, by developing the hypothesis that increased organisational
instability is an inherent property of ‘digital parties’, as their development appears
linked to the explicit strategy by political leaderships to build up an evolutionary
organisation and public image rather than an institutionalised and long-lasting one.
Finally, by considering both sides of the equation about parties’ democratisation, the
diffuse availability of open tools for political participation and the trends towards
the re-centralisation of intra-party processes, Gerbaudo’s pessimistic views about
the ‘reactive’ style of democracy within digital parties should be nuanced: although
common risks about the adoption of a ‘plebiscitarian’ style of politics have been
146 M. Guglielmo
identified for LFI as well, the breakthrough of digital organisations massively inte-
grating citizens that would be otherwise distant from political participation may be an
increasing trend in future, building pressure to improve the democratic performance
of parties’ systems at large.
Finally, in order to better verify the evolution of the contrasting trends identi-
fied throughout the chapter, three main areas of further research about ‘anti-party
digital parties’ may be developed. The first regards whether they respect ethical
codes of conduct for online political participation (Klimowicz, 2018), and so guar-
antee, for instance, informed consent to strategic decisions. The second concerns
intra-organisational procedures for regulating dissent. The processes through which
different options are taken into consideration need to be investigated in more depth
to identify further areas of tension. Third, the limits of the power of the leadership
should be further investigated. Indeed, the practices by ‘hyper-leaders’, championing
digital media to appear constantly connected to citizens, whilst making their deci-
sions among restricted circles of trusted consultants, seem to present a major risk of
democratic ‘distortion’.
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Chapter 8
How to Remain Indispensable
in the Twenty-First Century? The Digital
Adaptation of PSOE and PSP in a Crisis
Context
Alberto Díaz-Montiel
Abstract This chapter aims to analyse the digital adaptation process of two specific
political parties, the Spanish Socialist Workers Party (PSOE) and the Portuguese
Socialist Party (PSP). The two parties that are the subject of this chapter, PSOE and
PSP, soon became the hegemonic parties of the centre-left and the main government
alternatives in their respective political systems. The analysis of both parties’ use
of digital platforms is based on two elements. First, we look at the functioning
of bottom-up tools, which depend on the initiative of the members—who play an
active role in implementing the tool in question—and whose operation depends on
the willingness of members to use it (e.g. using some of the party membership
forms). Second, we look at the functioning of top-down tools, which depend on
party’s initiative, with members playing a passive role, such as when they receive
information from the organisation’s central offices. The analysis shows that the PSP
offers more bottom-up tools, while PSOE uses more top-down tools.
Keywords Political parties · Social democracy · Digital tools
8.1 Introduction: Democracy, Political Parties

and the Internet
Over recent decades, the academic literature has noted the strong presence of new
technologies in the political landscape and their ability to shape political processes.
At the end of the last century, Manin (1998) spoke of ‘audience democracy’ to
refer to the major influence of television on the evolution of political systems; a
few years later, Sartori (2003) developed a similar idea, establishing the concept of
‘videopolitics’.
Later, with the arrival and diffusion of new forms of communication, Ward (2008)
noted how widespread these new digital tools had become within political organi-
sations. In addition, the Internet offers unique opportunities for political actors and
A. Díaz-Montiel (B)
University of Granada, Granada, Spain
e-mail: adiazmontiel@ugr.es
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-78668-7_8
150 A. Díaz-Montiel
social movements—both new and old—that are seeking to attract attention and gain
support (Semetko, 2016, p. 515). On the other hand, Margetts (2006, p. 530) claimed
that cyber parties were a response to current trends focused on greater political
participation. The key feature of cyber parties is that they use Internet-supported
technology to bring voters and parties closer together, replacing traditional forms of
membership with much more diffuse formulas. In this regard, it is worth noting that,
according to Scarrow (2015, p. 206), the most remarkable attribute of current models
of party membership is the profusion of new and looser forms of association than
those that were previously common, as well as the attempt by parties to go beyond
the traditional concept of membership in order to reach new audiences. However,
Mair (2013) argues that the spread of these new digital tools is one of the factors that
has limited and conditioned the traditional role of intermediation and representation
played by political parties.
In addition, the profound effect of these technological transformations on the func-
tioning of political parties has been intensified by the severe economic and political
crisis that Europe has suffered during the last decade, a crisis that hit southern Euro-
pean countries particularly hard. Indeed, some have even used the term ‘democracy
without choice’ to refer to the major political effects that this crisis has caused in
the countries of the southern part of the European continent (Bosco & Verney, 2012,
2016). This term specifically concerns events such as the bailouts that some countries
in the region had to receive (of the public finances in Portugal and Greece, and of
the banking system in Spain), following which the recipient countries had to adhere
to the dictates of the troika (the European Commission, the International Monetary
Fund and the European Central Bank) and implement harsh policies to cut public
spending.
In this regard, Mazzoleni (2012, pp. 67–68) suggests that the increase in disaffec-
tion and political protests caused by the crisis created a strong incentive for different
political actors’ interest in this process of adopting new formats for their media
strategy. On the other hand, Morlino and Raniolo (2017) highlight a growth in the
demand for participation because of the emergence of new parties; faced with this
competition, the traditional parties have had no choice but to incorporate and adapt
to these new digital tools. Along the same lines, Ignazi (2017) indicates that the
parties have tried to respond to a profound crisis of legitimacy by implementing
organisational transformations primarily aimed at ensuring greater openness of both
the decision-making process and accountability. As we try to show over the course
of this chapter, the possibilities offered by the new digital world play a decisive role
in all of this.
This chapter analyses how two political parties—the Spanish Socialist Workers
Party (PSOE) and the Portuguese Socialist Party (PSP)—have adapted to this new
digital world. Furthermore, the analysis of both parties’ use of digital platforms
is based on two categories: bottom-up tools, which depend on the initiative of the
members, who play an active role in implementing the tool in question, and where
the use of the tool depends on the willingness of members to employ it (e.g. using
party membership forms); and top-down tools, which depend on the party first taking
8 How to Remain Indispensable in the Twenty-First Century? … 151
the initiative, with members playing a passive role, for example when they receive
news or information from the party.
The rest of the chapter is structured as follows. In the next section, general informa-
tion about the analysed parties (PSOE and PSP) is presented, as well as the political
and party systems in their respective countries, namely Spain and Portugal. Then, the
digital tools used by both PSOE and PSP are detailed, based on the two categories
described above. Finally, conclusions are drawn from all the material presented here.
8.2 The Iberian Connection: Spain-Portugal, PSOE-PSP
Spain and Portugal have certain similarities (Lisa & Molina, 2018) that make the
comparison proposed here possible and worthwhile: they are neighbouring countries
in southern Europe; they both had long dictatorships that ended relatively recently;
and they present a similar economic and social structure. On the other hand, Spain is
a good example of formal parliamentarism exposed to strong presidential dynamics,
such as the prominence of the head of government within the political system, or the
fact that electoral campaigns have centred upon the figure of the candidate for prime
minister (Van Biezen & Hopkin, 2005). Portugal has a semi-presidential system,
although also with clear tendencies towards presidentialism, due to both intra-party
developments and the increased concentration of the power of the executive around
the figure of the prime minister (Costa Lobo, 2005). In addition, both countries are
characterised by having governments that alternate between a centre-right party—
the Popular Party (PP) in Spain and the Portuguese Social Democratic Party (PSD)
in Portugal—and a centre-left party (the PSOE in Spain and the PSP in Portugal).
Finally, in terms of ICT development, Spain held 27th position in the 2017 country
ranking published by the ITU, the specialised agency of the United Nations for Infor-
mation and Communication Technologies, with a score of 7.79 (https://www.itu.int/
net4/ITU-D/idi/2017/index.html). In the same year, Portugal was ranked 44th with a
score of 7.13 (https://www.itu.int/net4/ITU-D/idi/2017/index.html). Both countries
therefore have ample capacity to develop all kinds of digital tools.
Despite these similarities, Fishman (2017, 2019) argues that the different types
of transition to democracy that occurred in Portugal and Spain, through rupture
in the former and reform in the latter, led to Portuguese political actors enjoying
greater inclusivity than their Spanish counterparts when it came to addressing social
and political conflicts. In the Portuguese case, a rapid process of institutionalisation
of the party system after the democratisation of the country gave rise to a system
whose general operating patterns during the following decades can be characterised
as follows (Jalali, 2019, p. 213): a context of competition between two opposing
poles, the PSD on the centre-right, and the PSP on the centre-left; the configuration
to the left of the PSP constituted around the Portuguese Communist Party (PCP)
and the Left Bloc (BE), parties that were systematically excluded from the country’s
governance for decades; as well as the establishment of the centre-right party Social
Democratic Centre (CDS) as the main political actor lending its support when neither
of the two major parties could form a majority alone. On the other hand, in the
Spanish party system (Rodríguez-Teruel et al., 2019), three phases can be observed
up to 2008: the first between 1977 and 1982, characterised by the predominance
of the Union of the Democratic Centre (UCD) in government, with the PSOE as
the main opposition party; a second phase from 1982 to 1993, in which the PSOE
became the predominant ruling party; and a third phase beginning in 1993, in which
the PSOE on the centre-left and the PP on the centre-right formed a largely two-party
system.
In 2008, mainly because of the crisis that broke out that year, a gradual realignment
of the Spanish party system began. This ultimately led to a change from a largely two-
party system involving PSOE and PP, with the presence of regional nationalist parties
that had huge power to hold other parties to ransom, to a more polarised, multi-party
system after the emergence of the new parties Podemos and Ciudadanos from 2014.
However, in this new multi-party system the aforementioned regional nationalist
parties are now more polarised than ever and have maintained their capacity for
coercion or coalition (Llera, 2019). In the Portuguese case, the two main parties
(PSP and PSD) began to lose support after the 2009 elections, making it necessary
to form minority governments, thus reinforcing the role played by parliament (Costa
Lobo, 2012, p. 359).
The two parties that are the subject of this chapter, PSOE and PSP, soon became
the hegemonic parties of the centre-left and the main government alternatives in
their respective political systems (Lisi, 2009; Méndez Lago, 2000). With regard to
the PSOE, and as indicated by Delgado-Fernández and Cazorla-Martín (2017), once
they lost power in 2011, a phase of instability and political and electoral decline
began. After Rodríguez Zapatero left office in 2011, his former minister and vice
president, Alfredo Pérez Rubalcaba, won the position of secretary general at the party
convention held in Seville in 2012, defeating the candidacy of Carme Chacón. As
previously noted, during Rubalcaba’s leadership the party was unable to regain lost
ground, prompting his resignation following the poor results achieved in the 2014
European elections.
After that, with Pedro Sánchez’s accession to secretary general of the party in 2014
after his victory in the primary held in July of that year, and in large part due to the
emergence of Podemos (which began eating into PSOE’s share of the vote on the left),
the party underwent a shift from competing for the centre from the left, to competing
for the left from the centre. Even Pedro Sánchez’s new victory in the 2017 primary,
after being ousted in the fall of 2016, can be explained by the radicalisation of his
speech (Correa et al., 2019). However, the party once again returned to government
after the success of the vote of no confidence that it presented in the spring of 2018.
The no-confidence motion was passed following the ruling on the corruption scandal
known as the Gürtel case, a case that tainted the PP, the ruling political party at that
time.
On the other hand, the PSP experienced a similar situation at the beginning of
the period, going from leading the government with José Socrates between 2005
and 2011, to suffering a tough electoral defeat in the 2011 legislative elections. That
marked the start of a period of internal instability under the leadership of Antonio
José Seguro (Lisi, 2015). During the 2013 convention, after fierce debate on the
subject, Antonio José Seguro decided to accept open primaries for the city council,
in an attempt to neutralise internal opposition. After the 2014 European elections,
the secretary general unexpectedly decided once again to hold open primaries, at
which time, the mayor of Lisbon, Antonio Costa, decided to contest the leadership
of the party. Thus, after winning in the 2014 primaries, Antonio Costa took control
of the party. Subsequently, the PSP, headed by Antonio Costa, once again led the
Portuguese government after the 2015 legislative elections. The main novelty of the
government headed by the former mayor of Lisbon was that, for the first time, there
was close collaboration between the PSP and the other two parties positioned to its
left (Lisi, 2019). From that moment on, a phase of internal party stability began under
the figure of the secretary general and prime minister, Antonio Costa (Lisi, 2019).
8.3 The Digitisation of the PSOE and PSP Participation

Tools
8.3.1 Bottom-Up Digital Tools
The academic literature has highlighted the growing involvement of party members
in the selection processes of candidates, leaders, and even programme proposals
(Scarrow, 1999; Scarrow et al., 2000). Thus, there are two main positions concerning
the increase in the internal democracy of the parties (Scarrow, 2015, p. 212): on the
one hand, there are those who explain it as an attempt to reinforce the position of
the leader of the organisation versus intermediate levels; and on the other, there are
those who believe that this process of internal democratisation can empower those
who are not especially concerned with the success or stability of the party.
Regarding the use that the parties make of digital tools and the consequent scope
for participation that this offers party members, some studies (Gibson & Ward, 2009,
p. 95) show that, in many cases, the large parties (such as the two that are the focus
of this paper) have more capacity to offer new technological tools to voters and
members than smaller parties. In addition, these new tools provide members of the
traditional political organisations with more information and more opportunities for
their opinion to reach the organisational elite. However, it is not entirely clear whether
these technologies are promoting a kind of collective participation within political
organisations (Ward & Gibson, 2009, p. 37). Despite this, for Gerbaudo ‘the new
digital party type combines two elements that seemed irreconcilable in past parties:
an agile directive structure and an active militant basis’ (Gerbaudo, 2018, p. 58).
8.3.1.1 PSP Bottom-Up Tools
First, we address the participation tools used by the PSP. According to the current
statutes of this party, there are two types of members: activists and supporters (Art.
8 and 10, PSP Statutes 2018). In addition, for both types of membership, there is the
possibility of registering online (Art. 7, PSP Statutes 2018), without having to go to
a headquarters. In this regard, the option to register provisionally by ‘the appropriate
computer-based means’ (Art. 7, PSP Statutes 2003) was already recognised in the
2003 statutes of this party. In 2012, the legal texts of the party adopted their current
form, expressly recognising the possibility of registering entirely through digital
means (Art. 7, PSP Statutes 2012).
The main difference between the two forms of membership is that only the activists
have the right to vote and to stand as candidates in all internal party elections. The
digital activism organisations are also statutory (Art. 74, PSP Statutes 2018): they are
national in scope and comprise at least 15 party members, with a coordinator at the
helm. Like the rest of the organisation, the coordinator is dependent on the National
Secretariat. The purpose of this organisation is to participate and discuss the values
represented by the party, as well as to reinforce its political strategy.
In 1998, the PSP introduced the ‘one-member one-vote’ formula for the election
of its leader (Lisi, 2019, p. 155). The debate regarding the election of the leader of
the PSP and the participation of different members was reopened in 2014 after the
party’s poor results in the European elections that year. The then mayor of Lisbon,
Antonio Costa, decided to stand against the secretary general, Antonio José Seguro,
for the party leadership. Seguro decided that the choice between the two should
be made through an open primary rather than a closed primary: Antonio Costa won
convincingly. In 2015, Costa decided to institutionalise the holding of open primaries
for the selection of candidates. However, the party has not yet developed the rules
for the correct organisation and specification of these open primaries (Lisi, 2019,
p. 157). According to the current statutes of the party (Art. 44, PSP Statutes 2018),
both activists and supporters have the right to participate in the direct election of the
secretary general of the party. However, supporters must have been members for a
minimum of six months and must have paid their dues (Art 44.5, PSP Statutes 2018).
Moreover, a distinction can be made between open and closed primary elections:
although both supporters and activists can participate in open primaries, only activists
can participate in closed primaries (Art. 68 PSP Statutes 2018). It is the National
Commission, on its own initiative or at the proposal of the secretary general, which
can decide on the holding of open or closed primaries. This is, without a doubt, one
of the main organisational innovations introduced in the Portuguese political parties
in recent years (Lisi, 2015, p. 182).
The statutes also detail the functioning of a body called the “National Department
of Supporters” (Art. 71, PSP Statutes 2018), which is created by the National Secre-
tariat and coordinated by a member of the latter. It is composed by party members
and its objective is to debate and formulate proposals on public policies. In addition,
the National Secretariat must produce a twice-yearly report on the activities carried
out by this department during said period.
Lastly, the statutes also promote other bottom-up participation tools such as the
National Telecommunications Departments (Art. 72, PSP Statutes 2018), the Politics
Clubs, and the Socialist Women (Art. 69, PSP Statutes 2018) or Socialist Youth organ-
isations (Art. 75, PSP Statutes 2018). The main purpose of the National Telecom-
munications Departments is to discuss and formulate proposals for specific public
policies, in which activists, supporters and independents can take part. In addition,
these departments can function partially or exclusively on digital platforms and, like
the National Department of Supporters, are coordinated by a member of the National
Secretariat who must prepare twice-yearly reports on the activities carried out by the
department. The Politics Clubs can be set up by any activist, and essentially consist
of an informal structure whose purpose is to discuss important political issues; both
activists and people not linked to the party can participate. Socialist Women is a body
aimed at promoting feminism and equality, and it has its own digital section on the
party’s website (https://mulheres.ps.pt/). Finally, Socialist Youth is an autonomous
body within the organisation, which young people who support or sympathise with
its principles can join. In addition, when they turn 18, the members of this group can
become party members if they wish.
8.3.1.2 PSOE Bottom-Up Tools
In this section, we analyse the bottom-up tools that the PSOE employs. First, it
should be pointed out that the internal statutes of the PSOE cover three different
types of members: activists (Art. 9, PSOE Statutes 2017), direct affiliates (art. 10,
PSOE Statutes 2017) and supporters (Art. 11, PSOE Statutes 2017). The activists
are those members who are attached to a local or district group, through which they
exercise their rights and duties. On the other hand, direct affiliates are those who
are part of the federal or regional scope, but not the local; they have the same rights
and duties as the activists, with the exception of not being able to participate in
the election of the secretary general or the Executive Committee at district, local,
provincial and island levels, since they do not belong to these territorial structures.
Finally, supporters represent the loosest form of membership; they are people who
are willing to collaborate with the party, but without assuming the same obligations
as the other types of members, and they can only participate in the selection of
candidates elected in open primaries. In the three types of membership, it is possible
to register online.
The main digital participation tool is ‘miPSOE’ (https://mipsoe.es/_layouts/15/
PreHome.aspx?ReturnUrl=/), a platform through which members and registered
users can participate in the political life of the party. This platform (Tezanos &
Luena, 2017, p. 170) is the party’s activist portal; its objective is to centralise all the
technological devices of the PSOE. The portal contains several options for bottom-up
participation, such as sending proposals and suggestions, as well as the possibility
of initiating the procedures to become a party member. In addition, miPSOE has a
digital application for Android and IOS.
Following the French and Italian models, the PSOE has been able to hold open
primaries for the election of candidates since 2014, but only in the event that two
or more candidates meet the eligibility criteria, something that has not yet happened
(Barberà, 2019, p. 51). The election of the secretary general of the party is currently
carried out through primaries in which activists and direct affiliates can participate,
but not supporters (Art. 5, PSOE Statutes 2017). The type of primary assigned for
this election is the two-round voting system. However, if in the first round one of the
candidates obtained more than 50% of the valid votes, they would be automatically
elected without having to hold the second round. If not, the two candidates that
received the most votes in the first round would pass to the second round, and the
one with the highest number of votes would be elected. It should also be pointed out
here that the PSOE has not allowed digital participation in the primaries that it has
held.
On the other hand, we should also mention other specific options that the political
party can use to identify its members’ choices regarding particular issues. The most
important are the consultations with activists (Art. 53, PSOE Statutes 2017): they can
be called at national, regional, insular, provincial or municipal level, provided that the
Executive Committee of the level superior to the one proposing the consultation gives
its consent. However, it is mandatory to consult the activists, within the corresponding
territorial level, on the governmental agreements of which the PSOE is a part, or on the
way the party votes on the investiture of another party. Only activists can participate
in these consultations, and they can also do so online. In relation to the above, it
should also be noted that the members and activists of the PSOE were already able to
vote online in the first consultation about government agreements with Ciudadanos
in 2016 (Tezanos & Luena, 2017, p. 170). Later, party members were also able to
vote online in the consultation on government agreements with Podemos, after the
general elections of November 2019.
Finally, another way to participate in the PSOE is to be part of the Socialist Youth
of Spain (Art. 79–82, PSOE Statutes 2017), the party’s youth organisation, which is
autonomous but must accept and comply with the programme and resolutions of the
party convention, the Federal Committee and the Federal Executive Committee. In
addition, this socialist youth organisation has its own website: https://www.jse.org/
inicio/. On this website, there is a participation section, where those who want to
become a member of the party’s youth organisation can download the necessary file
(however, they cannot complete the registration entirely online). This participation
section includes a sub-section where young people can access the different training
workshops that the organisation promotes, as well as other useful links. However,
the opportunities for the user to actively participate in this website, beyond receiving
information, are negligible.
8.3.2 Top-Down Digital Tools
In this section, we analyse the presence of top-down digital tools: those that go from
the party to its members, with the latter playing no more than a passive role, for
example receiving information or a notification. A few years ago, Margetts (2006,
p. 531) pointed out that many parties were beginning to develop their websites to
offer open access services to their followers and members, which gave them the
opportunity to send them all kinds of information. Today this is an undeniable reality.
This section also briefly addresses the use of social networks (Twitter, Facebook
and Instagram), since these are other digital channels that both parties use to get
information to their members and followers. Regarding this, for Gerbaudo nowadays:
parties integrate within themselves the new forms of communications and organisation intro-
duced by Big Data oligopolies, by exploiting the devices, services and applications that have
become the most recognizable mark of the present age, from social media like Facebook
and Twitter, to messaging apps like WhatsApp and Telegram, channels on which people can
follow any sort of political event. (Gerbaudo, 2018, p. 4)
8.3.2.1 PSP Top-Down Tools
First, with respect to the PSP, it should be pointed out that all communications and
notifications to its members should preferably be sent by electronic means (Art. 85,
PSP Statutes 2018). The email address used for this purpose is portal@ps.pt. Beyond
that, the party has several digital tools to share information with its different types
of members. One of them is Acción Socialista Digital, a magazine in digital format
that publishes daily official information about the party, is regulated in the official
statutes of the party (Art. 79, PSP Statutes 2018), and has its own website: https://
www.accaosocialista.pt/. The director of Acción Socialista Digital is appointed by
the National Secretariat.
Furthermore, the PSP has another tool called the Research Office. This body is
the party’s permanent research and technical support organisation, in which activists
and supporters can participate, as well as independent individuals (by invitation)
(Art. 70, PSP Statutes 2018). This organisation also has its own website within the
official party website (https://gabinetedeestudos.ps.pt/), where it is noted that this
is the body responsible for preparing the electoral programmes. In addition to the
programmes for the last elections (the legislative elections of October 2019, in which
the PSP obtained the first position with more than 36% of the votes), this website
also provides the electoral programmes for previous elections, as well as documents
that explain the degree of fulfilment of said electoral promises.
In this sense, if a user accesses specifically the main website of the Research
Office,1 there are several interface options and digital tools that they can use. In the
first place, when the user clicks on the button “Who we are”, they are redirected to a
1Access to the Research Office website: https://gabinetedeestudos.ps.pt/. Accessed on April 16,

2021.
detailed explanation of the role of the Research Office, as well as of the organisation
chart of its managers and advisers. On the left of the main page of the use interface,
the user can access the compilation of the party’s electoral programmes. Next to it,
the user can find a button providing a link to the news page of the Office. In the upper
right section of the main page, the user can click and access a page in which the
training options offered by the party are detailed, as well as the list of the lectures
teaching each course. The user can even download the PowerPoint slides for each
training course. In the central section of the main page, a button gives access to
the most recent electoral programme of the party, that of the legislative elections of
October 2019.
Finally, and in relation to the PSP use of social networks, this party has 76,324
followers on Facebook, 30,122 followers on Twitter and 12,421 tweets, and 7079
followers on Instagram and 777 posts. In addition, it has a YouTube account with
3295 subscribers. As we can see, the social network in which the PSP has the strongest
presence is Facebook, with 76,324 followers (data as of 3 May 2019).
8.3.2.2 PSOE Top-Down Tools
According to the party statutes, the party’s website is www.psoe.es and the offi-
cial email address is infopsoe@psoe.es (Art. 1.5, PSOE Statutes 2018). In addition,
and although in this case it is not explicitly covered by the statutes, there is an
email address for the attention of activists (ampsoe@psoe.es), another related to
the press office (ofiprensa@psoe.es) and another for a citizens’ complaint channel
(canaldenuncia@psoe.es). As indicated in their statutes (Arts. 83–84, PSOE Statutes
2017), the party’s means of communication is El Socialista, the administration and
management of which is the direct responsibility of the Federal Executive Committee,
which determines both the director and the frequency of its release. This means of
socialist expression has its own section (https://www.psoe.es/el-socialista/) on the
party website, where the different editions can be downloaded. In addition, the party
statutes (Art. 83, PSOE Statutes 2017) stipulate that the words ‘Founded by Pablo
Iglesias’ should always appear in the header of El Socialista.
The PSOE also has a digital tool that provides and collects information about
the political party in television and video format called PSOE TV (https://webtv.
psoe.es/). This tool lists videos under a menu that contains the following categories
or labels: Pedro Sánchez (all the videos with the speeches of the party leader),
Federal Executive Committee, Government, Congress of Deputies, Senate, European
Parliament, Autonomous Parliaments, Town Halls and Pablo Iglesias Foundation.
Other types of top-down digital tool offered by the PSOE are available on the
aforementioned ‘miPSOE’ cyber-platform. For example, one of these is the ‘debate’
option, which basically consists of discussions raised by the party on various issues
and in which members can take part and give their opinion.
This application allows the party to offer its members different types of informa-
tion, such as the opportunity to conduct surveys to collect information or opinions
from its members on various topics. It also enables users to access a wide variety of
information, ranging from the nearest Casa del Pueblo or party headquarters to mate-
rial on the party’s different sectoral organisations (participation and diversity, educa-
tion, environment, health, information and entrepreneurial society, social economy
and self-employed workers), as well as direct access to the different documents and
programmes of the party.
If we analyse the home page of the miPSOE digital application,2 its usability
appears to be quite advanced. In the upper left-hand side of the page, a button offers
the possibility of returning to this home page at any time, while in the upper right-
hand side a tab details the different services available for the user in the application.
It is important to note that services offered to registered members are more developed
than those offered to a registered user. Finally, in the upper left section, the user can
access their own data, as well as update them.
The central section of the main page of this application presents a window that
gives access to information related to the 140th anniversary of the PSOE, while on the
left a button allows the user to review their membership form. The option to register
in some of the sectoral organisations of the political party is linked to a button in the
right top corner of the app.
Finally, regarding PSOE’s presence on the main social networks, this party has
17,191 followers on Facebook, compared to 683,603 followers on Twitter and 96,727
tweets and 64,342 followers on Instagram and 1134 posts. As we can see, this political
organisation has the strongest presence on Twitter, with 683,603 followers and 96,727
published tweets. Finally, it also has a YouTube channel with 18,168 subscribers.
8.4 Conclusions
In this article, we have tried to analyse the adaptation of the Spanish Socialist
Workers’ Party (PSOE) and the Portuguese Socialist Party (PSP) to the digital world.
To that end, and for analytical and classification purposes, we identify two categories
of digital tools offered by both PSOE and PSP: on the one hand, the tools that we
label bottom-up, which refer to those options that allow grassroots participation, and
in which members and/or users play an active and essential role; and, on the other
hand, top-down tools, which are those that go from the party to its members, in which
members play a passive role, limited to receiving information from the political party.
In the second section of this document, we mentioned the work of Fishman (2017),
according to whom the different types of transition to democracy experienced in
Spain and Portugal have generated more inclusive political actors in Portugal than
in Spain.
Having analysed the digital possibilities and scope for participation offered by
each of the two parties, we can point to a greater inclusiveness by the PSP than by
the PSOE, as evidenced by the wider range of opportunities for bottom-up digital
2 Access to app miPSOE: https://www.mipsoe.es/_layouts/15/PreHome.aspx?ReturnUrl=/.
Accessed on April 16 2021.

participation in the case of the Portuguese party than in the Spanish one. Indeed,
as we have seen throughout this chapter, the PSP’s statutes cover multiple options
in this sense, such as the National Department of Supporters, the Digital Activist
Organisations, the National Telecommunications Departments or the Politics Clubs,
which allow members greater participation and integration in the party.
In addition, another element that facilitates the greater inclusiveness of the PSP
compared to the PSOE is that the Portuguese party has already held open primaries
for the election of its leader (Lisi, 2019); while the PSOE, despite allowing for that
possibility in its statutes, has not yet held any open primaries to elect its candidate
or its secretary general (Barberà, 2019).
Regarding the other category of virtual tools, the PSOE has more advanced and
refined possibilities for top-down digital participation than the PSP, with examples
such as the miPSOE digital application or PSOE TV, the party’s digital tool that
collects and provides information about the party in television and video format.
Finally, there are also differences in the two parties’ use of and presence on social
networks. While the PSP has a greater impact on Facebook, the PSOE has a stronger
presence on Twitter. In relation to the above-mentioned greater importance of top-
down tools in the PSOE, it can generally be noted that the PSOE has a stronger
presence than the PSP on social networks. Only on Facebook does the Portuguese
political party have a more notable presence than the Spanish political party.
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Chapter 9
The Secret Digital Garden of Politics:
Spanish Parties and Their Intranets
Eduardo Blasco
Abstract Political parties’ use of information and communication technologies

(ICTs) has skyrocketed in the past decade. The first studies in this area highlighted
the use of emails and websites for campaigning purposes (Margetts in Handbook of
party politics. Sage Publications, pp. 528–535, 2006; Norris in Party Politics 9:21–
45, 2003). Nowadays, virtually all parties use emails to reach their subscribers and
websites to advertise themselves, and in recent years political parties have honed their
tools and moved to cutting-edge technologies such as micro-targeting (González in
Anthropol Today 33:9–12, 2017; Schipper and Woo in Q J Polit Sci 14:41–88, 2019).
One of the main new ICTs that parties are employing is intranets or online platforms.
These are operated as an extension to their website, allowing party members to log
in to a member-exclusive platform. The features that these platforms offer vary from
party to party. This chapter examines thus the different intranets in the Spanish party
system.
Keywords Digital parties · Digital technologies · Intranets
9.1 Introduction
Political parties’ use of information and communication technologies (ICTs) has

skyrocketed in the past decade. The first studies in this area highlighted the use
of emails and websites for campaigning purposes (Margetts, 2006; Norris, 2003).
Nowadays, virtually all parties use emails to reach their subscribers and websites
to advertise themselves, and in recent years political parties have honed their tools
and moved to cutting-edge technologies such as micro-targeting (González, 2017;
Schipper & Woo, 2019). One of the main new ICTs that parties are employing is
intranets or online platforms. These are operated as an extension to their website,
allowing party members to log in to a member-exclusive platform. The features that
E. Blasco (B)
Universidad Francisco Marroquín, Madrid, Spain
e-mail: eduardojblasco@gmail.com
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-78668-7_9
164 E. Blasco
these platforms offer vary from party to party. And that is what this chapter examines:
the different intranets in the Spanish context.
Political parties, as any other social institution, have undergone a constant evolu-
tion that can be explained by multiple theories. Gerbaudo (2019b, p. 189) posits that
the structure and mode of organisation of a party can be inferred by the mode of
production of that time. This theory is useful for understanding why now, in the age
of information and the internet, party structure has become and is becoming, more
digitalised. The study of numerous ICTs is fundamental for understanding cyber
parties or for analysing how digitally integrated some parties are.
Previous articles have analysed political parties and ICTs from both theoretical
(Bennett & Segerberg, 2012; Boyd, 2008; Fitzpatrick, 2018; Kurban et al., 2017)
and empirical perspectives (Aragón et al., 2017; Semetko, 2006; Tsutsumi et al. in
this book; Ward & Gibson, 2008). There are also comparative reviews of political
parties and online electioneering tools (Gibson et al., 2013) and of intranets and
other organisational tools. These articles, however, focused on parties that used ICTs
extensively, particularly Podemos (Borge Bravo and Santamarina Sáez 2015a, b;
Fenoll and Sánchez Castillo 2016; Figueras, 2016; Gerbaudo 2019a), but did not
compare every major party in a national political arena.
This chapter attempts to fill this gap by providing a comprehensive description of
party platforms used by Spanish political parties. It opens with research questions
and a methodology section. This is followed by a description of party intranets
and an examination of the six most-voted national Spanish parties and two regional
parties. The subsequent section includes a table comparing the different features
of the previous parties and four more. The chapter concludes with closing remarks
about the future of political parties and intranets.
9.2 Research Questions and Methodology
My research seeks to answer how Spanish political parties use intranets as internal
organisational tools, what features these intranets have, and what they look like
for users. Additionally, my work evaluates how features offered by different party
platforms can be classified using the Five-Pillar Model (further explained below) and
how digitally integrated they are. The decision to focus on Spanish political parties
rests upon the fact that they have greater digital integration than Italian, French or
Greek parties (Raniolo et al. in this book).
An intranet is defined as a private communication web-based on internet standards
and technologies that supports the sharing of content within a limited and well-
defined group within a single organisation (Belloch Ortí, 1998, p. 4; Telleen, 1998).
The requirements to be considered as an intranet are predicated on the previous
definition and are as follows:
9 The Secret Digital Garden of Politics: Spanish Parties … 165
1. They must be accessed using an internet connection, either via a web browser
or mobile phone application;
2. they must be managed by, and directed to, a single organisation, such as an
individual political party;
3. they must be a private space dedicated exclusively to those authorised by the
organisation;
4. they must not be merely messaging software; and
5. they must require a username and password to log in.
The reason behind the fourth requirement is that they are not monitored by the
party staff. Messaging as a feature is allowed, because party staff manages the rest of
the content. But when the software’s single function is to hold messaging channels,
the staff does not monitor or control conversations between members and between
members and party staff.
I look at seven Spanish parties’ platforms to list and describe the services that they
offer. I picked the largest national parties, as follows: the Partido Popular (People’s
Party, PP), the Partido Socialista Obrero Español (Spanish Socialist Workers’ Party,
PSOE), Ciudadanos (Citizens), Podemos (We Can) and Vox. Additionally, I added
two regional parties to add more cases to the research: Compromís (Commit-
ment) and the Partit Demòcrata Europeu Català (Catalan European Democratic
Party, PDeCAT). Lastly, I included four more parties to the comparison table—
Izquierda Unida (United Left), Esquerra Republicana de Catalunya (Republican Left
of Catalonia), the Partido Nacionalista Vasco (Basque Nationalist Party) and Más
País (More Country).
My research looked for the features correlating to the dimensions that Fitzpatrick
(in this book) describes as part of the Five-Pillar Model, a model that builds on
previous literature to compose a matrix of the different dimensions of party functions
that can be performed digitally, to decide what to take into consideration. The first
thing to consider is whether the party has an intranet. The five pillars of the model
are party membership, leaders and candidates, policy programme, public image and
resources. Each pillar is divided into three different dimensions.
My search for online features is predicated on those dimensions. For example,
I looked for opportunities to vote for the party leader on the intranet (leaders:
recruitment) or to donate to the party (resources: fundraising).
PP, PSOE, Vox, Podemos and Ciudadanos are the five largest national political
parties by members of parliament in that order, as of 10 July 2020. There is one caveat
with Podemos—the party that actually holds the seats is Unidas Podemos (United
We Can). Nevertheless, as this electoral coalition comprises 11 different parties this
chapter focuses solely on Podemos, arguably the largest party of all. Compromís
and the Partit Demòcrata Europeu Català are regional parties that also hold seats
in the Spanish Parliament. Partit Demòcrata Europeu Català is part of the Junts per
Catalunya (JxC) coalition.
166 E. Blasco
PSOE, Ciudadanos, Podemos, Vox, Compromís and PDeCAT all have intranets
that meet the five criteria, albeit with strikingly dissimilar features. These parties
adhere to the classic membership status. Using Scarrow’s (2015, p. 6) member-
ship framework, these parties employ a formal, individual, party registration for
their members, i.e. ‘individuals enlist by completing formal procedures defined and
administered by political parties [,] [c]ommon enrollment procedures include filling
out application forms and paying annual dues’. This is what Scarrow (2015, p. 6)
posits is the common mode for mass political parties. These parties offer two options:
traditional individual membership or light membership (Scarrow, 2015, p. 30). Tradi-
tional individual members have to pay fees and state their agreement with the party
tenets and ideology. Light members, or party sympathisers, are free of fees—at
least in Spanish parties, they also have to agree to abide by the party’s principles
and depending on the party have the privilege of voting on certain decisions—as in
Compromís, for example.
Regarding the parties under study, the main difference between traditional indi-
vidual membership and light membership is that to become the former a member has
to pay fees and sign an agreement with the party beliefs (Boyd, 2008, p. 170; Scarrow,
2015, p. 6). Vox, however, only allows for traditional individual membership. PSOE
has a third category discussed below. Podemos, conversely, only entertains one type
of membership, that of ‘registered members’ (using a literal translation from the
Spanish ‘registrados’), or cyber-members. PSOE also considers cyber-members. But
the focus is on the type of members that parties allow into their platform, which for
Podemos is only cyber-members (as it is the only membership status one can hold).
Party membership can also be analysed in terms of whether one can become a
member using online methods (website or platform) or in person. PP only offers the
possibility to become a member if you register in person at one of its offices. You
can download the material from its website. PSOE, Vox and Compromís offer the
possibility to become a member using their platforms. Podemos only allows people
to become members via its intranet (Raniolo et al. in this book).
9.3 Spanish Political Parties’ Intranets
In this section, I examine the seven aforementioned parties and describe their
intranets and associated features, People’s Party, Spanish Socialist Worker’s Party,
Ciudadanos, Podemos, Vox, Compromís and the Catalan European Democratic Party.
My description consists of an explanation of what separates each platform from the
rest, what it includes and does not in comparison with the rest, as well as phone
apps that a party may use, such as in the case of the People’s Party and the Spanish
Socialist Worker’s Party.
9.3.1 People’s Party
The People’s Party or Partido Popular is the party that employs fewer ICTs for internal
organisation. It has a national party website1 and one for every autonomous commu-
nity. Additionally, the PP has two phone applications: ‘Populares’ and ‘Mensajería’
(Messaging). The PP website offers six different options on its homepage: About
us, topics, news, get involved, contact us and join us. One of the few services the
website offers is for will-be members to obtain the papers they need to fill in to become
members. You have to click on ‘participa’ (get involved), and then on ‘how to collab-
orate.’2 Then, you click on ‘afíliate’ (become a member) and load a webpage with
the information and documents needed to become a member. You need to complete
them and visit the nearest office to hand in the papers.
The phone application ‘Populares’3 can be accessed by anyone. It has a side menu
that displays 12 options: Home, calendar, multimedia, live streaming, policies and
suggestions, who is who, get involved, polls, offices, contact us and relevant links.
In addition, all People’s Party’s social media accounts can be reached at the bottom
of the menu.
The People’s Party offers another application, ‘Mensajería’4 (messaging), which
requires you to log in to access it. Should you try to register, the application asks
you for an invitation code. With regard to whether you need to be a member to log in
or perhaps only require an invitation code, everything suggests that you need both.
‘Mensajería’ is not considered a platform, because according to its description on
Apple Store and Google Play its function is to connect users, thus it is not used as
an organisational tool. Previous research has encountered the same problem trying
to access the application (Privacy International, 2019).
9.3.2 Spanish Socialist Workers’ Party
The research for this section has built on Diaz-Montiel’s (in this book). The Spanish
Socialist Worker’s Party (PSOE) has an intranet called miPSOE (myPSOE). You can
only access miPSOE via the national website,5 where it can be found under the ‘get
involved’ tab. Upon entering miPSOE,6 the website informs you that there are three
ways to access the platform: via your computer browser, the Apple application, or
1 Link: www.pp.es.
2 Link: www.pp.es/participa/como-colaborar.
3 Link: www.play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=es.pp.app%20and%20apps.apple.com/es/app/
partido-popular/id957286008.
4 Link: www.play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=es.pp.app%20and%20apps.apple.com/es/app/
partido-popular/id957286008.
5 Link: www.psoe.es.
6 Link: www.psoe.es/actua/mipsoe.
168 E. Blasco
the Android application (as of August 2020, the Android route appears to have been
removed).
The home screen displays three main buttons, Home, Services and Sociological
information. Home directs you back to the home screen when one is browsing another
webpage. Hovering the cursor over the home button makes a one-option scroll-
down menu appear, ‘mi perfil’ (my profile). This section includes the following info:
personal data, membership status, address, phone number(s), email, aggrupation data
(the content of the data registered here is uncertain), your social networks (one can add
social network links or handles of many sites such as Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn,
Instagram or YouTube), social map (the associations in which you are a member or
participate), your relationship with the party (a section in which you can add how
you can help the party; the two options available as of October 2019 being a blogger
or network volunteer), newsletters (one can subscribe to several newsletters such as
events or open assembly) and sectoral group. Services has two options: joining one of
the sectoral groups and fee management. Sectoral groups are local associations that
one can join in addition to becoming a party member and thus become more involved
in the party and have some responsibilities. On the fee management webpage, you
can see your payment information, receipt history, pending fees and fee certificate.
Under sociological information, you are asked to provide data on your country of
origin, your employment status, your professional area, your job, your education
level and your specialisation.
Next, there are three more features: member promotions, suggestions and surveys.
The first two are accessible from the home page, but the third one, surveys, is not
and appears when you are navigating other pages of the intranet.
As of August 2020, the party has conducted two internal referenda that allowed
online voting. The first one was in February 2016, and the reason for the vote was
whether to come to an agreement with Ciudadanos. There is still a presentation with
instructions on how to register and vote in that referendum online.7 The second one
took place in November 2019, when the party asked a similar question, whether
to form a coalition government with Podemos. In this referendum, all members
and youth members could vote. If they wanted to vote online, they had to cast a
vote between November 22 and 8 pm on November 23. A guide answering several
questions on this voting procedure can be found online.8
PSOE also has a cellphone application,9 as does the People’s Party. The PSOE’s
application, however, is its intranet and thus exclusively for members. It is also
called miPSOE. When you open it, the application asks for your log in information.
Once you enter your email and password, you see the miPSOE application home
page. This screen presents the latest news and videos regarding the PSOE. This side
menu includes a list of 14 items: log out, home, ‘TRNS’ (transparency), PSOE store,
7 Link: www.psoe.es/consulta-acuerdo-de-gobierno/guia-para-votar-online.
8 Link: www.psoe.es/el-socialista/asi-sera-la-consulta-a-la-militancia-sobre-el-acuerdo-de-gob
ierno-para-espana/.
9 Link: www.play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=es.psoe.transparencia%20and%20apps.apple.
com/es/app/mipsoe/id1055581988?l=en.
personal information, calendar, transparency (there are two transparency sections on

the application: the first one shows you the party staff and their positions, and the
second one showed nothing as of October 2019), Town-City Hall House, miPSOE
trivia, join the PSOE, recommend us, suggestions, contact us and notifications.
The TRNS section displays different PSOE members’ and representatives’ fiscal
records, informing you on their remuneration and party expenses. The PSOE store
offers products that you can purchase. On the personal information interface, you
can see your user data, which consists of a profile picture, username and alias.
The calendar section shows future party events and gives you the opportunity to
synchronise the party’s calendar with your personal calendar. The Town-City Hall
Houses display a map identifying the diverse sites where the party’s offices are
located, as well as the location of town and city halls. The join the PSOE section
allows you to become a member of the party if you are already a sympathiser.
The suggestions screen lets you send messages to the party. You can find contact
details, such as phone numbers and email addresses, as well as business hours, for
various party departments on the contact page. The application also has a notification
settings centre to choose which communications (including the party’s newsletter),
announcements, reminders and relevant information you would like to receive.
9.3.3 Ciudadanos
Ciudadanos’ intranet is called Espacio Naranja (Orange Space). The main way to
access Espacio Naranja10 is via the Ciudadanos national website.11
Espacio Naranja’s features have changed over the course of the research and
writing of this chapter. Before January 2020, the intranet had three features. First, ‘mi
perfil’ (my profile), a section under which you could add personal information such
as your name, address and contact details; and second, a section called curriculum,
for you to write your academic and professional background, your fluency in foreign
languages and any other skill you might have. You could access these two web pages
from the home page by clicking on your name. Third, there was an option to download
campaign logos.
Espacio Naranja added the following new sections temporarily to its platform
since January 2020: Ciudadanos’ next and past general assemblies, internal referenda
and your vote, party bodies, relevant documents and the party’s code of ethics. The
function of most of these was to vote online and to provide information to the user
about the 2020 Ciudadanos primaries. Additionally, users can no longer download
the campaign material. This could be because there is no campaign soon, as opposed
to previously when they were running for the November 2019 general election.
Ciudadanos’ erstwhile leader resigned after the November 2019 election. Thus,
the party held primaries from January to March 2020 to elect a new head of the party.
10 Link: www.espacio.ciudadanos-cs.org/inicio.
11 Link: www.ciudadanos-cs.org.
170 E. Blasco
That is why they added the option to vote to the platform. Ciudadanos carried out a
digital primary, as they have been doing for years. You could vote for a delegate, who
then voted for the leader in the next general assembly. Your province of residence
determines your vote. The platform also lets you see for whom you voted.
Due to the COVID-19 pandemic, Ciudadanos celebrated its V Congress virtually
(Ángel Sanz, 2020). The event lasted four days, from 30 April to 3 May, instead of the
originally scheduled two days. The participants comprised more than three hundred
delegates that members had voted for during the primaries. The event took place via
the computers of the delegates, who attended meetings and conferences over Zoom.
The congress was 100% online. Inés Arrimadas, who was elected the new head of
the party in March 2020, presided over the congress. There was a different event
occurring each day. On the first day, the delegates registered themselves as present
and voted on a report made by the previous executive committee and the party’s
financial accounts. The next day, the delegates discussed the amendments privately,
with different speakers arguing for and against them. Delegates voted for key issues
on the third day. None of the major amendments passed, as Inés Arrimadas had won
over almost 80% of the delegates during the primaries. Last, delegates elected the
Ciudadanos’ General Council and Guarantee Commission. Later that day, Arrimadas
delivered her first speech as party leader.
9.3.4 Podemos
Podemos is the most tech-savvy Spanish party, changing its ICT use constantly.
Podemos’s intranet is called Participa Podemos. You can access the platform via the
Podemos website12 by clicking on participa.podemos.info on the top purple bar. This
action loads the Participa Podemos log-in screen.13
The Participa Podemos home screen displays two sections under the heading
‘herramientas de participación ciudadana’ (citizen participation tools). The first one
says: ‘verify yourself here’. By clicking there, a new screen loads in which you can
upload your pictures of your ID card to have Podemos staff verify that you are who
you declare to be. The second grey box says ‘supporter census’, and its function is
to clarify if you are an activist or light member (Scarrow, 2015, p. 30), and whether
you are interested in any political responsibility.
The Participa Podemos home page can present a different layout. For example,
when the party is conducting an internal referendum. By clicking on ‘votar’ (to vote),
a new screen appears and asks you for a code. This code is sent to the telephone
number registered under your account. Once you introduce that code, a new screen
loads explaining how the internal election works. You can read the question and
select your answer after clicking on ‘empezar a votar’ (start to vote). Then, one is
directed to a new screen with the question of the vote.
12 Link: www.podemos.info.
13 Link: www.participa.podemos.info/es.
You can add your first name, last name, ID, date of birth, gender and residence
information on the personal information page, as well as change your password or
cancel your membership. You can also make pecuniary contributions to Podemos via
the collaborate page. You can send them money, selecting the amount and frequency
and to which organisational level it should be directed—local, autonomic or state.
Moreover, you can loan Podemos money in the form of microcredits, by which you
can donate to a campaign and request your money back once the election is over and
they receive state funding.
Plaza Podemos14 is the main fora platform (Gerbaudo 2019a, p. 5; b, pp. 15–
16). It is embedded on Reddit, an online platform that allows users to create, join
and participate in different debate topics (subreddits). The Podemos subreddit is
called r/podemos. Podemos seems to be the first and only political party that uses
this platform to conduct discussions between members and staff (Fenoll & Sánchez
Castillo, 2016, p. 25). Although Plaza Podemos is directed at members and intended
to promote internal debate and display the ideas of the party (Figueras, 2016, pp. 14–
15), anyone can join this subreddit and thus it is not only for members.
Please see Raniolo et al. and Biancala and Vittori (in this book) for more.
9.3.5 VOX
Vox offers a platform to its members called Panel de Afiliado (member panel). You
access it via their website15 by clicking on ‘participa’ (get involved). Once you are
logged into the Panel de Afiliado16 home page, you are welcomed by ‘¡Bienvenido
a su Panel de Afiliado VOX!’ (welcome to your Vox member panel). The intranet
offers five features to Vox members. First, on the member profile page, you can enter
your name, ID, email and other contact details. Second, a donations screen in which
you can see your past donations to the party. Third, there is a fee management option,
which provides information regarding fee payment. Fourth, on the membership card
page, you can ask for a physical membership card, as well as check your member
ID and personal data. Members have to pay e10 to obtain it. Last, a contact screen
gives you the opportunity to reach the party through this member-exclusive form.
This platform serves as an organisational tool inasmuch as it allows Vox to build
a database on its members and gather information on them. Vox uses the information
provided, such as telephone numbers to contact members for possible meetings or
email addresses to send out relevant news. Vox sends weekly emails to its members.
When you cancel your membership, for example, they call you asking what the
reasons behind your decision were and whether you intend to become a member
once again in the future. My educated guess is that they compile this information
into a database for organisational purposes. It appears to be the only party that has
14 Link: www.reddit.com/r/podemos.
15 Link: www.voxespana.es.
16 Link: www.voxespana.es/espana/panel-de-afiliados.
172 E. Blasco
a mechanism to confirm your membership cancellation and ask you about future
intentions.
9.3.6 Compromís
This Valencian party also has an intranet, which you can access by visiting their
website.17 The Compromís website has a drop-down menu under ‘take action’ that
gives you the option to click on Espai Compromís (Compromís Space),18 their
intranet. The Espai Compromís home page is composed of three parts. First, the menu,
which is composed of a personal data section and six tabs: microcredits, Compromís,
people of Compromís, Valencia, Valencia—Transits (providing tailored information
depending on the members’ place of residence) and Valencian youth—these last five
tabs correspond to different organisational levels. Second, a news section that shows
you when the latest post was added and by which organisational level. And last, the
rightmost part of the screen displays the cyber activity that you can conduct, i.e.
following and liking various Compromís pages on Twitter and Facebook.
On the personal data section, you can add and modify your details freely. Some-
thing different is that Compromís asks you whether you are a civil servant, whether
you are a member of a union and whether you are part of any civic movement. You
can also manage your bank billing information, email and notifications, password
and membership card. If you change your residence, you have the possibility to
change your local affiliation too, and instead of reading Valencia-Trànsits in green,
you will see another municipality. Furthermore, Compromís offers the option to
join an interest group within the party. Under the option called ‘sectors’, a member
can specify which social groups he wants to join. The list consists of 19 interest
groups such as culture, agriculture, education, democratic regeneration, territory and
transport, LGBT diversity, sports, justice, healthcare, environment, communications,
welfare or economy.
Espai Compromís allows users to donate to the party through microcredits.
Compromís microcredits work under the same logic as Podemos’. There were no
open microcredits at the time the research was conducted.
On the summary screen, you can find information to keep up to date with the
latest notifications and party activity. This screen displays boxes for a member’s
messages, documents, agenda or referenda. On the messages screen, an interface
shows all the messages issued by the party in relation to events, member gatherings,
campaigns, notifications or important dates. The third section, regarding meetings,
offers information on all the meetings that the member is encouraged to attend, with
the date and description of each meeting. The agenda tab has a calendar with every
event taking place at every organisational level of autonomic, provincial, local and
17 Link: www.compromís.net.
18 Link: www.compromís.net/espai/auth/login?redirect=/espai.
Fig. 9.1 Espai Compromís referendum screen. Source Espai Compromís website
district. If a new event is added, a notification can be sent via message, through a
certain channel, depending on the preferences set on notifications.
In addition to those four sections, others include document, referendum and staff
screens. Several types of material are available on the document option, for example,
minutes of meetings, primary bylaws, material for primaries, coalition bylaws, 2019
election information and municipal groups. They are all downloadable. Next, the
referendum tab lists past and current referenda (Fig. 9.1).
Past procedures are labelled under the title ‘finished referenda’. These referenda
have been held on party matters, giving members the opportunity to make decisions
and vote democratically. Each consultation lists the question asked, the deadline for
voting and which groups can vote—it could be either all members or only those from
a certain faction of the party. There is a results button that displays the turnout and
final decision at the end of each row. If you are not a full (fees paid) member but tried
to participate in the referenda, a message appears stating that sympathisers cannot
participate in such activities. The message also contains a hyperlink that users can
click in order to go to the membership screen and become actual party members.
The last common tab for all five groups is the staff screen. On this webpage, there is
a list of the party staff’s names, positions and email addresses. The table is labelled
‘Compromís National Executive Board’ and shows all positions in the party with
contact information. Staff are described as ‘BLOC representatives’ or ‘initiative
representatives’ depending on their linkages to internal groups.
174 E. Blasco
9.3.7 Catalan European Democratic Party
The Catalan European Democratic Party, PdeCAT, has a simple intranet that can
be accessed via its website.19 When you log in to the intranet,20 the top part of the
interface remains unchanged. Six tabs appear in a new ribbon under the previous one,
regarding general information, security, billing data, bills, connections and terms and
conditions. In the general information tab, you can find your personal information:
ID, telephone number, profession, zip code and territorial inscription amongst other
details. The logo on the right side of each row shows the status of that information,
whether it is private or available to the public (other party members). On the left
side, there is a plug-in in case you want to add a picture to your profile. Changes can
be made and saved here. The user can close the session by clicking on a link in the
top-right part of the information screen. PDeCAT’s platform is very similar to Vox’s.
It offers only the minimum features to keep data on members and possibly contact
them whenever necessary.
9.4 The Five-Pillar Model Applied to the Spanish Political

Parties
This section introduces a table in which the various possible party intranet features
are classified into seven different categories. Four more parties have been included in
this table: United Left (Izquierda Unida, IU) (www.izquierdaunida.org), Republican
Left of Catalonia (Esquerra Republicana de Catalunya, ERC) (www.esquerra.cat/
ca/inici), the Basque Nationalist Party (Partido Nacionalista Vasco, PNV) (www.
eaj-pnv.eus/es) and More Country (Más País, MP) (www.maspais.es). Among these
four new additions, only MP has a member-exclusive platform. Más País is a newly
formed political party that ran in November 2019 for the first time, in the general
election. Its intranet (www.participa.maspais.es/es) quite closely resembles that of
Podemos. As Más País originated as a split from Podemos, it can be expected that
their intranets were built by the same people or company.
The table is based on the Five-Pillar Model of parties’ migration into the digital
(Fitzpatrick in this book). This table includes whether each service is offered on the
platform ( ), on the website ( ), or in a non-digital way ( ). The five pillars of
the model are: party membership, leaders and candidates, policy programme, public
image and resources.
The first row of the table indicates whether a party has an intranet service. There
are four parties that lack one: PP, IU, ERC and PNV. The second row describes
whether intranets show different options depending on your membership status. For
example, in the case of Compromís you can only vote in the internal referenda if you
19 Link: www.partitdemocrata.cat.
20 Link: www.partitdemocrata.cat/accounts/login/?next=/profile.
are a full member. The table then presents the first pillar of the Five-Pillar Model.
This first section, party membership, comprises three different dimensions. These
units, or bricks, as the original author calls them, are: recruitment, or whether people
are able to become members online; integration, or whether members have a place to
communicate and take part in their party’s affairs; and administration, or whether the
party collects member information and uses it to send out relevant information. Fee
payment is also included in this last part. As this is a pivotal feature, a distinction is
made in the table to indicate whether parties allow members to pay their membership
fees online. All the parties with intranets had at least this option.
The second section, on leaders and candidates, has the following dimensions:
recruitment, or whether members can vote in internal referenda to elect their repre-
sentatives; communication/campaigns, or whether members can communicate with
party leaders using the party platform; and accountability, or whether leaders have
mechanisms to explain failures and successes to their members.
The third section in the table is the policy programme pillar. The bricks are as
follows: selection of goals, or whether members can propose and decide on prospec-
tive party policy; selection of strategy, or whether parties ask members to vote on
paramount party decisions; and agenda-setting, or whether parties use strategies to
influence public opinion and advertise their program.
Public image is the fourth pillar, with the following dimensions: accessibility, or
whether parties have an online presence; transparency, or whether parties provide
relevant documents to the public; and responsiveness, or whether parties respond to
criticism.
The last pillar—resources—includes fundraising, or whether party leaders try to
raise money online and spending and investment. Spending and investment are not
considered for the table as I do not have information on whether parties have spent
and invested money on their intranets. That said, one could make an educated guess
and say that parties with platforms have spent at least some money on them (Table
9.1).
In our cohort of parties, all parties display some accountability, as they all at
least claim their successes by displaying the news on their website. They all do their
agenda-setting outside the platform, mainly on social media and messaging apps such
as WhatsApp (e.g. PP and PSOE) or Telegram (Podemos). Party leaders deal with
most public image issues outside the intranet, which makes sense, as doing it that way
gives them better publicity. Every Spanish party has some accessibility, as they all
have a website at least. And their responsiveness is seen on social media. Podemos
and Compromís show features that allow for internal e-democracy and strategic
decision-making, as both parties allow their members to vote for the party candidate
during party primaries and ask their members to vote on party matters, as we have
seen above. Whereas Compromís grants voting power to traditional members only,
Podemos makes no distinction between types of members. Ciudadanos also offers
the option to vote during candidate recruitment, but only for those who have been
full members for longer than six months. Ciudadanos has offered this option since
January 2020. There are still not enough data on many of Más País intranet’s features
as it is a new party. An educated guess, however, might tell us that it probably has
176 E. Blasco
Table 9.1 Party intranet features classified according to Five-Pillar Model of parties’ migration
into the digital
*Plaza Podemos
the same ones as Podemos, as they share a strikingly similar website and MP is a
scission of it.
Boyd (2008, pp. 169–72) and Bennett et al. (2018) postulate that mass, cartel and
cyber parties use ICTs for different purposes. Mass parties employ them for online
member support; cartel parties for electioneering purposes; and cyber parties seek
to allow more participation. As other online tools fall outside the scope of this study
(where they are online but not exclusive to members), a classification based on the
structure of parties’ intranets represents an incomplete view of the actual use of ICT
by each party. That said, there is a major division between Vox, PDeCAT, Ciudadanos
and Podemos, Compromís and Más País. PSOE is more difficult to categorise.
The role of intranets in the first group of parties falls, according to Boyd, under
the mass party type of ICT use. This type of party mainly facilitates members to pay
fees. This option could be defined as a member-support feature. It is clearly seen
on the Vox intranet, where, besides paying your membership fees and donating to
the party, there is nothing else to do. And the PDeCAT platform offers the same
but without the donation option. Their websites also have other features, but of less
relevance for the members.
Ciudadanos would be classed as a cartel party, an intermediate category, as its

intranet offers electioneering services: besides paying membership fees, members
can vote when there are primaries, learn more about them and download material to
support the party during a general election.
The third group, those parties that are more digitally integrated, offers more partic-
ipatory tools, such as online referenda, and thus can be classified as digital parties.
Podemos and Compromís offer online options to pay fees and donate, but also allow
members to vote in primaries. These parties have flexible platforms that allow the
heads of the parties to put any question to their members. That is why Podemos and
Compromís can be considered as the two parties currently closest to full digitali-
sation, as they foster a higher degree of participation on their platforms. Regarding
Más País, as of August 2020, it still has not conducted any referenda or primaries
online, but one could surmise that this will happen in future, as it offers an almost
identical platform to Podemos.
We could also consider PSOE as a digital party, because it has carried out two
internal referenda online, thus it allows a certain degree of online participation. But
with only two—fewer than Podemos and Compromis—and with no online election-
eering tools, the features it has are simpler than those on the Podemos and Compromis
platforms. That is why I would call PSOE a less virtually transitioned digital party
or a more virtually integrated mass party.
9.5 Conclusion
Parties, overall, tend to employ more and more ICTs for organisational use. It is
still unclear why some leaders decide to implement these tools and others do not.
Some studies argue that left-wing party leaders adopt these new technologies at a
higher rate because these new tools promote more online participation, which they
believe their members enjoy more (Bennett & Segerberg, 2012; Bennett et al., 2018;
Cardenal, 2013). Considering my data, this hypothesis could be true. Nevertheless,
this chapter presents few data points that lead to any solid conclusion. In addition,
all the cases come from the same national arena; thus, the possibility of hidden bias
increases. Moreover, the focus of this chapter is on intranets. Further research should
study other types of ICT and from different countries to be able to corroborate my
hypothesis.
Increasing ICT usage has encouraged parties to start developing their online side
and engage the public with a greater social media presence, flexible communication
and cheaper campaigning and organising (Hartleb, 2013, p. 367), and even saving
on labour and rent, as they can scale up communications, hold virtual referenda and
utilise fewer working spaces. In addition to that, a large percentage of the voting
population in Spain has access to the internet and uses a smartphone as the main tool
to communicate, thus the reach of these tools is vast and the cost small. Furthermore,
data now represent one of the most valuable resources (The Economist, 2017) that
parties could collect via their ICTs.
178 E. Blasco
Platformisation—the process by which a party moves its operations online—frees

parties of organisational and material constraints, which can help them grow faster
than otherwise (Gerbaudo, 2018, p. 67). However, some party leaders may prioritise
exerting greater control over the organisational process than over the facilities that
come with platformisation. Following party leaders’ incentives, one could surmise
that parties will implement more ICTs when their leaders value flexibility and the
money they can save more than control over internal processes.
Amongst parties that use ICTs, I believe there is an ‘arms race’ to offer new and
better online services to both members and potential voters. It might be expected
that members of parties that do not already offer these features will eventually ask
for them, as younger members start enrolling.
Gerbaudo (2018, pp. 22–42; 2019b, pp. 189) posits that political parties’ organ-
isational structure evolved based on the main means of production at the time. And
that is why they are adopting these new technologies, which make them resemble
companies like Facebook in terms of turning into data-driven organisations. If we
accept this proposition, we can expect new technologies to dictate the transition of
parties in Western democracies.
My estimation is that all parties will eventually have an online intranet for their
members. The main distinction will be amongst those parties that use this as a
supporting tool and platformise gradually and those others that are solely located
on the web, i.e. the fully digital parties. These two types will use similar tools, but
cyber parties will inevitably update them faster as their intranet will be the skeleton
of their organisation.
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participation, and change. In Routledge handbook of internet politics (pp. 41–55). Routledge.
Chapter 10
Political Parties and New ICTs: Between
Tradition and Innovation
Francesco Raniolo, Valeria Tarditi, and Davide Vittori
Abstract The literature on party change has shown how the advent of the digital
revolution and the diffusion of new information and communication technologies
(ICTs) in twenty-first-century democracies has impacted on the way political parties
communicate and perform their functions. Nonetheless, the literature has omitted the
crucial issue of the political parties’ organizational reaction to the diffusion of ICTs.
Our research question is thus whether and how ICTs have impacted the organizational
model of political parties. The chapter evaluates the differences between (i) new and
old parties and (ii) parties with different ideological orientations. We hypothesize
that “new” parties—with no organizational legacy—prefer “disruptive innovations”,
using new ICTs as functional equivalents of former organizational infrastructures. In
this case, new ICTs are tools to establish direct links between leaders and members,
responding to the competitive logic of challenger parties. By contrast, old parties—
being subject to institutional inertia—introduce “sustaining innovations”, using new
ICTs as additional tools for communicative or informative aims, rather than as a
structural trait of the organization. Furthermore, we expect that left-wing parties use
ICTs more frequently and as means to foster greater internal democracy compared to
centre-right parties. This factor is linked to differences in theoretical conceptions of
party organizations among parties with different ideological traditions. We test these
hypotheses through a comparative analysis of the main political parties of different
party families with different ages in four European countries: Italy, Spain, France
and Greece.
Keywords Political parties · Party organization · Digital innovations
F. Raniolo · V. Tarditi (B)

University of Calabria, Rende, Italy
e-mail: valeria.tarditi@unical.it
F. Raniolo
e-mail: francesco.raniolo@unical.it
D. Vittori
Université Libre de Bruxelles, Brussels, Belgium
e-mail: davide.vittori@ulb.ac.be
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-78668-7_10
182 F. Raniolo et al.
10.1 Introduction
The history of political parties is also a history of political communication: technolog-

ical opportunity structures have shaped the ways in which parties communicate with
citizens (Farrell & Webb, 2000; Römmele, 2000). Empirical research on the relation-
ship between ICTs and parties has mainly focused on either the functions performed
by parties (opinion formation, interest mediation, electioneering) (Margolis, et al.,
1997; Ward, 2008) or internal party organization, particularly at the level of internal
democracy and distribution of power (Gibson et al., 2003; Smith & Webster, 1995).
Other studies have identified ideal types of party ICT-enabled organization (Löfgren
& Smith, 2003; Wring and Horrocks 2000; Helen, 2006; Heidar & Saglie, 2003).
Systemic approaches to the empirical analysis of the potential transformation of
parties’ organizational models seem to be less common, in particular those based
on the combination of party-focused studies with the most recent literature on party
“digitalization” (Gibson & Ward, 2009: 96). The aim of our chapter is to fill this
empirical gap by focusing on political parties’ organizational reactions to new digital
technology. We scrutinize whether parties evince a transformative tendency towards
virtual models in which new digital ICTs carry out the traditional functions of
communication and expression, and work as “functional equivalents” of the old orga-
nizational infrastructures. To this end, the chapter proposes a comparative analysis
of the main political parties, new and old and situated across the entire ideological
spectrum, in Italy, Spain, France and Greece.
10.2 Digitalization and Parties’ Organizational Change
The aim of the paper is to analyse the effects of the Fourth Industrial Revolution, the
digital one, on the organizational models of parties today. Early research on ICT use
in organizations has mainly focused on two approaches: one framed in terms of equal-
ization and the other in terms of normalization (Ward & Gibson, 2009). According
to the first approach (see Doherty, 2002), outsider or fringe organizations are likely
to benefit disproportionately from the rise of new ICTs in comparison with main-
stream parties. The second approach (see Resnick, 1998; Margolis & Resnick, 2000)
conversely advances the so-called politics as usual scenario: as the Internet becomes
increasingly normalized, large traditional political forces will come to predominate
as they do in other media.
More recent studies (Ward & Gibson, 2009) have rejected “one-size-fits-all”
explanations, underlining that, “the internet may not make much of a difference
for some parties and voters in some contexts, but it may do so for some others in
other situations. Even in the same political system, the web may affect some political
actors and groups of citizens but not others” (Vaccari, 2013, 18).
Our hypothesis is that the reactions of parties to new digital ICTs can vary along
a continuum of different degrees of innovation. Taking inspiration from research on
innovations in the business world (Bower & Christensen, 1995), we hypothesize that
10 Political Parties and New ICTs … 183
the internalization of digital technologies can favour two polar types of reactions or
innovations in party organization (Raniolo & Tarditi, 2019). We might call the first
type “sustaining innovations”: organizational changes that take place on the margins,
in small steps. Parties use superficial communications technologies to disseminate
information, attract new members, carry out electoral campaigns or simply survey
public opinion. These are “symbolic reforms” (Gauja, 2017) or peripheral innova-
tions. In these cases, technology is used to reduce organizational and communica-
tion costs. If member or supporter interaction is incidentally encouraged, it does not
extend to the party’s main activities (Bennett, Segerberg, Knüpfer Curd, 2018). This
type of innovation does not affect the parties’ organizational structure or significantly
alter the way in which they carry out their main functions (coordination, aggregation
and integration, decision-making).
At the other end of the spectrum, we find “disruptive innovations”: intense and
radical changes that create deep discontinuities within organizations and in their
surrounding systems. ICTs are used both as instruments of structural and proce-
dural coordination and as strategic elements. In this case, “technology platforms and
affordances are indistinguishable from, and replace, key components of brick and
mortar organization and intra-party function” (Bennett et al., 2018, 12). In other
words, they can integrate, support or even substitute parties’ structural architectures,
contributing to solve the problem of coordination between the various parts of the
organization, giving way to lighter forms of organization. Additionally, ICTs can
be used to perform the function of aggregation and integration. Finally, they can be
adopted for participatory aims, offering new channels for the inclusion of members
in decision-making processes.
Disrupting innovations do not necessarily involve all the functional and structural
dimensions at once. Furthermore, in relation to participation, they do not necessarily
imply a concrete strengthening of parties’ internal democracy: new ICTs, although
theoretically designed for participatory and horizontal aspirations, can be then prac-
tically used in favour of forms of top-down disintermediation (Biancalana, 2018;
Lusoli & Ward, 2004; Gerbaudo, 2019).
We must therefore ask what factors (a) push parties towards either pole of
the sustaining-disruptive innovation continuum and (b) affect the direction—top-
down/bottom-up—of innovations through digital tools. Following recent research
(Vaccari, 2013; Ward & Gibson, 2009; Rommele, 2003), we hypothesize that, given
similar levels of systemic technological diffusion, parties use new ICTs in different
ways depending on the characteristics of the parties themselves. Indeed, although
systemic and technological opportunity structures set the political and technological
parameters within which political organizations operate (Ward & Gibson, 2009), the
ability to introduce organizational innovations depends mainly on supply factors. For
this reason, we expect that recently created “political entrepreneurs” are more likely
to adopt new ICTs. Indeed, digital tools can be an important feature of new parties’
original model rather than a replacement for traditional bureaucratic and potentially
“obsolete” technologies.
Moreover, for younger, new or genuinely new parties (Morlino & Raniolo, 2017),
the absence of pre-existing structures and consolidated dominant coalitions favours
more radical innovations that affect both their organization and their relations with
Fig. 10.1 Digital innovation continuum
the environment and citizens. For these parties, “incentives are greater, as an Internet
presence can give them a forum in which to compete for nodality on a more equal
footing with more established parties” (Margetts, 2006, 530). Conversely, traditional
parties have well-established bureaucratic structures and communication channels. In
these cases, the costs of change are very high and institutional inertia tends to prevail.
Despite these barriers, it is possible to hypothesize that a contagion effect will lead
traditional parties to eventually introduce innovations. However, these changes will
be minimal and aimed at increasing their competitive advantage. The first hypothesis
is therefore that:
H1. Newer parties will tend towards the “disruptive innovations” pole, while
older parties will tend towards the “sustaining innovations” pole (Fig. 10.1).
Furthermore, parties differ from each other in terms of both ideology and orga-
nizational goals: both are still key to understanding parties, their strategies and their
role. Some clarifications are nonetheless necessary. First of all, here ideology must
be understood in the “weak sense” (Stoppino, 1983), as a set of shared values and
beliefs that give meaning to a reality and function as a goad to action. Ideologies
are composed of two parts: the ethos and the doctrine (Ware, 1996, 20–21). The
first concerns the history of the party, its traditions and identity; the second consists
of a coherent set of statements and judgements in relation to particular positions or
issues.
Ideology is one of the factors that explain a party’s “primary objectives” of
votes, office and policy (or some combination thereof) (Harmel & Janda, 1994).
In this sense, parties cannot easily be rid of the constraints posed by ideology. So,
in addition to the classic left–right cleavage the so-called demarcation–integration
(or Green Alternative Libertarian-Traditional Authoritative Nationalist; see Hooghe
et al., 2002) cleavage (Kriesi et al., 2008) impacts parties’ internal organization.
Generally, left-wing parties and parties near to the GAL pole tend to be more sensi-
tive to the issue of internal democracy (Hooghe et al., 2002; Ignazi, 2017), histor-
ically prioritizing it as a party aim, while right-wing parties and parties close to
the TAN values give greater importance to hierarchical control (Vittori, 2019). This
difference, according to some studies, is also reflected in the use of digital tools. In
particular, Vaccari (2013), through a comparative analysis of the websites of several
parties in various political systems, has shown that left-wing parties are more open to
facilitating online interaction on their webpages than right-wing parties. Similarly,
Borge-Bravo and Esteve-Del Valle (2017), comparing the activity of Catalan parties
on Facebook, showed that left-wing parties had a greater capacity for initiative and
interaction than did their right-wing counterparts. Thus, we further hypothesize that:
H2. The parties that identify themselves as or tend towards the left-wing and/or
the GAL pole give greater importance to participatory goals, thus prioritizing
disruptive innovations when they face technological innovations; parties self-
identified as or leaning towards the right-wing and/or TAN pole tend to be more
conservative and less prone to disruptive participatory innovations, using new
technologies mainly for instrumental and communicative purposes.
Ideology, therefore, can help defining the organizational structure, inspiring soli-
darity and directing the party goals. At the same time, however, it interacts with other
dimensions of the party model, such as the dominant coalition, the leadership and
the internal power structure. Particularly, the organizational structure of the parties
can vary across the centralized–decentralized poles, according to the distribution
of power resources within the organization. Recently, the literature has identified
an evolutionary trend towards a market-oriented model (Lees-Marshment, 2008),
in which the search for votes and, above all, centralization prevail, broadening the
sphere of autonomy and the power of the leaders (Farrell & Webb, 2000). Yet if the
combination of thin ideology, light structures and personalization can be considered
a general trend, it is nonetheless possible to distinguish between leaders with party
and parties with leaders (Calise, 2010; Raniolo, 2013).
Despite this, a first (albeit partial) step to analyse the level of centraliza-
tion/personalization of a party is to observe the rules that limit the decision-making
power and the duration of the leader’s office. Such rules are an expression of what
Rye (2014, 46) classifies as bureaucratic power: “it is concerned with how decisions
become structured and determined by the routines and imperatives of party organi-
sation. It is a form of power intimately associated with control and obedience […]”.
The constraints on a leader’s autonomy stem primarily from the presence of executive
and representative bodies that share the decision-making power. These bodies also
have the power to make the leader accountable or even defy him. The leader’s power
then depends not only on horizontal relations—with the other members of the domi-
nant coalition—but also on vertical relations (with the membership) (Panebianco,
1982). In the latter case, the degree of autonomy of the leadership depends, above
all, (a) on the existence of a direct (or plebiscitarian) legitimation of the leaders; (b)
on the effective prerogatives recognized to the members in terms of their capacity to
influence the decisions of the party; and (c) on the possibility of making the leaders
accountable directly to the members.
There is often a concordance between horizontal and vertical power relations: the
leader who has greater autonomy and legitimacy from the membership also gains
power over the other governing bodies (Panebianco, 1982).
The power relation between leaders and other party bodies has important implica-
tions for the introduction and implementation of new ICTs within the organizations:
the diffusion of new communication tools has contributed to reducing the compe-
tencies of the executive and collegial party bodies, guaranteeing the leader direct
access to the electorate. This phenomenon had already been identified during the
diffusion of radio and television communication (Panebianco, 1982; Sartori, 1997),
and more recent studies (Calise & Musella, 2019) show that today this tendency is
amplified by new ICTs. The direct connection between leaders and followers made
possible by interactive communication favours the supremacy of leaders over the
party (Deseriis & Vittori, 2019). By using digital channels, leaders can strengthen,
to their advantage, the asymmetric exchange with followers, favouring a process of
disintermediation (Biancalana, 2018) between members and the leadership. Starting
from these theoretical premises, it is possible to expect that the new ICTs will not be
used in opposition to the constraints imposed by the party’s organizational structure.
More specifically:
H3: Parties that already have a leadership-centred structure, will use the new
ICTs—when present—to further strengthen the leadership, encouraging disinter-
mediation between her/him and the membership and, thus, reducing the role of
collegiate and governing bodies.
10.3 The Selected Cases
The aim of this chapter is to expand the range of analysis regarding the ICT–party
relationship, focusing on a wide number of cases belonging to Italy, Spain, France
and Greece, four countries generally understudied in this specific field (see Vaccari,
2013). These four countries show all rather high levels of societal digitalization:
according to the ITU, in 2017 the ICT development index was 8.24 in France, 7.79
in Spain, 7.23 in Greece and 7.04 in Italy.
The cross-country analysis will allow us to compare electorally relevant genuinely
new, new and old parties with different ideological orientations, according to the
left–right and GAL/TAN cleavages (see Table 10.1; Fig. 10.2).
As can be seen in Table 10.1, we distinguish between “genuinely new parties”
(Sikk, 2005) and new parties. In the first case, we refer to those parties that are not
heirs of previous organizations and have a new political class; in the second case, we
refer to those parties that emerge after a process of reorganization of old formations,
with new names, new organizational characters and dominant coalitions.
Based on the indicators identified above (H3), the parties under analysis also
have different positions on the continuum between a leadership-centred model and
a collegial-centred model.
Almost all parties have representative and executive bodies, with the exception of
LFI, the M5S and to some extent the Lega where we find only an executive branch.
The most leader-centred parties, without horizontal and vertical constraints to the
leadership, are all right-wing parties: the PP, FI, Lega, FdI, RN, VOX—and one left-
wing party: LFI. On the opposite side, near to the collegial model characterized by
constraints to the leadership’s autonomy, we find four left-wing parties—Podemos,
the PD, PASOK and Syriza. In the middle of the continuum, there are those parties
that have only horizontal constraints to the decisional autonomy of the leadership
(C’s, LREM, LR, KKE, PSOE, PS and GS) or vertical constraints to the duration of
the leadership office (M5S and ND) (Table 10.2).
Table 10.1 Main political parties in the four countries

Genuinely new parties Spain: Podemos (We can), Ciudadanos (Citizens–C’s), Vox
Italy: Movimento 5 Stelle (Five Star Movement-M5S)
France: La République En Marche (The Republic on the
move-LREM); La France Insoumise (Unsubmissive France-LFI)
Greece: Elliniki Lisi (Greek Solution-GS)
New parties Italy: Lega per Salvini (Salvini’s League); Fratelli d’Italia- (Brothers
of Italy-FdI)
Greece: Synaspismos Rizospastikis Aristeras (Coalition of the Radical
Left-Syriza)
France: Rassemblement National- (National Rally- RN); Les
Républicains (The Republicans-LR)
Old parties Spain: Partido Popular (Popular Party-PP), Partido Socialista Obrero
Español (Spanish Socialist Workers’ Party-PSOE)
Italy: Partito Democratico (Democratic Party-PD), Forza Italia (Go
Italy-FI)
Greece: Nea Demokratia (New Democracy-ND), Panellinio
Sosialistiko Kinima (Panhellenic Socialist Movement-PASOK),
Kommounistiko Komma Elladas (Greek Communist Party-KKE)
France: Parti Socialiste (Socialist Party-PS)
Fig. 10.2 Cases according to the two cleavages: left/right and GAL/TAN. Authors’ elaboration on
the basis of the Chapel Hill data. The most recent Chapel Hill experts survey did not include Vox
and GS; however, we expect the parties to be placed in the top right corner
Table 10.2 Leadership constraints in parties’ organization
188
Country Party No-confidence motion No-confidence vote Executive branch Representative Branch Codification
members other organs (PCO) decision-making in the
executive branch
Spain Podemos Yes No Yes Yes Yes
Spain PSOE No No Yes Yes Yes
Spain PP No No Yes Yes No
Spain Ciudadanos No No Yes Yes Yes
Spain VOX No No Yes Yes No*
Italy PD Yes No Yes Yes Yes
Italy M5S Yes Yes No Yes No
Italy FI No No Yes Yes No
Italy Lega per Salvini No No No Yes No
Premier
Italy FdI No No Yes Yes No
France LFI No No No No No
France PS No No Yes Yes No
France LREM No No Yes Yes Yes
France LR No No Yes Yes Yes
France RN No No Yes Yes No
Greece KKE No No Yes Yes Yes
Greece Syriza No Yes Yes Yes Yes
Greece PASOK Yes No Yes Yes Yes
Greece ND Yes No Yes Yes No
Greece GS No No Yes Yes Yes
F. Raniolo et al.
In order to see how the various political parties have adapted to new digital ICTs,
we focus on the main dimensions of the party’s organizational model: membership,
leadership and candidate selection and decision-making processes. Following Fitz-
patrick’s Five Pillars Model (in particular the first three), in this chapter we focus
on the ways parties use new ICTs for member recruitment, member rootedness, e.g.
the presence or absence of local-level units, their integration in the decision-making
process and, accordingly, how parties select their candidates and their leaders, i.e.
how digitally oriented is the process and to what extent is power delegated to party
members.
Moreover, we also investigate the extent to which parties delegate other decisions
to the members or allow bottom-up decisions coming from the membership. The latter
aspects are related to the so-called party administration (Fitzpatrick, this volume), and
they do impact on both the structural organization of the party and the introduction
of new ICTs. Internally developed digital platforms have precisely the function of
vertically and horizontally connecting party members and different party faces, thus
replacing or reshaping the old “off-line” organization. While the two first hypotheses
will be tested for each of the cases, the third hypothesis will be tested only for those
parties which lean towards the disruptive innovation pole. Indeed, parties on the
sustaining innovation pole do not present an ICT architecture that can influence the
existing internal distribution of power.
We will examine whether and how digital tools are used by parties through the
analysis of parties’ statutes and main political documents.
10.4 Italy
Compared to the other countries, Italy is the country where two opposite poles coexist:
on the one hand, the techno-populist experiment of the Movimento 5 Stelle (M5S)
and on the other hand two much more traditional parties such as Forza Italia (FI) and
the Lega. The M5S lacks a clear ideological orientation (Fig. 10.2), but it expresses
a cyber-utopian view of direct democracy as part of the main components of its
“web-populist” identity (Corbetta & Gualmini, 2013, 197; Caruso, 2015).
The M5S is the only party in Italy that has completely eliminated the procedural
and financial externalities of membership (Scarrow, 2015): it has adopted a “central-
ized, digital, and accessible” (Scarrow, 2015, 137) model of enrolment, allowing the
adhesion to the organization without subscription fees (Table 10.3).
Regarding the old parties, the centre-right Forza Italia has the strictest criteria
for enrolment: to become a member of this party, potential members must provide
a valid signature of another member of the party. On the contrary, the centre-left
Partito Democratico (PD), since 2015, has introduced a mechanism for enrolment
through the online units (circoli online).
The two far-right parties the Lega and FdI have also online enrolment procedures.
In the Lega, however, only sympathizers can use these modalities, while militants
need to demonstrate an active participation in the local branches. The combination of
Table 10.3 Party structure of the main Italian parties

Party Headquarters Physical Online Territorial units Membership
(physical or party bodies platform
online)
Italy FdI Physical National No Yes, at all Not free for
assembly institutional members; free
(PCO), levels for
national sympathizers;
direction off-line and
(restricted online
PCO)
Lega Physical Yes, federal No Yes, at all Not free for
council, institutional members;
PCO levels off-line and
online
Forza Physical Yes, No Yes, at all Not free for
Italia national institutional members,
council, level off-line only
PCO
PD Physical Yes, No, party Yes, at all Not free for
national app only institutional members; free
assembly, levels; online for
PCO circles sympathizers;
off-line and
online
M5S Online No PCO Yes Off-line Free; online
within M5S territorial units only
(until 2020) (outside party
statute)
these two modalities in the Lega depends on both its legacy as heir of the regionalist
Lega Nord which was under many aspects similar to a mass party and to the necessity
to widen its territorial presence to the other Italian regions.
No cases of online primaries took place, with the exception of M5S (Table 10.4).
Accordingly, no parties have developed a digital platform (Table 10.3), nor have
they formally incorporated any digital tools in their structure (the exception being
the party websites).
Despite this, the PD is certainly the party among the old political forces that
is making some attempts to introduce digital innovations. In line with its centre-
left ideology (Fig. 10.2) and structural characteristics (Table 10.3), these innovations
have participative and interactive aims, although they remain underdeveloped in their
functions. For example, it developed its own app called “Bob”: yet, participation
tools are rather limited since no deliberative spaces (forums) are available nor has
the party developed a voting function as in the case of M5S. Furthermore in the
last version of its statute, the party mentions some deliberative tools—such as online
party forums, and at the end of 2019 the PD’s secretary, Nicola Zingaretti, announced
the forthcoming introduction of a digital platform for discussion, participation and
Table 10.4 Online and off-line decision-making in the main Italian political parties
Party Congress Candidate Decisions on Deliberative Bottom-up
(off-/online) selection single issues processes proposals
(off-/online) (off-/online) (off-/online) (off-/online)
Italy FdI Off-line Yes, off-line Not specified Not Yes,
congress specified extraordinary
congress
Lega Off-line Yes, off-line Not specified Not Not specified
congress specified
Forza Italia Off-line Yes, off-line Not specified Not Not specified
congress specified
PD Off-line Yes, off-line Yes Yes, online Yes, off-line
congress and off-line
and off-line
M5S No Yes, only Yes, online Yes, online, Yes, specific
congresses; online (various yet marginal function(s) in
off-line issues) the party
annual online
meeting platform
the integration of the entire party.1 The virtual platform, however, will not substitute
but only integrate the physical organization.
M5S on the other hand can be considered the digital party par excellence (Vittori,
2020). Since its formation and until recently it had no physical architecture (with
the exception of party’s meet-ups, which are not formally incorporated in the party
statute), no off-line congresses were ever celebrated and all party functions were
developed by the administrators of the online platforms.
Only recently, the M5S introduced the so-called Team of the Future, a group of
national and regional coordinators that can be considered a PCO-like organ. Until now
indeed, the absence of a physical and structured organization has been counterbal-
anced by the centrality of the digital platform, where all the participative spaces, the
candidate selection and decision-making procedures have taken place. This fact has
offered participatory channels to the cyber-members, strengthening the direct relation
with the leader, hindering however the organizational development of the party and
consolidating its leader-centred origin (Tronconi, 2018). The predominance of the
leader over the organization is guaranteed by the fact that his/her legitimacy depends
exclusively on members: they can express a motion of no-confidence and have the
right to ratify or reject, through online voting, the eventual motion of no-confidence
against the leader by the Guarantor and the Guarantee Committee.
1https://www.ilmessaggero.it/video/politica/partito_democratico_zingaretti_settembre_nuova_
piattaforma_online-4616561.html.
10.5 Spain
Spain is the country where the technological transition of parties is more developed
compared to the other countries under analysis. No parties—regardless of their core
ideologies—have exclusively off-line enrolment procedures. The two genuinely new
parties, the radical-left party Podemos and the centre-right party C’s, have explicitly
renounced to the off-line enrolment procedure, allowing sympathizers to register by
filling out an online form. Although in Podemos there are no membership fees, while
in C’s only sympathizers have a free access, in both cases members are automatically
part of the online assembly.
Among the old parties, the PSOE is the most innovative: in 2008, it introduced the
figure of cyber-militant and most recently that of the direct affiliate. Direct affiliates
enter the organization by filling out an online form and participate only occasionally
or through online tools. They pay a membership fee and, with the exception of
participation in internal party elections at the territorial level, enjoy the same rights
as militants. On the contrary, the issue of digitalization is much less developed and
was broached years later in the PP’s documents, though it is not entirely absent. In the
2008 Statute, the PP refers to new ICTs (in particular the website) in terms of tools to
improve the functioning of the party. Beginning in 2012, new technologies became
framed as tools with which to engage in “continuous contact with citizens”, spread
information and expand internal and external communication, as well as a means
to practise “virtual democracy” (Raniolo & Tarditi, 2019).Only in the last years
has it been possible to enrol just by completing the entire procedure through the
main website of the party, although potential members have to submit the enrolment
request to the party unit of their territory, considering that there is no centralized
digital mechanism of adhesion (Table 10.5).
No Spanish parties, not even the new ones, are based exclusively on a digital
structure. Even Podemos can be considered at best a hybrid party with a rather classic
organization and territorial units (Table 10.5). Unlike the M5S, Podemos does not
consider the Web as the solution to all the distortions of representative democracy,
but as an additional means to broaden the extension of membership and deepen its
intensity. In terms of participation, both Podemos and Ciudadanos have developed
their own online procedures for both candidate and the leadership selection: even
though participation in these processes was generally not particularly high (Deseris
and Vittori, 2019).
VOX also allows members to vote on candidate and leadership selection: in this
case, the party stands as an exception compared to other populist radical-right parties
and to parties with a centralized structure. It allows online enrolment procedure and
mentions the possibility of introducing an online primary election. In this case, the
distinction between “new” parties (Podemos, C’s and VOX) and mainstream parties
(PSOE and PP) is clear-cut, while the ideological bias is less evident (Table 10.6).
These participatory tools are less common for a centralized party; yet, they tend to
strengthen the direct bond between the leadership and the membership, weakening
Table 10.5 Party structure of the main Spanish parties

Party Headquarters Physical Online platform Territorial Membership
(physical or party bodies units
online)
Spain VOX Physical Yes, No Yes, Not free;
National depending off-line and
Executive on the online
Committee number of
(PCO) affiliates at
local level
PP Physical Yes, No Yes, at all Not free; free
National institutional for
Executive levels sympathizers;
Committee off-line and
(PCO) online
C’s Physical Yes, general Yes, only for Yes, at all Not free; free
council communication institutional for
(PCO) (Red Naranja) levels sympathizers;
online only
PSOE Physical Yes, federal Yes, Mí PSOE Yes, at all Not free
commission institutional (members and
(PCO) levels afiliados
directos); free
for
sympathizers;
off-line and
online
Podemos Physical and Yes, State Yes, Yes, online Free for all
online Citizens’ Participa/Plaza units and members
Council Podemos off-line at (active,
(PCO); all passive and
online institutional militants);
assembly levels online only
the role of the PCO which is more similar to a collegial assembly than a “classic”
PCO.
In none of the parties, can members hold their leaders accountable, with the excep-
tion of Podemos where members have the right to issue a motion of no-confidence
through online voting (Table 10.6). Podemos’ members have an additional participa-
tory channel even though the leader overcame party’s collegial organs at least on one
occasion, when he used an internal consultation on his and the party spokeswoman’s
position (his wife) to halt the debate over a house that the two bought in a suburb of
Madrid.
194
Table 10.6 Online and off-line decision-making in the main Spanish parties
Party Congress (off-/online) Candidate selection Decisions on single issues Deliberative Bottom-up proposals
(off-/online) (off-line/online) processes (off-/online)
(off-/online)
Spain VOX Off-line congress Yes, off-line and Yes off-line (Orden del Not specified Yes, off-line (extraordinary
online Dia during congresses) congress and Orden del Dia
during congresses)
PP Off-line congress Yes, off-line Not specified Yes, off-line and Not specified
online
C’s Off-line congress Yes, off-line and Yes, off-line Not specified Yes, off-line (extraordinary
online (extraordinary congress, congress, legal threshold)
legal threshold)
PSOE Off-line congress Yes, off-line Yes, off-line at all Yes, off-line, sectoral Yes, off-line through
institutional levels structures sectoral structures
Podemos Off-line congress; on-line Yes, online Yes, online (various Yes, online fora and Yes, online, legal threshold
and off-line voting issues) online platform
F. Raniolo et al.
Podemos and Ciudadanos have launched an internally developed digital platform,

Participa and Red Naranja. However, Podemos’s platform is frequently and exten-
sively used for voting on several issues and during the party congress and contains
a deliberative section (Plaza Podemos), while the Red Naranja platform is rather
a space for internal (between party levels) and external (propaganda) discussion
and communication. Similarly, the traditional centre-left party, the PSOE, has also
adopted a digital platform, Mí PSOE. In this case too, however, despite the party’s
intention to offer its members new channels of participation, online consultations
with members have been very sporadic (Raniolo & Tarditi, 2019).
The PP is the only party along with VOX that does not have a centralized virtual
platform. In recent years, the PP has introduced some digital tools such as the so-
called virtual parliamentary office, through which MPs promote their activities and
can submit questions, and online forums for discussion on single topics or proposals
during the elaboration of electoral programmes (Verge, 2007). These kinds of inno-
vations do not alter the centralistic nature of the party: they are used as means
for gathering information and communicating rather than as a means of promoting
bottom-up participation or deliberation.
10.6 Greece
Among the countries under analysis, the Greek case is the least developed in terms
of the penetration of digital tools among political parties. In the past, some authors
(Lappas et al., 2010) had already shown that the use of the main social networks
for communicative functions by traditional parties—PASOK and ND—was rather
limited and an expression of an intermediate model between Web 1.0 and 2.0. During
the crisis, both the centre-left party PASOK and the centre-right party ND preferred
to further reduce their activity on social networks, avoiding responding to requests
from users and limiting themselves to top-down and sporadic communications.
In relation to the membership dimension, only the ND allows members to adhere
exclusively through online modalities, sending an e-mail to the organization office
and the genuinely new right-wing party, the Greek Solution (GS), offers off-line and
online modalities. The other parties have only off-line modalities. All parties have
a classical structure (Table 10.7) and no of them has developed an online platform
regardless of their newness (GS), ideology or structure (Syriza). Only PASOK’s
statute allows an online vote for the election of the delegate at all institutional level
(art.10.8): yet, it is not specified whether this procedure has to be available for
members in each election. While all parties allow members or delegate to vote for
the election of members of the PCO and of the party secretary, yet no party has done
it through an on-line procedure insofar. Accordingly, both deliberative processes and
bottom-up proposals, while allowed in specific cases, can only be possible off-line,
as there are no specific online sections in the party websites (Table 10.8).
Table 10.7 Party structure of the main Greek parties

Party Headquarters Physical Online Territorial Membership
(physical or party bodies platform units
online)
Greece ND Physical Yes, Political No Not specified Not free;
Committee off-line and
(PCO) online
PASOK Physical Yes, Central No Yes, local Not free;
(online, yet Political organizations, off-line only
art. 17) Committee work
(PCO) organizations,
citizens’
networks
Syriza Physical Yes, Central No Yes, local Not free
Political organizations, (income-based
Committee work fee); off-line
(PCO) organizations, only
citizens’
networks
GS Physical Yes, Central No Not specified Not free;
Political off-line and
Committee online
(PCO)
KKE Physical Yes, Central No Yes, local Not free;
Political organizations, off-line only
Committee work
(PCO) organizations,
citizens’
networks
In terms of digitalization, there are not significant differences between the various
Greek parties; all of them seem to have very traditional organizational model. The
case of Syriza is particularly strange, due to its radical-left background and to
the participatory linkages it created with anti-austerity social movements (Tarditi
& Vittori, 2019). In this regard, however, Syriza’s genesis matters: it is the heir
of Synaspismos that, similar to the KKE and other traditional communist parties,
viewed virtual innovations suspiciously, sharing the idea that “the class struggle is
not virtual; therefore continued, face-to-face interaction with the public is essential”
(Cunha et al., 2003, 83). The proximity of all Greek parties to the pole of sustaining
innovations means that it is not possible to identify the existence of an effect of digital
tools on their level of internal centralization.
Table 10.8 Online and off-line decision-making in the main Greek parties
Party Congress (off-line/online) Candidate selection Decisions on single issues Deliberative processes Bottom-up proposals
(off-line/online) (off-line/online) (off-line/online) (off-online/online)
10 Political Parties and New ICTs …
Greece ND Off-line congress Yes, off-line Not specified Not specified Not specified
PASOK Off-line congress Yes, off-line Not specified Yes, off-line (formally) Yes, off-line (legal
threshold)
Syriza Off-line congress Yes, off-line Yes, off-line (legal Yes, off-line Yes, off-line (legal
threshold) (consultations and threshold)
candidate selection for
MPs)
GS Off-line congress Yes, off-line Not specified Not specified Not specified
KKE Off-line congress Only delegates, No (democratic centralism) Not specified No (democratic
off-line centralism)
197
10.7 France
The French case is probably the most homogenous among the five cases under
analysis. Although the political system was jeopardized by the entrance of two anti-
political establishment parties—run by professional politicians (Macron for LREM
and Melenchon for LFI)—digital innovation was not as disruptive as in the case of
Spain and for M5S in Italy. Already in the early 2000s, French parties took advantage
of the potential of the Web to establish new relationships with their supporters;
however, they appeared to have failed at exploiting the participatory elements of new
technologies (Villalba, 2003).
Currently, all French parties have a system of online enrolment. From this point
of view, the French case is the most innovative among the countries analysed here
(Table 10.9).
In four cases, online registration is coupled with an off-line enrolment procedure.
LFI is the most digitalized: like in Podemos and the M5S, the enrolment is made
through an online procedure and without the submission of fees (Table 10.9). Similar
to Podemos, the LFI has a hybrid organization, where the physical architecture and
territorial units are complemented by a virtual platform. It clearly differs from tradi-
tional left parties (e.g. KKE in Greece) in its embrace of digital democracy: it used
the political software NationBuilder to gather supporters and developed its own dedi-
cated platform to make decisions on policies and strategy (Table 10.9) (Gerbaudo,
2019, 121).
The introduction of multiple digital participative channels at the local level,
however, has not altered the leader-centred structure, limiting the distribution of
power among the party bodies. As noted by Ivaldi (2018, 36), “while emphasizing
grassroots participation, LFI operates on more traditional top-down mechanisms
associated with Mélenchon’s personalistic, plebiscitarian style of political leadership.
This was exemplified by Mélenchon’s decision to run in the presidential election,
for which no membership vote was taken”. Despite the introduction of several direct
democracy and assembly-based digital innovations, the leadership is not accountable
to other party bodies, according to the statute.
The other new party, LREM, is less digitally innovative in terms of organiza-
tion (Table 10.9). However, before becoming a party it was a grass-roots movement
using digital tools and social networks to mobilize people. As for the case of LFI,
LREM used NationBuilder software during the electoral campaign for the presiden-
tial election in 2017. Furthermore, it has recently introduced online voting during
the congress. The other innovations are located mainly on the sustaining innovation
pole, as the party recognizes in the statute that the meeting of the executive body and
of the PCO should be broadcasted online.
It is possible to identify the introduction of some digital innovations among right-
wing parties as well: the centre-right LR has a system of online voting during the
congress, while the far-right RN has a system of online selection of the party pres-
ident, which is coupled with other off-line instruments. The introduction of these
innovations can be interpreted as part of a more general attempt of the two parties to
Table 10.9 Party structure of the main French parties
Party Headquarters (physical or Physical party bodies Online platform Territorial units Membership
online)
France RN Physical Yes, national council (PCO) No Not formally indicated Not free (differentiated
10 Political Parties and New ICTs …
payment scheme); off-line

and online
LR Physical Yes, national council (PCO) No Yes, off-line Not free (differentiated
and political bureau payment scheme); off- and
online
LREM Physical Yes, council (PCO) No Yes, off-line Free; off- and online
PS Physical Yes, national council (PCO) No Yes, off-line Not free (income-based);
off- and online
LFI Physical and online Yes, Electoral Committee Yes Yes, off-line (geographic Free (online registration);
(PCO-like body) working and functional online only
action groups)
199
Table 10.10 Online and off-line decision-making in the main French parties
Party Congress Candidate Decisions on Deliberative Bottom-up
(off-line/online) selection single issues processes proposals
(off-line/online) (off-line/online) (off-line/online) (off-line/online)
France RN Off-line Yes, off-line Off-line; the Not specified Off-line, Ordre
and online president calls de Jour
primaries for consultations proposed by
members
LR Off-line and Yes, off-line Not specified Consultation for Not specified
online primaries. the candidate
Online: not selections at the
specified local level
LREM Off-line and Yes, primaries Yes, off-line Not specified Off-line,
online (not specified (legal adherents) participatory
off- or online) budgeting
PS Off-line Yes, off-line No. Only during Yes, off-line Off-line, Ordre
primaries. the congress de Jour
Online: not (off-line proposed by
specified delegate vote) members and
direct
consultation
LFI Off-line and Online Online vote for Thematic Not specified
online ratification by single issues groups (online).
members Off-line groups
appear totally different from their predecessors: respectively the UMP and the FN. In
the case of the LR, the organizational transition was very easy because of the weak
institutionalization of the UMP (Cole, 2017).
Unlike the other old centre-left parties in Italy and Spain, the PS is the party that
lags behind from a technological standpoint. This may be due to the fact that the
electoral defeats since 2017 have hampered the renovation of the party, leaving it
with less funding and less incentive to renovate the party in the short term (Table
10.10).
10.8 Conclusions
What this exploratory analysis has shown is that political parties behave differently
when it comes to the introduction of digital tools in their organization. While it
goes without saying that all parties have now their own website and the basic online
structure (something that was a matter of investigation only a decade ago), it is
far more interesting to note that more and more parties in the countries examined
have introduced online registration tools. This is true for both old and new parties,
regardless of their core ideologies. The French case is telling in this regard: radical-
right, mainstream and radical-left parties allow members to enrol online. Yet, we find
strong evidence to support our H1: new parties have thus far implemented many more
online tools than old parties. In particular, genuinely new parties—Podemos, LFI,
M5S and to a lesser extent C’s in Spain, LREM in France, GS in Greece (a unique
case in the country)—have tried to keep up with online transformation, tending
towards the disruptive innovation pole. Old parties, on the other hand, have followed
the sustaining innovation path, preferring incrementalism to radical changes. One
interesting finding in this regard is that, when disruptive innovations have occurred
earlier such as in Spain and Italy, mainstream parties tried to pursue new participatory
roads through a mild imitation of what newer parties did. This is the case of (a) the
app created by PD to counter Rousseau monopoly of party online participation in
Italy; (b) the PSOE attempt to further develop its digital tools (Mì PSOE platform);
and (c) the virtual parliamentary office introduced by PP in Spain. We can assume
that Greek parties too, faced with the innovations introduced by GS, will start to
adapt their organization. However, in this case, further research is needed.
The innovation trend is less homogeneous among the new parties which are the
result of reorganizations of existing formations. In these cases, they have all tried to
introduce organizational innovations, including digital ones, while remaining partly
anchored to their legacy.
The second hypothesis is partially confirmed: left-wing and GAL parties (radical
and mainstream) have introduced new participatory schemes both online and off-line;
in this regard, they can be defined more internally democratic than mainstream and
radical-right TAN parties. However, only radical-left/GAL parties have introduced
“disruptive” online participation instruments: Podemos and LFI are the vanguard of
left-leaning disruptive innovation. Nonetheless, the most disruptive case is the one
embodied by M5S, which cannot be considered a priori as a left-wing party but that
has embraced a form of techno-populism (Deseriis, 2017). Nonetheless, in the last
three cases the widening of participatory tools through online platforms is coupled
with a plebiscitarian tendency, aimed at limiting the power of executive party bodies.
Within Podemos, only members can withdraw the confidence from the leader;
the same goes for M5S, though in this case the Guarantor can be firstly impeached
by the so-called Guarantee Committee. LFI is even more leader-centred compared
to Podemos and M5S, since there is no possibility to impeach the leadership. From
these three cases, it would seem that the introduction of disruptive innovations would
broaden the participatory channels for members, strengthening the process of disin-
termediation to the detriment of horizontal constraints to the leadership. At the same
time, however, it must be said that the experience of Pirates Parties in Europe seems
to contradict a generalized tendency towards centralization, confirming that the way
digital tools are designed and implemented conforms to the party’s existing organi-
zational model (H3). Yet, we could not test this statement in depth as no Pirate Party
is relevant in countries we analysed.
In conclusion, the analysis shows that the use of new digital tools by political
parties is not limited to a functional dimension, but it also affects the organizational
dimension. Almost all parties have now confronted the digital revolution by trying to
introduce—to a greater or lesser extent—some new online tools in their organization.
The use of the Web to expand party membership is maybe the most diffused change
among all parties. This fact is not surprising, when looking at the declining member-
ship trend in Europe as a whole. However, relevant differences remain between new
and old parties in terms of the sustaining/disrupting character of the innovations, as
well between left and right parties in terms of the participative/communicative use
of these tools.
Finally, what this contribution has shown is that the ability of (new) parties to seize
technological opportunities may be conditioned by their legacy and the characteristics
of their predecessors. In this regard, however, further research on other cases is
needed.
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Chapter 11
Pirate Parties: The Original Digital Party
Family
Johanna Jääsaari and Daniel Šárovec
Abstract Emerging in the mid-2000s, Pirate parties were the first parties to make the
Internet the centre of party politics and party organisation. This chapter reviews the
literature on Pirate parties and discusses the legacy of Pirate parties in the use of digital
tools for party organisation and internal party decision-making that later inspired new
digital parties. The chapter empirically assesses two case studies of the Pirate Party
family, the Finnish Pirate Party and the Czech Pirate Party, to demonstrate different
applications of digital tools in organisation and campaigning. The cases show that
both parties have remained true to the original Pirate ethos in creating and sustaining
numerous platforms for open discussion and debate as well as retaining a commitment
to transparency and equality in decision-making. While the organisational structure
built around online participation and communication has been an advantage for the
members and supporters of these parties, the success or failure of parties to mobilise
voters in the longer run rests on other factors than the use of digital tools.
Keywords Digital parties · Czech Pirate Party · Finnish Pirate Party
11.1 Introduction
Political organisation has transformed in the past 30 years, ever since the advantages
of the Internet for political mobilisation and political communication became clear.
Protest groups, activists and social movements were the first to seize the opportunity
afforded by the new technology, which helped to produce and disseminate infor-
mation and to connect with supporters more rapidly, effectively and cost-efficiently
than previously. Mainstream political parties soon followed suit; they discovered the
benefits of the Internet in political marketing and profiling citizens (e.g. Castells,
J. Jääsaari
University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland
e-mail: johanna.jaasaari@helsinki.fi
D. Šárovec (B)
Charles University, Prague, Czech Republic
e-mail: daniel.sarovec@fsv.cuni.cz
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-78668-7_11
206 J. Jääsaari and D. Šárovec
2009, pp. 210–216; Gibson & Ward, 2009; Lachapelle & Maarek, 2015; White &
Shea, 2004 or Karpf, 2016) as well as its uses in intra-organisational affairs (Gibson
& Ward, 1998).
The pirate party, however, holds the title of The Original Digital Party Family. First
founded in Sweden in 2006 and soon after established in many European countries,
pirate parties were the first parties to make the Internet the centre of both their politics
and their party organisations. Pirate parties attracted much interest among political
commentators and the media a decade ago, following the electoral successes of the
Swedish Pirate Party, which secured a seat in the European Parliament in the 2009
European Elections,1 and the German Pirate Party, which in 2011 secured several
seats in state parliament elections.2
At the height of the movement in the early 2010s, pirate parties formed a global
network of organisations championing digital user rights and freedom of information
as well as an international clearinghouse. Pirate parties were pioneers in the wave of
experimentation and organisational innovation that later emerged in the formation of
new parties and movements such as the Five Star Movement and Podemos (Gerbaudo,
2019).
Since their rapid rise, pirate parties have been the subject of political research
(e.g. Demker, 2014; Khutkyy, 2019; Niedermayer, 2013; Oscarsson & Persson, 2009;
Otjes, 2020; Svåsand, 2019; Uszkai & Vică, 2012; Zulianello, 2018). This chapter
will review and discuss the key findings of the literature on pirate parties, particularly
(i) their focus on digital rights issues and the push for cyber-libertarian reforms and
(ii) their use of the Internet for internal party decision-making. We will also present
two case studies of the pirate party family, the Finnish Pirate Party and the Czech
Pirate Party, to discuss how these two parties differ in terms of using the Internet for
organisation and campaigning.
11.2 The Digital Politics and Organisation of Pirate Parties
During the early 2000s, the formation of Internet freedom advocacy organisations,
cyber liberties and digital communication rights networks (e.g. Bennett et al., 2008;
Hintz & Milan, 2011; Löblich & Wendelin, 2012) indicated a changing political
climate towards Internet policy-making. Intensifying controversy about Internet
censorship, net neutrality, intellectual property, privacy, surveillance and the role
of Internet service providers mobilised protest across or beyond the traditional left–
right political spectrum (Dutton & Peltu, 2007, 2009). Unlike these digital rights
networks, pirate parties sought to achieve their goals by seeking entry into the estab-
lished political system rather than through activism. The support for pirate parties in
1 The Swedish Pirate Party received another seat after 18 new MEPs entered the European Parliament
in accordance with the Lisbon Treaty.
2 In addition, there were successful pirate parties in the Czech Republic, Iceland and Luxembourg.
11 Pirate Parties: The Original Digital Party Family 207
the late 2000s demonstrated that digital rights issues were able to mobilise a genera-
tion of Internet users in several countries (e.g. Andersson & Snickars, 2010; Burkart,
2014; Löblich & Wendelin, 2012; Miegel & Olsson, 2008).
In many countries, pirate parties were able to politicise issues that had previously
been left outside politics (Fredriksson, 2015). They raised issues of information
society and digital rights such as data retention, ‘graduated response’ to file-sharing
and the secrecy of trade agreement negotiations (especially ACTA) into the main-
stream news from the economy and technology sections, where previously only
experts discussed these topics among themselves.
In the late 1990s, political theorists hailed the Internet as a model of a democratic
network structure (e.g. Hardt & Negri, 2000, p. 299). For the pirate parties, ICT
offered an excellent means of lowering the threshold to mobilisation and participation
in decision-making. Pirate parties represented a new type of party willing to embrace
technological innovations. The rapid surge in membership following the police raid
of The Pirate Bay file-sharing site in 2006 and the electoral success of the Swedish
Pirate Party in the European Elections in 2009 are largely attributable to the new
party’s competencies in organising and mobilising online (Erlingsson & Persson,
2011). At its peak in 2009, the Swedish Pirate Party had 50,000 members (Gerbaudo,
2019, p. 168).
In addition to utilising the Internet as a tool for mobilisation, as part of their advo-
cacy of digital rights, pirate parties promised their members participation online in
decision-making on an equal and continuing basis. From their inception, many pirate
parties subscribed to the idea of ‘liquid democracy’, closely linked to claims of grass-
roots democracy in which individual party members were offered diverse options for
commitment (Hartleb, 2013). Transparency, flat organisations and equality of partic-
ipation in decision-making formed an important part of pirate party ideology. For
example, the Icelandic Pirate Party’s core policies include direct democracy, trans-
parency, civil rights, the right to self-determination, public access to information and
responsible decision-making (Piratar.is, 2019).
According to Blum and Zuber (2016, pp. 162–163), liquid democracy combines
direct participation with a highly flexible model of representation: citizens could
freely choose either to vote directly on individual policy issues, or to delegate their
votes to issue-competent representatives to vote on their behalf on these issues. The
authors argued that liquid democracy is even preferable to representative democracy
in that it mobilises more political expertise than purely representative democracy,
and therefore, liquid democracy is more egalitarian than representative democracy
(Blum & Zuber, 2016, p. 164).
To facilitate participation, pirate parties have used software tools such as wikis for
internal organisation and decision-making. The Swedish Pirate Party was, of course,
the first to offer such an opportunity, but the experience of the German Pirate Party
with liquid democracy is more extensive regarding direct and open participation (see
Thuermer, in this volume). In fact, the German Pirate Party’s previous success can be
attributed mainly to the openness of its programmatic and decision-making structure
rather than temporarily salient issues such as digital rights (Bolleyer et al., 2015,
pp. 169–170; Hensel & Klecha, 2013).
In particular, the Berlin Pirate Party’s implementation of LiquidFeedback as a

platform for policy-making attracted attention as a novel and promising approach
to political participation (Burkart, 2014; Litvinenko, 2012). The German Pirates’
insistence on liquid democracy was in line with their overall promotion of the broad
participation of citizens in the design and supervision of social processes in addition
to their demand for transparency in state and all government processes. However, by
2012, it became apparent that the practical application of liquid democracy did not
fulfil the promise of expertise and equality. The system produced an unprecedented
amount of initiatives and endless debates, complicated decision-making and a lack
of coherent vision (Hartleb, 2013, p. 364). Only a fraction of party members was
active in the online communities.
Although direct democracy and the use of online tools in discussion and decision-
making still firmly stand on the agenda and statutes of pirate parties, the importance of
these issues has varied. In the following section, we examine how two pirate parties—
the Finnish Pirate Party and the Czech Pirate Party—relate to the Internet and how
they use it for organisation and campaigning. The two parties are very different in
terms of their importance in their national political scene: the Finnish Pirate Party
remains a typical fringe party, whereas the Czech Pirate Party has successfully broken
out of the confines of the niche to become a serious contender for both established
and newcomer Czech parties.
11.3 The Pirate Party in Finland
The Finnish Pirate Party, Piraattipuolue, was founded in 2008 and formally entered
into the Finnish Political Party Register in August 2009. Its first attempt to gain polit-
ical office took place in a local by-election. In the first national election it participated
in, the Finnish Pirate Party received 0.51% of the vote. This did not come even close
to winning a seat, but the Finnish Pirate Party became the largest registered party
outside the Finnish Parliament.
The Finnish Pirate Party began as a website and Internet community for mobilising
individuals interested in founding a pirate party in Finland. The party organisation
and party programme closely followed the Swedish Pirate Party in taking issue with
Internet freedom, free sharing of information, privacy and openness. This effort
received attention from the mainstream media, and the newly formed Finnish Pirate
Party quickly collected the required 5000 signatures to become a registered party.
In the beginning, the Finnish Pirate Party focused on digital rights issues, most
notable copyright. In 2011, two young pirates, Ahto Apajalahti and Kaj Sotala,
published a pamphlet entitled Jokapiraatinoikeus (‘Everypirate’s rights’), in refer-
ence to the Nordic tradition of everyman’s right to hike, camp, sail and gather mush-
rooms and berries even on private land. The aim of the pamphlet was to explain
and clarify to the wider public the pirates’ standing on copyright and file-sharing,
specifically pointing out that copyright is an issue with wider social consequences
and ignoring these issues presents a threat to basic rights (Apajalahti & Sotala, 2010).
Fig. 11.1 Finnish Pirate Party website. Source Piraattipuolue.fi (2020)
The Finnish Pirate Party is a registered party based in Helsinki. It is organised

into 12 regional associations or branches according to the voting districts in national
elections, thus breaking the stereotype of virtualisation that Gerbaudo (2019, p. 93)
associated with ‘platform parties’. Two of the branches are national, Pirate Youth
and Rainbow Pirates. Pirate Youth, for example, has its own website and holds its
own regular meetings (pinu.fi) in different cities. The Finnish Pirate Party also has
student and academic branches in two universities, Aalto University and the Univer-
sity of Helsinki, thus displaying the importance of university students and faculty as
a membership base and site for attracting supporters. According to the party statutes,
the party conferences and meetings of the party council of the Finnish Pirate Party
are open to participation, including voting, by using online tools (Piraattipuolue.fi,
2019) (Figs. 11.1 and 11.2).
The digital tools that the Finnish Pirate Party currently uses for organising and
mobilising are not fundamentally different from the tools that the party used at the
time of its establishment. Because the Finnish Pirate Party is not represented in the
Finnish Parliament, it is not eligible for public subsidies, and its financial resources
are limited. Its functioning depends largely on unpaid voluntary work by its active
members and supporters. Campaigning, communication with members and preparing
decisions takes place on the Internet. The party connects with members, supporters
and potential supporters using tools and platforms such as Discord, Telegram and
Matrix. An important channel for intra-party communication since the beginning
has been Internet Relay Chat (IRC), in which members subscribe to the PirateIRC-
network. The Finnish Pirate Party has 12 regional IRC channels and own channels
for Pirate Youth, Rainbow Pirates, Student Pirates and Academic Pirates. The party
also hosts technology chats and chats concerning elections in discussion forums.
The Finnish Pirate Party is also present in social media on Facebook, Twitter and
Instagram.
The Finnish Pirate Party remains the largest registered party outside the Finnish
Parliament. In the European Elections, it has not fared any better. In the 2014 Euro-
pean Elections, the party expected a good turnout because the leadership recruited
Peter Sunde, one of the founders of The Pirate Bay, on their list as ‘Spitzenkandidat’.
Sunde, however, was on the run from an international warrant for arrest and could
not campaign. More setbacks followed in the national election in 2015, after which
the party was removed from the Register of Political Parties for failing to win a seat
in two consecutive elections. The party bounced back to take part in the 2017 munic-
ipal elections, when the pirates won one seat in both the Helsinki and Jyväskylä City
Councils.
The Finnish Pirate Party has largely restrained from making grandiose claims
about transforming democracy through ICTs in the vein of the Swedish Pirate Party,
which made strong declarations of ‘participationism’ (Gerbaudo, 2019). Instead, the
Finnish Pirate Party has taken a rather critical stance on e-participation and concen-
trated on issues such as transparency, openness, privacy and Internet security. The
Finnish Pirate Party has opposed introducing e-voting to Finnish elections precisely
because of safety and vulnerability concerns (Piraattipuolue.fi, 2019). Claims to
champion digital democracy and online participation have never been an important
part of the politics of the Finnish Pirate Party. It is important to note that Internet pene-
tration was already quite high in the mid-2000s and the idea of discussing politics
and organising online were not novel, let alone revolutionary, in the Nordic context.
The Finnish Pirate Party was not even the first organisation or party in Finland to
Fig. 11.2 Riot/element website—Finnish Pirate Party.3 Source Riot.im (2020)
3‘Element’ is the flagship secure-collaboration app for the decentralised matrix communication
network.
follow the example of the Swedish pirates. Although the pirates’ Finnish prede-
cessors, Tietoyhteiskuntapuolue (TYP or ‘The Information Society Party’) and the
Wikipuolue (‘The Wikiparty’) were never formally registered as political parties, they
nevertheless defined themselves as political actors with the purpose of influencing
information policy.
The Wikiparty was an idealistic attempt to search for new ways to participate in
politics in the spirit of the times: Internet 2.0., Politics 2.0., Society 2.0., etc. Formed
by a group of think-tank actors, the Wikiparty’s mission was to open the political
process and to encourage everyone to take part in political debate (Karmala, 2007). In
practice, the idea was that anyone (even anonymously) could comment, and amend
various programmes, initiatives and debates using wiki platforms (Hintikka, 2008,
p. 73). The Wikiparty was never intended to become a political party. Instead, it
was an initiative towards a self-organising assembly to form collective opinion and
action. However, the Wikiparty never amounted to much more than an interesting
provocation, challenging the idea that representative democracy is the best alternative
for society.
In contrast to the Wikiparty, which focused on grassroots democracy, the Infor-
mation Society Party played a significant role in introducing cyber-politics issues
and pirate politics to Finnish politics. The Finnish cyber-politics movement began
in 2005 as a wave of protests against the amendment of the Finnish Copyright Act
and Criminal Code, which had the purpose of applying the changes required by
the EU Copyright Directive 2001/29/EC to Finnish copyright law. This amendment
introduced the idea of unauthorised, not-for-profit file-sharing as a punishable crime
into Finnish copyright legislation. The amendment also declared that downloading
copies and circumventing DRM for copying even for one’s own use was illegal.
Inspired by the founding of the Swedish Pirate Party, the opponents of the bill
founded the Information Society Party in February 2006, but its uninspiring name
and vague information-themed manifesto failed to mobilise supporters. Due to inade-
quate organisation, the Information Society Party’s efforts to collect the 5,000 names
required for a registered party in time to take part in the 2007 national election fell
short. The party was dissolved soon afterwards (Airo, 2012; Hintikka, 2008).
Since the mid-2010s, when file-sharing was no longer such a pressing concern
due to the increase of streaming platforms, the Finnish Pirate Party faded copyright
issues from the forefront of its campaigns. The Finnish Pirate Party has suffered from
a certain lack of credibility. The party has broadened its focus on privacy and security
to a host of non-cyber issues such as supporting the introduction of a national basic
income scheme and abolishing compulsory military service in Finland. Voters have
found it difficult to judge what the party and its candidates stand for and, despite the
modest breakthrough in local elections in Helsinki, the Finnish Pirate Party remains
a fringe party.
While neither the ‘participationism’ nor techno-optimism that according to
Gerbaudo (2019) characterise digital platform parties fit the Finnish Pirate Party very
well, the party has retained the importance of the idea of facilitating the free move-
ment of information. For example, Pirate Youth administered the Wikileaks’ Finnish
site wikileaks.fi. A committed if small membership and a loose-but-functioning
digital organisation have been factors that have kept the Finnish Pirate Party alive
for over a decade, despite failure in national elections. However, at present, its days
seem to be numbered. Down from 3500 members in 2012 (Airo, 2012), in 2019 the
party had 173 members. In November 2019, the chair of the party, Petrus Pennanen,
made an initiative to merge with the Liberal Party, another fringe party, joining it as
a member association. Pennanen framed his initiative as a ‘re-branding’ of the party,
but opposing members saw this as a move to end the party. The pirate party confer-
ence voted on 30 November 2019 to continue as an independent party and elected a
new chair, Pekka Mustonen (Kauppinen, 2019).4 The conference emphasised contin-
uing as part of the international pirate movement. The European Parliament member
from the Czech Pirate Party Mikuláš Peksa was a guest speaker at the conference.
Whatever the future fate of the Finnish Pirate Party, the Finnish government
apparatus recognised it as an expert organisation in public policy-making on many
things digital. Although the party’s claim to represent Internet users went unnoticed
by the majority of voters, it actively took part in the drafting process of new copyright
and information society legislation in the 2010s. The party has also participated in
the formation and renewal of legislation concerning audio-visual programmes.
11.4 The Pirate Party in the Czech Republic
The Czech Pirate Party, Česká pirátská strana, was founded at about the same time
as the Finnish Pirate Party. During spring 2009, the first appeal came, even in a
relatively significant and natural way, for a collective piracy policy. A programmer
Jiří Kadeřávek posted a public note on the Internet forum Abclinuxu.cz. Within a
few months of the call, at least 1000 signatures for the Czech Pirate Party had been
registered with the Ministry of the Interior of the Czech Republic. In its beginnings,
the newly created Czech Pirate Party was inspired by the Swedish case and by the
circumstances surrounding The Pirate Bay (see Šárovec, 2019a, p. 4).
However, the party remained a relatively small and not-so-important part of the
Czech party system for a long time.5 Even in other electoral attempts, the Czech
pirates were not successful. On the other hand, the party was able to survive as a new
entity within the party system. A large group of volunteers and enthusiasts, which
forms a significant cornerstone for a party, was one of the crucial factors.
4 The Finnish newspaper Helsingin Sanomat commented on its editorial page that Pennanen’s
initiative is true to pirate ideology: it is copied. The Finnish Communist Party was only a member
organisation of the Finnish People’s Democratic League (1944–1990) but in fact steered its politics
(HS.fi, 2019).
5 In its first elections to the Chamber of Deputies of the Parliament of the Czech Republic, it gained
only 0.80% of the votes and thus did not reach the 5% threshold necessary for obtaining mandates. It
was almost successful in the 2014 European Elections with 4.78% of votes, but gained no mandates.
It is also worth mentioning the success in the municipal elections 2014, winning the post of mayor
in the spa town of Mariánské Lázně in West Bohemia.
Nevertheless, the Czech Pirate Party achieved one primacy. It became the first
pirate party in the world to get a mandate for one of its nominees in Parliament.
The candidate was Libor Michálek, and in the 2012 Senate elections, he became a
senator in one of the constituencies in the capital city of Prague.6 This success was
reflected not only by the pirate movement, but also by its ‘political father’ Falkvinge
(2012). The principal breakthrough came in the elections to the Chamber of Deputies
in 2017, when the party won a total of 10.79% of the votes, representing 22 mandates
out of 200 (Šárovec, 2019a). As a result, it has become one of the most successful
parties in the entire pirate movement.7
This trend was confirmed by the pirates in the municipal elections of 2018, when,
thanks to the outcome and subsequent coalition negotiations, they also gained the
post of Mayor of Prague (Šárovec, 2019a). This success has been followed by the best
result so far not only for Czech Pirates, but also for any other European Pirate Party in
the European Parliament, 2019 elections—the Czech Pirate Party received 13.95%
votes, representing 3 mandates out of 21 (European Parliament, 2019). Thus, after
the Swedish and German Pirate Parties, the Czech Pirate Party sat in the European
Parliament as the third pirate movement representative.
During more than 10 years of existence, the Czech pirates have grown from
a new, small and relatively marginal political formation to one of the important
forces in Czech politics. However, the success of Czech pirates must be seen in
the overall context of the Czech party system’s development (see Brunclík, 2010;
Šárovec, 2019b; Perottino et al., 2020). With its programmatic anchoring, the party
was referred to as an alternative for urban liberal voters, even though, for example,
it was cautiously rejecting this anchoring. The Czech Pirate Party presented four
pillars in its programme: control of power and the powerful ones, simplification of
the running of the state through technology, protection of citizens from bullying
and defence of freedom, as well as basic pirate principles including liberalism and
direct democracy. These steps were to be the recipe for achieving a free, rich, digi-
tally connected society system (Pirati.cz, 2017; Šárovec, 2019a). In addition, in the
campaign before the breakthrough elections to the Chamber of Deputies in 2017, the
party had focused purely on protest topics.
These topics were partially directed as anti-establishment appeals against other
parties represented in the Chamber of Deputies. In part, they were generally protest
statements directed against the previously functioning system. One of the main
slogans of the campaign was ‘Let’s go after them!’ (Pirati.cz, 2017). The party was
therefore perceived to some extent as a ‘purifier’ of the system, which is probably
one of the most important aspects for its rise. Jakub Horák, marketing counsellor
and electoral strategist of the Czech Pirate Party in 2017, said that the pirates simply
represent protest. An internal pre-election analysis has shown that cyber topics such
6 He was a candidate in a three-party coalition: Czech Pirate Party, Green Party and Christian and
Democratic Union-Czechoslovak People’s Party. The proposing party was the Czech Pirate Party.
Libor Michálek was not a political party member (see Šárovec, 2019a, pp. 6–7).
7 The Czech Pirate Party gained mandates in the national parliament, as did the Icelandic Pirate
Party. Subsequently, the Luxembourgish Pirate Party was also successful.

as digitisation alone will not ensure success. In fact, it was necessary to follow non-
cyber issues. As a result, the leading topics were purely the protest ones such as the
direct revocability of politicians, the transparency of public procurement or the mate-
rial responsibility of officials (Kilberger, 2017).8 After the election success in 2017,
the interest in party membership also increased. The Czech Pirate Party currently
has over 1000 members (Forum.pirati.cz, 2020a).
Given the nature of the party’s internal organisation, it is appropriate to focus on
analysing its operation on the Internet. The Czech Pirate Party is actively working
with several electronic platforms, which can be a bit labyrinthine for both non-
partisans and non-supporters. For new supporters and members, the party encap-
sulates its main platforms on the Wiki website (Wiki.pirati.cz, 2020a). The main
platforms are:
• the website (Fig. 11.3),
• Wiki as an internal encyclopaedia of people and know-how (Fig. 11.4),
• the Forum as a main party-communication platform (Fig. 11.5),
• the Embarkation website (website Nalodeni.pirati.cz) as a single place for
registration of all pirates,
• Redmine as a task-tracking system including programme priorities addressed in
the Chamber of Deputies (website Redmine.pirati.cz),
• Piroplácení 9 as a system designed to record management and approve budgets,
plans and requests for reimbursement (website Piroplaceni.pirati.cz),
• Mrak (Cloud, website Mrak.pirati.cz) as a safe place to store, view and work with
documents,
• Zulip as a platform for direct and group chat in the form of rooms and channels
divided into topics (website Zulip.pirati.cz),
• Lidé (People, website Lide.pirati.cz), a pirate directory10 that is slowly replacing
medallions on a Pirate Wiki
• Jitsi (website Jitsi.pirati.cz) as a videoconference tool,
• Helios (Figs. 11.6 and 11.7) as a voting system,11
• Github (website Github.pirati.cz) as a Web-editing and development tool
• CodiMD (website Codimd.pirati.cz) as a tool12 that allows groups of people to
create and share Markdown documents together.13
How do the most important platforms work? In its external presentation, the Czech
Pirate Party uses a classic website with links to Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and
8 Moreover the party was created from below, has a history and can build on an extensive network
of volunteers and sympathizers (Kilberger, 2017).
9 Free translation: ‘pirate finances’.
10 Among other things, it serves to verify registered supporters.
11 The Czech Pirate Party has two ways to vote on the internet: (i) by Forum or (ii) by Helios.
12 CodiMD is a more modern alternative to the pad that pirates have used in the past.
13 In addition, the party used the Hithit.cz website for a crowdfunding campaign before the 2017
elections (Šárovec, 2019a, p. 11). Another external website, Jobs.cz, acts as a portal for job oppor-
tunities in the Czech Republic and abroad. Pirates advertise work opportunities within the party on
the website.
Fig. 11.3 Czech Pirate Party website. Source Pirati.cz (2020a)
Flickr.14 Several links to micro-sites are visible at the top of the website’s Pirati.cz
index on the grey bar (Fig. 11.3).
The first one is Pirátské listy (pirate newspaper, website Piratskelisty.cz), which
is an electronic version of the party newspaper. It is possible to buy branded party
merchandise in the E-shop (website Piratskyobchod.cz). A link to Připojte se (Join
us, website Nalodeni.pirati.cz) provides basic information about three ways to ‘get
on board’—interested individuals can hold subscriber, supporter or member status. A
micro-site Dary (Donations, website Dary.pirati.cz) is a tool for voluntary financial
support. This website notes that support for the Czech Pirate Party is an investment
in the future of the Czech Republic. The last micro-site is called Sněmovna (The
Chamber of Deputies, website Pirati.cz/snemovna). This website shows the work of
the Members of Parliament, as well as detailing progress with the party programme
and parliamentary allowances. A calendar for each MP and list of recent news items
are also available.
The Wiki website of the Czech Pirate Party (website Wiki.pirati.cz) is a specific
tool that offers a variety of links and information related to the internal functioning of
the party. There is a section on party bodies, events, open bookkeeping, press releases
or YouTube videos. A substantive link at the top of the page leads to Transparent-
nost (transparency), which includes Registr smluv (register of contracts),15 Evidence
14 The party also has a YouTube channel that is not shown in Fig. 11.3.
15 According to party regulations, all contracts and documents of the Czech Pirate Party are archived
in the register of contracts or on the Piroplácení website (Piroplaceni.pirati.cz). The Czech Pirate
Fig. 11.4 Czech Pirate Party Wiki website. Source Wiki.pirati.cz (2020b)
Fig. 11.5 Czech Pirate Party Forum website. Source Forum.pirati.cz (2020c)
Fig. 11.6 Czech Pirate Party’s voting system Helios website. Source Helios.pirati.cz (2020a)
Fig. 11.7 Election of Czech Pirate Party chairman (1st round) via Helios voting system. Source
Helios.pirati.cz (2020b)
Party maintains a documentary archive of contracts, which is located at the party’s headquarters.
It also maintains a digital (transparent) archive called the register of contracts at Smlouvy.pirati.cz
(Wiki.pirati.cz, 2020c).
lobbistických kontaktů (records of lobbying contacts)16 and Otevřené účetnictví

(open bookkeeping)17 webpages.
Another tool is the Pirate Party Internet Forum, which has the subtitle ‘the Internet
is our sea’. Party supporters can register, thus gaining access to the internal party
debate.18 Registration allows party supporters to make contact and invite people to
events. This form of registration is a precursor to party membership. Membership
must precede registration as a supporter. In fact, those who are interested in member-
ship in the party must follow these steps: (i) register on the Pirate Party Forum as
a registered supporter and choose which regional association will be the host one;
(ii) introduce oneself on the Web forum of the chosen association; (iii) log in with a
pirate identity and generate an identity verification code. After this, there are four final
steps: (i) complete an application form; (ii) attend a meeting of the chosen local asso-
ciation, where a short interview will take place and where the presidency will decide
on admission; (iii) identity verification; (iv) pay a membership fee (Wiki.pirati.cz,
2020e). In general, this process shows that the Internet forum has a relevant role in
the whole process.
The forum offers a range of topics within four sections: (i) JOIN US—register
as a supporter, register as a member, tasks and projects, regional expert teams,
topics ‘I want help with…’, and open competitions (competitive tendering); (ii)
PIRATE PARTY—pirate programme, participatory budget, regional associations,
pirate centres, party bodies and teams, inputs and outputs, intra-party discussion; (iii)
PUBLIC DISCUSSION—pirate affairs, upcoming regulations, public counselling;
and (iv) EXTERNAL SYSTEMS—Council of the Coalition Pirates and the Green
Party in the Usti Region, Council of the Coalition Pirates and the Green Party in the
Zlin Region, location of the personnel department (Forum.pirati.cz, 2020c).
However, as an opposition party, the Czech Pirates endured several scandals and
controversies. In October 2017, a young Member of Parliament František Kopřiva
stated that the Czech Republic could abandon NATO if the EU defended itself. In May
2018, it became clear that deputy Tomáš Vymazal had mined a cryptocurrency in his
office flat. And in the same month, pirate MPs mistakenly supported an honour for a
communist poet Karel Sýs. Pirates have always apologised and acknowledged their
mistakes, saying that without mistakes it is impossible to grow (Leinert & Pokorný,
2018). In August 2018, Karel Světnička, a dissatisfied supporter of the Czech Pirate
16 Party representatives have a duty to publish lobbying contacts. These are cases where party
representatives are contacted by representatives of business, other political parties, non-profit asso-
ciations and other entities who want to obtain information from party representatives or influence
their decisions, but in other instances such people are contacted by party representatives for various
reasons (Forum.pirati.cz, 2020b).
17 The link leads to a website with public information on financial aspects of the party operation (e.g.
financing of election campaigns, annual financial reports, transparent accounts, economic activities
or gifts and donations) (see website Piroplácení and Wiki.pirati.cz, 2020d).
18 Without registration, the site is accessible on a read-only basis.
Party, founded the new Moravian and Silesian Pirate Party (Šárovec, 2019a, pp. 12–
13).19 The Czech Republic is rather unique in the world that it has two pirate parties
registered, even though the splinter one is entirely insignificant. All these issues were
also discussed or mentioned on the party’s Internet forum.
According to the Rules of Procedure of the National Forum, it is possible to
negotiate and vote on the Internet through the information system managed by the
party’s administrative department.20 The Czech Pirate Party uses the Helios voting
system.21 This makes it possible for members both to be physically present at the
National Forum annual event or to be anywhere else in the world to make the choice.
The system is also used for voting within the party’s lower organisational units.22
Figure 11.7 shows the output from the first round of the party chairman election.
All voters were expected to respond to the statement: ‘For chairman of the Czech
Pirate Party, I would accept…’, and there were three candidates: Ivan Bartoš, Mikuláš
Ferjenčík and Vojtěch Pikal. Candidates with more than half of the votes of all voters
advanced to the second round.23 Ivan Bartoš became the winner in the second round
because Vojtěch Pikal resigned from the elections (iROZHLAS.cz, 2020).
In terms of communication, it is worth mentioning the micro-site Piratipracuji.cz
(‘pirates are working’). It is a website summarising the most important things that
the representatives of the Czech Pirate Party are working on, and not only in the
Chamber of Deputies. This is a top-down platform providing up-to-date information
about pirates’ working activities.
Probably the most significant problem that Czech pirates were dealing with in
internal debate is the allegedly inappropriate behaviour of the party vice-chairman
Jakub Michálek. He was accused of threatening and arrogant conduct. MEP Mikuláš
Peksa announced that if Jakub Michálek remained in the party’s leadership, he would
resign from his post (Ct24.ceskatelevize.cz, 2019). In this respect, it is interesting
that the whole case originated in the pirates forum, where it was first written by the
head of the Human Resources Department Jana Koláříková (Forum.pirati.cz, 2019).
Party chairman Ivan Bartoš emphasised that Jakub Michálek has been a member of
19 There are three historical regions in the Czech Republic, namely Bohemia, Moravia, and Czech
Silesia. An accent on Moravia and Silesia in the name of a split-off pirate party indicates hostility
to the original Czech Pirate Party based in Prague, the historic capital of the Czech lands.
20 The party statues specify that voting shall take place, as far as possible, electronically, by
correspondence and with an extended voting time (Pirati.cz, 2020b).

21 Helios is a non-partisan organisation led by software engineer and architect Ben Adida. Helios
offers verifiable online elections with the statement: ‘We believe democracy is important, whether
it’s your book club, parent-teacher association, student government, workers’ union, or state. So
we’ve made truly verifiable elections as easy as everything else on the Web.’ According to the
website, Helios elections are private (no one knows how participants voted), verifiable (each voter
gets a tracking number) and proven (Helios is open-source, vetted by top-tier experts, and used by
major organisations) (Heliosvoting.org, 2020; comp. Pereira, 2016).
22 When voting, members can log in to the Helios system via their device connected to the internet.
The votes do not have to be added manually, as is the case with other parties.
23 If there was only one such candidate, he would be elected in the first round. It is recommended in
the first round to support all options that are acceptable to voters (or even all that are not unacceptable)
and in the second round to give votes to those that voters prefer (Wiki.pirati.cz, 2020f).
the party since its inception, and thanks to him the pirates succeeded in the 2017
elections. After the online vote by the National Forum, Jakub Michálek remained
the party’s vice-chairman (Ct24.ceskatelevize.cz, 2019).
On the one hand, the party quite commonly addresses operational issues in its
Internet forum, but on the other hand this case of ‘washing the party’s dirty laundry
in public’ can be perceived quite negatively. In this respect, pirates can damage
themselves by giving the impression of a disunited and quarrelling entity. Jakub
Michálek was already in this position once before, because of the secret withdrawal
of a party complaint about the results of the election to the Chamber of Deputies
2017. Jakub Michálek as the head of the pirate party parliamentary club resisted, and
three-quarters of the party members stood up for him (Ct24.ceskatelevize.cz, 2017).
This is one example of how pirates use their forum for internal party debate in public.
The story was reported by many Czech media.
According to polls in 2020, the Czech Pirate Party is still the second or third
most powerful party. The Supreme Audit Office (Nejvyšší kontrolní úřad, NKÚ)24
stated in July 2020 that the digitisation of services had been slow until the end of
2019, citizens did not have enough information about services, and their offer of
services was limited. The Czech Republic thus continues to lag behind other Euro-
pean Union countries (Nku.cz, 2020a).25 This should be a primary challenge for the
Czech Pirate Party e-priorities. The party has also advanced several issues covered
by hashtags, namely #defenseoffreedom, #powercontrol, #digitizationofthestate,
#protectionofcitizens or #coronavirus (Piratipracuji.cz, 2020).
11.5 Discussion
Pirates have achieved wide publicity with their new political agenda focusing on
access, freedom of speech and information privacy. However, in recent years the
pirate party movement and interest towards it have waned. Apart from the earlier
significance of the Swedish and German Pirate Parties, only the Czech Pirate Party
along with the Icelandic and Luxembourgish Pirate Party have had any recent success.
The latter three are the only pirate parties that have been able to gain mandates in the
24 The Supreme Audit Office (SAO) is an independent audit institution with the mission to review
the state’s management of public revenue and expenditure. The SAO’s task is to provide feedback
to makers and implementers of national policies, so they know how successfully their policies have
been implemented and at what price, how effective they have been, and what economic and other
impacts they have made (Nku.cz, 2020b).
25 The topic of electronic state administration and the use of e-platforms in general proved to be
important even in the context of the coronavirus crisis 2020. A state of emergency was declared
in the Czech Republic for 66 days from March to May 2020 (Nguyen, 2020). There was limited
access to some public services for citizens within this extraordinary situation.
national parliaments: Icelandic pirates already in 2013,26 a year after its founding; the
Czech pirates in 2017, eight years after their establishment; and the Luxembourgish
pirates in 2018 with 6.45% votes and 2 seats out of 60. In 2019, the Czech Pirate
Party together with the German Pirate Party was able to secure representation in the
European Parliament (Parties-and-elections.eu, 2020).
In practice, there is a fundamental idea that unifies the pirate movement. Despite
the relatively rich international cooperation (see Šárovec, 2019a, p. 6) within Pirate
Parties International (PPI), European Pirate Party (PIRATES) or Young Pirates of
Europe (YPE), there are visible differences among pirate programmatic, personal
and intra-party aspects. Considerable variation exists between organisations, using
e-platforms and applied strategy within the Finnish and Czech Pirate Parties,27 but
both parties are running under one pirate movement flag.
The emergence and especially the subsequent success must therefore be seen
in the context of the overall party system development. It is political distrust that
primarily drives the support for pirate parties. Another factor is that pirates are parties
for the generation of digital natives (Otjes, 2020, pp. 38, 49–50). Pirate parties are
introducing elements of electronic democracy in both direct and representative forms
(Khutkyy, 2019, p. 66). Also relevant is how pirate parties are putting elements and
ideas into practice in terms of party systems.
Nevertheless, pirate parties have left a legacy. Pirate parties remain the political
incarnations of a wider movement dedicated to raising concern among the public
about violations of fundamental rights in connection with digital communication.
Pirates have viewed themselves as a civilising movement: their mission has been to
alert and educate citizens and policy-makers to recognise that the freedoms of civil
society are useful and meaningful also in cyberspace (Jääsaari & Hildén, 2015). The
contribution of pirate parties has raised awareness of privacy gaps in information and
has occasionally provided alternatives for erasing them. Pirates have raised aware-
ness among policy-makers across the political spectrum as well as among the public
about the excesses of copyright enforcement and the pitfalls of policy laundering.
The questions that the pirate parties have campaigned for, such as freedom of speech,
net-neutrality and copyright reform, have been taken up by decision-makers, courts
and mainstream political parties (Markakis, 2014). The pirate parties have pressed
established political parties in particular in Northern Europe to rethink their posi-
tions and practices regarding Internet governance and regulation. By taking part in
elections, pirate parties have forced the responsible news media to acknowledge their
political goals and take them seriously on a number of occasions.
Pirate parties have set the agenda for public digital rights debates in many Euro-
pean countries for almost 10 years. European pirate parties have become the most
visible example of new communication rights mobilisations, focusing on digital user
rights (Padovani & Calabrese, 2014).
26 In the 2016 parliamentary elections in Iceland, the pirate party celebrated its largest electoral
success, winning 14.5% of the popular vote and securing 10 of the 63 seats in the Althing. In the
2017 parliamentary elections, it won 9.20% of the votes and 6 seats (parties-and-elections.eu, 2020).
27 As well as many variances between the Finnish and the Czech party systems.
Despite the urgency concerning fundamental rights in the digital realm and the
fact that a growing number of citizens are critical of private and public surveillance
policies, widespread concerns about safeguarding privacy have not translated into
support for pirate parties. Overall, pirates in most countries operate at the margins
of mainstream publicity and confine themselves to their own communicative spaces,
such as the Finnish Pirate Party discussed previously.
The novelty of digital rights issues has waned, and the pirates have had to fight
for publicity in the shadow of right-wing populist parties. But most of these new
parties are indebted to the pirate parties. In terms of organisation, the new political
movements and parties, such as Podemos and the Five Star Movement, took up the
pirates’ ideas of internal, online democracy and refashioned them according to their
own needs. At the same time, they replicated many of the problems associated with
these tools and ideas (see Biancalana & Vittori, in this volume; Gerbaudo, 2019;
Sandri & Von Nostiz, in this volume). Regardless of their rejection by European
voters, pirate parties have not only made a significant contribution to information
and communication policy-making in Europe, but also reminded political scientists
and theorists that organisation is not everything.
Acknowledgements Daniel Šárovec composed the text within the Charles University Research
Programme “Progres” Q18—Social Sciences: From Multidisciplinarity to Interdisciplinarity.
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Chapter 12
Is There Such a Thing as a Web-Native
Party? Use and Role of Online
Participation Tools in the Green
and Pirate Parties in Germany
Gefion Thuermer
Abstract This chapter discusses the use and role of online participation tools in
the Green Party and Pirate Party Germany. The Green Party was founded in 1980,
the Pirate Party in 2006; in between these years, the web became an integral part
of political interaction. This has implications for how both parties conceptualise
and implement online tools for their internal processes. Both parties claim to follow
grassroots democratic principles and encourage extensive participation from their
members. Both use a variety of online tools. While the pirates based most of their
participation opportunities on online technology from the outset, the greens introduce
tools slowly, ensuring they are in line with existing participation processes and ideals.
Keywords Pirate parties · Digital parties · Digital platforms
12.1 Introduction
This chapter discusses the use and role of online participation tools in the Green
Party and Pirate Party Germany. The Green Party was founded in 1980, the Pirate
Party in 2006; in between these years, the web became an integral part of political
interaction. This has implications for how both parties conceptualise and implement
online tools for their internal processes. Both parties claim to follow grassroots
democratic principles and encourage extensive participation from their members.
Both use a variety of online tools. While the pirates based most of their participation
opportunities on online technology from the outset, the greens introduce tools slowly,
ensuring they are in line with existing participation processes and ideals.
A problem for any form of online participation is the inherent exclusivity of the
technology. Participation processes should be accessible for everyone, to give party
members equal opportunities to influence decisions. The digital-divide literature
suggests that this is not the case online: there are differences in access to the web
(Sylvester & McGlynn, 2010); its use differs depending on skills (van Deursen et al.,
G. Thuermer (B)
King’s College London, London, UK
e-mail: gefion.thuermer@kcl.ac.uk
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-78668-7_12
228 G. Thuermer
2011), which are in turn mediated by existing offline inequalities; and benefits derived
from its use show that it is more beneficial for those already better off (Hargittai,
2008; van Deursen & Helsper, 2015).
Using two comparative case studies, I explore how the Green Party and Pirate
Party address these issues in their approach to online participation and the conse-
quences this has for party members. Following Fitzpatrick’s Five-Pillar Model, I
focus on the use of online tools for the integration and administration of membership
(bricks 1a and 1b). The analysis is based on an extensive review of the statutory and
reference documents for processes and platforms from both parties, which shows the
party-internal decision-making processes in the abstract. To move from the abstract
to the practical, the documents were supplemented with stakeholder interviews and
observations. A comparison between the parties shows how their approaches to online
participation differ, what this means for both the practice of and equality in participa-
tion, and how this fundamentally distinguishes them. I conclude that this difference
is more than just procedural, and I present an outlook for online participation in
political parties in general.
12.2 Background
Fitzpatrick’s Five-Pillar Model is useful for understanding the pressure upon both
parties. They aim to use online participation tools to increase the participation of their
members—to achieve better integration. But while using digital solutions for admin-
istration is seen as relatively straightforward, using them to enhance party-internal
democracy requires much more elaborate processes. Digitalisation can lead to more
participation (Thuermer, 2019), but this is a result of well-embedded processes
and tools, and not of the availability of the tools per se (Deseriis & Vittori, 2019;
Gerbaudo, 2019). It requires awareness, commitment, and work. Since both parties
have a different interpretation of what is democratic, the tools they use and the
way they implement them are very different, as are the challenges they face. The
Green Party has to consider a member base that has grown over the space of nearly
50 years, including an influx of 30,000 members that joined very recently, and the
very different expectations among those internal groups; whereas the Pirate Party is
more concerned about its members’ surplus of skills, rather than the lack of them,
and consequently it has struggled with the implementation and security of its tools.
Gunther and Diamond (2003) categorise parties based on their organisational
form, to differentiate five genera: elite-based, mass-based, ethnicity-based, elec-
toralist, and movement parties. Each has a set of species, determined by policies,
behavioural norms, clientele and processes. According to Gunther and Diamond, the
time during which a party was founded determines its species. Its founding context
influences its effectiveness and features, because a party ‘comes into existence within
a specific social and technological context that may evolve over time, [which] can
leave a lasting imprint on the basic nature of the party’s organization’ (p. 173).
12 Is There Such a Thing as a Web-Native Party? Use and Role … 229
Movement parties are the youngest genus, and a hybrid between movements and
parties. They are based on grassroots principles, and they have no strong formal
structures or hierarchies. The activist background of their members influences their
structure, maximising the influence of active members. In practice, this leads to
control mechanisms like imperative mandates, rotation, and separation of office and
mandate. Strong leaders and professionalisation are opposed, as they would weaken
the role of activists. Both the greens and pirates can be classified as movement parties,
although nowadays the former range between a movement and an elite party (Rihoux
& Frankland, 2008).
12.2.1 Green Party
The Green Party was founded out of the ecology, feminist, and peace movements, in
a ‘bottom-up’ fashion: local branches were established in several regions of Western
Germany, who then achieved success in local elections. These branches founded the
national party as an umbrella organisation. Success followed suit, first in some state
elections, then with the party’s entry into the Bundestag in the general election in
1983.
The greens claimed to be an alternative to traditional parties, in terms of policy
as well as organisation, with grassroots democratic principles permeating all func-
tions of the party. Each member could participate in decisions, and members should
continually control office holders (Frankland, 2008). The party wanted to challenge
Michels’ ‘iron law of oligarchisation’ (1911) through this ideal, and thus the new
form of participation was a goal in itself (Lucardie & Rihoux, 2008). Given their
roots in the women’s movement, they have a special focus on equal rights and the
participation of women, which also shows in their practice: at least 50% of all elected
positions must be filled by women, and women speak ahead of men at assemblies,
have separate councils, etc.
After the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1993, the Green Party of Western Germany
merged with Bündnis 90 from the former GDR. In the following election, the party
did not enter the Bundestag. This term outside of parliament was used to reform the
organisation, and to make efforts to gain voters’ trust through a focus on publicly
distinguished policy experts and internal cooperation to generate an image of respon-
sibility for the public (Frankland, 2008). The party’s early success and subsequent
growth were accompanied by internal conflicts, such as between the fundamental-
ists (Fundis) and realists (Realos), which were resolved when the opposing groups
formed official party wings, establishing a platform to reach consensus. The party
re-entered the Bundestag in 1994 and has been represented there ever since.
When it was founded, the Green Party had 18,320 members, rising to a peak
of 51,812 in 1998 during their time in a federal government coalition (Frankland,
2008). In 2011, following the meltdown at the nuclear power plant in Fukushima,
Japan, the first green state minister-president was elected in Baden-Württemberg, and
subsequently re-elected in 2017. The greens won 8.9% of the votes in the Bundestag
230 G. Thuermer
election, and most recently achieved 20.5% in the European elections, replacing the
Social Democrats in second place. Today, the party has roughly 95,000 members
(N-tv.de, 2020), having gained an additional 30,000 in the last three years. The party
is at the peak of its success, consistently polling as the second most influential party
(Wahlrecht.de, n.d.).
Early on, the Green Party established strong participation mechanisms for its
grassroots, such as the right for all members to submit proposals to assemblies. Many
of these measures are still in place, or have been developed further, maintaining the
grassroots as the ultimate decision-maker. Other barriers have been lowered over
time. To minimise power accumulation from the start, the party forbade members to
hold mandates and party offices at the same time; today, no more than a third of the
executive board can hold mandates, and none can also lead a parliamentary group or
be a member of government above the regional level.
Given the party’s commitment to the power of the grassroots, and the most recent
growth spurt, the party leadership has a strong incentive to maintain high standards
for members’ participation. To this end, it actively works towards the more extensive
use of online tools at federal level. A working group evaluated opportunities as well as
legal issues around online participation in 2015, which led to the development of new
and the extension of existing tools intended to engage the broader membership base,
and to draw more and different members into active participation (Kellner, 2015).
As Fitzpatrick points out, these changes may be expected by the new generation of
members, but they are difficult to sell to older members who are used to different
processes.
12.2.2 Pirate Party
The Pirate Party was founded as part of an international protest movement against the
criminalisation of file sharing, which started in Sweden in 2006 (Falkvinge, 2011),
and quickly spread around Europe and internationally. The German version of the
party was perceived as the ‘Internet party’, but their goal was better described as
transferring the organisational principles of the internet into politics (Richter, 2013).
They adopted a variety of online communication routines into their processes (Bieber
& Lewitzki, 2012).
The party initially grew slowly, gaining 1000 members by 2009, when they expe-
rienced a growth spurt following their results for the elections for the European
Parliament (0.9%) and the Bundestag (2.0%). Although the party secured no seats
in either election, it did gain recognition. Another growth spurt occurred after the
party reached a surprising 8.9% in the election for the state parliament in Berlin in
2011. This was followed by some limited success, but halted with a disastrous result
in the election in Lower Saxony in 2013. While the membership had grown to just
over 34,000 at its peak, it has consistently declined since, and today it numbers under
8000.1
The party’s evolution was imprinted with conflicts between opposing groups
regarding the extent to which the party should adopt policy stances on a broader
field, and between the left and liberal forces in the party (Reitemeyer, 2014). The
escalation of the latter conflict led to the departure of many members associated with
the left (Domscheit-Berg, 2014; Kröger, 2014; Petersen, 2014). The party’s demise
has been proclaimed from 2014 onwards, fuelled by the failure to defend any of
its state parliament seats (Koschmieder & Niedermayer, 2015). In 2018, the party
considered, but ultimately decided against, its own dissolution (von Krella, 2018).
Despite its current desolate state, the party remains a veritable case study for the
use of online participation tools. Its founding context and commitment to grassroots
participation facilitated an extensive use of online tools, for both administrative and
participatory purposes. Due to the relatively young age of the members, no conflicts
occurred between older and newer members, but the digital administration of the
party and its processes, especially the management and development of these tools,
proved to be challenging.
12.3 Methods
The case studies I present are based on an analysis of statutes and regulations, as
well as in-depth interviews with stakeholders from both parties. The formal rules that
govern their decision-making processes were mapped using the documents listed
in Annex 1, with resulting process flows as the starting point for the interviews.
The selection of interview partners was informed by the party structures: intervie-
wees were ‘hot spots’ in the party and process framework—staff and party members
that were involved with participatory processes. Where possible, interviewees were
approached through existing personal contacts. In addition, the party head offices
were contacted to identify and reach out to further suitable candidates. Three semi-
structured interviews were conducted with the Green Party, five with the Pirate Party.
The aim was to find out how the formal rules are applied and possibly modified in
practice, what role the web plays throughout, and how inequalities are considered. All
interviews were coded for six main criteria: Actions (what happens in the processes?),
Places (where does it happen?), Processes (how does it happen?), Factors of consid-
eration (why does it happen the way it does?), Use of the web (how is the web used
in the process?), and Inequalities (what is in-/excluded?). A list of interview partners
is provided in Annex 2.
1 See https://piratenreste.github.io/.
232 G. Thuermer
12.4 Use and Role of Online Participation Platforms
While both parties make online participation platforms available for their members,
the type of platforms and their intended use differs significantly. While the Pirate
Party attempted to conduct nearly all of its discourse and decision-making processes
online, the Green Party sought to enable selected discussions and embed its tools
in established (offline) practices. I will discuss the rationales of stakeholders for the
adoption and implementation of online participation tools, as well as the associated
affordances.
12.4.1 Green Party
The Green Party uses a variety of online tools, most of which are accessible through
the Grünes Netz (green network), a single-sign-on umbrella platform. Most tools are
used for participation and the preparation of decision-making, as well as members’
services, such as a sharepic-generator to produce memes for social media, a calendar
tool to find meeting dates, and collaborative writing tools. The most important tools
are the Antragsgrün (green proposal), the Beteiligungsgrün (green participation),
and the Wurzelwerk (root system). The Antragsgrün was initially developed by a
member for their own use, and subsequently adopted and funded by the party head-
quarters. It is used for proposals for assemblies; members can submit, comment,
recruit supporters, and track a proposal’s status in near-real-time. The Beteiligungs-
grün is based on the same technology, but rather than submitting proposals to a formal
decision-making body, it is used to submit suggestions or requests to the executive
board. The Wurzelwerk was a knowledge management tool, where members could
access meeting notes, campaign materials and the like, based on their association
to party branches; it has since been rebranded as Wissenswerk (knowledge works).
Alongside these tools, which are available to members only, the party makes avid use
of communication channels such as mailing lists (the main communication channel
in internal groups), but also social media channels such as Facebook, Twitter, or
Threema.
Many of the tools have been developed by party members. The collaborative
writing tool, cloud storage and online chat platforms were developed by an associ-
ated club, the Netzbegrünung (green network) which is dedicated to supporting the
technological requirements of the party. While associated, the club is independent
of the party, and develops tools and provides support of its own volition. Some tools
are moved under the official party umbrella, which happened with the Antragsgrün:
one member developed it, the party recognised its usefulness, and it is now financing
its upkeep and further development. Other tools, such as the Wurzelwerk have been
developed externally by order of the executive board. Financing the development of
some of the tools gives the party a say on their functionality, style, and when they
should be used, as well as on types of information they cannot give to volunteers.
None of the tools in use in the Green Party have a statutory role, or directly
enable decision-making, though the Antragsgrün is specifically designed to support
the existing decision-making process. It is important to note at this point that the
Antragsgrün was designed to support the existing offline process used in the party.
Previously, the formal way for members to learn what proposals were submitted
was to visit their local branch office and read a folder sent by the head office. The
significance of this change cannot be underestimated: not only is the new process
more environmentally friendly (a relevant policy implication for the Green Party),
but it also allows any member to access information that was previously primarily
accessible for office holders or delegates.
Statutory policy decisions are only made at delegate assemblies, or by party bodies
such as the executive board. Ahead of each assembly, the executive board sets the
agenda for the direction the assembly should take and which topics are most impor-
tant for the party to discuss. They formulate guideline proposals (Leitanträge) in
cooperation with experts from the party and its parliamentary groups, which provide
a general structure. In this process, the working groups play an important role: they
are the place where policy is discussed among members, and they function as the
link between parliamentary groups, experts, and members (Heinrich, 2002; Switek,
2012).
By the party’s statutes, proposals have to be submitted to the executive board six
weeks in advance of the assembly and must be published online at the same time.
In practice, all proposals are submitted through the Antragsgrün. All members can
submit proposals, but they require support from 19 other members. This is typically
achieved through either working groups, local branches, or social networks; from
2016, supporters can be recruited in Antragsgrün directly, making them even more
accessible.
While the Antragsgrün is used in statutory decision-making processes, and the
Beteiligungsgrün has its own set of guidelines, there are alternative routes for
members who cannot or do not wish to participate online. Not all members have
the possibility or skill to use the Antragsgrün. In 2015, according to a member of
staff, about 60% of the proposals were submitted there, roughly 40% arrived at
the federal office by email, and a tiny fraction—‘about 0.001%’—were received by
letter. All the proposals were formally assessed by the federal office and published
in the Antragsgrün, where they were then visible to members. The statutory process
also mandated that all proposals were summarised into a reader, which would be
distributed to all delegates, party officials, and local branches. This distribution used
to be done on paper; when the procedures were changed to digital files, only a
single branch still requested a paper copy—yet paper copies remained the leading
medium at assemblies. This process has shifted further with the extended role of the
Antrsgsgrün. Today, only a very small number of proposals are not entered into the
tool directly, all proposals are made available online immediately, and the party has
largely stopped using paper copies.
Ahead of assemblies, a proposals committee (Antragskommission) structures the
proposals and suggests an agenda. Proponents are invited to a face-to-face meeting to
discuss and combine as many of the proposals as possible. This is necessary because
234 G. Thuermer
for any assembly several hundred or even a thousand proposals may be submitted, but
only twenty to thirty can be discussed. One of the roles of the committee is to reduce
the amount of controversy—and by extension the number of proposals—by finding
consensus ahead of the assembly. The result of this process is a recommendation that
combines all the proposals for which consensus could be found. Since 2018, this is
also visible in real-time in the Antragsgrün.
At assemblies, statutes and overarching procedural rules mandate the proceed-
ings. The Green Party alone makes a strict distinction between women and men in
discussions. Some speeches are set, other speakers are drawn by lot, intended to give
all delegates an equal opportunity to influence the conference (Frankland, 2008).
Speakers’ lists are divided by gender, women and ‘others’ alternate, and if more
men than women want to speak, this requires approval by the assembly. In its offline
processes, the party addresses gender inequalities throughout: strict quotas for all
elections, speaker lists divided by gender, and women-only discussions and votes
are all used to enable female members’ participation. However, no such protections
are currently applied in their online processes (Thuermer, 2018).
The party was very careful in its adoption and subsequent development of online
tools: the Antragsgrün includes a discussion process, which has been consciously
excluded from use, because, as a member of staff in the federal branch explained
in 2014, ‘you just reach limits of practicality’. It would be impossible to keep all
members—including those that still wanted all documents on paper—informed about
the latest status of the proposals, let alone the discussion about them. The process
would be very easy to do online, but could not be made compatible with offline
processes. Members who could not participate online would be at a practical disad-
vantage in a process that is governed by the party. Accordingly, to treat all members
equally, online discussions on party platforms were not used. This has since changed,
and the tool has become so pervasive that its use, including commentary on proposals,
is now common. Although it’s not a statutory tool, the Antragsgrün has become part
of the statutory process: a delegate assembly decision mandated that supporters be
validated through the tool. However, members can still submit and support proposals
by email, on paper, or by fax.
These decisions about the tools are a way for the party to formalise their use,
pace their introduction, and embed them in existing processes. As Fitzpatrick points
out, longer-standing members know processes ‘as they used to be’, and they may
need time and support to adapt to new online tools, whereas new members may
expect ‘modern’ solutions. This is especially relevant for the Green Party, given the
30,000 new members who now settle into (or disrupt) their participation processes.
The executive board was already aware of the need to cater for different groups of
members, and this has now extended to using online tools to reach out to the new
cohort, while carefully educating older members.
12.4.2 Pirate Party
The tool situation looks rather different in the Pirate Party. The party strove ‘to
increase and promote every individual’s direct and indirect opportunities for demo-
cratic participation’ (Piratenpartei Deutschland, 2012, p. 4), and this was reflected
in how they functioned. Instead of electing delegates, each member could attend and
vote at assemblies. Alongside these assemblies, the party made extensive use of online
tools for both communication and participation (Heimrich, 2013). Transparency was
of particular importance, which meant that all documentation was publically avail-
able in a central online archive, the Piratenwiki (Bieber & Lewitzki, 2012). This was
used for knowledge management and was accompanied by collaborative writing
tools, mailing lists and a forum for communication, as well as a VoIP platform for
conference calls.
The party tried for years to establish a system in which binding decisions could
be made online. In 2010, a general assembly decided to set up a Liquid Feedback test
platform—at the time a popular solution for liquid democracy, in which participants
could either decide about proposals themselves or delegate their decision-making
power to another member of their choice. This introduction was accompanied by
fierce debates about the statutory position of the system and its use for binding deci-
sions. Officially, it should have been used only for opinion polls, and explicitly not
for binding votes, since this would have required it to be made statutory. While the
assembly decided to test the tool, it decided against making it statutory. The discus-
sions about the role of the tool have continued, until the party decided to introduce
a decentralised voting system for another test—the Basisentscheid (grassroots deci-
sion), which would have allowed voting online, or alternatively by ballot box or
letter. Despite this momentous decision, the Basisentscheid met with both technical
and legal challenges, and development of the platform, which was never functional,
was discontinued in 2014.
All of the platforms in the Pirate Party have been developed either by party
members in their own time or as open-source software outside of the party. While
this speaks to the considerable skill available to the party, it also meant that the tools
were always dependent on members who took care of development and support. The
party did hire IT staff in 2013, but this was for support rather than tool development.2
Consequently, the party had very little control of or influence on the tools through
which its members participated.
In formal processes, proposals were mainly developed by working groups, using
various online tools. According to the statutes, proposals needed to be submitted
to the executive board by five members. In practice, they were submitted through
a publicly accessible wiki-page, the Antragsportal. They could also be sent to the
board by email, which was sometimes done for privacy reasons. Proposals were then
collated and assessed by a committee, commissioned by the executive board. The
committee only assessed formal requirements, such as submission deadlines and
2 https://redmine.piratenpartei.de/issues/1419.
236 G. Thuermer
the eligibility of members. It also decided which proposals were competing, and
developed a draft agenda for the assembly.
Just as in the Green Party, the general members’ assemblies in the Pirate Party
could only discuss and decide about a few dozen proposals, while several hundred or
several thousand were regularly submitted. However, the pirates had no intention of
deciding on all proposals. Consequently, the agenda of the assembly predetermined
which decisions could be made. The executive board had little influence over this
process; while it set the broad context of the agenda, thereby limiting the types
of proposals that would be eligible, the assembly decided what would be discussed
and—crucially—in which order. The discussion regularly revolved around the means
by which the order of proposals was determined, rather than their actual order. The
insecurity about which proposals would be discussed made it impossible for members
to prepare for them. As one of the organisers described it, ‘Far too many members
attend the assembly with at best only a rudimentary reading of the proposals’.
In contrast to the Green Party, the pirates had neither a formal body, nor established
representative groups that could attempt to find consensus in advance of assemblies
to ease this process. The online discussions were vast, spread across a large number of
platforms and groups, and therefore impossible to direct or consolidate. If consensus
was found, this happened rather accidentally, when the right set of members met on
the right communication channel. Some attempts were made to prepare members
for their participation and find consensus: potential key proposals were discussed
online in internal media and discussion groups, as well as in face-to-face meetings.
A formal attempt at a ‘consensus meeting’ never happened, because time constraints
in the statutes did not allow it: the deadline for proposals was four weeks in advance
of the assembly, and the majority was submitted in the last hour before the deadline.
Even if consensus were found afterwards, the statutes did not allow amendments to
the proposal.
The Pirate Party considered equality in all of its processes, but inequalities in
none. One example of this was how the party assumed that all members had internet
access, and thus all online processes were considered to be accessible by default. As
stated by a member of the team that organises general assemblies, ‘The claim that
there were members who are excluded because they did not have internet access or
a computer comes up frequently (…) But despite searching for them, I have never
seen this “offline-pirate”’.
The party used the web to collaborate and overcome distance, so members with
fewer financial resources could participate without spending money on travelling.
Yet whether they could actually be represented at the assembly depended on their
ability to attend, which was limited by their available time and financial resources.
If they could not attend, they were not represented, regardless of how much time and
resources they may have spent on proposals. Despite potential inequalities having
been discussed in the party, no steps were taken to formally address these issues. A
representational system was seen as contradicting the ideal of grassroots democracy,
as a member of the PR team described: ‘The advantages of grassroots democracy
cannot be valued highly enough (…) One is not just a paying member, but truly
participates’.
Gender differences were treated similarly: they were not addressed at all. The party
does not gather data on the gender of their members, but external studies suggest
that approximately 8.5% identified as women (Neumann, 2011). The party actively
decided against a women’s quota; the current executive board has only one woman
among its eight members. Because women have the same position in the process
as men, without any consideration to their potentially different starting point, their
requirements for equal participation were perceived as satisfied.
The lack of decisions—or implementation of decisions—about the tools meant
that, despite many claims to the contrary, the Pirate Party never had a large degree
of control over the tools through which its members participated. However, this was
not seen as a disadvantage, but rather as a strength. As outlined by Fitzpatrick with
regard to recruitment, the routes through which parties recruit members determine
the composition of their membership base. The Pirate Party did indeed recruit online,
though joining offline, for example by filling in a form at a market stall, or by sending a
letter to a local branch, was equally possible. However, the participation tools outside
of assemblies were solely designed for online participation, and so alternative routes
were barely considered. This contrasted strongly with formal decisions being made
only by offline assemblies; there is some evidence that both routes attracted different
groups of members.
12.5 Effects of Online Participation Platforms
The greens and the pirates have many challenges in common, but go about solving
them differently. They are both founded on grassroots democracy, direct participation
and transparency, they want to be seen as an alternative to previously established
parties, and their members have a strong position, with the party structure supporting
their power. Both want to use the web to enable extensive members’ participation. In
this section, I focus on the differences between both parties’ approaches to addressing
their challenges with online participation.
The parties differ in when and how they develop consensus. The Green Party has an
informal yet institutionalised meeting of proponents ahead of the delegate assembly.
The Pirate Party has no process; consensus may be sought between members making
similar proposals, or working groups who decide to pool their resources, but none
of this is institutionalised. This is partly predetermined by both parties’ statutes:
whereas the greens can amend proposals at short notice, the pirates do not allow this;
instead, they institutionalised a process for the order of proposals on assemblies’
agendas, through an online ranking survey among members. This way, members
predetermine the possible decision at assemblies. The greens have formalised wings,
which help to structure decision-making processes. Since the pirates do not have
these, structured cooperation between competing groups is impossible. This means
that consensus can be neither sought nor found, as negotiations are prevented by
the lack of representatives. Decisions are made by conflict rather than by consensus.
While both parties use online platforms for discussions, only the Green Party has
238 G. Thuermer
a tool (the Antragsgrün) that allows some level of centralisation, where members
of different inclinations can address their differences in a structured way. However,
neither party has a focused tool to enable online discussions at scale or to make
decisions online.
The most striking difference between the parties’ use of online tools is their reasons
for using them. In the Green Party, everything happens offline by default. If anything
is done online, it is a conscious decision, aimed at making processes faster, cheaper,
or more inclusive, such as making content more accessible to improve participation.
For the Pirate Party, everything is online by default, apart from some exceptions that
are deliberately kept offline, such as elections, or the use of face-to-face discussions
to improve results.
The reason for the Pirate Party to use the web is the reason for the Green Party
not to. Both use arguments related to participation and equality. While the Green
Party very hesitantly adopted online discussion platforms, as it wanted to prevent
the exclusion of members who do not have access or sufficient skills to use them,
the Pirate Party uses online platforms specifically so that everyone can participate.
Where the Green Party assumed that not all members can participate online, the
Pirate Party assumed that all their members do. Interestingly, neither of the parties
has evidence for its assumption: judging by the percentage of members that can be
reached by email (84% in the Green Party; 92% in the Pirate Party3 ), the difference
may be smaller than they think.
Members of the Pirate Party speak about web tools as ‘natural, taken for granted,
totally normal’. Often, the variety of tools that is used is so innate to them that they
hardly even consider it as something extraordinary. Members of the Green Party
however showed that same ‘innate’ attitude to offline methods. This may be partly
dependent on the age of the members that were interviewed; the age difference may
well influence the parties’ situations more generally. The average age of a Green
Party member is 49 years (Niedermayer, 2019), and that of a Pirate Party member is
38 years (Piratenpartei Deutschland, 2015).
In the Green Party, online tools are a formal part of processes and included in its
regulations. For the Pirate Party, although online tools are used extensively, their use
is far less formalised, to the degree that they are hardly mentioned in its regulations.
All processes could in theory (but not in practice) be performed offline.
The Green Party makes only limited use of online tools for the discussion of
proposals. While the Antragsgrün allows comments, discussions happen primarily
on privately owned platforms such as Facebook. The consensus meeting that the
party holds happens face to face. The Pirate Party does not support face to face
(or indeed any) central meetings for proposal discussions. This is instead arranged
by members themselves, through party-internal online tools, or local offline meet-
ings. Instead of suggesting alternatives to submitted proposals, proposals are refined
before they are submitted. Attempts to make them capable of consensus through
LiquidFeedback, where controversial elements could be spotted and resolved, were
unsuccessful. However, even if these attempts had succeeded, this could only have
3 As per information provided by both party administrations.

created consensus among members who used the platform. There are no data to
confirm the overlap between the participants of online platforms and attendees of
general assemblies; the preparation and actual decision may well be down to two
very different subsets of members.
The Pirate Party mainly used the web to communicate across regional borders;
regional branches were irrelevant for policy work. By contrast, local branches in the
Green Party have more weight both in regard to assemblies and as a platform for
discussion. This may be an effect of the web, or the difference in the assemblies:
the greens hold delegate assemblies, the pirates hold general members’ assemblies.
Since delegates are elected by the local branches, the branch is more important in the
Green Party. This barrier does not exist for the Pirate Party, where all members can
attend assemblies, at least in theory. In practice, the lack of representation is more
exclusive than the openness of the assembly is inclusive.
Both parties have a different view on inequalities, and they address them through
different means. The main concern of the Green Party is equal participation for
women. This is addressed through a variety of regulations to support them, albeit none
of these are applied online. The Pirate Party perceives representation as exclusive,
and it allows all members to participate in all processes directly, and only directly.
With regard to online processes, the main concerns of the Green Party are Internet
access and skills. With online processes in which not all members would be able
to participate, the party would generate an inequality that it painstakingly tries to
prevent. Online tools are used to make information accessible; this is beneficial
regardless of potential exclusion, as it increases accessibility, even though it can
only be used by members who are online. Online tools may not have led to equality,
but they have still reduced inequality and increased participation.
The Pirate Party followed the same argument about web access with regard
to binding online decisions, but not for the preparation of decisions. Proposals
were developed, submitted, and discussed primarily online, through party-owned
or mediated platforms, but not structured or organised by the party. There were no
offline means available for members to access or submit proposals. Discussions were
possible at local meetings, but these had a very limited range, since real influence
could only be exercised by attending decision-making assemblies.
Whereas in the Green Party every member is represented at party conferences
through their delegate, members of the Pirate Party who could not attend them-
selves were not represented at all. These potential exclusion criteria were frequently
discussed, and while attempts were made to address them, for example through
low-cost solutions to attend assemblies, a party-mediated solution was never found.
12.6 Conclusion
In summary, the Green Party was very conscious of inequalities, and it attempted to
reduce or at least not to increase them. The Pirate Party attempted to achieve equality
240 G. Thuermer
by creating a uniform starting position for all members, but it did not acknowl-
edge that this would not result in equal participation; the digital-divide literature—
including studies of the Pirate Party—has shown time and time again that where
members’ circumstances are not equal, but influenced through gender, personal and
financial situations, etc., the supposedly equal opportunities for participation lead to
inequalities.
The Green Party is older, and ahead of the Pirate Party in terms of organisational
development and experience. The Pirate Party is a lot younger, and it may yet make
some of the structural decisions the Green Party has made.
The Green Party includes online elements in its process regulation, the Pirate Party
does not. The formal structure of processes is stronger in the Green Party, and its use
of online tools in processes is well regulated or even consciously excluded. From the
point of view of the Pirate Party, regulations around online tools are not necessary;
the party simply provides tools to all members, and how they use these tools is up
to them. Therefore, the use of online tools is, while prevalent, also predominantly
informal.
The Green Party uses online tools to amplify or improve existing administra-
tive and participative processes and to prepare formal decision-making. The Pirate
Party develops new processes based on the web; however, it could be argued that
these processes—such as the surveys to determine assembly agendas—arose through
necessity because of gaps in other places, such as consensus development. Since the
party never had processes that were not online, it could be argued that online tools
were not used to amplify, but instead to build these processes in the first place. Neither
of the parties has processes for binding online decisions, but for different reasons:
the Green Party does not (yet?) want them due to the concerns over their security
and reliability; the Pirate Party simply failed to implement what they wanted.
The parties clearly differ in their recognition and actions concerning inequalities.
While the Green Party is very aware of inequalities and considers them in its process
designs, the Pirate Party assumes that the web makes participation equally possible
for all members, and consequently, it does not consider inequalities at all. The Pirate
Party’s openness to participation without control for imbalance has led to inequali-
ties, but its refusal to acknowledge or even investigate this meant that it was unable
to do anything about it. This is comparable to what happened with gender differ-
ences in the Green Party, where no measures were applied online, and consequently,
inequalities were created; but the Green Party acknowledged and investigated these
issues, and it is actively seeking solutions. Where the Pirate Party focuses on the
greatest participation, the Green Party, also wanting more participation, prioritises
equality within that participation.
As argued initially, both the Green Party and the Pirate Party can be consid-
ered to be Movement Parties. While their programmatic commitments overlap to
some degree, their focus—ecology and gender equality, social justice, transparency
and new forms of democracy—is only slightly different. Both are committed to
democracy; they want to change the system, but not radically; both wish for more
participation of both members and citizens.
However, in their formal organisation, the parties differ significantly. While the
Green Party relies on structure, hierarchy, and delegation, the Pirate Party has neither
of these beyond the minimum legal requirements, and instead, it relies on direct
participation throughout all of its processes. This brings us back to what Fitzpatrick
argues regarding party membership: digital solutions are crucial for how the parties
function, both with regard to integrating their members and central administration
and hierarchy. While both parties use digital tools extensively for administration and
are attempting to do so to integrate members, there are clear differences in their
implementation.
In their use of the online tools, and especially in their recognition of inequalities,
the parties could hardly be more different in their attitude. The Green Party, with
its long-established offline processes, carefully picks its route into allowing—and
formally establishing!—new online processes, to support and improve what it has
always done offline. The Pirate Party approaches all participation with an online-
first attitude. This shows in its use of the online tools and in the very design for
participatory processes. While the use of online tools alone may not determine the
culture of a party, it appears to have a strong influence on the decisions that are
made about how participation is conducted. This difference in approach justifies the
distinction of a Web-Native Movement Party.
This chapter has looked at the differences in participation processes between the
Green Party and the Pirate Party Germany. With a sample of two parties, both in the
cultural context of Germany, caution is warranted when drawing conclusions beyond
that sample. However, given that the German political system has very strict rules
around what is required, and what is or is not allowed with regard to participation,
e.g. online assemblies are not legally possible (Robbe, 2011), online participation
should be easier in less restrictive contexts.
12.7 Note on Positionality
My research is motivated and shaped by personal experience. I was an active politician

in Germany between 2009 and 2014, and I spent two terms (2011/12 and 2013/14)
on the executive board of the Pirate Party Germany. In that capacity, I participated
in many of the discussions and used all of the tools I describe. I left the Pirate Party
in 2014, and I have not had any personal political affiliation ever since. While I
have conducted research with the Green Party Germany from 2014 onwards and was
provided with access to their internal platforms, I am not, and never have been, a
member of that party. My role was that of an external observer.
242 G. Thuermer
Annex 1: List of Party Documents
Green Party Germany
1. Geschäftsordnung Der Bundesversammlungen Kiel: 33. Ordentliche Bundes-

delegiertenkonferenz. (Procedural rules for national assemblies: Kiel,
33rd regular national delegate assembly) (2011). [Accessed 1 Sep
2015]. https://www.gruene.de/fileadmin/user_upload/Dokumente/20120718_
Geschaeftsordnung_BDK.pdf.
2. Antragsübersicht 34. Ordentliche Bundesdelegiertenkonferenz (16–18
November 2012) (Proposals for the 34th regular national delegate assembly).
[Accessed 1 Sep 2015]. https://www.gruene.de/fileadmin/user_upload/Dok
umente/BDK_2012_Hannover_Antraege/BDK_Hannover_2012_Alle_Ant
raege_1_Verschickung.pdf.
3. Grüne Regeln (Satzung). (Statutes) (2012). [Accessed 1 Sep 2015]. https://
www.gruene.de/fileadmin/user_upload/Dokumente/Satzung/150425_-_Sat
zung_Bundesverband.pdf.
Pirate Party Germany
1. Liquid Feedback. (2015) [Accessed 25 July 2015]. https://www.piratenpartei.

de/mitmachen/arbeitsweise-und-tools/liquid-feedback/.
2. Bundessatzung. (National statutes) (2015) [Accessed 16 June 2015]. http://wiki.
piratenpartei.de/wiki/index.php?title=Bundessatzung&oldid=2396772.
3. Basisentscheid Entscheidsordnung. (Grass-roots decision rules) (2013)
[Accessed 16 June 2015]. http://wiki.piratenpartei.de/wiki/index.php?title=Bas
isentscheid/Entscheidsordnung&oldid=2193021.
4. Geschäftsordnung Bundesparteitag 2014.1. (Rules of procedure for general
assembly 2014–1) [Accessed 1 July 2015]. http://wiki.piratenpartei.de/wiki/
index.php?title=Bundesparteitag_2014.1/Gesch%C3%A4ftsordnung&oldid=
2263%20107.
Annex 2: Interviews
Green Party Germany
1. A member of staff of the federal office, working in organisation and support of

committees, and in charge of the preparation of party conferences.
2. A local branch representative from North Rhine-Westphalia and delegate for
the party conference.
3. A member of the party leadership team, involved in decisions about, and

preparations for, general assemblies.
Pirate Party Germany
1. A member of the organisational team that manages general assemblies and

prepares the procedural rules.
2. A long-time member of the party who is active in the area of public relations
and is familiar with processes through communicating them.
3. A former member of the motion committee, who was in charge of categorising
and structuring incoming motions.
4. A member of the team that prepares and organises general assemblies, who was
involved in the voting process.
5. A member of the team that works on the implementation of online votes.
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Chapter 13
Tactical Web Use in Bumpy
Times—A Comparison of Conservative
Parties’ Digital Presence
Isabelle Borucki and Jasmin Fitzpatrick
Abstract Modern-day party politics happen on two grounds: the offline sphere and
the online sphere. It is the primary understanding of this chapter that both spheres
complement each other. We therefore focus our contribution on governing parties
and help to close this gap between online and offline communication and organi-
sation by asking: How do conservative, governing parties deploy social media over
a number of successful election campaigns? We explore whether there are tactical
patterns or tendencies of media presence between different party channels during
campaign and normal times with a longitudinal approach. Second, we introduce a
multi-modal comparative research design and deliver theoretical arguments for the
cases considered. Third, we conduct a multi-channel analysis of political parties’
online presence with a focus on party websites and Facebook fan pages.
Keywords Conservative parties · Digital parties · Web-based technologies
13.1 Introduction
Modern-day party politics happen on two grounds: the offline sphere and the online
sphere. It is the primary understanding of this chapter that both spheres complement
each other. In particular, newly emerging and often right-wing populist parties (e.g.
the Sweden Democrats in Sweden, the Alternative for Germany, or UKIP in the UK)
as well as other emerging parties (Five Star Movement in Italy, Podemos in Spain)
Jasmin Fitzpatrick—Alphabetical order, but both authors contributed equally to this chapter. Isabelle
Borucki was responsible for parts of the theory, case design and method, and the Facebook study
and analysis. Jasmin Fitzpatrick developed the research question, assumptions, literature review,
theory, and parts of the case design, and conducted the website analysis.
I. Borucki (B)
University of Siegen, Siegen, Germany
e-mail: isabelle.borucki@uni-due.de
J. Fitzpatrick
Johannes Gutenberg-University Mainz, Mainz, Germany
e-mail: fitzpatrick@politik.uni-mainz.de
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-78668-7_13
246 I. Borucki and J. Fitzpatrick
learnt to integrate web-based technologies during their political rise, and they used
these technologies to bypass the mainstream media (e.g. Gerbaudo, 2018). These
populist and right-wing parties have become a focus in scholarly literature on parties’
use of the web (e.g. Engesser et al., 2017; Hartleb 2020 in this volume; Thuermer
2020 in this volume). Many analyses so far have focused on opposition parties with
the classical role and function of attacking the competitor. This contribution takes a
different perspective: large established parties and governing parties face the chal-
lenge of implementing web-based technologies under special circumstances—they
have to re-invent themselves without losing their character and identity. They already
have a large heterogeneous (and therefore difficult to administer) membership base,
which is diverse in its demands. Traditional local units and their meetings are familiar
to many members. At the same time, web-based communication and organisation
might attract new supporters.
We therefore focus our contribution on governing parties and help to close this
gap between online and offline communication and organisation by asking: How
do conservative, governing parties deploy social media over a number of successful
election campaigns? We explore whether there are tactical patterns or tendencies
of media presence between different party channels during campaign and normal
times with a longitudinal approach. Second, we introduce a multi-modal comparative
research design and deliver theoretical arguments for the cases considered. Third, we
conduct a multi-channel analysis of political parties’ online presence with a focus
on party websites and Facebook fan pages.
13.2 Mainstream Parties in the Digital: Public Image,

Leadership and Membership
Party membership, leadership, and public image are key elements of party organisa-
tion. All three aspects underwent changes triggered by technology and digitalisation,
and parties may benefit from migrating these aspects into the digital (cf. Fitzpatrick,
2020 in this volume for an overview). Membership, leadership and public image
have always been important dimensions covered by party change research (Katz &
Mair, 1995; Kirchheimer, 1965; Michels, 1911; Panebianco, 1988). In the following
literature review, we point out how parties were influenced by technological change
and digitalisation.
The first dimension we would like to address in this chapter is the public image
that parties portray online. Those individuals loosely affiliated with a party probably
do not have access to internal party material. However, they are important supporters
of parties. These individuals rely at least in part on information provided by the
party to the public in general. In this vein, we agree with Scarrow (2014), who also
stresses the importance of party websites. Yet, we are convinced that websites allow
for more than the analysis of member involvement. Parties can advertise aspects
of their political programme, push their elites, point to events, deliver background
13 Tactical Web Use in Bumpy Times—A Comparison … 247
information on decisions, guide users to social media platforms,1 and much more.
A smart mix of content and design enables a party to create a certain image through
this online front window.
Parties’ websites were analysed by scholars in the past with different emphases
(e.g. Ackland & Gibson, 2013; Cardenal, 2011; Følstad et al., 2014; Gibson et al.,
2013; Koc-Michalska et al., 2016; Lee, 2014; Lilleker et al., 2011; Rutter et al.,
2018; Scarrow, 2014). Lilleker et al. (2011) identify four key functions of websites,
which were also used by others as a coding scheme (e.g. Følstad et al., 2014). These
four functions are (i) informing, (ii) engaging (iii) mobilising, and (iv) interacting.
They vary in terms of their activation of the user. While a user is rather a passive
consumer of information, engaging encompasses the aspect of inspiring users as
well as motivating them to re-visit the website and ‘to dive deeper’. Still, no real
action is required. The mobilising function eventually turns a user into an activist,
while the interacting function creates dialogue between the user and organisation
representatives (Lilleker et al., 2011, pp. 198–199). For our own analysis, we expect
parties’ websites to cover the four functions: inform, engage, mobilise, and interact.
Accordingly, we expect to identify information content (news, programmes, etc.).
Not only, but especially during campaign season, we expect parties to increase content
which is supposed to engage2 people and to a similar degree to mobilise individuals
by either donating or active involvement. Since interaction is a costly aspect, we
believe that opportunities will be provided, but they will not be immediately visible.
Instead, we expect links to social media platforms to appear as a functional equivalent.
Based on these strands of literature, we derive assumptions for our analysis. Since
some of our data do not allow for statistical testing, we do not necessarily regard
these assumptions as hypotheses in a strictly quantitative fashion.
Assumption 1: Parties’ websites intend to inform, engage, mobilise and interact
with visitors.
Assumption 2: Interactive elements will be hidden or absent. Instead, links to
appearances on social media will be frequent.
Over time, we expect parties first to experiment with different tools and then to
focus on a few that perform well. Facebook and Twitter became established and influ-
ential platforms, and we expect websites to link to these platforms during the whole
observation period. Other platforms, such as Google+, Flickr, Tumblr or Snapchat
might be embedded at some observation points, however not consistently. This also
has the effect of parties appearing trendy and always present on the newest channel.
For this reason, we expect to find Instagram as the latest addition to the social media
portfolio.
1 This aspect is especially important for the analysis of cross-media communication.

2 Out of the four aspects, this is probably the most difficult to identify. Lilleker et al. (2011, p. 198)
point to visual and audio elements embedded in the website in order to make visitors revisit the
page. This type of content is more entertaining. In marketing literature, ‘engagement is defined as
the process of developing a cognitive, affective and behavioural [sic!] commitment to an active rela-
tionship with the website’ (Demangeot & Broderick, 2016, p. 820). Therefore, we coded elements
that we regard as intended to create a relationship with the visitor.
Assumption 3: While Facebook and Twitter provide continuity, parties experiment

with other social media platforms.
The four functions (informing, engaging, mobilising, and interacting) correspond
to three aspects in the Public Image pillar (Fitzpatrick, 2020, in this volume): Acces-
sibility is created by interaction with the users as well as up-to-date and relevant
information presented on the website. Transparency is realised by displaying infor-
mation on policy preferences as well as internal procedures on decision-making.
Parties’ responsiveness relates to their capability to deal with input by members and
supporters. This means, for example, that they provide contact information, contact
forms or links to platforms where asynchronous dialogue is possible. All three aspects
of the Public Image (accessibility, transparency, responsiveness) correspond to the
concept of branding. In a recent study, Rutter et al. (2018) highlight the transferability
of this marketing term to online party research. This approach acknowledges that (a)
human characteristics can be transferred to organisations such as political parties, (b)
adherents respond positively to these characteristics, and (c) parties employ branding
techniques to create a relationship with their adherents. Rutter et al. (2018) conduct a
dictionary-based analysis of website content for British political parties. Their results
show differences between the parties. The conservatives, for example, emphasise
their (economic) competence. According to Rutter et al. (2018, p. 204), this can be
expected from a party in government. We expect the same for other conservative
parties and as well for channels other than parties’ websites. Labour’s emphasis is
on competence and ruggedness (Rutter et al., 2018, pp. 204–205). Referring to other
authors, Rutter et al., (2018, p. 207) state that ‘[a] party’s personality is formed
through the interaction among electorate, the party leader, the party, and its policies’
and that ‘[r]uling parties or more established parties may also find it more difficult
to manoeuver their personality’.
Whereas Rutter and colleagues focus only on the content, it is also worth including
aspects of web design. This includes the placement, font size, and colour as well as
the use and content of pictures. Websites might provide this information directly
or link to other websites. These hyperlinks were the research object of Ackland and
Gibson (2013), who distinguish three types of hyperlinks, which they term according
to their functions: reinforcement, forced multiplication, and opponent dismissal.
Ackland and Gibson (2013) do not include social media in their study. However,
Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and others may serve the same purpose as links to other
websites. In our study, we draw connections between the cross-media deployment
of websites and Facebook.
While some argue that party membership decline results in party decline, a more
recent perspective focuses on how parties are adapting to the new circumstances—
without doom-laden prophecies of parties’ decline (e.g. Gauja, 2015). Recruitment of
new members as well as the integration of members pose challenges for all parties.
Mair (1994) pointed to several cases of parties considering members as vital for
parties’ legitimation and the mobilisation of voters as well as for their funding. Mair
(p. 16) already observed the trend of empowering ordinary members rather than the
middle-level elite, because ordinary members are less likely to oppose decisions and
positions made by the party leadership.3 This observation is especially valuable when
we look at the changed concept of party membership after parties adopted more and
more web-based technologies, because these often intend to strengthen the grassroots
and loose affiliates. This optimistic view was based on the low access costs and the
ubiquitous and asynchronous nature of digital communication. While some studies
still diagnose an advantage of larger parties (e.g. Koc-Michalska et al., 2016; Margolis
et al., 2003), others observe advantages for small and new parties (Margetts, 2006).
Analysing Spanish parties, Cardenal (2011, p. 98) finds that ‘large, non-ideological,
non-bureaucratic and challengers tend to have greater incentives to use the Internet
for political mobilisation’. Cardenal (2011) calls the ‘under-exploiting’ use of the
Internet by parties paradoxical. She explains that while the Internet holds promising
potential for maximising support, parties are not using this potential to its full extent
(Cardenal, 2011, p. 84). Faucher (2015) focuses on the mode parties use to approach
individualised citizens. She observes tendencies of blurring the membership concept
and an opening of decision-making processes within parties—especially regarding
leadership selection (2015, p. 408). In a similar notion, Scarrow (2014) presents a
‘new schema [of party membership, which] rejects rigid distinctions between party
activists, other members, and loose supporters’ (Scarrow, 2014, p. 14). Her litera-
ture review results in a suggestion for a modified version of Duverger’s concentric
circles, the quantum model of activism (2014, p. 32), and she presents the so-called
multi-speed membership model. This model consists of eight different modes that
an individual can choose from to support the preferred party. The role adopted by
an individual can overlap with other (simultaneous) roles and change quickly into a
different mode (Scarrow, 2014, chpt. 2). The multi-speed approach is characterised
by a party’s attempt to increase traditional membership as well as to explore new
ways of engagement4 (Scarrow, 2014, p. 128). In her analysis, Scarrow relies on
websites to analyse the means that parties use to encourage party membership and
affiliation (Scarrow, 2014, chpt. 6). Overall, parties provide different opportunities
to join, donate and volunteer (Scarrow, 2014, p. 148).
Respecting these different speeds of membership, we expect parties to gather
different forms of resources through websites. This becomes visible in calls for
donations, participation and membership via buttons and sign-up forms.
Assumption 4: We expect to find different content tailored for different target
groups according to the multi-speed membership model.
We expect similar patterns on Facebook, where parties customise their content
for different membership and supporter groups. For those loosely affiliated, they
3 Gauja (2015) points out that Mair’s work leads to a specific path for parties: instead of relying
on members, they search for alternative sources to cover their demands and remain in place. This
cartel party thesis (Katz & Mair, 1995) has widely influenced party research; however, a different
perspective allows for a new understanding of parties’ adaption processes. Gauja (2015) suggests
connecting party organisation research with participation research. We follow this thought.
4 New, spontaneous, and selective forms of party participation may correspond to the logic of
‘connective action’ described by Bennet and Segerberg (2012), as long as the party as an organisation
is not the centre of political activism practised by an individual (2012, p. 752).
provide information on policy issues and leaders that users can easily consume, like
or share—especially since research indicates that those groups might be more active
than members (Webb et al., 2017). For members, we expect parties to announce
exclusive events, mobilise for intra-party elections, etc. In general, we expect that
parties use websites as content hubs, and Facebook to hint towards press releases,
party programmes, etc. published on the websites, and to mobilise both members
and supporters.
Assumption 5: We expect Facebook profiles to cater to different groups, similarly
to websites.
Assumption 6: We expect websites to serve as content hubs and Facebook to refer
to website content and act as a mobilisation device.
A large supporter base is still important for the multi-speed membership party
(Gomez & Ramiro, 2017; Scarrow, 2014). We think that mining websites is useful
beyond the analysis of membership, but also provides information on leadership
styles and the portrayal of a public image. As Panebianco (1988) and Baker (2014)
put it, party leadership and party membership follow different incentives to engage
in a party. Careerists in a party seek status, material incentives and power, whereas
rank and file members seek an ideological home striving for solidarity, ideology and
identity. Accordingly, Baker (2014) finds out that influencers and multipliers play
a major role in supporting candidates running for office when relying on PACs5 as
supporting infrastructures. From a functional perspective, it is acknowledged that one
of the key functions of political parties in democracies is the recruitment of political
personnel, who are willing and capable of taking responsibilities within democratic
institutions (e.g. Norris, 1997). Leaders and candidates, therefore, are crucial within
the party and outside the party for the state and society.
Digital technologies enable parties to encourage members to become more
involved through new modes of leader selection, e.g. by e-voting. Leadership litera-
ture focuses rather on mechanisms of their selection and election, such as primaries
and the respective voting technique (Aylott & Bolin, 2016; Chiru & Gherghina, 2017;
Chiru et al., 2015) or the instrumentalisation of primaries towards party membership
(Astudillo & Detterbeck, 2018). For candidates and leaders, web-based communi-
cation technologies also provide a considerable and nowadays crucial channel for
campaigning and relationship management. Especially in election times, confronted
with a ‘high-choice environment’ (Aldrich et al., 2016; Van Aelst et al., 2017),
a straight communication strategy—both within and outside the party—is of the
highest importance to gain voters and maintain supporters and activists.
For our purposes, it is crucial to see who the leaders are and how they are displayed
via the official party communication channels. Referring to Koger et al. (2009),
we assume parties as political networks. This holds against the above-mentioned
notion of parties as vertically organised hierarchies. Our approach to investigate the
travel between media platforms fits into the picture of networked communication
5 Political Action Committees.

and parties as political networks that provide information via their public presence
that is their website and Facebook fan pages.
In parliamentary systems, we expect parties to push more than one central figure as
leaders, although the presidentialisation hypothesis (Poguntke & Webb, 2005; Webb
& Poguntke, 2013) suggests the opposite. Duties are often shared between different
leaders of the parties’ board and public office holders. Office holders should receive
more attention than other party-internal leaders. These leading figures will likely be
displayed in a central position on the landing page of a party.
Assumption 7: We expect parties to promote leading figures.
Assumption 8: Opposing the presidentialisation hypotheses, we expect more than
one leading figure to be promoted by parties because of the environment of
parliamentary systems.
Building on recent research on candidate selection (e.g. Ksiazkiewicz et al., 2018;
Laustsen & Bor, 2017), we expect candidates to be displayed as competent, but also
as warm and generally likable. This means we expect ‘in action’ pictures rather
than portraits, and smiling, positive gestures rather than photos with a fierce facial
expression during a speech, for example. Here, we suggest that during campaign
seasons, pictures with ordinary citizens are more common, and during the normal
political routine pictures with other leaders will be more common.
Assumption 9: We expect candidates to be portrayed as competent and warm.
13.3 Case Design and Case Description
An analysis of governing parties with an incumbent bonus, conservative background

and large membership and supporter base provides an in vivo6 analysis of long-
established parties that face the challenge of incorporating web-based technologies
into well-established routines. We think this adds to the existing literature usually
focused on other party families, populist parties or recently emerging parties. For our
analysis, we focus on two parties: The Conservative Party in the UK and Germany’s
Christian Democrats (CDU). We chose a UK and a German party because both coun-
tries have parliamentary systems, and both party systems experience diversification.
Both countries are governed by a conservative party that is challenged by populist
and anti-migration forces within the party as well as by other political forces in the
country. Both countries have recently experienced shifts in party leadership. While in
the UK the conservatives were first led by David Cameron and later by Theresa May,
Angela Merkel was continuously the head of government in Germany. However, the
secretary general of Merkel’s CDU Peter Tauber was replaced by Annegret Kramp-
Karrenbauer after the 2017 Bundestag election, and Angela Merkel stepped down
from her party leadership position in favour of Kramp-Karrenbauer. This allows for
6 In contrast to the quasi in vitro implementation of web-based technologies that small parties with
a moderate number of visitors and media attention can conduct without too much turmoil.
observations during the leadership transition. In terms of Internet coverage rates, we

also find similar conditions: towards the end of 2017, in Germany 96.2% and in the
UK 94.7% of the population had Internet access. In the UK, 66% of the population
had a Facebook account, while almost 38% of the German population had a Face-
book account.7 Among MPs, Facebook and Twitter are the most important social
media channels in both countries, especially in campaigning (Kalsnes et al., 2017;
Stier et al., 2018).
Although appearing as a paired comparison on a party level at first sight (most
similar case design), we actually observe different campaigns between 2013 and
2018, providing a longitudinal study. During this time, social media and the ability
to use them was already widespread, which enables tactical use rather than sheer
random deployment. During this period, in Germany and the UK the conservatives
had competitors on the right wing of the spectrum, with the German AfD shifting
from anti-Euro policy preferences to an entirely xenophobic policy programme after
2015. At the same time, the UK experienced turmoil after the Brexit referendum.
Our sample also contains election campaigns at different levels (local, national,
European). We therefore conduct a ‘small n’ comparison with the relevant points of
measurement included.
13.4 Data and Methods
Our analysis is initially based on two types of data: image capture of parties’ websites
and Facebook fan page posts. For each type, we briefly explain the retrieval process.
Website images were captured via archive.org for each year between 2013 and
2018. This timeframe covers two general elections in Germany (2013 and 2017),
two general elections in the UK (2015 and 2017), and one election for the European
Parliament (2014). Screen captures of the parties’ main website were taken during the
second half of April (depending on availability) in order to observe whether content
first published on the website was later posted or linked on Facebook. However, links
on the first level from the websites were also tested when possible. With this method,
a convergence between media channels could be traced. Table 13.1 displays the exact
date of the screen captures.
As displayed in Table 13.1, the domains of the parties remained stable and the
annual retrieval date was close to the same day each year.
In a next step, a coding scheme was created based on the theoretical frame and
assumptions (see above). During the coding process, additional codes (in italics, see
Table 13.5 in the appendix) were added where the empirical material suggested the
necessity, e.g. the existence of a web shop. We are convinced that these aspects are
7These data were retrieved from https://www.internetworldstats.com/stats4.htm#europe. Accessed

31 Oct 2018.
Table 13.1 Dates and domains for screen captures of parties’ main page
Domain Year Date
CDU cdu.de 2013 Apr 16
2014 Apr 23
2015 Apr 18
2016 Apr 25
2017 Apr 18
2018 Apr 24
Con conservatives.com 2013 Apr 23
2014 Apr 18
2015 Apr 21
2016 Apr 22
2017 Apr 22
2018 Apr 23
well suited to engage people and make them publicly display their support for a party,
which is why we decided to add an own code.8
The second part of our data consists of two panels of Facebook fan pages between
2013 and 2015 and 2016 and 2018. The researched period of each panel was from
24 April to 25 May of each year to compare between phases of campaigning and
everyday politics. Facebook data were retrieved using NetVizz (Rieder, 2013). We
collected both data from the CDU and from the Conservative Party’s fan pages within
the above-mentioned periods and coded the posts and their content with the same
coding scheme as for the websites.9
13.5 Findings
First, we provide an impression of our Facebook data and overall tendencies; and
then we distinguish different periods based on our observations.
Looking at the total counts of posts, likes, comments, shares and reactions10 on
parties’ Facebook fan pages, the picture is ambivalent (Table 13.2). Both parties
had considerable activity during the European electoral year in 2014, whereas the
8 We decided to distinguish between non-display of an aspect (0), a display as one element on the
website (1) and a prominent display (2), for example in connection with a picture, video, link or an
emphasis by size or colour, and to weight these factors accordingly.
9 We thank Tatevik Tophoven-Sedrakyan and Maximilian Wilshaus for their support during the
coding process.
10 These include user-added emoticons and likes. Engagement could be displayed as a ratio or as a
sum of all activities around posts, but without knowing the exact amounts of fans or fan pages, this
is not valid and was not attempted with this data.
Table 13.2 Descriptive counts of analysed Facebook fan pages

Party Year Posts Likes Comments Shares Reactions
Cons 2013 9 3830 25,042 996 NA
2014 (EP) 50 25,926 18,419 4939 NA
2015 (GE) 123 679,161 135,060 132,537 NA
2016 28 13,334 14,959 2572 14,181
2017 (GE) 86 226,053 153,286 64,695 259,030
2018 80 72,662 65,250 18,223 84,005
CDU 2013 (GE) 64 6567 3058 2888 NA
2014 (EP) 114 40,583 10,780 9207 NA
2015 23 9786 5234 1518 NA
2016 30 8491 10,354 1478 9413
2017 (GE) 52 24,129 11,456 4304 26,746
2018 51 19,205 18,775 7595 25,776
Total 710 1,129,727 471,673 250,952 419,151
GE General Election; EP European Parliamentary Election
Bold indicates election years
national election years 2013 and 2017 in Germany and 2015 and 2017 in the UK
suggest a different strategy of using social media. What we can see for the European
election in 2014 is that the UK Conservative Party had 50 posts but the German CDU
had 114 (see Table 13.2). The general elections in both countries were accompanied
by 123 (2015) and 86 (2017) posts in the UK and 64 (2013) and 52 (2017) posts in
Germany. It is plausible that the low number of posts by the UK Conservative Party
during the European campaign can be explained by an overall Euroscepticism and
reservations about European issues.
Additionally, we found a slight yet visible increase of posts during general election
years in both countries. After elections, the number of posts remains stable. The
slight increase in election periods is interpreted as a possible indicator for more
personalisation, because we assume that most campaign activities happen on the
personal candidate fan pages, i.e. of Angela Merkel, David Cameron and Theresa
May, and not on the party channels, though parties do link to candidate profiles. This
is in line with our assumptions 7 and 9 about the prominent display of leading figures
and a warm and caring presentation of popular party leaders.
The distributing behaviour of the fan page owners does not differ a lot over the
years. We see a clear preference of both parties for audio-visual formats, i.e. photos
and videos in the years 2016 to 2018, whereas in the first panel links also played an
important role (see Tables 13.4 and 13.5 in the Appendix). We explain this with the
logic of Facebook. Posting a link does not generate the same reach and impact as
photos or videos due to Facebook algorithms. This is related to our assumption 6:
Facebook is first used to refer to other web content through links.
Overall, we found quite clear time ranges marking different eras in online
developments for the parties observed.
13.5.1 Germany’s CDU 2013–2015: Highlighting Success
In April 2013, the CDU was in the early stages of its campaign for the upcoming
Bundestag election in autumn that same year. When accessing the website, a pop-up
window encouraged users to participate in drafting the election programme. The
slogan translates into ‘what lies close to my heart’. This wording creates a caring,
emotional frame (warmth). The party was clearly relying on Merkel’s leadership
capacities and nimbus. We were able to generate the screen below the pop-up window.
The emphasis of the website was clearly to mobilise visitors, although the pop-up
window aims first at emotionally engaging visitors. Calls to join the party or the
TeAM (Team Angela Merkel) were placed prominently, as was the call for donations.
The video embedded was considered to match the code ‘image film’, although we
were unable to research the exact content via archive.org. On the party’s Facebook
page, 15 videos were posted during the period of our investigation. The CDU hosted
several social media profiles such as Facebook, GPlus, and Twitter. This was the
only time in our sample when the CDU pointed to their MeinVZ presence (German
social media platform).
In 2014, the elections to the European Parliament dominated the web appearance
of the CDU. The party’s secretary general Peter Tauber took a prominent position
in communicating the CDU’s policy stands via the website. The party mobilised
for instance by advertising the possibilities of postal voting or joining the party as
a member. Another emphasis was on information. In the news section, pieces on
policy achievements after the Bundestag election 2013 framed the CDU as reliable.
One news comment referred to Merkel’s speech regarding the budget, which was
estimated to be debt-free, so displaying competence in economy and finance. This
strong suit was emphasised by the leading image at the top of the page, where the
election posters were presented. The messages were ‘security and a stable Euro’
and ‘good work and strong economy’. Both slogans and campaign posters were also
displayed and distributed on the Facebook page. Information and mobilisation were
the main interests of the CDU’s communication on both channels.
For 2015, we were not able to capture the full website, so our data availability
is limited. What we can state is that Helmut Kohl was the centre of attention. The
former chancellor and party veteran are still considered a legend for his achievements
leading to German re-unification. The leading news of the party was the 85th birthday
of Kohl. The image connected to the congratulation was a picture of Kohl smiling
and surrounded by citizens. This picture generates warmth—a leader in the midst
of his adherents. Other content dealt with the digitalisation of Germany and family
policies. The policy issues were also distributed via Facebook, but there was no
congratulation message to Helmut Kohl. Overall, the intention of the website and
especially the fan page was to engage visitors and inform them.
13.5.2 Germany’s CDU in a Transitional Phase in 2016
In 2016, the party’s website was revamped with a new design, which remained until
the end of the observation period. The dominating colour was orange. At the top of
the page, users were invited to sign up for the party’s newsletter. In the orange bar
below the newsletter registration, users were provided with the options to join the
party, donate, log on to the internal platform, contact the party or browse through the
CDU shop. Social media appearances (Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube)
were embedded, as was the web presence of Angela Merkel. The CDU took heavy
losses during the state elections in 2016. However, in Saxony-Anhalt, prime minister
Reiner Haseloff was able to secure his position despite those heavy losses. The
website was dominated by an article congratulating him on his win, while pointing
to his achievements especially in economy. This congratulation was also spread on
the party’s Facebook fan page, using the same sentence from the website. Next to
the picture of the winning candidate was a request for donations. This brings us to
the conclusion that the CDU’s intention was to inform.
13.5.3 Germany’s CDU 2017–2018: Continuity in Design,

Change in Function and Personnel
2017 was dominated by the election to the German Bundestag. Peter Tauber was
again a strong leader on the website. Merkel was not part of the website at this early
stage of campaigning. Instead, the parliamentary party leader, Volker Kauder, was
placed quite prominently with a news article demanding more religious tolerance
from Muslims. Policies on migration, integration and asylum were more than once
implicitly or explicitly mentioned on the website. The Facebook postings focused
more on domestic security, since there were state elections in North-Rhine Westphalia
and Schleswig–Holstein, and this policy field was of high importance.
The top of the website encouraged visitors to take part in the process of drafting
an election programme and asking for donations. This mobilisation appeal was
also distributed via Facebook and Twitter (#schreibezukunft—‘write future’) with
enchanting images and an engaging appeal. Emotional policy topics and the invita-
tion to participate in drafting the election programme suggest that the party wanted to
engage and mobilise users—in line with our assumptions 4 to 6 envisaging a tailored
strategy to mobilise Internet-savvy people and engage them.
In 2018, the CDU assigned a new secretary general: Annegret Kramp-
Karrenbauer. Analysing the website, a first impression was the change of the leading
colour: the orange was lighter, rather a warm yellow. The top of the page remained
vaguely the same (see above). However, Snapchat was added to the array of social
media platforms. Further, the link to the website of Angela Merkel was no longer
represented by her name, but her characteristic hand posture, the so-called Merkel-
Raute (Merkel-Diamond). Below, the new secretary general was introduced. She
was displayed smiling, wearing an orange leather jacket, which repeats the signature
colour of her party and appears less conservative and younger than Merkel’s blazers.
The headline pointed to Kramp-Karrenbauer’s ‘Listening Tour’ (ZuhoerTour), which
was exclusive to CDU members and intended to create a renewed connection to the
grassroots. The tour included 50 appointments and was accompanied by a blog,
videos, and (within our research period) seven posts on the party’s Facebook fan
page, which is in line with our assumptions 5 to 7. The #ZuhoerTour was clearly a
display of warmth and was meant to engage the grassroots. It is also a clear invita-
tion for interaction. Below this central part of the website, the CDU claimed issue
ownership for domestic security in Germany by highlighting the measures that were
included in the coalition treaty. This finding is also backed up, again, by postings on
the party’s Facebook page. The website also informed about health minister Spahn’s
plans for the Nursing Act, which was also accompanied by a post on the Facebook
page. These policy topics were rather emotional in the debate, which justifies the
interpretation that an impression of warmth and caring was supposed to be created
by this content. This clearly addresses assumption 9 of candidates being displayed
as competent and caring. Other content was the call for donations, the invitation to
join the party, and a link to find the nearest local unit. Overall, in 2018, the CDU
pointed to the new party elite and intended to engage and mobilise.
13.5.4 The UK Conservatives 2013–2015: Campaigning

on All Levels
Turning to the website of UK’s Conservative Party, a first observation is that users
did not have to scroll, because the website provided limited content on the landing
page. The general colour used on the website was blue.
In 2013, the local election campaign was the centre of the website and Face-
book, where a video of the prime minister’s campaigning was distributed. On the
website, David Cameron was displayed in the largest image on the page, talking
in a conference-like setting. The message next to him pointed to the local conser-
vative office holders and how they governed ‘for hardworking people’. This is a
claim of competence. Most of the nine posts on Facebook in 2013 addressed this
local election campaign. On the website, the news menu to the right of Cameron’s
image provided the user with other topics: the visitor was invited to express condo-
lences after Thatcher’s death. Another news element was titled ‘Tax cut for 24 m
hardworking people’. This corresponds with the wording of the former mentioned
news element, but has more of a caring component. Below, the visitor was invited to
sign up for the newsletter, follow the Facebook profile, attend the party conference,
view campaign photos or read blog posts. In addition, a search engine was provided,
where users could find their local representatives. Overall, the website showed an
informing, engaging and mobilising function (assumptions 1 and 2).
The main issue in 2014 was the election to the European Parliament and
the tensions between national interests and European Union membership. Again,
Cameron is clearly the uncontested leading figure. The dichotomy between the
Conservative Party and the Labour Party was a central element of the website. The
news element ‘How much would Labour cost you?’ corresponds with ‘Take the fight
to Labour’, a social media campaign led by the hashtag #sharethefacts, which was
also found in nine posts on Facebook in 2014, accompanied with the invitation to
share a video, sign up for a campaign action day, and therefore mobilise.11 Website
visitors were invited to take action and get involved in different ways: they could
donate money, join the party, sign up for the newsletter, get involved in the social
media campaign, or volunteer in the 2015 general election campaign. In 2014, the
focus was on the general election 2015 rather than the EP election. The same is true
for the Facebook fan page. Users on both the website and the fan page were invited
to follow Cameron on Twitter and Facebook. In sum, the function of the website was
clearly to mobilise and serve as a hub (assumption 6).
Data retrieval for 2015 was not possible in an analogue manner, because a pop-
up window redirected to a sign-up form titled ‘Together, we can secure a brighter
future’, originally directing to the domain ‘betterfutu.re’, which was shut down after
the campaign and unavailable through archive.org. ‘Brighter future’ and ‘strong and
stable government’ were slogans of Cameron’s general election campaign, and they
were also used in nine posts on Facebook. On the website, the design of the pop-
up deviates clearly from the blue design of the usual website. ‘Together, we can’
probably refers to Obama’s ‘Yes, we can’ and is larger in font size and printed in
italics. The user was not provided with an option to click ‘no’, but only with ‘yes, I’m
in’ or ‘I’ve not decided yet’, and then to leave an email address and their postcode.
We interpret this as an attempt to engage and mobilise users and make them curious
(assumptions 1 and 2).
13.5.5 UK Conservatives in 2016 and 2017: Experimenting

with Focus, Features and Functions
The year 2016 marked an obvious change in website strategy. Whereas there was
previously a clear emphasis on the party’s leader, Cameron, the new website focused
on the visitor. At the top of the page, the visitor was encouraged to sign up for the
newsletter. The menu at the top linked to the manifesto for the first time during the
observation period. The tabs ‘You and Your family’ and ‘Your Area’ were speaking
to the users, engaging them. ‘Share some facts’, ‘Join’, ‘Donate’ and ‘Volunteer’
11‘Voting Conservative on 22nd May is the only way to get real change in Europe. Watch our
new film, share the link with your friends and family, and if you’re free this weekend, sign up for
one of our campaign Action Days: http://www.conservatives.com/actionday’. Facebook post from
24 April 2014: https://www.facebook.com/8807334278/posts/10152237696409279. Accessed 29
April 2019.
were clear imperatives to mobilise the visitor to the website (assumptions 1 and 2).
A new log-on area was provided for members. Where there was a rather tiny button
that previously led to a web shop, a merchandise campaign now caught the user’s eye:
‘Get the T-shirt’. When users shared content via their Facebook profile, they were
able to collect points and were rewarded for their activity. The call for donations was
changed: users were provided with suggestions for amounts: ₤12, ₤20, ₤50, ₤100,
₤200 or ₤500. In sum, this all leads us to the evaluation that engaging and mobilising
by rewarding supporters were clear functions of both channels.
In 2017, some of the newly added elements of 2016 disappeared, which suggests
that the Conservative Party experimented. While the sign-up for the newsletter
remained unchanged, the engaging elements disappeared, as did the log-on area
for members. The mobilising elements (i.e. volunteer, join, donate) remained. The
web shop was reintroduced with a more prominent placement on the website. The
emphasis on the new leader, Theresa May, re-entered the website focus. While under
Cameron the focus was on economy and later the EU, it moved to the EU, especially
Brexit-related topics, and social policies. With an image film, the party also justified
another general election in 2017 and pointed out its ‘plan for Britain’—also on Face-
book. The function of the website changed from engage and mobilise to mobilise
and inform. Thus, this represents a reversal concerning interactive elements.
In 2018, the main structure of the website remained the same. However, the
volunteer, join and donate tabs were moved and enlarged, and remained at the top of
the page, as did the newsletter sign-up. Instagram was added to the list of social media
profiles, and it was linked on Facebook posts as well. The web shop disappeared again
and was replaced by a lottery. Attention was shifted from the leader to policy issues,
and the main policy topics were shifted away from the EU/Brexit to national issues
of education, health and housing. The function of the website remained as to inform
and mobilise (assumptions 1 and 2). The following Table 13.3 provides an overview
of all the findings.
Table 13.3 Overview of website and Facebook functions

CDU 2013GE 2014EP 2015 2016 2017GE 2018
Inform ✓ ✓ ✓
Engage ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓
Mobilise ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓
Interact ✓
Cons 2013LE 2014EP 2015GE 2016 2017GE 2018
Inform ✓ ✓
Engage ✓ ✓ ✓
Mobilise ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓
Interact
Note LE Local election; GE General Election, EP Election to the European Parliament
13.6 Conclusion
We investigated how the public image, membership and leadership of parties are
displayed on their websites and their Facebook fan pages. While many other studies
provide either single case studies or large-N comparisons of many parties using one
channel simultaneously, our approach differs in a few aspects. We conducted a long-
term observation (six years with one measurement per year) of two parties in two
Western countries.
The focus was on conservative parties with government responsibilities. This
angle provided an additional perspective on the research of party digitalisation,
which is often limited to emerging, populist parties. We addressed the question of how
conservative, governing parties deployed social media over many successful election
campaigns, exploring whether there are differing tactical patterns during campaign
seasons and normal times. We were able to identify similarities between the two
cases: both parties experimented with different applications. We see clear phases of
digital adaptation in both cases. We conclude that the extent to which mainstream
conservative parties adapt to digital transformation changes according to the elec-
toral cycle. Patterns of adaptation to digital transformation are significantly different
during phases of election campaigning than during periods of ‘normal’ politics. The
extent to which mainstream conservative parties adapt to digital transformation varies
also according to the types of channels and audiences corresponding to the specific,
intended strategic aim of each party. We also observed differences, for example, when
it comes to the centralisation of leadership: while the CDU referred to more than one
leading figure, despite the strong chancellor Angela Merkel, the UK Conservative
Party focused attention on the prime minister. The analysis of this study was based on
the four functions introduced by Lilleker et al. (2011): inform, engage, mobilise and
interact. Interaction with the audience is neglected in both cases despite the opportu-
nities that social media provides. Nevertheless, no clear patterns between campaign
season and governing season appear. While this experimental approach shows the
willingness of conservative parties to react to technological changes, we expected to
see a more tactical, designed use of digital applications.
This expectation was fueled by recent developments, e.g. the ‘Rezo video’ incident
which happened immediately before the 2019 European Parliament election, which
suggested that social media is still the Achilles’ heel of the CDU.
The methodology and case selection we adopted allow for observations of trends.
We found that both analysed parties, the Conservatives and the CDU, experimented
with online appearances and social networks such as Facebook. Therefore, we found
no evidence for a linear evolution of parties’ online communication with their
members and supporters, but a back and forth in the orchestration of the instru-
ments at hand, depending on the political phase (electoral year or not). Moreover, we
found differences in both countries for the European Parliament elections that played
a minor role in the UK compared to Germany. Another difference is the structure of
the website: while the CDU provided a lot of information on its landing page, which
forced users to scroll, the Conservative Party provided a condensed landing page.
One observation is that in 2015 and 2016 both parties revamped the design of their
websites. This change also extended to the Facebook fan pages. We found a form of
media congruence between the websites and the Facebook fan pages from 2013 to
2015. With 2016 as a strategic turning point in communication, the fan pages are used
as a channel for interaction and mobilisation. Particularly for the general election
years and in the most recent two years, posting has featured as a means to produce
interaction. Sometimes a post would appear before the content was on the website;
on other occasions, the content appeared first. Therefore, for the periods analysed,
there was no clear evidence of direct linear travel from websites to Facebook pages.
Another difference is the focus on the prime minister by the Conservative Party,
while Merkel is barely present on the CDU’s website where the secretary general
dominates. This is explained by the different party systems of the examined cases
and the strict separation between the party in central offices and the party in public
office, i.e. the parliamentary party.
Despite these differences, there were also similarities. Both parties focused on
their competence in economic questions, especially during the years 2013 to 2015.
Subsequently, social and other more emotional political issues (immigration, health,
Brexit) were brought into focus.
Nevertheless, the topics and issues addressed on both channels—websites and
fan pages—were similar: we witnessed a change from more personalised to issue-
based communication styles, and then back to personalisation for general elec-
tions. Following this interpretation, Facebook serves as a communication medium
to interact with people and to mobilise and engage them, whereas websites function
as a container medium to concentrate and centralise all communication efforts of the
party. This clearly refers to organisational learning, as the parties begin to embed
and use their social media as a converging channel.
Funding The work of Isabelle Borucki’s research group is funded by the Digital Society research
program, funded by the Ministry of Culture and Science of the German State of North Rhine-
Westphalia (grant number 005-1709-0003).
Appendix
See Tables 13.4 and 13.5.
Table 13.4 Overall figures of posting types (own calculations)

Party Type Total
Link Photo Status Video
CDU Year 2013 14 33 2 15 64
2014 22 61 5 26 114
2015 7 11 0 5 23
Total 43 105 7 46 201
Cons Year 2013 3 5 0 1 9
2014 16 28 2 4 50
2015 30 60 0 33 123
Total 49 93 2 38 182
Total Year 2013 17 38 2 16 73
2014 38 89 7 30 164
2015 37 71 0 38 146
Total 92 198 9 84 383
Party Type Total
Link Photo Status Video Note
CDU Year 2016 16 11 0 3 NA 30
2017 6 26 1 19 NA 52
2018 1 25 0 25 NA 51
Total 23 62 1 47 NA 133
Cons Year 2016 17 8 1 1 1 28
2017 9 42 2 31 2 86
2018 2 44 3 30 0 79
Total 28 94 6 62 3 193
Gesamt Year 2016 33 19 1 4 1 58
2017 15 68 3 50 2 138
2018 3 69 3 55 0 130
Total 51 156 7 109 3 326
Table 13.5 Deductive-inductive coding scheme used for manual coding of websites and Facebook
fan pages
Function Code Sub code Coding rule
Inform News feed A news feed is embedded
Social media Social media links/logos
are embedded
Manifesto The party manifesto is
accessible (e.g.
downloadable)
Election program The election program is
accessible (e.g.
downloadable)
Policy news The party informs about
ongoing legislature
News on individuals The party informs about
individual party leaders
Policy Economy The party mainly informs
about economy related
policies (e.g. taxes, GDP,
export) and frames them
as such
Social The party mainly informs
about social policies (e.g.
health, housing, family,
retirement) and frames
them as such
Special interest of affiliates The party mainly informs
about policy areas of
special interest to their
affiliates
Calendar A calendar with events is
provided (possibly with
an archive)
Leaders Name leader 1 Person most prominently
displayed or most
frequently mentioned
Name leader 2 Person second most
prominently displayed or
most frequently
mentioned
Name leader 3 Person third most
most frequently
mentioned
Name leader else Other persons
mentioned
(continued)

Engage Image film Movie clip about the
party itself, a party leader
or a campaign
Competence Party claims competence
in certain aspects
Warmth Part tries to frame itself as
caring, listening,
passionate, and
sympathetic
Leader competence Leader claims
competence in certain
aspects
Leader warmth Leader is framed as
caring, listening,
passionate, and
sympathetic
Merchandise The party provides
merchandise like T-shirts
for e.g. a specific
campaign
Shop The party hosts an actual
web shop with a variety
of products
Mobilize Donations The party asks for
donations e.g. via an
online form
Mailing list The party asks visitors to
sign up for a mailing list
Member log on The party provides a
special, password secured
log-on area for members
Member sign up The party is recruiting as
asking visitors to become
a member
Negative campaigning The party posts negative
content about competitors
Interact Facebook The party links to its
Facebook page
(continued)

Twitter The party links to its
Twitter profile
Gplus The party links to its
Gplus profile
YouTube The party links to its
YouTube channel
Instagram The party links to its
Instagram profile
Other social media Name of other social media The party links to its other
social media presences
(e.g. Snapchat)
Invitation The party provides
user-friendly links to
share content with others
Contact form The party provides a
contact form
E-mail The party provides an
e-mail address
Address The party provides a
postal address
Cross media Website content [Facebook specific] The
party refers to website
content
Tv content The party refers to TV
content
Classic media The party refers to
content e.g. in (online)
newspapers etc.
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Chapter 14
Digital Parties
as Personalistic-Authoritarian
Business-Firm Models. Is Japan
Following European Trends?
Florian Hartleb, Hidenori Tsutsumi, and Boyu Chen
Abstract The following chapter presents a new typology in classifying political

parties as business-firm and digital models, a combination of the business-firm party
concept with the ‘digital party’ or ‘cyber party’. The country being examined, Japan,
has traditionally had a top-down approach and an elitist model of democracy. Despite
the fact, that Japan is a democracy without meaningful political opposition several
attempts of establishing a new party project have been made. The emergence of the
business-firm model and digital party in Japan in the past decade deserves further
observation due to the use of technology and platforms. In the past decade, polit-
ical groups consisting of neither right-wing nativists nor neoliberal advocators have
emerged in Japan. These groups have advocated for direct democracy via digital
tools and aimed to solicit support from independent or floating voters. Some politi-
cians or activists within or outside parliaments have advocated for direct democracy
to bypass traditional and hierarchical decision-making processes of political parties.
They have adopted a ‘business-firm model’ that has replaced the conventional organ-
isation of political parties and given parties a brand new definition. Promises to end
‘vested interest politics’ and governance through backroom deals often resonate with
Japanese voters and could shake up Japanese politics like they have in Europe.
Keywords Digital parties · Personalistic-authoritarian business-firm models ·

Japan
F. Hartleb (B)
Catholic University Eichstätt, Eichstätt, Germany
e-mail: florian_hartleb@web.de
H. Tsutsumi
Kagawa University, Takamatsu, Japan
e-mail: tsutsumi@jl.kagawa-u.ac.jp
B. Chen
University of Niigata Prefecture, Niigata, Japan
e-mail: boyu@unii.ac.jp
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-78668-7_14
270 F. Hartleb et al.
14.1 Introduction
According to Meisel and Mendelsohn (2001), ‘The party is thus not a meteor,
confronting its inevitable burn-up. Nor is it a phoenix, rising to new glories out
of the ashes of its past. It is a chameleon, permanently engaged in surveying its
political landscape and transforming itself to respond to new circumstances and thus
guarantee continued relevance’ (p. 163). Mechanisms of party competition quickly
incentivised the construction of an organisational apparatus—but the construction
is challenged. Commentators are expressing their dissatisfaction with mainstream
parties, and a new anti-politics culture, at least at the national level, has given rise
to a new wave of challengers in the field of party democracy. The widely discussed
phenomenon of populism has one of its roots here, causing disruptions in party
politics also in terms of organisational aspects. This refers not only to right-wing
challengers, but also to models such as the pirate parties (Hartleb, 2013, 2015).
Mainstream parties still employ full-time functionaries similar to civil servants
with close ties to bureaucracies in ministries and government as well as the party
factions in parliaments alongside volunteers. The key activities of managing electoral
campaigns and drawing up programmes and promoting them along with the images
of the parties’ leaders are now delegated to public relations experts and political
marketing gurus, whose relationships with the parties are of a strictly professional
nature in keeping with the trend in the USA. This has radically changed the image
of parties (Mastropaolo, 2008, p. 40). The professionalisation of the communication
function is highlighted by the campaigning aspect. During a campaign, parties seek
out the best position from which to attack their opponents and introduce their political
proposals/programmes, leadership, and chief campaign themes.
Political parties have been the dinosaurs of the modern age and of democracy itself.
Real dinosaurs lost their long-term dominance and died out for reasons completely
out of their control. Their living conditions changed drastically. This shift was so
fundamental that the creatures could not cope with it. This was stated by the former
German politician Jürgen Rüttgers.1 At the beginning of the 1990s, Rüttgers made
his analysis from the perspective of the governing German centre-right party, the
Christian Democratic Union (CDU) (Rüttgers, 1993). Obviously, they face several
challenges, one of the most relevant being the structural challenge linked to new
forms of campaigning and communication. Technologies now connect consumers-
providers with consumers-customers. A recent example in Germany demonstrates
how big the structural challenge is for the mainstream parties and the danger of
being regarded as relics of organised political life. A young YouTube activist called
Rezo criticised the CDU, which has been in power for a long time. Rezo slammed
the party for failing to take enough action on climate change and criticised it on a
series of other topics. The video, posted just before the European elections in May
2019, received nearly five million views, indicating the power of influencers. The
party failed to give a proper response and struggled to publish a video made by a
1Rüttgers was Minister of Education, Science, Research and Technology under Chancellor Helmut
Kohl, and later Prime Minister of North Rhine-Westphalia.
14 Digital Parties as Personalistic-Authoritarian Business-Firm … 271
young politician. Eventually, the CDU party headquarters decided to respond with a
long letter. The media commented that traditional parties lack the ability to respond
properly to the young generation.2
Is the ‘iron law’ of Richard Michels referring to the inevitable oligarchisation of
political parties (Michels, 1962) challenged in the new environment of postmodern
party democracies? Past studies of parties have usually focused on the different
types of challenges they face. In response to these changes brought about by the
new environment, political parties have begun to seek support not exclusively on the
basis of identification with the social group whose interests they claim to represent,
but also on the basis of other social groups in society. Voters, in turn, are voting
increasingly on the basis of political issues, and various scholars have noted that the
decline of structural voting has gone hand in hand with the rise of issue-based voting
(Elff, 2007). In other words, pioneering new ‘digitally driven’ electoral techniques
are a direct result of the need to mobilise new and sporadic voters.
Such developments indicate some anti-democratic tendencies such as the illegal
use of data (case of Cambridge Analytica) and the use of demagogic instruments
such as the creation of enemies and stereotypes. However, the creation of a more
passive and drifting base of support, a reduced ability to hold leaders accountable,
and the emergence of a new, narrower digital elite has displaced the older, more
traditional activist base. Parties that no longer rely on the notion of membership for
their ‘legitimising myth’ work instead on their digital presence; they find themselves
suffering a loss of real members and general support and have had to turn to alternative
resources to retain influence.
The rise of newer user-driven ‘web 2.0’ technologies such as blogs, social
networking sites, and video-sharing tools has raised new possibilities for party
activism and organisation. In addition to offering new means for parties to organise
their supporters and activists, these applications are also stimulating the growth of
unofficial groups and networks that are loosely aligned with party politics but are not
under parties’ control (Gibson & Ward, 2009). Whereas ‘cyber-optimists’ describe
the democratic potential of the Internet and emphasise better access through the
Internet and new channels of communication, ‘cyber-pessimists’ highlight poten-
tial threats to democracy in terms of classic institutional representation (Pedersen &
Saglie, 2005, p. 359).
The following section defines the digital party as a concept, focusing on the
business-firm party model. Thereafter, we discuss party change to bring in the
Japanese example.
2 The local.de: A Youtuber is shaking up German Mainstream Politics, 23 May

2019. https://www.thelocal.de/20190523/how-a-youtuber-is-shaking-up-german-politics-with-con
troversial-video. Accessed 29 May 2019.
14.2 Political Parties as Business-Firms and Digital

Models—A New Typology
‘Entrepreneurs’ such as former US President Donald Trump have demarcated them-

selves from professional politicians and present themselves as outsiders bringing
a breath of fresh air into politics. This makes it easy for them to propagate catch-
words instead of a detailed programme. Their positions are generally pro-business
ones, and they are in favour of economic deregulation and against state interference
in entrepreneurial decision-making (Heinisch & Saxonberg, 2017, p. 211). There
are many global examples of such entrepreneur politicians. In the Czech Republic,
the Czech-Japanese entrepreneur Tomio Okamura entered parliament with a newly
founded party and attracted electoral support through his slogan ‘No to Islam, no
to terrorism’. Okamura was born in Tokyo to a Czech mother and a Japanese father
and, growing up in both the Czech Republic and Japan, he was discriminated against
in both countries for being a ‘half-blood’. Later, he achieved success with a travel
agency for Asian tourists and became a reality show star. Surprisingly, given this
personal background, he is propagating an anti-immigrant, Islamophobic message,
aware that this virtual topic emotionalises potential voters. Originally, his party had an
anti-establishment ideology and demanded punishment for ‘bad politicians’ (Cran,
2013).
In the Asian context, such demands should sound familiar. A review of the relevant
academic literature shows that much of the existing work on populism in Southeast
Asia refers only to a few politicians as outsiders or mavericks (Hellmann, 2017,
p. 162). The general tendency of the ‘Trumpetisation of politics’ (cf. Hartleb, 2017;
Weyland & Madrid, 2019) highlighted the need to take a fresh look at the few liberal
democracies in the region such as Japan (Mietzner, 2019, p. 382).
In Japan, Hashimoto Toru, former Osaka city mayor and leader of the Osaka Japan
Restoration Party, and Ishihara Shintaro, former Tokyo city mayor, represent the
kind of politicians who commonly identify themselves as outsiders who are opposed
to the establishment and distinguish themselves from morally corrupt politicians.
Moreover, most populist politicians are media savvy and thus embody the ‘theatrical
style’ of populism (Lindgren, 2015, p. 578). One example of this is Hashimoto, who
gained high popularity on social media (Arima, 2017). These populist politicians
and parties gained high popularity and support from disgruntled voters (Reed, 2013;
Zenkyo, 2017).
In the past decade, political groups consisting of neither right-wing nativists nor
neoliberal advocators have emerged in Japan. These groups have advocated direct
democracy via digital tools and aimed to solicit support from independent or floating
voters. Some politicians or activists within or outside parliaments have advocated for
direct democracy to bypass traditional and hierarchical decision-making processes
of political parties. They have adopted a ‘business-firm model’ that has replaced the
conventional organisation of political parties and given parties a brand new definition.
In the debate about a possible alignment of elites, parties in the so-called business-
firm model can also be found serving particularistic interests (Hopkins & Paoluci,
1999). In broad terms, the business-firm model tends to undermine the institutional-
isation of parties and party systems, and this is evidently a serious matter for newly
created parties in new or rapidly changing democracies or for party democracies in
crisis. Such parties have the structure of a commercial company; their programme
is based on marketing. Party bureaucracies are kept to a bare minimum (Hopkins &
Paoluci, 1999, p. 315), and the concept of traditional party membership is no longer
relevant electorally or financially.
Business-firm parties have only a lightweight organisation with the sole basic
function of mobilising short-term support at election time, in keeping with the
US example. A business party originates from the private initiative of a political
entrepreneur whose resources are crucial for the party’s emergence. He or she gives
himself the image of the ‘anti-career politician’, assuming the role of a non-politician
who has won his spurs elsewhere—in business. In 2004, a study pointed out that an
entrepreneur can secure electoral wins if the whole political system is regarded as
corrupt. The entrepreneur does not need to be honest, charismatic and trustful; his
or her business success in the past gives him or her direct access to public support
(Fieschi & Heywood, 2004, p. 303).
External PR and marketing firms are hired to ‘sell’ the party’s product or project in
a pragmatic-opportunistic way to the electorate (Krouwel, 2006). Italian businessman
and media entrepreneur Silvio Berlusconi founded a party in 1994 called Forza Italia.
He profited from the collapse of the Italian political party system in 1993 and made
use of the unique opportunity of the collapse of morality3 in the party system. Forza
Italia (after the football slogan ‘Forward Italy’) fostered the formation around the
world of business, journalism, and liberal professions to attract centre-right voters and
halt the dissolution process affecting the right. The party’s programme was based
on opinion polls and modern marketing methods. Forza Italia’s organisation was
based on the idea of the ‘party of the elected people’, which gave more importance
to the whole electorate than to the party’s members. Since its birth, Forza Italia has
used unconventional political methods in the field of European politics (in fact, the
methods resemble the American model), such as stickering, SMS messaging, and
mass-mailing of propaganda material, including the biography of Berlusconi, An
Italian story (Una storia italiana). In Austria, the Austro-Canadian Frank Stronach,
founder of Magna International and a rich businessman, at the age of 80 started a
party simply called Team Stronach.
This approach is not new: decades ago, the great sociologist Max Weber and the
economist Joseph Schumpeter saw political parties as serving the more-or-less private
interests of political entrepreneurs. The entrepreneur supports a party personally and
financially to gain the prestige and advantages of public office (Schumpeter, 1976;
Weber, 1945). A radical version of the business-firm model could be the ‘member-
less’ party—a party based on ‘informal membership’, especially volunteers doing
campaigning. This, for example, is the model used by the Dutchman Geert Wilders
and his Party for Freedom (Lucardie & Voerman, 2013). This model perfectly fulfils
3He filled a vacuum created after a corruption scandal destroyed the old Christian Democrat party.
The party, which had dominated Italy since World War Two, disintegrated.
the criteria of so-called couch parties (where all the members can fit on a single couch)
or even a chair party (with Wilders in the chair).4 Scholars who have mapped parties’
evolution from mass parties to catch-all parties, electoral-professional parties, and
cartel parties suggest that an increasing marginalisation of party members has taken
place. Nowadays, members are argued to be rapidly losing many of their former roles
in shaping party operations. New entrepreneurial parties are intentionally organised
as member-less institutions in a strict top-down fashion by a closed circle of party
elites without much consent or strategy of investment into a wider membership
structure (Mazzoleni & Voerman, 2016).
Recently we witnessed a combination of the business-firm party (which is synony-
mous with the entrepreneurial party) concept with the ‘digital party’ or ‘cyber party’.
A digital/cyber party is characterised by the practice of appealing directly to voters or
supporters, who may take part in the selection of candidates through electronic ballots
(Margetts, 2006). The digital party model seems closer to the participatory model of
democracy referring to the direct linkage to the electorate (see Fig. 14.1). The pirate
parties that were started in Sweden and continued in Germany, Iceland and the Czech
Republic fit this typology. Mostly young, Internet-savvy activists with little political
experience, they have argued against a ‘dystopian top-down big-brother-like society’
where politicians gain their power by striking fear into people (Cammaerts, 2015,
p. 23). They believe in direct democracy with permanent communication and trans-
parency. At the beginning, this seemed to be a new and promising type of political
party in organisational terms, but its illusionist approach to politics mostly failed.
Is an authoritarian, personalist digital party possible? This is a relevant question in
the light of the global rise of new authoritarianism. The original model of the Five
Star Movement (M5S) involving the comedian Beppe Grillo could be regarded as
such, as could the Czech ANO (which means ‘yes’ in Czech), whose leader, the
businessman and billionaire Andrej Babiš, even became prime minister. ANO hired
the expensive US agency PSB, which focused on electoral strategies and research,
and had previously worked for such figures as Michael Bloomberg, Tony Blair, and
Hillary Clinton (Kopeček, 2016). Personalist-authoritarian digital parties adopt an
anti-elitist stance and claim to be doing away with the traditional ways of poli-
tics (Hartleb, 2013). In general, the authoritarian approach discards the competitive
component that underlined the original digital/cyber party idea (Margetts, 2006).
In the following section, the focus is on personalist-authoritarian business-firm
parties and digital parties. The country being examined, Japan, has traditionally had
a top-down approach and an elitist model of democracy. In 1987, it was stated that
‘perhaps the most striking characteristics of Japanese parties in general are the impor-
tance of the leader–follower relationship as the essential building block of political
organisation. (…) The importance of leader–follower groupings in Japanese politics
4 This term—used sarcastically—derives from the large amount of new parties that emerged after
the end of the communist era in young democracies in Eastern Europe. See Jasiewicz (2007) for
the example of Poland. Meanwhile, the model obviously has an impact for old democracies such
as The Netherlands.
Fig. 14.1 Organisational dimension of today’s digital parties
may be traced back to a characteristic of Japanese society, where authority link-

ages of a personal kind involving mutual obligation have long been entrenched’
(Stockwin, 1987, p. 97). This study explores two political parties in Japan that show-
case a combination of the business-firm and digital party models: AEJ (Assembly to
Energise Japan—Nippon wo Genki ni Suru Kai), NPS (Shiji Seitou Nashi), and the
Party to Protect the People from the NHK5 (NHK Kara Kokumin wo Mamoru To).
Their practices led to discussions on the possibility of direct democracy, the role of
political parties, and the nature of representative politics in the digital era.
14.3 The Assembly to Energise Japan
14.3.1 Foundation
The Assembly to Energise Japan (AEJ) was formed as a parliamentary group in

December 2014 by six members of the House of Councillors (HC) who belonged to
the Your Party (YP), the leading party of the ‘third force’. The party was disbanded
in November 2014.6 Five of its six members were HC members for their first term, so
they had a short career as parliamentarians. When the AEJ was formed, Kota Matsuda,
who was well known to the public as the founder of the Japanese corporation Tully’s
Coffee and who would subsequently take on the leadership of the party, said that the
AEJ shared the ideals of the YP and would act on the basis that Japanese politics
needed the third force.
In January 2015, four members of the AEJ and Antonio Inoki, an HC member who
was famous as a former professional wrestler, qualified the AEJ as a political party
stipulated by the Political Party Subsidies Act. In Japan, if five or more members of
the Diet belong to a political party, the party is eligible to receive a subsidy from the
state. Kota Matsuda took office as a representative, and he also served as secretary
general.
14.3.2 Political Positions
The greatest feature of the party was, as described in detail below, that it preferred
direct democracy and implemented a system that directly aggregated people’s voices
and reflected the policy-making process.7 However, the AEJ stated that this system—
also known as proportional voting—would only be applied to crucial issues. The
policy position of the AEJ was, on the one hand, characterised by market-oriented
5 NHK refers to Nippon Hoso Kyokai (Japan Broadcasting Corporation), Japan’s only public
broadcaster.
6 The YP was founded in 2009 by Yoshimi Watanabe, who left the Liberal Democratic Party
(LDP)—which had been in power most of the time from 1955—to establish the ‘third force’, a
political force outside the two main parties (the LDP and Komeito block and the Democratic Party
of Japan or DPJ).
7 ‘The party assembly of the AEJ: Party name change under review’, Mainichi Shimbun, 18 Mar
2015.
economics such as deregulation and free trade, small government, fiscal reconstruc-
tion, and decentralisation. On the other hand, the party advocated left-leaning poli-
cies such as a sustainable social security system, reduction of generational, regional
and gender disparities, and respect for diverse values and cultures. Further, the party
preferred an energy policy that was not dependent on nuclear power plants, indicating
that it had post-materialistic tendencies.8
14.3.3 Direct Democracy Through the Internet
For important bills on which a nationwide debate was needed, the party would
provide an Internet-based discussion platform for voters and take their votes into
account.9 Diet members of the party would vote in accordance with the proportion
of approval/disapproval indicated by the votes. For example, if 60% of voters voted
for the bill and 40% voted against, three of the five Diet members belonging to the
party would vote for and the rest of them would vote against the bill. To make it
possible for members to discuss and vote on their smartphones, that party devel-
oped an application called ‘Vote Japan’.10 Members registered on either the Vote
Japan website or the smartphone application could participate in discussions and
vote on the Internet. Initially, those who hoped to become party members had to
submit an identification card to the AEJ,11 but it seems that this requirement was
abolished, and there was no need to register personal information other than one’s
e-mail address. There was also a requirement to pay a membership fee. Thus, the
criteria to become a party member were very simple, but still the number of members
was limited. Although the number of members has never been made public, a news
article in August 2015 reported that, according to party executives, the number of
party members was ‘over 1000 people’.12
The AEJ used this system of voting four times. The agenda of the first vote,
which was regarded as a trial vote, was to determine ‘whether or not the AEJ should
change its party name’. Although the number of voters was not announced, the results
showed that 52% of voters were against changing the party’s name. Therefore, the
party decided not to change it.
The second vote was held over an amendment bill that included measures to relax
labour regulations. The results showed that 51% voted for and 49% voted against the
bill. Accordingly, two Diet members of the AEJ voted against the amendment bill,
and three of them voted for it.
8 The principle policy programme of the AEJ is shown on the party’s website, which has been down
since October 2018. http://nippongenkikai.jp/policy. Accessed 24 Nov 2016.
9 http://votejapan.jp. Accessed 12 Jul. 2019.
10 See: Forum and Voting Platform designed by the AEJ party: Senkyo dottokomu https://go2sen
kyo.com/articles/2015/09/10/9345.html.
11 ‘The evaluation of direct democracy’. Nikkei Shimbun, 11 Apr 2015.
12 Jiji Tsushin News, 1 Aug 2015. (unknown title).
The agenda of the third vote was to approve/disapprove security-related bills. This
security-related legislation would significantly change Japanese security policy from
‘defence only’ and expand the range of activities of the Socialist Democratic Feder-
ation (SDF) in the international community. Many constitutional scholars argued
that the exercise of the right of collective self-defence was unconstitutional, and the
bills evoked sufficient controversy to implement proportional voting (cf. Minamino,
2014).
However, the results of the vote were not made public, and the Diet members
of the AEJ did not engage in proportional voting; instead, all of them voted for the
bills. There was a sharp conflict in the Diet between the governing parties (LDP
and Komeito) promoting security policies and some opposition parties (Democratic
Party of Japan, Japan Communist Party, and Social Democratic Party) opposing
them. Additionally, some small parties including the AEJ claimed that they did not
entirely oppose the bills but identified some problems with them. The AEJ with two
other small parties jointly submitted an amendment to the bills. However, eventually,
the AEJ members voted for the bill submitted by the government.13
The leader of the party, Matsuda, said that the security-related bills had many
problems, but he was certain that the bills, promoted by the majority of the Diet
members, would pass. To improve the bills by strengthening the commitment of the
Diet, the party had to negotiate with the LDP and Komeito.14 Proportional voting was
thus regarded as a bargaining chip to negotiate with governing parties and highlight
the AEJ’s presence in the Diet.15
The fourth and last AEJ vote on an SDF-related bill was rather hastily carried
out. The results showed that 83% of voters were in favour of the bill. Thus, the party
voted accordingly in the Diet.
14.3.4 Party Organisation and Its Decline
The party was struggling to survive after carrying out four proportional voting exer-
cises in the Diet. In January 2015 to enhance its influence, the AEJ formed a unified
parliamentary group with an HC member who belonged to the Japan Innovation Party
(JIP). Although the group consisted of only nine members, it was the fifth-largest
parliamentary group in the HC. However, in the House of Representatives (HR), the
AEJ had been isolated because the party did not accept the invitation to join the
Democratic Party (DP), a new party formed by members from the JIP and the other
13 Although all the members of the AEJ voted for, an HC member belonging to the parliamentary
group of the AEJ voted against.
14 ‘The AEJ leader Ms. Matsuda: We are in favour of the bill though there are too many flaws in
it’. Asahi Shimbun, 19 Sep 2015.

15 For example, ‘Three parties helped the ruling party out: The Party for Future Generation, the
AEJ and New Renaissance Party approved the security bill’. Asahi Shimbun, 17 Sep 2015.
opposition parties, and thus the AEJ no longer belonged to any parliamentary groups
in the HC.16
By the end of 2015, the AEJ was struggling to survive. In December 2015, as a
result of an MP’s defection, the party lost its eligibility to receive a subsidy. In 2016,
the party suffered further from the defection of its parliamentarian members, who
were worried that their candidacy of a minor party like the AEJ would disadvantage
them in the upcoming election.17
The AEJ planned to field new candidates in the 2016 HC election and asked
a candidate (Hokuto Yokoyama, former member of the HR) to run in the Aomori
district. Additionally, Matsuda asked a famous writer and TV personality Hirotada
Ototake, who was Matsuda’s friend, to run in the next HC election as a candidate
of the AEJ. However, both of the selected candidates declined.18 In June, taking
responsibility for the party’s loss of subsidy eligibility, Matsuda resigned and declared
that he would not run in the next election. As a result, the AEJ fielded no candidates
in the 2016 HC election. After the election, two HC members of the AEJ whose term
did not expire in 2016 decided to work in the Diet as independent members. The AEJ
as a political party suspended its activities after the election.
The AEJ showcases the business-firm and digital party model in that the party
was led by a technology-savvy businessman with several well-known politicians,
and the party was the first one that applied liquid democracy via digital tools in the
Diet. However, it failed to gather and mobilise support both inside and outside the
parliament, which led to its rather short-lived appearance in the political arena.
In addition to the AEJ, other political groups outside parliament advocated direct
democracy, and their election campaigns garnered attention from mass media. The
No Party to Support, a new political party, adopted the business-firm model of party
organisation. It advocated direct democracy methods that resembled the AEJ’s idea
of proportional voting.
14.4 The No Party to Support
The No Party to Support (NPS) was founded by Hidemitsu Sano, a successful busi-
nessman, just after the HC election in July 2013. The NPS clearly stated that the
party did not aim to promote any specific policies; instead, the legislators of the
party would vote in the Diet in accordance with the results of party members’ votes
on the Internet.19
16 The JIP respected the AEJ’s policy of not imposing party discipline, but the members of the
parliamentary group did not behave in the same manner.
17 However, Yamada left the IFO because of the difficulty of running an election campaign in the
district to which he was assigned. Eventually, he ran as a candidate of the New Renaissance Party
in the open list PR tier.
18 The LDP also wanted Ototake to run the election, but he backed out because of adulterous affairs.
19 The information written in this section is based on the interview Sano conducted on 18 November
2016, as well as the party’s website (http://xn--68jubz91pp0oypc1c.com/).

Sano explained his rationale for organising the new party and pursuing direct
democracy via the Internet as follows. In Japan, where the majority of the general
public does not support any party,20 there is no party that directly represents it.
Therefore, those who do not support any party must vote for a party that is not
congruent with their political stance by ‘the process of elimination’ or abstain from
voting. A party thus needs to represent such voters and reflect the opinion of such
voters in the policy-making process. Further, Sano argued that although it was difficult
for a minor party to realise a particular policy pledged in its election campaign, it
could keep its campaign promises by virtue of proportional voting.
Although Sano had a negative view of the current party politics in Japan, achieving
direct democracy was probably not his primary intention when entering politics. The
party name and proportional voting were the means to garner attention from voters
and the mass media and then obtain seats in the Diet.21 Sano understood that under
the electoral environment in Japan, it is difficult for would-be politicians to win seats
unless they are a celebrity or belong to a major party.
14.4.1 The Election Campaign of the NPS and Its Results
The election campaign that the NPS adopted was unusual compared with the typical
Japanese election campaign. It reflected the characteristics of the party. In the HR
election held at the end of 2014, the NPS campaigned for national election for the
first time. The NPS ran for the Hokkaido Block of PR tier, and Sano and his mother-
in-law were listed on the party’s (closed) list. The NPS received 4.2% of the votes,
exceeding the votes of the Social Democratic Party, a traditional left-wing party and
once the largest opposition party in Japan’s Diet. In the 2016 HC election, the NPS
fielded 10 candidates. Two of them, Sano and his mother-in-law, were listed on the
party’s (open) list of nationwide PR tiers, and the rest of them ran in (mainly urban)
prefectural districts. Four candidates ran in Tokyo district, and four ran in the Osaka,
Kanagawa, Hokkaido, and Kumamoto districts respectively. The primary reason for
the increase of NPS candidates was that Japanese electoral law prohibits political
parties from making political speeches, displaying posters, distributing leaflets and so
on during the HC election campaign period, but parties fielding 10 or more candidates
are exempt from this rule. An additional reason could be that candidates running in
prefectural districts could display their posters on the board of the official election
administration committee, as well as on the party’s posters.22
20 In Japan, it is normal to express ‘support for a party’ when a person identifies with or feels an
affinity for a particular party.
21 See the NPS party website https://xn--68jubz91pp0oypc1c.com/.
22 There was another reason related to party finance. Japanese electoral law requires a candidate to
deposit money, which will be returned if the candidate receives more votes than those stipulated
by law. The deposit amount for a candidate running in a prefectural district is less than that for a
candidate on a party list.
The NPS’s campaign strategy revealed its characteristics as a business-firm party.

Most of the party’s candidates were employees of Sano’s company or his relatives.
For its campaign strategy, the party did not rely on candidates’ personal votes. The
party barely conducted an election campaign, and its posters did not even depict
the candidates’ faces. This went against what was regarded as ‘common sense’ in
Japanese elections. The party’s election campaign style attracted interest from both
online and offline news media, just as Sano desired.
In the 2016 HC election, the NPS obtained 1.2% of the votes in the nationwide
PR tier but could not win any seats.23 However, this was not a bad result for the
party, considering its lack of a privileged social background, large support groups,
or well-known candidates. In the 2017 HR election, the NPS got 2.1% of the votes in
the Tokyo bloc of the PR tier. Although the party did not gain any seats, its number
of votes outnumbered that of the Social Democratic Party.
14.4.2 Organisational Structure of the NPS: Business-Firm

Model
What kind of organisational structure does the NPS have? Who are the leaders, the
executives, the activists, and the rank-and-file members? Briefly, the NPS can be
considered as a party with a bare minimum of functionaries. The party adopted an
electoral strategy that did not require a large number of staff members because the
NPS aimed only to attract attention from mass media and social media users.24 Addi-
tionally, because proportional voting would be carried out on all bills, the members
of the NPS would be full proxy representatives. In October 2017, the party estab-
lished a proportional voting system to obtain members’ opinions on bills discussed
in the Diet.25 Anyone who completes member registration online is eligible to vote
on all bills, and filling in an e-mail address is the only requirement for registration
to create a personal account. The website did not publicise the number of votes but
only demonstrated the percentage of pros and cons.
As mentioned above, all the candidates of the NPS other than Sano were employees
of a company managed by Sano or his relatives. As the NPS candidates, they were
under Sano’s total control. Sano wanted to prevent NPS legislators from voting on
bills based on their own preference or defecting from the NPS. Even if the NPS
selected candidates from the party or from outside the party in future, they would
23 Roughly, a party needs about 2% of votes to win a seat in the PR tier of the HC election in which
48 legislators are elected.
24 There were some local assembly members who were interested in proportional voting and helped
the NPS’s election campaign, though they were not official party members. It is possible that these
local assembly members implemented proportional voting in their cities and that local branches of
the NPS will be established in future.
25 See the proportional voting website of the NPS party: https://xn--68jubz91pp0oypc1c.com/.
have to profoundly understand their role as representatives of the NPS and behave
as proxy representatives.
14.5 Party to Protect the People from the NHK
The two parties mentioned in the previous sections have been followed by an ideo-
logical successor that is a populist party. In July 2019, a new political party joined the
HC: the Party to Protect the People from the NHK (NHK Kara Kokumin wo Mamoru
To), or N-Koku. The party adopted an anti-NHK stance and advocated proportional
voting and direct democracy, ideas promoted by both the AEJ and the NPS. The
NHK, the Japanese public broadcaster, has long had a tumultuous relationship with
many people in Japan because of its mandatory subscription fees. The public broad-
caster’s outsourced team of bill collectors who rang the doorbell of every household
with a TV set raised considerable criticism.26 The party’s straightforward appeal
and campaign slogan helped it gained one seat in the HC, one in the HR, and 34 in
local councils. The party obtained 3.2% of the votes in the 2019 HC election, which
qualified it as a political party and made it eligible, in accordance with the Political
Party Subsidies Act, to receive about 59 million yen ($545,000) in public funds (The
Asahi Shimbun 2019).
The party founder, Takashi Tachibana, was an NHK employee who resigned in
July 2005 because of disciplinary action that NHK had taken against him. He later
became active in 2ch (ni-chan), Japan’s largest and most popular bulletin board
service where more than 10 million users access the website every day. Tachibana
started his own YouTube channel in 2011 and established a broadcasting company
called Broadcast Alone (Hitorihosokyoku) in 2012. He used his videos to launch
constant attacks on the NHK. One year after he started the YouTube channel, he was
achieving more than 600,000 views a day. After establishing the N-Koku party in
2013, Tachibana participated in numerous elections in the following years. He was
elected as Funabashi city’s councillor for Chiba Prefecture in April 2015, councillor
for Katsushika district of Tokyo city in July 2017, and member of the HC in July
2019. He gave up his seat to run in the by-election of the HR in October 2019 but
failed to win. His seat in the HC was captured by party member Hamada Satoshi, a
radiologist and YouTuber.
Similar to the NPS, the N-Koku party attracted public attention because of its
unorthodox election campaigns that mainly spread information via YouTube videos.
Tachibana’s videos gained wide viewership and circulation because of their contro-
versial and sensational content, including vulgar language, harsh criticism against
26‘From NHK, an Offer You Can’t Refuse’. The Japan Times, 14 May 2014. https://www.japant
imes.co.jp/community/2014/05/14/issues/nhk-offer-cant-refuse/#.XkdwUZMzZp8. Accessed 12
Dec 2019; ‘NHK Free Collector Leaves Threatening Notes on People’s Doorsteps’. Japan Today, 18
Feb 2019. https://japantoday.com/category/national/nhk-fee-collector-leaving-threatening-notes-
on-people%E2%80%99s-doorsteps. Accessed 12 Dec 2019.
the NHK, lawsuits against NHK, and doxing. Moreover, Tachibana’s action-movie-
style videos depicting his ‘citizen arrests’ of people ‘obstructing election campaigns’
went viral online. Although most people are not interested in watching public-funded
election broadcasts, the N-Koku party’s election broadcast during the HC election
in 2019 received more than five million views, greatly outnumbering other parties’
election broadcasts. Tachibana knew how to gain high popularity online. He once
said, ‘People that obstruct our election campaign are our “loyal customers”, and
thanks to them, audiences find our video entertaining’ (Eraitencho, 2019, p. 48).
The candidates recruited by the party were mostly YouTubers, who had a certain
level of popularity online and could help the party increase its publicity, gain
supporters, and enlarge its base. During the party’s election broadcasting, Tachibana
contrasted the party’s candidates with elite politicians who failed to represent the
people. His party promoted ‘ordinary people’ to show that anyone was eligible to
become a candidate of the party. The party did not have any physical headquarters or
functionaries, only volunteers. All the decisions were made by Tachibana himself,
including candidate nominations. The power structure of the party raised concerns
about dictatorship.
However, despite the oligarchic structure of the party, Tachibana has been advo-
cating direct democracy, and the party has started a proportional voting website to
collect opinions from party members. The idea of proportional voting was inspired
by the NPS’s party leader, Hidemitsu Sano, who has supported Tachibana in the
local elections since 2015. At the time of the HC election in 2019, Tachibana was
considering running Sano as a candidate for the N-Koku party’s proportional repre-
sentative ward.27 The online platform for proportional voting was opened to users on
20 January 2020.28 The website lists bills that are currently under debate in parlia-
ment and calls for member voting. Most of the bills have a rather short voting period,
whereas the proposals to scramble NHK broadcasts—the main goal of the party,
which has not yet been brought up in parliament—have a much longer voting period
(three years). Only registered members are eligible to vote online, and the party has
adopted a real-name registration system that allows users to upload a photo with their
face and ID card. So far, the number of registered users who have voted online is
quite small. The ID card requirement is a rare one, and it might be the main reason
that people hesitate to register as members online.
14.6 Conclusion: Some Limits for New Parties
There is a long tradition of ‘anti-politics’ in Japan. This has often resulted in reformers
promoting an idealised model of modern politics as a yardstick against which to
measure Japanese politics’ performance. The performance, of course, always comes
up short. The lack of enthusiasm of Japanese voters for extant political parties is
27 Tachibana’s YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g0j4kxG3qR0.

28 See the proportional voting website of the N-Koku party: https://n-vote.com/.
evident from the low turnout rates. As in Europe, this has encouraged new chal-
lengers to enter the political arena, but not to a major extent. Japan is a democracy
without meaningful political opposition (Solís, 2019). Like other traditional demo-
cratic countries, relations between political parties and their supporters in Japan have
been weakening. First, the mixed member majoritarian electoral system has disad-
vantaged small parties. Additionally, political campaigns in Japan are very carefully
limited by laws as well as tradition. Some campaign practices that are common in
other countries are prohibited in Japan, such as door-to-door soliciting for votes.
The official campaign period in Japan is limited to 12 days. Candidates previously
had to abide by restrictions on digital campaigning, but these were lifted in 2013. The
beauty contest is therefore very short. In other words, the laws make it difficult for
newcomers and opposition parties to attract attention. The LDP has a close relation-
ship with the business community and has enjoyed a substantial advantage over other
parties because of its ability to run ‘quality’ or attractive new (i.e. non-incumbent)
candidates (Baker & Scheiner, 2007, p. 490).
The emergence of the business-firm model and digital party in Japan in the past
decade deserves further observation. The new political trend of political parties acting
as digital platforms might change the political climate in Japan. The digital platforms
vary among political parties, ranging from the soft membership of NPS to N-Koku’s
rather strict requirement for voting. Those platforms aim to engage citizens with
public affairs and mobilise voters, in the hope that online participation can be trans-
lated into votes to win seats. Voters are finding unorthodox campaign strategies inter-
esting and entertaining. We could expect that major parties will also learn to adopt
digital platforms to encourage political participation if those platforms receive wide
attention and become fashionable in the future. However, these business-firm model
and digital parties can hardly be regarded as ‘democratic’ because of their person-
alistic characteristic. The organisation of these parties remains highly concentrated.
Nevertheless, the parties have attracted the public’s interest. In the near future, more
individual political entrepreneurs might enter the political market and band together
to seek political power. Promises to end ‘vested interest politics’ and governance
through backroom deals often resonate with Japanese voters, and they could shake
up Japanese politics just as they have done in Europe.
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Chapter 15
The Digitalisation of Political Parties
in Comparative Perspective
Patricia Correa, Oscar Barberà, Juan Rodríguez-Teruel, and Giulia Sandri
Abstract This chapter outlines the main findings of the edited book. Through the
study of a wide range of political parties from Europe and beyond, this book has
explored the different degrees of digitalisation that political parties present, and, at
the same time, discussed the main technological, democratic issues and trade-offs
that political parties have faced in their digital transition. The most relevant finding
is that all political parties operating in the democracies analysed have digitalised
their organisations to some extent. Our main finding across several cases shows that
the digitalisation of parties does not entail a homogenous process of convergence
towards a new mode of managing party organisations. Instead, the spread of digital-
isation is producing substantial differences among forces in both the degree and the
pattern of implementation of ICTs in intra-party functioning. Hence, future research
may benefit from paying more attention to how mainstream parties are dealing with
ICTs and how they adapt to this digital transformation. Furthermore, future research
must strengthen its comparative approach in order to identify general patterns of
digitalisation among parties, going beyond the analysis of digital native parties.
Keywords Digital platforms · Internet and politics · Digital parties
P. Correa (B)
Aston University, Birmingham, UK
e-mail: p.correa-vila@aston.ac.uk
O. Barberà · J. Rodríguez-Teruel
University of Valencia, Valencia, Spain
e-mail: o.barbera@uv.es
J. Rodríguez-Teruel
e-mail: jrteruel@uv.es
G. Sandri
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-78668-7_15
288 P. Correa et al.
15.1 Introduction
As set in the introduction to this volume, our goal has been to provide an original
account of the digitalisation of political parties and, concretely, how party digital
platforms are developed, regulated and used in new and mainstream political parties.
Through the study of a wide range of political parties from Europe and beyond, this
book has explored the different degrees of digitalisation that political parties present,
and, at the same time, discussed the main technological and democratic issues and
trade-offs that political parties have faced in their digital transition. To that end, the
theoretical and methodological chapters have provided the relevant tools to analyse
this phenomenon, and the empirical chapters have put those tools into practice.
The most relevant finding is that all political parties operating in the democracies
analysed have digitalised their organisations to some extent. This highlights the rele-
vance of including the digital dimension when studying political parties, in order to
understand how parties operate, organise and compete in elections. Since ICTs have
conquered the political sphere, the digital dimension has become paramount when
analysing all sorts of political actors, and political parties are no exception. Overall,
the findings presented in the different chapters of this book provide a more compre-
hensive assessment of party digitalisation and enrich current efforts in the literature
to assess the impact of democratic and technological innovations on traditional party
functions and party organisational settings.
In the introductory chapter, we formulated three research questions: the first one
focused on the influence of ICTs on political parties’ intra-organisational dynamics
and the presence of different patterns of digitalisation, the second one on the inter-
action of contextual and party factors and new technologies in shaping the internal
distribution of power and the levels of intra-party democracy, and the third one on
the broad relevance of technology in the creation, change and institutionalisation
of political parties. This book has demonstrated not only the existence of a huge
variance in the level of digitalisation of political parties, but also the absence of a
single pattern of digitalisation. In general, parties present different levels of digital-
isation, and they follow different paths towards digitalisation. This is discussed in
more detail in Sect. 15.3 of this concluding chapter, where we explore the different
patterns of digitalisation observed within different types of parties to answer our first
research question.
Another aspect identified in all chapters is how technological advancements have
significantly affected the way political parties operate but not necessarily to the same
extent, and how this has had different consequences for different parties. In that sense,
more consolidated parties that have slowly adapted their organisations to the digital
world have been less vulnerable when facing organisational crises that might have
destabilised their levels of institutionalisation. Conversely, newer parties, especially
those born ‘largely digital’, have simultaneously faced the constraints of building
a new organisation and the challenges associated with digitalisation. Section 15.2
of this concluding chapter explores the main consequences of parties’ migration
to the digital world, answering our second research question. While the broader
15 The Digitalisation of Political Parties in Comparative … 289
relevance of technology for party change and institutionalisation is to some extent

embedded in the discussions of the other research questions and in our final section,
it is important to note here that, even though all political parties have digitalised their
organisations to some extent, the constraints they have faced and the potential conse-
quences have been different. New parties without an institutionalised organisation
will face fewer internal constraints in developing their organisation digitally and in
implementing relevant innovations. On the other hand, political parties with more
consolidated organisations, which are already institutionalised and have a broad terri-
torial presence, will find greater internal resistance towards changing core elements
of the decision-making procedures or organisational structures and in implementing
innovations that could challenge the current status quo.
In this concluding chapter, Sect. 15.2 provides a detailed overview of the four key
dimensions of intra-party digitalisation and the main challenges identified in each
dimension. Section 15.3 analyses the emerging patterns of digitalisation observed in
the different chapters of this book. Both sections aim to answer the main research
questions formulated in the introduction to this book. The final section is devoted to
sketching and discussing avenues for further research.
15.2 How Political Parties Are Migrating to the Digital

Sphere
For some considerable time, the main research on the digitalisation of the internal
functions of political parties was focused on the mainstream Anglo-Saxon parties.
However, during the last decade, the interest has radically moved towards new parties
such as the Five Star Movement and Podemos from Southern Europe (Dommett
et al., 2020). The changes in temporal and geographical scope have also been linked
to completely different conceptions of intra-party digitalisation and hybridisation
mechanisms. Up until very recently, the internal use of ICTs was limited to strength-
ening and facilitating the management and, occasionally, the integration of the party
membership by the party headquarters. The new wave of digital transformations
has mostly focused on the formal empowerment of party members through the
digitalisation of more inclusive decision-making and policy-making procedures.
This book contributes to the growing number of publications in this area by
increasing the number and typologies of political parties taken into consideration.
While focusing on mainstream Anglo-Saxon and new Southern European political
parties, the book also considers several examples of new parties and party fami-
lies (such as the pirates or the greens) from continental Europe, as well as several
mainstream and new party families from Southern Europe (social democrats, conser-
vatives, regionalists). In addition, the book provides new theoretical grounds for a
better understanding of how digitalisation is transforming the internal functioning of
political parties. In this respect, the theoretical and methodological chapters of the
first part of the book provide a more systematic account of the main dimensions that
might be involved in political parties’ transition to the digital sphere.
Following the theoretical and methodological chapters of the book (Fitzpatrick,
von Nostitz and colleagues, Dommett and colleagues, in this volume), Table 15.1
identifies the main features, problems and consequences of the key intra-party dimen-
sions tackled by party digitalisation. It is divided into the four key dimensions of intra-
party digitalisation: (i) the websites, apps, Online Participation Platforms (OPPs) and
presence in social media developed by political parties and, strongly connected to
that, the way that party elites design their parties’ public image; (ii) the digital recruit-
ment, integration-communication and management of the party membership through
the different applications and tools; (iii) the digitalisation of political parties decision-
making systems through the development of new OPPs particularly oriented towards
selecting candidates, party leaders or, eventually, to democratising parties’ decision-
making systems on single issues (such as coalition agreements) through the inclusion
of the party membership; and, finally, (iv) the digitalisation of policy-making proce-
dures through specifically designed tools and OPPs. The following paragraphs are
devoted to summarising the main findings and challenges identified in each dimension
by the different chapters of this book and by the emerging comparative literature.
15.2.1 Platforms and the Parties’ Public Image
The clearest illustration of political parties’ migration to the online sphere is shown
in their successive efforts to build their own websites up until the late 1990s and to
open their own fan pages in different social media platforms from the late 2000s.
Since the mid-2010s, a growing number of new and mainstream political parties
have also developed their own Online Participation Platforms (OPPs) with different
affordances (Table 15.1, column 1). As stated above and in the introduction to this
book, one of the main aims of this project was to extend and map new OPPs beyond
the handful of cases analysed in the literature. That is why most of the chapters of
this book are devoted to analysing the features and affordances of OPPs in different
countries and party families. The book starts with a new exploration of the two most
well-known cases in the literature of party digitalisation, namely Podemos and the
Five Star Movement’s OPPs by Sandri and von Nostitz, and by Biancalana and Vittori.
It then moves to the in-depth analysis of other cases from South European countries
such as Guglielmo’s chapter on La France Insoumise (LFI) or the comparative case
studies of Díaz Montiel between the social democratic parties in Portugal and Spain.
The book further broadens the geographic representation of cases with the Jassaari
and Sarovec chapter on the Finnish and Czech pirates, Thuermer’s chapter on the
German greens and pirates, and Hartleb and colleagues on two Japanese parties.
More systematic intra-country or cross-country comparisons of the OPPs’ features
can be found in Blasco’s chapter, which analyses all the major Spanish parties, and in
Raniolo and colleagues’ chapter, which performs a similar exercise with all the major
Southern European parties. A different but also illustrative exploration of the public
Table 15.1 Digitalisation of political parties: key intra-party features, problems and main consequences
Platforms and public image Membership Decision-making and power Policy-making
Features -Websites & Apps -OPPs: recruitment, integration -OPPs: voting OPPs: policy-making
-Social media and communication, management -I-voting: key strategic decisions
-Online Participation Platforms of party membership -I-voting: candidate and
(OPPs): style, usability, software -New types of (digital) leadership selection
membership
Problems -Access -Members’ integration, -I-voting technical standards -Arenas, procedures and rules for
-Quantity versus quality of the participation and engagement gaps -I-voting democratic standards internal deliberation,
available information - Empowerment of party members Who sets the I-voting agenda? consensus-building and dissent
-Affordances versus pseudo-participation -Deliberative qualities of the
-Type of software, ownership and -Deliberative qualities of party digital policy-making process and
development of the platform members internal participation conflicts with plebiscitarian
-Type of interactions: vertical practices
versus horizontal -Real impact of bottom-up
-Recognition and rules for policy-making proposals
intra-party groups and
factionalism versus centralism
Consequences -Transparency issues -Higher administrative and -Security issues -Security
15 The Digitalisation of Political Parties in Comparative …
-Accountability and marketing efficiency -Real empowerment of party -Empowerment of party members
responsiveness of the party elites -Blurred and flash membership members versus versus pseudo-participation
-Security issues -Superbase: biases, gaps and pseudo-participation -Limited internal debates
irregular participation -Hyperleadership, -Organisational instability and
plebiscitarianism and limited institutionalisation challenges
accountability of the party elites
-Disintermediation and
emasculation of party middle
elites
-Organisational instability and
institutionalisation challenges
Source Authors’ own elaboration based on the different chapters of this book
291
image of the German and British conservative parties beyond their participation
platforms is provided in Borucki and Fitzpatricks’ chapter.
These analyses point out four main challenges regarding this pillar. The first one
is linked to the question of access, particularly to the internal website and OPPs of
several political parties. This question is obviously closely related to the membership
pillar and the question raised by recent literature on the changing nature of partisan-
ship (Scarrow, 2014). In practical terms, this translates to how different types of
members might have selective access to the different affordances provided by the
internal websites and the OPPs. This is something that has been reported not only
by new parties such as Podemos and the FSM (see Biancalana and Vittori, Sandri
and von Nostitz, in this volume), but also by mainstream parties in Spain such as
the PSOE (see Díaz Montiel, Blasco, and Raniolo et al., in this volume). The second
challenge relates to the quantity and quality of the information available both in the
fan pages on social media platforms and in the OPPs of the parties. The way that
such issues are handled seems to affect the public image of the party and might
be reflected in the trust and engagement of the party membership. This has been
explored partially by Borucki and Fitzpatrick in their chapter on the conservative
parties, but also by Guglielmo’s analysis of LFI and Biancalana and Vittori’s chapter
on Podemos and the FSM.
The third problem, already stated in the previous paragraph, concerns the different
affordances provided by each party to their different types of membership. This
mostly involves the OPPs and is directly intertwined with two of the other pillars
examined in this section—the digitalisation of the decision-making and of the policy-
making processes. The last question mainly refers to the OPPs’ software, ownership
and development by political parties. In this respect, the most well-known issue is the
FSM’s lack of democratic control over its platform (something that was supposedly
to be improved by the end of 2020). Several chapters of this book such as Sandri and
von Nostitz, Biancalana and Vittori, Raniolo and colleagues, Thuermer or Jaasaari
and Sarovec have reported problems not only in terms of ownership, but also related
to the control of software that usually requires close collaboration with specialised
firms (further discussed under the decision-making pillar).
As Fitzpatrick points out in her theoretical chapter, the main consequences linked
to this dimension have to do with the public image of political parties, and how
each party wants to be perceived by the public. The main dimensions identified
by Fitzpatrick are transparency, accessibility and responsiveness. Transparency is
linked to the availability of information, accessibility is linked to having user-friendly
platforms and websites, and responsiveness refers to the parties’ reaction to the input
from their members and supporters. In their chapter, Borucki and Fitzpatrick unveil
the low levels of interaction of two main conservative parties with their audiences
in their social media fan pages, which points towards a lack of predisposition to be
responsive towards party supporters and members in the digital sphere. Biancalana
and Vittori, Guglielmo, or Raniolo and colleagues have also reported low levels of
responsiveness to bottom-up proposals by the party membership. By contrast, the
greens and the pirates seem to fare better in this respect, according to the respective
chapters by Thuermer or Jaasaari and Sarovec. For instance, as Thuermer explains,
the German greens’ OPPs have options to track the status of members’ proposals and
suggestions. Another element of pressing consequences—the security of the OPPs—
is frequently ignored. The security of the OPPs is strongly linked to ownership issues.
This is indeed the lesson from the controversial experience of the FSM, as Sandri and
von Nostitz, Biancalana and Vittori explored in this volume. That said, the security
against external and internal threats has proved problematic even in parties that have
democratic control over their platforms, as reported in von Nostiz and colleague’s
chapter. This is very relevant in the decision-making pillar and mostly concerns
the technical standards of i-voting discussed by von Nostitz and colleagues, and by
Sandri and von Nostitz (see below).
15.2.2 Membership
The main features and sub-dimensions (bricks) of the membership pillar (Table
15.1, column 2) have to do with the recruitment, integration/communication, and the
management of the party membership, as discussed by Fitzpatrick in her chapter. In
addition, the comparative literature has provided new ways to understand, concep-
tualise and empirically assess relevant changes in the nature of the membership
(Scarrow, 1996, 2014; van Haute & Gauja, 2015). This has been somewhat linked with
the digital transformation of the membership dimension, but also to the challenges
connected with the decreasing membership figures registered by many Western polit-
ical parties during the last decades (van Biezen et al., 2012; Whiteley, 2011). In this
volume, several chapters have analysed to what extent different new and mainstream
parties have moved their membership dimension to the digital sphere and the main
challenges and consequences that these parties have faced accordingly. This has
particularly been the focus of the chapters by Biancalana and Vittori, Guglielmo,
Díaz Montiel, Blasco, Raniolo and colleagues, and Thuermer.
The digitalisation of the party membership pillar raises several challenges. The
most relevant one relates to the reassurance that inclusion, integration and engage-
ment gaps are not present in political parties (Gibson et al., 2003; Norris, 2001).
This is the main theme of Thuermer’s chapter comparing the contrasting strategies
of the German greens and the pirates in order to avoid inequalities produced by
digital gaps while promoting internal participation and integration. This challenge
is also discussed by Biancalana and Vittori, who explained how the rules are more
codified in the case of Podemos than the MFS and how that enhances fairness in the
participation of members. Similarly, LFI also faces similar challenges due to the lack
of rules to coordinate member participation as Guglielmo explained in his chapter.
Díaz Montiel’s chapter observed how the Portuguese social democratic party is more
inclusive than the Spanish one.
The second issue related to the party membership dimension has to do with the role
played by deliberation processes in intra-party participation. Most of the authors in
this volume are somewhat pessimistic on this issue. Biancalana and Vittori’s chapter
reports on the limitations of the internal deliberation procedures in Podemos and
FSM, mostly due to the plebiscitarian nature of both parties. A similar point is
made by Guglielmo’s on the LFI. Interestingly, there is some convergence between
Biancalana and Vittori and Guglielmo’s ideas on the symbolic role played by party
members’ political participation and engagement regardless of their limited relevance
in their respective parties’ decision-making systems. Closely related to this issue,
the third challenge concerns the way that the migration to the digital sphere allows
for horizontal communication and participation (not necessarily following all the
deliberative qualities related to the prior point). In this respect, Guglielmo’s chapter
highlights the problematic balance between the top-down plebiscitarian initiatives
promoted by the LFI leadership and more horizontal forms of integration and partic-
ipation from the Superbase. This is also the main theme of Díaz Montiel’s chapter
on the top-down and bottom-up procedures promoted by the Portuguese and Spanish
social democratic parties. Other chapters, such as the one by Blasco or the one by
Raniolo and colleagues, also assess the extent to which several major political parties
have migrated their integration function to the digital. Finally, the last issue relates to
the digital recognition of intra-party groups and factions. This certainly has a regu-
latory dimension, but it might also translate to other features such as the allocation
of digital party resources or digital internal fora where intra-party groups might be
able to meet. As Guglielmo’s chapter has pointed out, this has been particularly chal-
lenging for the LFI and might have had internal and external consequences, both in
terms of the balance between centralism and pluralism and for the external display
of party unity.
On the other hand, the digital transformation of the party membership dimen-
sion has entailed a substantial amount of administrative and marketing efficiency
(Gibson et al., 2003). Tedious tasks that were very time consuming such as keeping
the party census or the membership quotas up to date have completely moved to the
digital. More interestingly, political parties have seen digitalisation as an opportunity
to redefine the very nature of political membership. First, most of the new and main-
stream parties in Southern Europe are now welcoming digital enrolment, as Blasco’s
and Raniolo and colleagues’ chapters have pointed out. Second, new types of soft
membership such as party sympathisers or supporters (mostly registered online, but
not paying fees) are also emerging in these countries.
Third, new parties such as Podemos, FSM or the LFI have blurred even more the
distinction between members and voters through new categories such as digitally
registered members that end up having voting rights (see Sandri and Von Nostitz,
Biancalana and Vittori, Guglielmo, Blasco, Raniolo and colleagues, in this volume).
These findings are in line with the seminal comparative research carried out by
Scarrow (2014) on the different approaches undertaken by political parties to mobilise
members. That said, it is worth noting that in spite of the close resemblance between
digital party membership and social media followers, even new political parties
such as Podemos and the FSM allow different treatments and affordances to both
categories. Another important consequence of moving the membership dimension
to the digital sphere is the biases and gaps found in intra-party participation. As
previously stated in Thuermer’s or Guglielmo’s chapter, this is something that could
lead to inequalities within the membership and has been largely discussed by the
German greens and the LFI. Other chapters such as Biancalana and Vittori have
empirically shown how it translates into different patterns of participation and in
irregular turnout rates in Podemos’ and the FSM’s party primaries and referenda.
15.2.3 Decision-Making and power
More inclusive candidate and party leadership selection methods have transformed
many Western political parties since the early 2000s (Cross & Blais, 2012; Hazan
& Rahat, 2010; Sandri et al., 2015; Scarrow, 2000). Such transformation was
mostly implemented through face-to-face procedures, and the digitalisation of the
voting systems remained limited to local or one-off experiments. In this respect, the
academic literature hardly paid any attention to the relevance of the voting method.
That has substantially changed in recent years. As many chapters of this book have
reported, a considerable number of new and mainstream parties have dramatically
started to move their internal voting procedures to the digital sphere (Table 15.1,
column 3). As Thuermer’s and Jaasaari and Sarovec’s chapters illustrated, the pirates
took the initial lead on this migration through their liquid feedback experiments. Such
initiatives were lately readapted by new parties such as Podemos and the FSM and,
eventually, adopted by mainstream parties such as the Spanish social democrats
(see von Nostitz and colleagues, Sandri and von Nostitz, Biancalana and Vittori,
Díaz Montiel, Blasco, Raniolo and colleagues, in this volume). These digital voting
procedures have been implemented both to select candidates and party leaders and
to adopt key strategic decisions. In addition, they have become the default option for
members to participate in such procedures, while maintaining face-to-face voting as
an option to avoid participation gaps.
Von Nostitz and colleagues and Sandri and von Nostitz’s chapters have shown
the paradox that, while several pioneer countries are growing sceptical about the use
of digital and i-voting due to the technical requirements, the contrary seems to be
happening in more and more political parties that are favouring i-voting. So far, the
literature on intra-party democracy has not properly assessed the main challenges that
moving the voting function to the digital might present for political parties. In this
book, issues on two core aspects have been analysed: those associated with technical
and democratic standards of digital voting, and those associated with agenda-setting
through i-voting procedures. As the literature on digital voting at the country level has
consistently stated (Krimmer et al., 2020; Serdult et al., 2015; Siddiquee, 2016), not
being able to fulfil certain technical i-voting standards poses serious risks for the secu-
rity of the scrutiny and, of course, for the manipulation of the results either internally
or externally. Furthermore, while the party politics literature has rightly identified
the main democratic challenges faced by political parties, the links between those
challenges and digital voting systems have not been comprehensively analysed. The
last problem is eminently related to the internal distribution of power within political
parties: in both personnel selection and in strategic digital elections, the question of
who has agenda-setting capacities remains. As signalled by Sandri and von Nostitz,
Biancalana and Vittori, or by Guglielmo’s contributions, the digitalisation of the

decision-making system does not seem to have democratised or decentralised the
agenda-setting power of the party leadership in new parties such as Podemos, the
FSM or the LFI.
The most pressing consequences related to the digitalisation and democratisation
of the decision-making systems are linked to the security of the scrutiny. Some of
the chapters have pointed out scandals, mostly related to the FSM, but this could
be extended to other parties adopting digital tools for decision-making procedures
as well. In the light of Gerbaudo’s insights on the main consequences related to
the digitalisation of new parties (Gerbaudo, 2019), the cases analysed in this book
also observe the formal empowerment of the party membership (the Superbase), the
emergence of strong party leaderships (Hyper-leaders) ruling their parties through
plebiscitarian mechanisms, and the subsequent emasculation of the party middle
elites. Concretely, Biancalana and Vittori reach similar conclusions to Gerbaudo’s
findings regarding the role of the party leadership for both Podemos and the FSM.
That said, while reaching similar conclusions their assessment of the party member-
ship’s involvement is somewhat different, because they also consider the symbolic
aspects of political participation. Although this might not be enough to challenge
the predominance of the party leadership, it might shape party members’ identifica-
tion with the party or the way the party is perceived. Guglielmo’s contribution on
the LFI also seems to highlight the limited accountability of the party leadership
and the predominance of internal debates through the use of plebiscitarian decision-
making systems (such as internal referenda). Moreover, his chapter also pointed out
the relevance of party membership involvement by reinforcing their image of open
and ‘niche’ (anti-politics) organisations, by providing party routines and procedures
with a higher degree of uncertainty, and by integrating into party politics a massive
number of citizens that were previously disaffected with institutional dynamics.
15.2.4 Policy-Making
Online Participation Platforms have not only implemented voting affordances, but
also in several cases led to changes in the way that political parties engage in policy-
making (Table 15.1, column 4). Some new and mainstream parties have encouraged
party membership engagement and participation on policy development through their
digital platforms. In mainstream parties, these procedures have generally been led
and controlled by the party leadership. In some new parties, such procedures have
led to more open bottom-up initiatives by the party membership originated in their
OPPs (and in some cases even originated in political parties’ social media platforms).
Political parties implementing these digital innovations have faced several organ-
isational and political challenges. The first one has to do with designing the rightful
arenas and procedures that allow intra-party digital deliberation and consensus-
building, which while allowing dissent also help to manage it. In this respect,
Thuermer’s chapter has pointed out the differences between the German greens
and pirates in designing their digital participatory and policy-making arenas and
the rationales and politics behind the different degrees of affordances allowed in
both parties OPPs to handle these challenges. Biancalana and Vittori’s chapter also
describes the differences and contradictions that originated in the FSM due to its
informal party structure and the bottom-up policy-making functions allowed in its
participatory platforms. A second issue has to do with the deliberative qualities of
the digital policy-making process. This is, of course, closely connected to previous
challenges: if access becomes a problem or there are substantial participation gaps,
then digital deliberation might fail to fulfil (among others) the equality or diversity
standards expected. In addition, another challenge that might emerge is the potential
conflict between the bottom-up deliberative mechanisms and the plebiscitarian logic
exposed in the decision-making section. As reported by Biancalana and Vittori or
Guglielmo’s chapters, combing the two logics has not been an easy task for parties
and has often led to internal instability. The third and final question involves the
impact made by policy developments suggested through bottom-up procedures by
party members. In this respect, the limited evidence provided by Guglielmo on the
LFI or Biancalana and Vittori on both Podemos and the FSM suggests that these
new parties value far more the participation and integration functions of the digital
transformation than its role in policy-making.
As previously stated, one of the main potential challenges of digitalising party
policy-making processes has to do with the security of the deliberations and the
content of the proposals. However, not many issues have been identified in this
respect. As stated by Sandri and von Nostitz and Biancalana and Vittori, the main
security breach so far has been linked to the use of outdated software (see the case of
FSM). The second consequence is derived from the coexistence of both the bottom-
up deliberative procedures and the plebiscitarian principle reinforcing the authority
of the party leadership. This has eventually led to internal conflicts and, as reported
by Guglielmo’s and Biancalana and Vittori’s chapters, ended up limiting the scope
of intra-party debates.
15.3 Explaining Divergences in Party Digitalisation

Patterns: A First Assessment
This volume has also contributed to a better understanding of the underlying factors
that are shaping digitalisation within political parties. The theoretical section of
the book (Fitzpatrick, von Nostiz and colleagues, Dommett and colleagues, in this
volume) has identified some of the key dimensions of party digitalisation. However,
the current comparative knowledge on what drives differences in political parties’
migration into the digital sphere is still very limited. This section discusses the
relevance of several factors through the empirical evidence provided by the wide
selection of cases included in this volume.
As stated in the introduction, one of the hypotheses in the comparative literature is

that the difference between new and mainstream parties has become one of the main
drivers to understand digitalisation patterns. Mainstream political parties in Southern
Europe are embracing digitalisation not as an essential trait of their organisation
but as an additional tool, following a sustained innovation path with incremental
rather than radical changes, as highlighted by Blasco and Raniolo and colleagues’
chapters. Their aim is to reinforce their external communications and to improve
the recruitment, management and integration of party members. On the other hand,
new political parties have been more prone to foster party digitalisation, not only
as a campaigning tool, but also as a way to promote disruptive innovations in party
organisation, and it has often been made into an essential trait of the organisation.
New parties such as Podemos, the LFI, or the FSM have achieved that by digitally
migrating their external communications as well as their decision-making and policy-
making systems (e.g. Gerbaudo, 2019; Roemmele, 2012). The evidence provided in
this volume shows that the disparity between both party types might be starting to
weaken as some mainstream political parties such as the Spanish social democrats are
also embracing digital disruptive innovations such as i-voting on internal referenda
(Blasco, Díaz Montiel, in this volume). That said, most of the mainstream parties
analysed in this volume have tended to promote incremental changes promoting
OPPs with more deliberative than decision-making affordances.
This volume has also tried to contribute to the ongoing debate on the existence of
different (new) digital parties. Based on their digitalisation features, two broad sub-
types have been identified so far: the personalistic-authoritarian sub-type, which
relies on the relevance of top-down plebiscitarian digital decision-making systems
or the intensive use of new technologies to organise and mobilise party members or
followers (Bennett et al., 2018; Deseriis, 2020b; Hartleb, 2013; McSwiney, 2020);
and the connective sub-type, which stresses the use of digital technologies to enhance
participatory and bottom-up decision-making systems (Bennett et al., 2018; Boyd,
2008; Deseriis, 2020a; Hartleb, 2013; Klimowicz, 2018). As this research strand has
pointed out, the differences between both sub-party types are linked not only to their
use of digital technologies, but also to the differences in their origin and context of
emergence or the differences in their organisational culture. This has contributed to
establish theoretical connections between this research strand and the literature on
party models and, more particularly, to the emergence of new party types such as
movement or protest parties (Bolleyer, 2013; della Porta et al., 2017; Kitschelt, 2006;
Morlino & Raniolo, 2017).
This book has tried to broaden the empirical scope of previous research by incorpo-
rating new in-depth case studies. Specifically, the book studies new cases of connec-
tive parties, such as in Guglielmo’s exploration of the LFI, Thuermer’s compar-
ison between the German greens and pirates, and Jaasaari and Savorec’s compar-
ison between the Finnish and Czech pirates. Furthermore, Hartleb and colleagues’
analysis of the Japanese parties as examples of the personalistic-authoritarian sub-
party type has complemented previous knowledge of this sub-type. Although limited
to Southern Europe, the comparative case studies from Blasco and Raniolo and
colleagues have also contributed to enrich our knowledge of both new connective
and personalistic-authoritarian case studies. Their chapters have also shown that
not all new Southern European parties have fully migrated their participatory or
external communications online, which also substantiates the relevance of taking
into account other organisational factors that have sometimes been overlooked in the
political communication literature.
A second common expectation has to do with the role of ideology as a driver of
party digitalisation, the extent to which parties will embed digitalisation, or the areas
where they will focus their efforts to digitalise their organisation. The main rationale
here is that left-wing party members are more prone to political participation and, as
such, they are more willing to demand the strengthening of internal party democracy
and horizontal communications through OPPs . On the other hand, right and radical
right-wing party members are less concerned with participation, which favours party
digitalisation strategies based on external communication and, eventually, on top-
down decision-making systems. The evidence presented in this book is in line with
this expectation: OPPs have mostly been developed by mainstream and new radical
or regional left parties, with just some exceptions linked to new centre-right parties
such as La Republique En Marche or Ciudadanos (see Raniolo and colleagues, and
Blasco, in this volume).
Interestingly, even within left parties there are quite striking differences in their
use of digital technologies. That has been the main point of Thuermer’s in-depth
analysis distinguishing the different priorities of the German greens and the pirates.
Thuermer’s conclusions are somehow mirrored by Jaasaari and Sarovec’s analysis
of the pirates, and Borucki and Fitzpatrick’s studies on the British and German
conservatives. Generally speaking, most of the in-depth case studies as well as the
comparative case studies seem to indicate that different party families such as the
social democrats, the new centrist parties, or the conservatives have followed similar
approaches in their digital strategies; however, this is not always the case (see for
instance Díaz Montiel comparison of the Portuguese and Spanish social democratic
parties). While their conclusions somehow reinforce the relevance of ideology, the
differences seem to derive more from party families than the left–right divide, and
the evidence presented in this book is not sufficiently conclusive to expect a specific
pattern of digitalisation linked to the ideology of parties.
This volume has also tried to understand differences in political parties’ migration
to the digital sphere between the national and the regional levels. The main assump-
tion stated in the introduction was that hybridisation processes will be higher at the
national level (party central office) than at the periphery. The main rationale is basi-
cally that most political parties’ OPPs are actually developed at the national level,
and the regional branches have a secondary role in their design and implementation.
However, most of the comparative and in-depth analyses in this book have focused
on the national arena, leaving this eventual divergence almost unexplored. Raniolo
and colleagues have partially addressed this issue by exploring the extent to which (i)
Southern European parties have fully digitalised their headquarters and (ii) if polit-
ical parties have territorial units and the role of digital technologies at the regional
level. Their evidence shows that, although several political parties have designed and
developed their own party platforms, none of them has fully moved its headquarters
online. The main exception is, for now, the FSM, which remains the only political
party without a physical headquarter. On the other hand, most political parties have
territorial units, which mostly have a physical presence. That said, their chapter has
provided scattered evidence that digitalisation is also present at the regional level
through online thematic or sectoral groups. Such digital structures have probably
gained more relevance during the Covid-19 pandemic. On the other hand, Blasco’s
chapter has compared national and regional parties and provided mixed evidence of
regional parties’ digitalisation patterns in Spain. New centre-right parties, such as the
Catalan independentist PDeCAT or the new Valencian radical left Compromís, have
substantially migrated many of their internal and external functions to the digital.
However, that is not the case with older and more conservative parties such as the
Basque nationalist PNV.
15.4 Perspectives on Party Digitalisation: From Cases

and Causes to Compared Consequences
This book is a first step in providing a comparative overview of the most important
organisational changes that political parties are experiencing in the new century. The
observation of the digitalisation of parties has relied so far on case studies with a
descriptive account of their internal adaptation using digital technologies. That was a
necessary research design to inform about a phenomenon that emerged at the margins
of the party system, within new, challenger parties. However, the studies contained
in this book, as well as other recent works on the topic, indicate that the digital trend
is entering a new phase of generalisation among traditional political forces. Several
factors are pushing mainstream political parties to implement online strategies to
adapt to a digital context. In some aspects, this follows the typical path defined
by technological innovations spreading from the periphery to the centre (Kersting,
2012). There are also contingent drivers that force traditional parties to change their
organisational strategies quickly. Thus, the Covid-19 pandemic will probably be seen
in the future as a critical juncture in the process of a wide party digitalisation.
But generalisation does not necessarily mean homogenisation. As mentioned
above, our main finding across several chapters shows that the digitalisation of
parties does not entail a homogenous process of convergence towards a new mode
of managing party organisations. Instead, the spread of digitalisation is producing
substantial differences among forces in both the degree and the pattern of implemen-
tation of ICTs in intra-party functioning. Hence, future research may benefit from
paying more attention to how large traditional parties are dealing with ICTs and how
they adapt to this digital transformation. Furthermore, future research must strengthen
the comparative approach among parties in order to identify general patterns of digi-
talisation, going beyond those parties more specifically committed to the new ICT
tools. And finally, this evolution paves the way for a more ambitious reorientation of
digital party research towards the consequences of this change for political parties and
for the political system more generally. In this respect, the potential of the research
avenues on party digitalisation is still to be developed. The move from case studies
or descriptive comparisons of few cases to a more quantitative approach may procure
the evidence to effectively check many of the assumptions and preliminary outputs
delivered by scholars so far. We can identify three main areas for further comparative
development in the study of the consequences.
First, the consequences within parties. Previous research (including this book) has
focused on the implications of ICTs for party organisation. In this case, comparative
research may provide more robust evidence about the relationship between digital
innovations and other political changes that are reshaping internal party politics. As
we have mentioned in other sections, scholars have assumed that party digitalisa-
tion fuels both personalisation and centralisation as relevant consequences of these
changes. However, this would entail a constant link between those phenomena, and
a more detailed comparative assessment might deliver a less clear picture, where
different degrees and patterns of digitalisation are not necessarily connected to the
same extent with personal politics (Cross et al., 2020; Karvonen, 2010; Rahat &
Kenig, 2018). Another important aspect relates to the transformation of the internal
commitment with party activities and the nature of new types of party activism.
Overall, the comparative analysis of party digitalisation would contribute to eluci-
dating the dynamics of the ‘digital contagion’ that allow propagation of the ICTs’
innovations among mainstream forces. Is it a ‘contagion from challengers’ to estab-
lished forces, or is it just a ‘contagion from the new’ to the old actors? Is there any
contagion at all?
Another relevant question that remains under-explored relates to the relevance
of technology as a driving force of party formation and change. In this respect,
the cyber/digital parties’ literature has not properly engaged with other academic
theories emphasising alternative factors (charismatic leadership, their societal roots,
changing patterns of intra-party democracy) of party formation and evolution (e.g.
Bolleyer, 2013; Panebianco, 1988). To what extent might digitalisation shape the
future institutionalisation process of cyber/digital parties?
Second, the consequences between parties. Many studies on digital parties are
based on the assumption that their adoption of ICTs is aimed at achieving internal
goals, such as enhancing the members’ position or fulfilling party needs, for example
communicating with external voters. But this approach highlights a more relevant
aspect related to inter-party competition, namely the electoral consequences of party
digitalisation. While offline parties seem arguably less prepared for competing and
representing their voters, differences in the strategies and the extent of digitalisa-
tion could entail divergences in the patterns of competition, with different electoral
results. But the direction of this effect is far from clear, as recent genuine digitalised
parties have experienced different electoral evolutions, partially connected to their
organisational features. From a wider perspective, the digitalisation trend raises ques-
tions about its systemic effects in terms of party system institutionalisation and party
system change. In this sense, the evolution towards more digitally disintermediated
organisations, or greater party embeddedness in social networks, may contribute
to more polarised politics and open the door to new emerging forces more easily,
fuelling party system fragmentation and electoral volatility.
Finally, the consequences beyond parties. The digitalisation of parties also matters
for the evolution of the political system in at least three relevant aspects. Digital strate-
gies may allow parties to strengthen their link with political communities even beyond
their own electorate. In this vein, comparative studies could clarify whether different
patterns and degrees of digitalisation produce stronger or weaker linkages with voters
and society. Similarly, digitalised parties may face opportunities or disadvantages
when they access state institutions, in particular when parties enter government. The
decline of party government was already a trend in current democracies before digital
party politics started to spread, but the different levels of digitalisation are also likely
to produce differences in the way that parties manage their presence in the execu-
tives. This brings new opportunities for policy deliberation with citizens in parallel
with the process of policy-making, but it also brings new risks, since technocrats
and non-partisan bureaucrats can more easily retain portions of power when digital
party procedures cannot successfully deliver a clear programmatic line. More gener-
ally, the digitalisation of political parties reflects a major trend of disintermediated
democracy, and comparative studies can clarify whether there is a direct connection
between both goals. Do more digitalised parties help to bring social conflict into
public institutions?
These remarks suggest that we are just at the start of a deep transformation of the
environment where parties should compete and represent their electorates. The chap-
ters in the book offer some background and concepts to facilitate an understanding of
how some parties are adapting to the situation. The digitalisation of political organi-
sations is just one aspect of a large social process, but it may become one of the main
drivers that shape the resulting society.
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Studies in Digital Politics and Governance

More information about this series at http://www.springer.com/series/16070

Patricia Correa Juan Rodríguez-Teruel

ISSN 2524-3926 ISSN 2524-3934 (electronic)

1 Political Parties Transition into the Digital Era . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

10 Political Parties and New ICTs: Between Tradition

About the Editors

Oscar Barberà is Associate Professor at the Universitat de València (UV). He has

Patricia Correa is Lecturer in politics and international relations at Aston Univer-

Juan Rodríguez-Teruel is Associate Professor at the University of Valencia. He has

Oscar Barberà University of Valencia, Valencia, Spain

Oscar Barberà, Giulia Sandri, Patricia Correa, and Juan Rodríguez-Teruel

Keywords Digital platforms · Internet and politics · Party politics

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 1

1.2 Digital Political Participation and Political Parties

the conventional modes of political engagement towards more citizen-initiated and

1.3 Digital Parties: An Emerging Party Model?

Margetts’s intuition pointed towards the future emergence of new parties in

1.4 The Digitalisation of Political Parties and Its

Studies on the digitalisation of political parties represent an emerging research strand

1.5 Research Questions and Plan of the Book

one of the most common patterns of organisational hybridisation tends to be some

data ownership and control) and democratic (participation, representation, competi-

Deseriis, M. (2017). Direct parliamentarianism: An analysis of the political values embedded in

Keywords Political parties · Web-based technologies · Meta-analysis

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 23

2.2 The Five-Pillar Model of Parties’ Migration

(Gerbaudo, 2019; Dommett et al., 2020a).

Dimensions of Party Routine in the Digital

Leaders and Policy

administration accountability agenda setting responsiveness investment

2.3 Current Literature Located in the Five-Pillar Model

Fig. 2.2 Location of scholarly literature in the Five-Pillar Model

Roemmele (2003, p. 10) states: ‘Day-to-day administrative processes are simpli-

candidates on Twitter during the 2012 US House elections. Gender is a determinant

The analysis of (Db) transparency by technology has quite a long tradition in

Vaccari (2014) conducted a comparative analysis of political actors’ response

2.4 Range of Application and Open Questions

Felix von Nostitz, Giulia Sandri, and Jordi Barrat i Esteve

Keywords i-voting · Digital platforms’ regulation · Political parties

F. von Nostitz (B) · G. Sandri

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 43

3.2 Defining i-Voting and Its Legal Framework

von Nostitz in this volume.

3.3 How to Analyse the Process of i-Voting in States

Pre-elecƟon Intra-Party ElecƟon NaƟonal ElecƟon Post-elecƟon

for determining whether the technical solution in place should be considered as an

3.4 Key Aspects of Democratic Norms Applying to i-Voting

As mentioned above, several countries have recently implemented internet voting

Democratic Definition (i-voting context) Impact Legal measures Measurement

Table 3.2 Technical standards for i-voting

analytical framework is discussed and applied to a selection of empirical cases of

3.5 Practices of i-Voting at National Level

3.5.1.2 Democratic Norms

body responsible for overall electoral management, including decisions to supple-

3.5.1.3 Technical Aspects

Fig. 3.2 Map of different

federal organisation of Switzerland, it is not surprising that responsibilities are shared

3.5.2.2 Democratic Norms

3.5.2.3 Technical Aspects

In order to participate in an election, Swiss voters based in Geneva receive a voting

Katharine Dommett and Sam Power

Abstract Digital technology is becoming an increasingly familiar part of the land-