Susan J. Henders (Auth.) - Territoriality, Asymmetry, and Autonomy - Catalonia, Corsica, Hong Kong, and Tibet-Palgrave Macmillan US (2010)

Territoriality, Asymmetry, and Autonomy
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Territoriality, Asymmetry,
and Autonomy
Catalonia, Corsica, Hong Kong,
and Tibet
Susan J. Henders
TERRITORIALITY, ASYMMETRY, AND AUTONOMY
Copyright © Susan J. Henders, 2010.
Softcover reprint of the hardcover 1st edition 2010 978-1-4039-7062-6
All rights reserved.
First published in 2010 by
PALGRAVE MACMILLAN®
in the United States—a division of St. Martin’s Press LLC,
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
Where this book is distributed in the UK, Europe and the rest of the world,
this is by Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited,
registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills,
Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS.
Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies
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Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States,
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ISBN 978-1-349-53228-5 ISBN 978-0-230-10582-9 (eBook)
DOI 10.1057/9780230105829
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Henders, Susan J., 1960–
Territoriality, asymmetry, and autonomy : Catalonia, Corsica,
Hong Kong, and Tibet / Susan J. Henders.
p. cm.
1. Autonomy—Case studies. I. Title.

JC327.H43 2010
320.4⬘049—dc22 2009022973
A catalogue record of the book is available from the British Library.
Design by Newgen Imaging Systems (P) Ltd., Chennai, India.
First edition: March 2010
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
CON T E N T S
Acknowledgments vii
One Introduction 1
Two Territoriality, Asymmetry, and Autonomy:
Key Concepts, Historical and Contemporary Perspectives 5
Three The Origins, Nature, Political Dynamics, and
Outcomes of Special Status Arrangements 31
Four Catalonia as an Autonomous Community 49
Five Corsica after the 1982/1983 Special Statute 89
Six Hong Kong as a Special Administrative Region 125
Seven Central Tibet from the Sino-Tibetan Seventeen-Point
Agreement to the Tibet Autonomous Region 163
Eight Conclusions 203
Notes 231
Sources Cited 235
Index 263
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AC K NOW L E DGM E N T S
Many people read all or parts of earlier drafts of the manuscript for this
book and offered invaluable insights, expertise, and support. They
include Jim Sharpe, Colin Mackerras, Robert Agranoff, the late Michael
Aris, Steve Tsang, the late Vincent Wright, Farimah Daftary, Andrew
Fischer, Ananya Mukherjee-Reed, Daniele Conversi, André Laliberté,
Marc Lateigne, Jennifer Jackson Preece, Ken McRoberts, Ronald
Watts, Vernon Bogdanor, Peter Ferdinand, and Laurence Whitehead as
well as autonomous reviewers. The errors and weaknesses that remain
are entirely my own responsibility. My thanks also to Philippe Pesteil,
Elisa Roller, Josh Fogel, and Steve Tsang who assisted me in locating
important source materials.
I wish to acknowledge the Social Sciences and Humanities Research
Council of Canada and the British Overseas Student Research Award,
which funded my DPhil dissertation research, the starting point for the
present study. Jim Sharpe of Nuffield College, Oxford, was tremen-
dously supportive when he served as my dissertation supervisor. I
extend my warmest thanks to colleagues at the Katholieke Universiteit
Leuven, in Belgium, where I was fortunate to spend a fruitful sabbati-
cal year during the preparation of the manuscript. I also wish to express
my sincere gratitude to York University, in Toronto, particularly to my
colleagues at the York Centre for Asian Research, Peter Vandergeest
and Alicia Filipowich, for their support, to Dean Bob Drummond,
who provided me with teaching release time, and David McNally, who
was supportive during his term as chair of the Political Science depart-
ment. I also thank Lisa Williams, Jennifer Catallo, and Lauren Turner,
who provided invaluable research and editorial assistance. Finally, I
owe a boundless debt to my family, whose patience, understanding,
and love have seen me through from the beginning.
CH A P T E R ON E
Introduction
This book is part of an expanding literature analyzing the role of asym-

metry in the territorial politics of contemporary states. Its specific focus
is on special status arrangements. These are grants of formally asym-
metrical territorial autonomy to territorially concentrated minority
communities. Special status arrangements challenge the modern ter-
ritorial state and citizenship model, which in its purest form implies a
standardized distribution of territorial political authority and equal cit-
izenship rights across a state. Despite these tensions, the governments of
a number of states have used special status concessions to accommodate
the demands of mobilized, or mobilizeable, minority communities.
Special status concessions have been made in both federal and unitary
states and those of diverse regime types. They have also been made in
societies with distinctive histories and a range of cultural, social, politi-
cal economy, geopolitical, and other characteristics (see Henders 1997;
Steiner 1991; Hannum 1990; Lapidoth 1997; see also Heraclides 1992;
Heisler 1990; Laponce 1987). Special status arrangements exist for
Quebec in Canada and Scotland in the United Kingdom, in Muslim
areas of Mindanao in the Philippines, and the Atlantic coast regions of
Nicaragua, to name a few examples. Special status arrangements have
been part of recent peace agreements for Aceh in Indonesia and south-
ern Sudan. As Michael Keating has commented: “There is no model of
the asymmetrical state to replace the old paradigm, but there is a vari-
ety of experiences to support it” (1999a: 71; see also Ortino 2005).
The present study aims to contribute to our understanding of the
diversity of the asymmetrical state experience and its implications
for order and justice. It focuses on special status arrangements in the
People’s Republic of China (PRC) and Western Europe. These areas
2 Territoriality, Asymmetry, and Autonomy
are the site of some of the most innovative forms of territorial asym-
metry to emerge in recent decades. The political, historical, cultural,
and socioeconomic differences between the two areas also allow for
comparison of special status arrangements in diverse contexts. The spe-
cific cases examined include the special status arrangements for central
Tibet beginning in the 1950s and for post-1997 Hong Kong in China,
for Catalonia in post-Franco Spain, and for Corsica in France from the
early 1980s. The cases are examined using a common analytical frame-
work. The comparative findings aim to shed light on the strengths and
weaknesses of special status arrangements as means of articulating dif-
ference with universality within the nation-state.
The need to extend our comparative analytical gaze to experiences
of minority territorial autonomy outside the liberal-democratic West
is compelling. As we have seen, special status arrangements have been
key components of recent efforts to resolve long-standing conf licts in
parts of Africa and Asia. Indeed, since the collapse of the Soviet bloc,
territorial autonomy arrangements have been more prominent in the
tool boxes of international organizations involved in minority conf licts
around the world (see Jackson Preece 1997; Wolff and Weller 2005).
Territorial autonomy arrangements are likely to be part of any seri-
ous attempt to address the underlying causes of the civil war in Sri
Lanka. They were integral to efforts to reconcile Kurdish residents to
being part of Iraq following the 2003 U.S.-led invasion. Meanwhile,
PRC governments, although sensitive to perceived challenges to their
sovereignty, have since 1949 strategically used special status conces-
sions to smooth expansion of the state territorially, to maintain state
legitimacy in minority nationality areas, and to articulate the economy
with global capitalism. Outside the liberal-democratic West, as within
it, special status and other minority territorial autonomy arrangements
are transforming the ordering of identity, political authority, territory,
and production associated with the standardized and centralized rule
associated with the modern territorial state and citizenship model.
Yet, most of the comparative literature on minority territorial auton-
omy still focuses on the experience of democracies, especially in the
West. Territorial autonomy arrangements in culturally plural states
elsewhere have, to date, garnered insufficient comparative attention,
although there have been some important exceptions (e.g., Horowitz
1986; Brown and Ganguly 1997; He, Galligan, and Inoguchi 2007;
Kymlicka and He 2005). There has also been relatively little compara-
tive examination of minority autonomy arrangements in democratic
and non-democratic contexts, although the work of Will Kymlicka
Introduction 3
(2002; 2004) in this area suggests that there is much to be learned.
There is a small comparative literature on minority territorial auton-
omy that brings in examples from outside the democratic West and
includes some discussion of authoritarian contexts (e.g., Hannum 1990;
Montville 1990; McGarry and O’Leary 1993; Lapidoth 1997; Safran
and Máiz 2000; Weller and Wolff 2005a). However, these works give
little explicit attention to asymmetry. It is here that the contribution of
the present study lies.
There are many reasons for the relative neglect of minority territo-
rial autonomy in non-democratic contexts. Perhaps the most important
is the assumption that, due to their authoritarian context, these auton-
omy arrangements have been mere formalities, offering minority com-
munities no meaningful self-rule. These concerns are legitimate and
should be taken seriously. Nevertheless, they should not turn attention
away from examination of the roles that asymmetrical and other ter-
ritorial autonomy policies have had in building and maintaining states
and political economic orders in non-democratic contexts. Moreover,
the political and normative effects of special status arrangements in
any context, democratic or otherwise, need to be studied empirically
rather than assumed. As Watts (1999) has pointed out, we should not
judge such arrangements based on their presumed (in)compatibilities
with such values as equality, democracy, state sovereignty, or minor-
ity self-government. With respect to the post-1949 PRC, we should
not assume that the Leninist nature of political system, including its
lack of rule of law, legislative and judicial checks on executive power
and authority, and other constitutionalist features, completely accounts
for the origin, character, political dynamics, and outcomes of its spe-
cial status policies. A comparative study of examples of special status
arrangements in both democratic and nondemocratic contexts poten-
tially enhances understanding of the effects of regime type, while also
exposing other factors that have shaped the arrangements and their
impact on order and justice.
The Structure of the Book
With these aims, the present book is structured as follows. The first
two chapters set out the concepts and propositions that make up the
analytical framework used in the study. Chapter two focuses on and
conceptualizes asymmetry and autonomy as modalities of imperial
rule historically and of state-building and state maintenance in more
recent times. It sets out what is meant by minority territorial autonomy
arrangements and special status arrangements and identifies various types of
asymmetry relevant to their analysis. It also sets out key debates over
the practical political and normative implications of asymmetry and
autonomy with respect to minority territorial autonomy arrangements.
Chapter three focuses on the key concepts, indicators, and propositions
that will be used to assess the origins, nature, political dynamics, and
outcomes of the case studies. It also introduces the specifics of the com-
parative study in more detail, including its research questions, method,
sources, and cases.
Chapters four through seven contain the studies of Catalonia,
Corsica, Hong Kong, and central Tibet. These chapters use the ana-
lytical framework developed in chapters two and three to analyze why
state decisionmakers agree to special status arrangements, the nature of
these arrangements, their political dynamics, and their consequences
for order and justice. Chapter eight contains the comparative conclu-
sions with respect to each of these dimensions. The conclusions shed
light on the circumstances in which special status arrangements can
enhance state stability, while also advancing the collective citizenship
of minority territorial communities in the state, but without becoming
vehicles for dominant groups within these communities to exclude vul-
nerable internal minorities from socioeconomic and political belong-
ing. To borrow from Lister (2007), can special status arrangements help
maintain the culturally territorialized state while also advancing the
emancipatory ideal behind modern citizenship’s universalist promise?
CH A P T E R T WO
Territoriality, Asymmetry, and Autonomy:

Key Concepts, Historical and
Contemporary Perspectives
In recent years, the literature on territorial politics and decentraliza-

tion has paid more attention to asymmetry in the distribution of ter-
ritorial political authority within states (e.g., McGarry 2007a; 2007b;
Conversi 2007; Ortino et al. 2005; Watts 2000; 1996; Keating 1999a;
1999b; Agranoff 1999b; de Villiers 1994; Elazar 1994; 1987; McGarry
and O’Leary 1993; Coakley 1993). This interest has coincided with
renewed attention to and to some minds greater legitimacy for ethnic
and ethnonationalist mobilization and for minority autonomy arrange-
ments in general. Yet, as this chapter makes clear, asymmetry and
autonomy have been important to the actual functioning of polities
for a much longer period, both historically and in the contemporary
state system. They have long been modalities of imperial rule and of
state-building and state maintenance in both China and the democratic
West. At the same time, minority territorial autonomy arrangements in
general and special status arrangements in particular have been tension-
wracked. This has been due to a number of factors, including the chal-
lenges they pose to the modern territorial state and citizenship model
as understood in dominant versions of liberalism and Marxism. The
following chapter explains concepts key to the present study, namely
minority territorial autonomy and special status arrangements, and sets
out the main variations in the latter. It also provides a perspective on
asymmetrical territoriality in China and Europe historically and in
recent decades.
Historical Perspectives:
The Experience of Western Europe and China
Territoriality refers to the organization of political space and the spatial

extent of political authority. Political rule always has a spatial dimen-
sion, but territoriality has not always taken the form of the modern
territorial state. It has not always been based on a formal, legal claim
to exclusionary spatial boundaries nor the standardized organization
of political space (see Caporaso 2000). It is, perhaps, unsurprising that
historians and political analysts appear not to have identified asymme-
try as an analytically distinct feature of territoriality until the modern
era. It was then that pre-modern practices of unbounded and uneven
spatiality, overlapping political authority, and nonstandardization were
seriously challenged by the standardized, universal, and exclusionary
modes of territorial political authority claimed by many modern state-
builders. As such, in pre-modern times asymmetry may not have had
the significance and meanings given to it since the rise of the modern
territorial state. With this caveat, the history of territoriality, asymme-
try, and autonomy suggests that asymmetrical distributions of territorial
political authority were comparatively common in pre-modern times
and in empires. Modern states have also exhibited more asymmetry in
practice than the model and formal state institutions would suggest.
The modern territorial state and citizenship ideal arose during the
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in Europe. It has been used to legiti-
mate the claims of a single ruler to exclusive jurisdiction over a discrete
territory and territorially bounded population. It also has legitimated
the formally standardized and centralized institutions used to rule them.
The modern territorial state emerged as the rulers of these nascent
political communities used war and other means to coopt, weaken,
or eliminate competing elites and competing identities based on local
and medieval privileges and allegiances (Tilly 1985, 1975). Later, state
authorities and other agents sought to forge the homogeneous national
identities and citizenries associated with the nation-state and the needs
of capitalism and industrialization. Standardized state rule and citizen-
ship norms encouraged efficiencies of rule and of goods, capital, and
labor f lows. Their association with claims of universality also obfus-
cated differences of class, gender, and culture and related hierarchies of
power within the modern territorial state (see Sack 1986).
Although never fully realized and always internally and externally
contested, the modern territorial state and citizenship model was distinct
from previous patterns of territorial governance. In medieval Europe,
Key Concepts and Perspectives 7
rulers ruled people, not territories. The political map was marked by
entangled and overlapping inter-elite relationships, allegiances, and
alliances, along with particularized local privileges. Governing rights
were partial and overlapping, juridical jurisdictions were stratified, and
the landscape a quilt of “plural allegiances, asymmetrical suzerainties
and anomalous enclaves” (Anderson 1974, 37–38; see also Caporaso
2000). Pre-modern forms of belonging tended to be simultaneously
local and interpersonal as well as religious (whether attachments were
to local saints and/or Christendom). By contrast, modern citizenship,
termed nationality in international law, divided the world into discrete
territorial states and populations. The relationship between the sover-
eign and the individual was the primary form of belonging, understood
in formal legal terms. The state had sole authority over the criteria of
membership, or nationality, and the rights and duties that accompanied
it (see Desforges et al. 2005). Individuals had other identities and affili-
ations too, but these were deemed secondary and often relegated to the
private realm.1
The idea of the modern territorial state was not born in the abstract
and, as noted, never a pure form in practice. It emerged out of the often
violent processes by which the agents of emergent states attempted to
expand their military and extractive control over territories and popu-
lations by defeating political rivals. When this failed, Tilly (1975: 77)
has argued, agents of the emergent state sometimes used “anti-state
institutions” to co-opt competitors. One method was to allow quasi-
sovereign rival power centers to keep their medieval privileges and sta-
tuses. Such concessions contradicted the general standardizing thrust of
processes of building modern states and citizenries, but they facilitated
state-making.
In France, one focus of the present study, centralized governance
dates back to efforts by monarchs to build a unified state from the
hierarchical, overlapping, and personalized system of feudal political
obligation and belonging. Under the inf luence of the Jacobin move-
ment of the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the assertion of a
strong, centralized state with standardized practices of rule was seen as
essential to establishing the power of the republican state and achiev-
ing liberty, equality, and popular sovereignty. However, as the Corsica
case demonstrates, some feudal privileges survived, creating pockets of
special status in tension with modern state and republican ideals. In
Spain, strong territorial identities and some medieval regional statuses
and privileges also survived the building of the state from late medieval
times. This was particularly so in Catalonia, the Basque territories, and
Galicia. Although the protection of these medieval vestiges was func-
tional for building the modern state, by Tilly’s analysis, they clashed
with the Jacobin ideals claimed by Spanish liberal republicans in their
struggles against decentralization and regionalization in the nineteenth
and early twentieth centuries (Keating 1993). Decades later, from the
1960s, France, Spain, and other Western European states experienced
an accentuation of territorial differentiation in conjunction with the
weakening of the nation-state associated with European integration
and globalization (Keating 1999a). There was a revitalization of substate
ethnonationalist movements and attempts to reinvent and reclaim his-
torical territorial statuses, privileges, and identities, including in Corsica
and Catalonia. The special status arrangements granted to these two
minority territorial communities by the French and Spanish govern-
ments from the late 1970s, can be regarded as contemporary versions of
Tilly’s “anti-state institutions.” They were concessions that contradicted
standardized patterns of rule and citizenship in order to cement the ter-
ritories and their populations in the state.
Meanwhile, in the overseas territories of European empires, terri-
torially differentiated governance was more the norm than the excep-
tion. There, rulers often managed their culturally diverse and far-f lung
realms in ways that contradicted the modern state ideal of uniformity of
rule and of belonging. Indirect rule was common. Under its practices,
imperial authorities allowed established local elites and local political
institutions, or those created by imperial rulers, to function relatively
autonomously so that their power and authority could help legitimate
and facilitate imperial rule (see Fisher 1991; Gocking 1994). As Ernst
Gellner put it, indirect rule gave imperial authorities “greater effective-
ness and diminution of both offence and expense” (Gellner 1987: 558).
Indirect rule, like special status arrangements in more recent times,
reduced standardization. By allowing local elites and institutions to
function relatively autonomously, patterns of political organization
were more ref lective of spatial variations in socio-economic and politi-
cal organization, customs, institutions, power, interests, and forms of
political legitimacy.
For its part, what we now term China had a distinctive history of
territoriality and asymmetrical governance. The modern territorial
state model did not arrive in China as a coherent and relatively effec-
tive set of political claims, institutions, practices, and discourses until
the 1949 establishment of the People’s Republic of China (PRC). Pre-
modern territorial governance in China significantly diverged from
its counterparts in pre-modern Europe and in European empires. To
the extent that China had a feudal period akin to medieval Europe, it
ended as early as 221 BC. Subsequently, a series of imperial states ruled
parts of what is today China. These polities had marked, but variable
degrees of unity, centralization, and civilizational continuity, as well
as f luctuating territorial extents. A (neo-)Confucian political ideology
became inf luential over time and was in key respects hostile to the
premises of the modern territorial state and citizenship model that was
to emerge in Europe (Fairbank 1992, 1968). It did claim unity under a
single unchallenged ruler, the emperor, or Son of Heaven, akin to the
claims of emerging early modern European sovereigns. However, the
Emperor’s realm, termed “all under heaven” (tianxia), was territori-
ally unbounded with belonging defined ethically rather than territori-
ally. There were practical, territorial limits to effective imperial rule.
However, these limits were understood as soft, f luid buffer zones inter-
mittently important for trade and defense. They were not hard territo-
rial limits. In neo-Confucian thinking, what mattered was the moral
quality of human relationships. As such, all peoples and lesser rulers
were expected to pay tribute to the emperor, receive his benevolence
(ren), and conform to proper social and political moral codes (Ibid.).
In practice, imperial Chinese territorial governance was asymmetri-
cal, though the degree varied over time and space. For one, impe-
rial authorities could not always enforce their rule. They tended to
be weaker further from the capital and outside areas dominated by
the Han Chinese culture of the imperial heartland. During the last
imperial dynasty, that of the Qing (1644–1912), China intensively con-
fronted the imperial and commercial agents of modern European states
and societies. Yet, its emperors still saw themselves presiding over a
world whose constitution did not conform to the modern territorial
state and citizenship model. Rather, it was organized into a concentric
hierarchy of ethically differentiated peoples and polities with fuzzy ter-
ritorial borders. At the center was Han Chinese civilization. Outside it
was a Sinic zone of peoples strongly inf luenced by the ethical precepts
of Han Chinese culture, including the peoples of what are now termed
Korea and Vietnam. Then came the Inner Asian zone of nomadic and
seminomadic non-Han peoples, such as the Mongols and Tibetans.
The most ethically distant from the Han Chinese center was the “outer
barbarian” zone, which included, eventually, the Japanese and non-
Sinic southeast Asia, south Asia, and Europe (Fairbank 1968: 2–3). If
ethical criteria formally differentiated the concentric spheres from one
another, in practice so did factors like propinquity, economic value,
and potential security threats. In imperial thinking, each concentric
sphere required particular strategies for interacting with and control-
ling peoples and competing power centers.
One such strategy, in effect, was indirect rule, a practical way of
dealing with peoples and rulers beyond the day-to-day reach of impe-
rial armies, administrative structures, and law. Amongst these peoples
were the herding and horse-based societies of the Mongolian steppe
and the Tibetan plateau, which did not practice the sedentary agricul-
ture of the Han nor follow the Confucian norms and rituals that were
the ethical underpinning of imperial authority in the Han Chinese
heartland (Fairbank 1968; Mackerras 1994). Indirect rule often meant
that the relationship between the emperor and local elites was based
on little more than ceremonial allegiances and military alliances.
By the Ming (1368–1644) and early Qing dynasties, China’s impe-
rial authorities also attempted to impose the administrative practices
and institutions of the Han heartland onto some neighboring non-
Han societies, particularly those that practiced sedentary agricul-
ture, including in parts of what is now southwest China (see Herman
2006; Mackerras 1994; Naquin and Rawski 1987). By contrast, in
the nomadic and semi-nomadic areas of Muslim Inner Asia west and
northwest of the Han heartland, the Qing imperial center usually
compromised, appointing local chiefs and religious leaders as gov-
ernors and allowing them to settle disputes by Islamic law (Naquin
and Rawski 1987; Fairbank 1992). However, by the late nineteenth
century, Qing officials made attempts to run Xinjiang as a province,
with administrative institutions akin to those in the Han heartland.
They also tried to bring standard modes of administration to some
ethnic Tibetan areas closest to the Han heartland in an attempt to
pacify local Tibetan elites and to stop British and Russian imperial
expansion (Mackerras 1994).
The significance of these early attempts by Qing rulers to extend
standard administrative institutions into non-Han areas should not be
exaggerated. Even in Han Chinese areas at this time, imperial rule
was mainly indirect and superficial, although it was more centralized
and standardized than in non-Han areas. Ineffective below the county
magistracy level, imperial administrative bureaucracy meant little even
in the villages of the Han heartland. There, the imperial center relied
on the local scholar-gentry classes to maintain political and social
order. With their common training in the neo-Confucian classics, arts,
rites, and ceremonies, these men (women were not eligible to take
imperial degrees) were socialized to their duty to inculcate Confucian
orthodoxy in common people and, with it, the legitimacy of imperial
rule. However, even here, the imperial state used the legitimacy of
local cultural symbols and rituals to strengthen its rule and integra-
tion, making these local elements into markers of imperial orthodoxy
(Fairbank 1992; 1968; Naquin and Rawski 1987). By the late Qing
period, a proto-national Han Chinese culture began to emerge, due to
people having greater mobility, the expansion of an integrated market,
increased urbanization, and improvements to printing and education
(Naquin and Rawski 1987). In the Republican era from 1912, national
culture gained some coherence in Han areas with the emergence of a
nation-state ideology, national political institutions, and mass politics.
However, the notion that there was a single nation, China, was still
weak by the time the Communists declared victory in 1949 (Naquin
and Rawski 1987). Moreover, although Republican governments, like
those of the imperial Qing before them, had claimed sovereignty over
vast tracts of central Asia, including central Tibet, in addition to the
Han heartland and Taiwan, in practice their rule was often weak or
nonexistent. It was in these same claimed territories that the rulers of
the new People’s China aimed to build a socialist version of a modern
territorial state and citizenry. They were confronted with the challenge
of extending their rule into territorial communities that were cultur-
ally different from the Han Chinese and were de facto independent or
semi-autonomous. Central Tibet was one of these. Some half century
later, when the PRC party-state took over Hong Kong and Macau
from the British and Portuguese, it faced an analogous situation, albeit
one where cultural difference appeared less a challenge to statebuild-
ing than colonial histories and liberal capitalist ways of life. As we shall
see, the special status policies deployed by the Chinese authorities in
response to these predicaments were, again, akin to Tilly’s “anti-state
institutions.” They affirmed preexisting statuses and elite privileges in
order to bring under the rule of the central authorities of the expanding
state (potentially) unruly territorial communities with a history of de
facto independence or autonomy.
Special Status Arrangements and

Minority Territorial Autonomy
Thus, contemporary special status arrangements echo historical prac-

tices of states using “anti-state institutions” and indirect rule to enhance
their ability to govern competing power centers associated with terri-
torial communities said to have distinctive identities. Since the end of
World War I, the use of special status arrangements has been growing,
albeit not evenly across time and space.
Minority Territorial Autonomy

Most broadly, territorial autonomy refers to the authority of a territo-
rial political unit within a state to be self-administering or self-ruling,
such that it has some formal authority to make decisions about the
substance and/or implementation of locally important policies. Grants
of autonomy in response to the claims of mobilized, or mobilizeable,
minority territorial communities create what might be termed minority
territorial autonomy arrangements.2 Special status arrangements are a subset
of the latter.
Minority territorial autonomy arrangements are important modali-
ties of many culturally territorialized states, both federal and unitary,
that contain minority territorial communities. They are institution-
ally diverse and offer a range of levels and types of self-rule. At one
end, they can involve grants to substate territorial authorities of limited
administrative authority in a narrow range of policy areas. At the other
end, they can involve grants of executive, legislative, and/or judicial
autonomy and control over many policy areas (see Hannum and Lillich
1980). Minority territorial autonomy often permits self-rule in cultural
matters important to protecting territorially distinct identity, such as
language, education, communication, and/or religious policy. Cultural
policy levers give territorial authorities tools for defining and protect-
ing collective identities and for mobilizing residents. However, minor-
ity territorial autonomy arrangements also grant self-rule in matters
well beyond culture, narrowly defined. These may include policy areas
important to the ability of a community to protect its values and way
of life, such as economic development, environmental protection, and
social policy. State-wide governments typically retain control of defense
and foreign affairs due to the close association of these policy realms
with sovereignty. Nevertheless, increasingly, autonomous territory
authorities have external affairs competencies too, such as the authority
to make international agreements or participate in inter-governmental
organizations and processes in their areas of functional competence.
Regardless of form or degree, territorial autonomy is not indepen-
dence, and it cannot do away with interdependence. Autonomous ter-
ritories are subject to the authority of state-wide governments in some
policy areas. Its people also have common citizenship rights with the
population of the state as a whole, even if they also possess distinc-
tive rights connected with the substate territory. Moreover, territorial
autonomy is not only about separation, in the sense of protecting the
minority territorial community from external preferences that can
harm its distinctive values. Territorial autonomy is necessarily also a
means of organizing relations of interdependence with the wider state
and other political communities within and beyond (Henders 2005).
As such, territorial autonomy arrangements often include the sharing of
some competencies with state or other substate authorities. Increasingly,
given the growing role of interstate organizations in policymaking,
territorial autonomy arrangements often include the sharing of compe-
tencies with public authorities beyond the state.
Asymmetry and Special Status Arrangements

Robert Agranoff tells us, and the histories of China, France, and Spain
suggest, that asymmetrical territorial autonomy arrangements emerge
because of de facto territorial asymmetries. The latter refer to spatial dif-
ferences in geostrategic, political, cultural, or socioeconomic attributes
or in administrative and financial capacity that are not erased during,
and may even be intensified by, the state-building process (Agranoff
1999b; see also Watts 1999). De facto territorial asymmetries ref lect
and produce territorial differentiation in the distribution of power in
the state. They are often also associated with claims of territorialized
identity difference. In some cases, substate territorial elites claiming to
represent a minority territorial community demand distinctive forms
and degrees of self-rule to protect local power, preferences, and inter-
ests. Sometimes state decisionmakers agree to grant formally distinctive
forms of autonomy in response, creating what are termed here special
status arrangements. De facto asymmetry can also result from the ter-
ritorial authorities governing minority territorial communities using
their standard self-governing authority in distinctive ways.
Special status arrangements involve grants by the government of a
federal or unitary state, of formally distinctive self-governing status
to one or more substate territorial authorities said to have a distinct
identity.3 Extrapolating from Agranoff (1999b), the formal asymmetry
that results creates differentiated status and rights amongst similar sub-
state territorial political units such that one or more have distinctive
relationships to the state and/or to each other. Typically, special status
arrangements create territorial authorities with more formal autonomy
than their counterparts with ordinary status, whether this is the case
in practice. Special status arrangements also create special forms of ter-
ritorial citizenship, or territorial forms of what Kymlicka has termed
“group-differentiated rights.” That is, they recognize distinctive forms
of belonging and entitlements for the residents of the minority territo-
rial community, over and above the citizenship rights these individuals
have as nationals of the state (Kymlicka 1996: 26–27).4
As noted earlier, imbalances in the territorial distribution of power due
to social, economic, cultural, political, or geostrategic differences across
space are normal within states. It is also common for such asymmetries to
result in de facto heterogeneity in the policies and capabilities of substate
territorial authorities (Agranoff 1999b). However, the de jure asymme-
tries associated with special status arrangements are less common. This
is perhaps because their formal nature makes them more politically and
normatively controversial. They more directly and visibly challenge the
ideals of the modern territorial state and citizenship model. As stated
earlier, in its purest nation-state form, the model legitimates a state with
a single sovereign with authority over a single, internally coherent citi-
zenry, or nation. This nation is assumed to be the primary locus of citi-
zen identity and loyalty. Competing identities and loyalties are deemed
secondary and unworthy of formal institutional recognition. In this way,
the model makes normal the idea of a unitary, monolithic citizenship
based on equal and undifferentiated individuals. Such an understand-
ing of citizenship necessitates and legitimates a standardized distribution
of territorial political authority throughout the state. However, special
status arrangements challenge these singular, monolithic understand-
ings of state, nation, and citizen (see Keating 1999a, 1999b; Elazar 1987;
Agranoff 1999b). They do so by legitimating competing centers of power
and recognizing and institutionalizing territorialized economic, social,
political, cultural, or geostrategic differences that could not be ignored,
suppressed, or eliminated. They potentially challenge the claim of the
state to be the only significant locus of citizen loyalty and belonging, of
rights and responsibilities. The implications of these challenges for the
political dynamics of special status arrangements will be discussed later.
Varieties of Special Status

The asymmetry associated with special status arrangements takes a vari-
ety of forms. Special status arrangements also differ in their direction-
ality and their temporality.
Asymmetry Type
Special status arrangements can be distinguished by whether their
asymmetry is functional, political, institutional, and/or symbolic. In addition,
some special status arrangements exhibit what we might call regime
asymmetry. Any of the above types of asymmetry can inf luence the
degree to which a territorial authority has de jure or de facto scope to
deviate from standardized policies.
Functional, or horizontal, asymmetry occurs when special status authori-
ties have a distinctive breadth of autonomy. That is, they have self-rule
in functional areas of decisionmaking authority that have not been
devolved to other similar territorial authorities in the state. As the
case studies will show, functional asymmetry may exist with respect
to a myriad of competencies ranging from policing (in Catalonia) to
monetary and fiscal affairs (in Hong Kong) (see Hannum 1990; Davis
2001).
Political, or vertical, asymmetry (see also Wolff 2005) occurs when the
depth of the autonomy of the special status authority is distinctive com-
pared to other similar territorial authorities in the state. Political asym-
metry refers to the extent to which the special status authority has
political self-rule with respect to its functional competencies. More
will be said below about the factors that affect the degree of political
self-rule of a territorial authority.
Institutional asymmetry occurs when a special status territory has polit-
ical institutions with distinctive names, design, or rules in compari-
son with institutions in counterpart substate territories in the state (see
also Palermo 2005). Extreme institutional asymmetries can amount to
regime asymmetry. Some forms of institutional asymmetry also have
symbolic qualities. Both regime asymmetry and symbolic asymmetry
are discussed further on.
Symbolic asymmetry refers to distinctive ways of recognizing territo-
rial identity claims in comparison with similar territorial units in the
state. Some of the most controversial involve legal or constitutional
recognition of a territorial community as a “nation,” “nationality,”
“people,” or “distinct society.” They may include such measures as
giving distinctive names to territorial political institutions or giving
distinctive recognition to territorial f lags, emblems, anthems, or sports
teams.
Finally, regime asymmetry exists when the economic and/or political
regime of the special status territory is different from that of the state
as a whole, such that the two rest on differing principles of political
legitimacy and/or understandings of the appropriate constitution of the
public and private realms. The experiences of central Tibet and Hong
Kong allow examination of the implications of regime asymmetry in
practice.
Directionality
A second way of distinguishing special status arrangements concerns
their directionality, that is, whether they are devolutionary or inte-
grative. Devolutionary special status arrangements emerge through the
transfer of authority by state-wide authorities to an existing territo-
rial authority with jurisdiction over a minority territorial community
that is already part of the state. Devolutionary special status arrange-
ments typically aim to accommodate the demands made on behalf of
that community in order to encourage members to accept as legitimate
their inclusion in the state. Both Catalonia and Corsica are examples of
devolutionary special status processes.
Special status can also be integrative. In these cases, the special status
arrangement emerges as a territory is being incorporated into a state and
aims to ease that process. The special status arrangements for Tibet in
the 1950s and Hong Kong after 1997 are examples of integrative special
status arrangements. Over time, integrative special status arrangements
may develop the characteristics of devolutionary arrangements, if ter-
ritorial autonomy comes to be seen as a devolutionary grant from the
state and not the non-relinquishment of elements of the territory’s prior
independent or semi-independent status. Devolutionary special status
arrangements may also have some of the characteristics of integrative
arrangements to the extent that the institutions of self-rule are regarded
by the parties as recognizing a minority territorial community’s claim
to having been independent or separate from the state in the past.
Temporality
Special status arrangements can also be distinguished by their tempo-
rality, that is, whether their status and form of self-rule are formally
permanent or impermanent. Temporality does not refer to whether the
arrangements endure in practice, a matter discussed later with respect to
the durability and stability of arrangements. Temporality also does not
refer to whether a precise end date is specified for the arrangement (see
Watts 1999). Temporary special status arrangements would include some
versions of what Weller (2005: 159–60) calls “interim” settlements, by
which he means an autonomy arrangement formally specified to last
until the longer-term status of the territory is determined, as occurred
with respect to Kosovo and southern Sudan under recent peace agree-
ments. The Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, examined in
this book, is a temporary special status arrangement with a specified
end date—July 1, 2047. Central Tibet when it was first incorporated
into the PRC in the 1950s was given temporary special status, but with
no specified end date. Permanent special status arrangements have no
formal limit on their duration. This does not mean that they cannot
change or collapse. In the present study, the special status arrangements
for Catalonia and Corsica are examples of permanent arrangements.
One purpose of the present study is to explore the effects of variations
in temporality, directionality, and forms of asymmetry on the political
dynamics and outcomes of special status arrangements.
Tensions Related to Autonomy and Asymmetry
According to the literature, special status arrangements raise a num-

ber of normative and political concerns, some of which also plague
minority territorial autonomy arrangements more generally and oth-
ers which are specific to asymmetrical autonomy. The concerns relate
to state security, stability, and territorial integrity; social solidarity;
equality; democracy; and economic modernization and development.
Although the following representation of the issues wherever possible
distinguishes special status arrangements within the broad discussion of
minority territorial autonomy arrangements, the literature largely does
not explicitly single out special status arrangements.
The tensions that preoccupy the literature ref lect a level of discomfort
in dominant social theories and political practice, with asymmetrical
territoriality and with the institutional recognition of cultural diver-
sity. For minority territorial autonomy arrangements not only require
the state to give up some of the prerogatives ascribed to it by the mod-
ern territorial state model, but imply that some substate identities are
politically salient and have intrinsic social value, making them worthy
of distinctive institutional recognition (see Requejo 1999; Gagnon and
Gibbs 1999).
Social Theory and Minority Autonomy

Dominant versions of liberal and Marxist theory, and their associated
laws, policies, and politics, tend largely to reinforce the modern territo-
rial state and citizenship model. They have mainly assumed that terri-
torial identity cleavages would decline in salience with socioeconomic
and political modernization. These processes are thought to bring the
development of mass politics and create citizenries with relatively simi-
lar identities, ways of life, and interests. Historically, both liberal and
Communist state-builders have seen standardized citizenship norms
across the state as a counterweight to the locally produced injustices
and inequalities that arise from the recognition of territorially based
and other substate privileges (see Sack 1986). Classical liberal thought
asserted the desirability and inevitability of a single nation of formally
equal citizens, whose rights were protected through institutions with
state-wide jurisdiction as well as through a standardized distribution
of formal territorial political authority. For Marx, capitalist social rela-
tions meant that legal equality was a myth. However, socialist progress
would transform social relations and material distribution such that all
humans could enjoy full, equal, and universal citizenship according to
the Aristotelian ideal (Ignatieff 1995). A Marxist understanding of citi-
zenship also supported a preference for standardized political economic
institutions across actual Communist states, ref lecting a concern that
institutionalized ethnic and territorially based identities fragmented
class consciousness and undermined the building of state-wide social-
ist citizenship. In practice, however, Communist states often allowed
some formal territorial-political heterogeneity and some recognition
of group-differentiated rights. These tended to be seen as a tempo-
rary measure on the road to building a socialist state and society (see
Connor 1984; Moseley 1966). Liberal democratic states, for their part,
were often less willing to allow formal concessions that appeared to
undermine formally equal, universal citizenship and the homogene-
ity of state rule it seemed to require. Nevertheless, because de facto
asymmetries continued to exist in social life, they sometimes permit-
ted group-differentiated citizenship and other asymmetries in practice.
Tully (1995: Chapter 4) has termed these the “hidden constitutions” of
these states.
As we have seen, the dominance of the modern territorial state and
citizenship ideal in recent centuries was not accidental, but a product
of political and economic struggle and conf lict. To the political elites
and dominant classes of many emergent states in Europe, homogene-
ity and standardization in citizenship norms and territorial governance
appeared advantageous for war-making, economic development, and
political legitimacy. Standardization eased tax collection, conscrip-
tion, and the prevention of rebellion (Scott 1998; see also Sack 1986).
Modern citizenship’s assertion of shared identity amongst residents of
the entire state helped leaders mobilize people for war and economic
goals. It increased mutual trust amongst citizens as well as citizen trust
in government and law (Miller and Hashmi 2001). The rise of national-
ism further reinforced the model. According to the “modernist” school
of nationalism theorists, such as Ernst Gellner (1983), the requirements
of industrial, capitalist economies fostered the relatively unified state-
wide identities that nationalist ideologies legitimated (see Hearn 2006:
Chapter 4). Later, as Miller and Hashmi have noted (2001), democ-
ratization and the expansion of the state into new social realms led
to demands by voters for legal and distributive equality. Formalized
liberal citizenship norms encouraged the view that equality required
homogeneous citizenship rights and symmetrical territorial gover-
nance, for only then could society overcome the preexisting differenti-
ated, hierarchical rights and privileges for social groups based on class,
gender, religion, and residency. The emergence of universal welfare
states and Keynesian state programs further encouraged the view that
equality required standardization, particularly prior to the 1960s in the
industrialized West. Modern territorial state citizenship claimed to fuse
the identities and loyalties of state majority communities with those of
substate minority territorial communities. This shared identity in the
“nation” increased the sense of mutual responsibility, or social soli-
darity, amongst citizens necessary to legitimate redistributive measures
and the political economic order (see Alfonso 1997; Van Parijs 2004).
The claimed political and normative advantages of standardized ter-
ritorial governance and a singular, undifferentiated citizenship are at
the heart of many contemporary disputes over autonomy and special
status arrangements. These claims obscured the continuing importance
to people’s identity and life chances of social boundaries associated
with culture, class, race, gender, place, and history. In liberal states, the
formal equality provided by modern territorial citizenship was gradu-
ally expanded to include new groups, eliminating formal discrimina-
tion based on class, gender, ethnicity, and race. However, these social
boundaries still too often determined who had substantive citizenship,
in its broadest sense, meaning full social, economic, and political par-
ticipation in the state and nation. At the same time, modern territorial
state and citizenship often delegitimized and encouraged the devalu-
ing and suppression of human identities and belonging in communities
other than the nation-state. Thus, minority autonomy and special status
arrangements remained suspect, whether in terms of justice or order.
State Security, Stability, and Territorial Integrity

Some of the literature emphasizes that state actors see special status and
minority territorial autonomy arrangements as threats to state sover-
eignty and related issues of state security, stability, and territorial integ-
rity, because demands for the recognition of and self-rule for minority
territorial communities are, at heart, struggles for self-determination,
understood as independence. From this perspective, autonomy conces-
sions put states on a slippery slope. If minority territorial communities
are given a little autonomy, their political leaders will demand more self-
rule, if not outright secession. The danger may be even greater when
self-rule is asymmetrical, for special status would seem to recognize the
territorial community as “a place apart” (McGarry 2007b: 108, 112). If
the community in question has identity links with groups with similar
identity claims in nearby states, grants of autonomy may also empower
irredentist claims. Autonomy arrangements are also thought by some
to foster separatism by giving political entrepreneurs tools that enable
them to mobilize mass publics: ready-made administrative borders with
functional and symbolic significance, state-like institutions including
public mass media, and institutionalized territorial identities (Fearon
and Laitin 2000; see also Friedlander 1991; Frye 1992; Heisler 1990;
Brzezinski 1989/90). By some accounts, minority territorial autonomy
arrangements may actually constitute the very substate collective identi-
ties they purport to protect (Brubaker 1996), with negative effects on
the political stability and territorial integrity of states.
Special status arrangements have also been considered harmful to ter-
ritorial integrity and stability because they seemingly generate demands
for similar autonomy concessions elsewhere in the state. This concern
is directly related to the asymmetry of these arrangements. In liberal
democratic contexts, where formal individual and territorial equality
are emphasized, demands that all territorial authorities be given the
same prerogatives can be represented as more equitable and fair (see
Agranoff 1999b). Granting one part of the state distinctive autonomy
may actually lead to irresistible pressure on the state to devolve similar
authority to other substate governments, a contention that is explored
in the Catalan and Corsican case studies.
According to analyses inf luenced by realist international theory, state
leaders are likely to perceive demands by minority territorial com-
munities for recognition and self-rule as especially threatening when
state leaders see their geopolitical environment as strongly competitive
and zero-sum (Ryan 1990). In such circumstances, state leaders will be
more reluctant to make autonomy concessions, out of fear that they will
be taken advantage of by threatening outside actors. In this light, the
relatively high levels of perceived geopolitical threat may help account
for why debates over minority autonomy in the societies of the former
Soviet bloc have centered on security and state rights concerns, whereas
they have focused on justice issues in Western democracies (Kymlicka
2002; 2004). Hannum (1990) has argued that territorial autonomy is
emerging as a principle of international law, as a legitimate compromise
between state and minority rights with the potential to protect vulner-
able communities while simultaneously reinforcing the state system.
However, the governments of many states, China being one example,
have strongly opposed recognizing territorial self-rule as an interna-
tional legal principle. This is despite the fact that the Chinese govern-
ment has used formal minority self-rule as a modality of state-building
several times. Perceived geopolitical threats and the fear that external
enemies might use substate ethnonationalist movements as fifth col-
umns, may help explain this apparent paradox. At the same time, we
need to be cautious about simplistic conclusions. As Kymlicka reminds
us (2002: 15), even in Western liberal democracies the legitimacy of
territorial autonomy and other concessions to minorities “is hedged
with ambivalence and reservations” from both minorities and majori-
ties. Contentious identity politics and minority secessionist movements
do not disappear, even if a distancing from the assumption of “one state,
one nation, one language, one identity” in Western liberal democra-
cies, has often increased state legitimacy within these same communi-
ties (Ibid.).
The claims that special status and other minority territorial autonomy
concessions cause political instability and threaten territorial integrity
have not gone unchallenged. In addition to Kymlicka, many writers
(e.g., McGarry 2007b; Ghai 2000; Gurr 1994; Nordquist 1998) have
argued that the denial of such concessions is what threatens the state,
not the reverse. Denial increases the risk of protest, serious human
rights violations, violent conf lict, and secessionist sentiment, while
territorial autonomy arrangements potentially avert or help end eth-
nonationalist conf lict. Rothchild and Hartzell (2000) have concluded
that territorial autonomy arrangements can help build stability and
secure vulnerable groups if combined with other measures, particularly
rules limiting coercion by the state and an agreement on the issues
underlying the conf lict between the state and the minority territorial
community. Others have also tried to specify the conditions in which
minority territorial autonomy arrangements can positively inf luence
state security, stability, and territorial integrity (see Weller and Wolff
2005b). Because autonomy is not independence, if minority territorial
autonomy arrangements are effectively to bolster the state, territorial
residents need to see the state-wide authorities as legitimate. To this
end, integrative measures matter, such as institutionalized mechanisms
for resolving state-territorial conf licts in which both levels of authority
are fairly represented and the right of territorial residents to use ter-
ritorial languages when dealing with state institutions anywhere in
the state, to participate in state-wide elections, and to access education
and other social entitlements state-wide. Protecting individuals from
human rights infringements by state authorities can also bolster state
legitimacy, as can the right to appeal the decisions of state courts to
international tribunals (Ibid.).
Social Solidarity
As noted earlier, minority special status and other territorial autonomy
arrangements have been accused of threatening the shared identity
thought foundational to social solidarity in contemporary states. This
concern grows out of the view that the universalist aspirations underly-
ing modern citizenship requires the state to redistribute wealth from
richer to poorer areas and individuals, and that shared identity in the
nation-state enhances its ability to do so. Asymmetrical citizenship,
by reinforcing separate identities and recognizing differentiated rights
and duties, may legitimate the defection of territorial identity com-
munities from the state as the primary community of social solidarity,
even if unintentionally (see Banting and Kymlicka 2004). Schnapper
(2004) suggests the danger is especially serious in the current historical
conjuncture. Social solidarity is already under attack from the rise of
market citizenship and the disempowering of the state due to economic
globalization and regional interstate integration. The implications are
potentially dire when a defecting special status territory is a net con-
tributor to the financing of state social programs, as with the Flemish
region of Belgium and Catalonia, the latter amongst the cases exam-
ined here. Special status concessions to poorer territories, by contrast,
may be dangerous for the opposite reason. They potentially erode the
willingness of the wider nation-state community to transfer resources
to the special status territory in order to protect the social citizen-
ship of its residents. The latter may be perceived as wanting autonomy,
but shirking financial responsibility, an attitude apparently evident in
Danish society with respect to the people of the Faroe Islands (Lyck
1995).
The erosion of social solidarity by special status arrangements may
not be inevitable, however. Indeed, Banting and Kymlicka (2004) have
asserted that, in practice, there is no consistent statistical relationship
between the erosion of the welfare state and the adoption of multi-
cultural policies. The experience of multinational federations, such as
Canada with respect to Quebec and First Nations self-government,
suggests that state-wide social solidarity can coexist with deep, asym-
metrical forms of minority and indigenous autonomy, although not
without significant tensions.
Equality
In Western liberal-democratic contexts, many conf licts over special
status revolve around the defense of formal equality and its links with
democracy and liberty in much of liberal thought. Especially in its
U.S. and Jacobin French versions, liberalism stresses the centrality of
state guarantees for formal individual rights. As such, special status
is normatively problematic because it appears to create two classes of
citizens, with special status territory residents having more rights than
others in the state (Barry 2001; Safran 2000). Also, special status and
other minority territorial autonomy arrangements appear to create a
legal framework in which the rights of vulnerable individuals within
the minority territorial community—women, internal ethnic minori-
ties, and the poor, for instance—can be legitimately denied to protect
community purity and solidarity (Shachar 2001; Peterson and Parisi
1998; Anthias and Yuval-Davis 1989; Kandiyoti 1996; Eisenberg and
Spinner-Halev 2005). Therefore, demands for territorial autonomy
and special status have been deemed illegitimate and suspect where all
members of minority communities do not completely support them or
differ over the values self-government should promote. Heisler (1990:
43) has argued that “in all but the strongest, most clear-cut cases of
ethnoregional cohesion,” special status and other minority autonomy
arrangements institutionalize backwardness and unjustifiably supersede
the social contract between individuals and the state (see also Ra’anan
1990). Consistent with modernization theory, Heisler assumes that
“ethnoregional cohesion” is more common outside the industrialized
West. In the latter, he says, ethnic identities are “chosen affiliation[s]”
rather than the “essentially given . . . functionally and structurally com-
prehensive, inclusive societal divisions they constitute in other settings”
(Heisler 1990: 26; see also Horowitz 1986). By contrast, in non-Western
states, if cultural affiliations are salient and the territorial community
relatively homogeneous, autonomy can reduce friction by converting
intercommunal tension into elite bargaining at the state level (Heisler
1990).
However, liberal multicultural perspectives, most inf luentially framed
by Kymlicka (2001; 1996), have argued that group and individual rights
are not necessarily antagonistic, even in the industrialized West. It can
be justifiable within a liberal framework to recognize collective identi-
ties through group-differentiated rights when citizenship and territo-
rial politics based on formal equality result in inequalities for minority
communities and their individual members. For Kymlicka (1996: 7),
the “external protection” dimension of these rights—the autonomy
provisions that permit territorial authorities to protect the community
from harmful external preferences—are consistent with liberal val-
ues if they do not limit the choices of community members. Keating
(1999a; 1999b) suggests that this harmonizing of individual and collec-
tive rights is not only theoretically possible, but the actual practice in
Western liberal democracies, where minority territorial communities
are as capable of upholding liberal-democratic values vis-à-vis vulner-
able internal minorities as are state-wide majorities.
In this way, unlike classical liberal thought, liberal multicultural
approaches see collective identities other than those of the nation-
state as normal, even in the liberal democratic West. The challenge is
to manage the tensions between individuals as bearers of both indi-
vidual and collective rights. Special status arrangements and group-
differentiated citizenship protect freedom, equality, and dignity
by recognizing the distinctive collective identities through which
individuals find meaning and pursue their material needs (Requejo
1999). In the same vein, some feminist writers have departed from
the view that minority autonomy arrangements necessarily subordi-
nate women’s rights to those of the community. Kabeer suggests that
the defense of collective identity is actually important to the citi-
zenship of individual women and other vulnerable internal minori-
ties. For it is through community obligations and claims that such
individuals meet many of their primary material and identity needs.
Thus, women who are members of minority territorial communi-
ties are often unwilling to define their struggles solely in terms of
individual rights and equality at the expense of the collective social
context in which they understand themselves and their oppression.
Consequently, rather than denying minorities autonomy in the name
of protecting women and other vulnerable members, Kabeer says the
challenge is to construct forms of autonomy that presume patriarchy,
classism, racism, and other internal oppression are just as corrosive
of citizenship as the exclusionary state-level practices that harm the
citizenship of the minority community as a whole (Kabeer 2005). As
the next chapter explains, this double citizenship challenge is a major
focus of the present study.
Democracy
The implications for democracy of special status and other minority ter-
ritorial autonomy arrangements, have also been widely debated in the
literature. To begin, the liberal-democratic version of the modern ter-
ritorial state model tends to be majoritarian and to associate sovereignty
with the democratic popular will of a singular, internally coherent
demos. The shared territorial identity (whether ethnic or civic) under-
pinning such a demos is thought necessary to produce the depth of trust,
solidarity, and social communication that make democratic institutions
and processes work (Kymlicka 1996). This contention is not new. John
Stuart Mill (1998 [1859]) famously argued a century and a half ago that
free institutions and representative government require a country with
a single nationality. Nearly 40 years ago, Rustow (1970) inf luentially
claimed that democratization only works if the great majority of citi-
zens accept the boundaries of the political community as legitimate.
Special status and other minority autonomy arrangements, given that
they recognize a community with its own democratic rights and legiti-
macy within the larger state-wide demos, challenge majoritarian asser-
tions (Lijphart 1984). By this logic, denying special status demands can
be seen as protecting democracy. The claim that special status arrange-
ments are anti-democratic has also given rise to the so-called West
Lothian question. The term refers to the presumed anti-democratic
outcome of Scottish autonomy within the United Kingdom, due to
state-level legislators from the territory having the right to participate
in state law and policymaking in areas where Scotland has devolved
authority (see Bogdanor 1999).
However, as Lijphart and others have pointed out (e.g., Dahl 1989;
1986), democracy does not have to be majoritarian and should protect
minorities. Furthermore, special status and other autonomy arrange-
ments demanded by minorities are themselves typically based on demo-
cratic claims. Where there are sharp territorial asymmetries, the desire
for democratic freedom leads communities to seek local control over
policymaking processes that affect their distinctive social environments
(Sack 1986). The right to choose, including to choose the territory in
which particular collective political choices are made, is a democratic
claim. In fact, the choice of territory may be the prior choice. For
the principle of majority rule says nothing about the territorial unit
in which majority will should be enforced. By making a state-wide
minority into a majority at the substate level, territorial autonomy can
be democratic even in the majoritarian sense (Dahl 1986; 1989). In
addition, the decentralization of territorial governance has been seen as
democratic because of its potential to more directly represent people in
political processes, although the claim is contested (Sharpe 1993a).
What then of non-democratic states? If many of them have poor
records with respect to individual civil and political rights, do they do
any better with respect to collective rights? Safran (2000) says no. He
and others have argued that a democratic political system is a prerequisite
for the satisfactory protection of minorities (see also Jovanović 2002).
At the same time, we might expect that authoritarian states would in
some respects be less constrained in their responses to demands for spe-
cial status than their liberal-democratic counterparts. This is because
they are less constrained by the norms and practices associated with
formal individual equality and majoritarian democracy. The cases in
the latter half of the book allow examination of this hypothesis.
Economic Modernization and Development,

Globalization and Regional Integration
Finally, special status and other territorial autonomy arrangements have
also been contentious with respect to issues of economic moderniza-
tion and development, and of economic globalization and regional
integration. Often, the desire of minority territorial communities for
autonomy go beyond demands for the control of cultural policy. They
seek meaningful self-rule across a range of functional areas that affect
ways of life, livelihoods, and relations with land and the wider natural
environment. On the one hand, the opportunity to be schooled in
and earn a decent living in minority territorial languages both would
seem to improve individual life chances and enhance collective iden-
tity. On the other hand, critics assert that minority autonomy arrange-
ments isolate minority communities and their members, reinforcing
and institutionalizing local characteristics that hamper participation in
wider socioeconomic and political processes (see Cornell 2002). From
this perspective, autonomy arrangements preserve old, backward, sti-
f ling ways of life and languages, including those that repress vulnerable
individuals within minority territorial communities. Majority ways of
life and languages are assumed to embody modernity, progress, eco-
nomic development, and opportunity. This way of thinking is one
dimension of why, despite their contrasting understandings of capital-
ist economic modernization and development, liberal and left-leaning
analysts have both often preferred more centralized, economically
assimilationist policies. From some Marxist-inf luenced perspectives,
minority autonomy arrangements risk making class identity and other
economic interests secondary to culturally based territorial identity.
To Nancy Fraser, the concern is that “[c]ultural domination supplants
exploitation as the fundamental injustice. And cultural recognition dis-
places socioeconomic redistribution as the remedy for injustice and the
goal of political struggle” (1995: 68). The “redistribution-recognition
dilemma,” as she terms it, occurs because the affirmation of group
identity required to address cultural exclusion and discrimination
undermines the group deconstruction and transformation required to
achieve economic equality (Fraser 1997: 31).
Others suggest that recognition and redistribution are not necessar-
ily antagonistic in practice. This is because material deprivation and
oppression tend to reinforce cultural discrimination and exclusion and
vice versa. While agreeing with Fraser that scholarship on the politics
of identity and multiculturalism sometimes ignores the political econ-
omy dimension, Iris Marion Young has suggested that “issues of justice
involving recognition and identity inevitably [have] material and eco-
nomic sources and consequences, without thereby being reducible to
market dynamics or economic exploitation and deprivation” (Young
1997: 154). For Young, most subordinated groups do not seek identity
recognition as an end in itself, but a means to multiple ends, including
economic development and material justice and equality. For instance,
the struggles of indigenous peoples for land, resources, and improved
living conditions are also struggles for cultural meaning because devel-
opment policies and capitalism sometimes devalue indigenous identities
and means of cultural affirmation. An uneven distribution of repre-
sentational and discursive resources undermines the ability of groups
effectively to articulate their identities, interests, and needs, both mate-
rial and cultural (Ibid.).
From dominant liberal perspectives, modernization and develop-
ment also involve overcoming social hierarchies and inequalities, but
through institutionalizing formal equality and ending territorially and
nonterritorially defined legal privileges. In the European context, this
view of modernity is a consequence, in part, of its historical associa-
tion with the struggles of French revolutionaries against the hierar-
chical ordering of group-differentiated rights and duties of the ancien
régime, a legacy discussed later with respect to Corsica. The important
point here is that dominant strands of political liberalism and liberal
economic theory both advocate the ending of formal inequalities, dis-
tinctions, and privileges. For (neo)liberal economic theory, removing
barriers to the free f low of trade, investment, and other productive fac-
tors brings the maximum benefit to the maximum number of people.
(Neo)liberal economic theory would, in its pure form, regard special
status arrangements as harmful to the extent that they enable territorial
authorities to impede these f lows or require that the state give the ter-
ritory special tax treatment or subsidies.
Yet, not all analysts think that minority autonomy arrangements are
entirely antagonistic to a neoliberal political economic order. As Michael
Keating (1996) has presciently argued, contemporary Catalan, Scottish,
Quebecois, and Flemish regional nationalist movements have sought
self-rule partly to make their territories economically competitive in
global capitalism. They have aimed strategically to deploy collective
identity and self-government claims to attract investors, open up exter-
nal markets, attract desirable workers, and mobilize territorial popula-
tions around economic goals that advance economic growth within the
existing capitalist order. They have also sought effective participation
in international inter-governmental decisionmaking processes affect-
ing their economies and interests. The experience of these territories
suggests that the class base of the elites that dominate the institutions of
special status—and the position of the territory in global capitalism—
will affect how the institutions of territorial autonomy are used with
respect to that political economic order, and in whose interest.
In the literature on Latin America, there is also an emerging debate
about whether neo-liberalism limits the possibility of strong territo-
rial self-government for indigenous and minority territorial com-
munities (see Gonzalez 2008). Charles Hale (2002) has argued with
reference to indigenous self-government in Guatemala that state-
supported multiculturalism policies may actually enhance the neolib-
eral global order. While they provide indigenous communities with
some substantive rights, the neoliberal order in which such rights are
embedded helps ensure that these rights are recognized and enjoyed
in ways that do not disrupt the status quo with respect to economic
redistribution and meaningful local control over lands and resources.
“Neoliberal multiculturalism,” as Hale terms it, is a “package of rights
that both constitute[s] newly opened political space and ‘discipline[s]’
those who occupy that space” (Hale 2002: 490). This argument draws
our attention back to Western Europe, where fiscal off loading by the
state was one motivation for the devolution of authority to “meso-gov-
ernments,” including those associated with minority territorial com-
munities, in the 1970s and 1980s (Sharpe 1979; 1988). To what extent
and under what circumstances, given economic globalization and (neo)
liberal development models, special status arrangements can enhance
the socio-economic dimensions of citizenship for territorial identity
communities and their internal minorities, is an important question
meriting the continuing attention of researchers.
Having provided an account of key debates concerning minority ter-
ritorial autonomy and special status and of the historical and recent use
of asymmetrical territoriality in China and Western Europe and having
set out basic definitions and varieties of special status, the next chapter
turns to the analytical tools required to understand the origins, nature,
political dynamics, and outcomes of special status arrangements.
CH A P T E R T H R E E
The Origins, Nature, Political Dynamics, and

Outcomes of Special Status Arrangements
Collective identity claims play an important role in the constitution

of political power, whether in the making of states or of special status
arrangements. This political side of collective identity is important to
understanding citizenship deficits and political conf licts in all states.
It is particularly central to making sense of the political effects of the
modern territorial state and citizenship model in states with territo-
rialized minority communities. This chapter continues to develop an
analytical framework for the study of special status arrangements, a task
begun in chapter two. The focus now turns to the concepts, indica-
tors, and propositions needed to analyze the origins, nature, political
dynamics, and justice and order outcomes of these important modali-
ties of the contemporary state.
The Origins and Political Dynamics of

Special Status Arrangements
Constitutional Ruptures and Shifts

Why, given the biases of the modern territorial state and citizenship
model, and under what circumstances, do some state decisionmakers
agree to special status arrangements? The starting point in answering
this question is the observation by several writers that territorial auton-
omy arrangements often emerge at times of actual or impending con-
stitutional rupture, such as during or in the aftermath of wars or during
or after regime changes. Gurr (1994: 347) argues that “the main issue
of the fifty most serious current ethnopolitical conf licts is contention
for state power among communal groups in the immediate aftermath
of state formation, revolution, and efforts to democratize autocratic
regimes.” Horowitz (1986) has noted that war and general constitu-
tional changes can be catalysts to minority autonomy agreements. Van
Cott (2001: 32) has argued that indigenous people in Latin America
made autonomy claims more successfully during “discussions of funda-
mental regime issues,” such as in the context of peace talks or “debates
on constitutional reform generated by larger crises of governability and
legitimacy.” At the same time, special status arrangements also emerge
in consolidated democratic states. At these times, they are, by defini-
tion, not associated with regime change. In such contexts, special status
concessions have sometimes followed the election of governments intent
on making major shifts in the constitutional order of the state. Examples
are the special status arrangements for Scotland and Wales following the
1997 election of a Labour government in the United Kingdom (Henders
1997), as well as the statut particulier for Corsica examined in chapter five.
At the same time, it would appear that broader constitutional ruptures
and shifts are not usually the immediate cause of special status conces-
sions. Rather, they facilitate state policymakers’ willingness to accept for-
mal asymmetry. Why would this be so?
To recall, Tilly has identified the paradoxical importance of “anti-
state institutions” in the construction of states in early modern Europe.
Moreover, Tully (1995: 99) has identified the more recent prevalence
of “hidden constitutions,” meaning deviations from the homogeneity
and uniformity of institutions and political practices associated with
modern constitutionalism. The term refers to discursive and institu-
tional mechanisms that reduce the exclusionary effects of the mod-
ern territorial state and citizenship model, while formally retaining its
logic. Tilly and Tully have focused initially on European and North
American contexts, respectively, but cultural asymmetry and related
competing power centers have encouraged governments elsewhere
to use mechanisms analogous to “anti-state institutions” and “hidden
constitutions.” For instance, ref lecting on the experience of Indonesia,
Brown (2004) has argued that states often maintain their boundar-
ies and coherence through a creative ambiguity between the symmetry
and equality assumed by formal constitutions, laws, and regulations,
and the deviations from these formal prescriptions in everyday politics.
The present study is concerned with why state elites sometimes formal-
ize these deviations in special status arrangements.
Special Status Arrangements 33
Foucauldian understandings of identity, agency, and power offer
some insight. This approach sees identity as inherently political, a part
of regimes of knowledge and truth that produce, and are themselves
sustained by, power. By this account, there is no “true” self, collective
or individual, in the sense of a pure identity that existed prior to politics
and is discoverable through processes uncorrupted by power. Identity
is never a consequence of an entirely free will. Rather, all identities are
the effects of power and its complex and shifting configurations, just as
power is an effect of identity (see Mackenzie and Stoljar 2000; see also
Henders 2004a). This political understanding of identity helps reveal
the processes at work when special status arrangements emerge in the
context of constitutional ruptures and shifts.
To be perceived as legitimate, political movements, leaders, and gov-
ernments must make convincing claims about their ability to defend
and advance collective values. Claims about shared values imply the
existence of a collective identity. Movements, leaders, and govern-
ments invoke collective identities instrumentally to create the sense of
shared purpose needed to mobilize populations for collective political
and economic goals. For sure, they are enabled and constrained by the
previously existing repertoire of collective identity claims that script
popular and elite imaginings of who they are as individuals and col-
lectivities. However, the claims of elites about collective identities and
values, in turn, contribute to how nations, citizenries, and minority
territorial communities are imagined.1
If it is normal for political elites to make collective identity claims,
these claims should be especially explicit and politically salient at times
of constitutional rupture and shift. After all, these are times when
political elites need to legitimate new configurations of power and
mobilize populations to support new norms, practices, and institu-
tions. It should be no surprise, then, that nationalist and other collec-
tive identity claims are integral parts of remaking political economic
orders following wars and during state takeovers of new territory. The
establishment of new regimes, such as during democratization or the
establishment of Communist states following revolutionary wars, also
requires especially intense collective identity claims to legitimate new
power configurations, mobilize populations, and establish new consti-
tutions. Regime change typically involves the renegotiation and legiti-
mization of new constitutions and laws, which contain claims about
the core values of and membership criteria for the state, nation, and
demos. Collective identity claims also underlie constitutional provisions
and laws on electoral systems, representative institutions, electoral and
administrative boundaries, and the membership criteria for and the
rights and duties of citizens. They are additionally necessary for (re)
producing electoral and other political coalitions and interest groups
(see Linz and Stepan 1996; see also Snyder 2000; Gladney 1998). As
Chang (2004: 83) has observed, “the ‘uses’ of nation in real politics
and regime transformation processes must be normal and prevalent.”
Collective identity claims will also accompany the establishment and
legitimization of a new government in a consolidated democracy, all
the more so if the government aims at a significant shift in constitu-
tional norms.
“Individualistic” Approaches to Identity

The invoking of collective identities during constitutional ruptures and
shifts has implications for minority territorial communities because the
process of making and reproducing collectivities is inherently exclu-
sionary. This is an especially great risk when collective identity claims
are based on the modern territorial state and citizenship model, which
assumes identities are unitary and atomistic, or what Mackenzie and
Stoljar (2000: 3) term “individualistic.” These terms will be used inter-
changeably in the present study.
Individualistic approaches assert that identities are relatively fixed,
internally coherent, monodimensional, territorially bounded, and prior
to politics and other social interaction. Much of contemporary social
theory rejects this approach. It instead understands identities to be
f luid, internally incoherent or heterogeneous, multidimensional, ter-
ritorially unbounded, and both political and relational. Identities are
socially produced in the sense of being the product of ongoing social
interaction and evolving shared understandings. They are political pro-
cesses in that the social interactions and understandings that give rise
to identities involve actors with unequal power. Moreover, they are
political because they are internally contested and because any par-
ticular understanding of a shared identity will have uneven political
effects, benefitting some individuals and groups more than others. The
heterogeneity and multidimentionality of identities also have impor-
tant implications. Tully speaks of identities as “intercultural” to draw
attention to the cultural differences internal to individual and collec-
tive selves, not just those between them. Individuals are “intercultural”
because of their multiple and f luid attachments to overlapping col-
lectivities (Tully 1995: 13–14, 56). Individual and group identities are
fragmented by the ties of individuals to multiple, hierarchically ordered
groups defined by such attributes as gender, class, ethnicity, race, sexual
orientation, and religion.
From the late eighteenth century, assertions of “nation” gradually
emerged as the dominant collective identity claim underpinning the
modern territorial state and citizenship model. This collectivity has
primarily been understood individualistically. “Nation” is asserted to
have boundaries that do or should neatly coincide with those of the
state. It is said to be composed of individuals with more in common
than divides them, minimizing the importance of differences of gen-
der, class, ethnicity, race, religion, and sexual orientation. Over the
past several centuries, through processes to varying degrees violent, we
have come to divide people and territory across the globe into discrete
nation-states that are, in effect, institutionalized collective identity
claims. Claims about unitary, atomistic identities attached to discrete
territories are, thus, integral to the deep structure of the state system
and global politics.
One consequence of this modern territoriality has been citizenship
institutions and practices that have exclusionary effects for minority
territorial communities. In the nation-state, there is little room for
these groups as collectivities. Their demands for recognition and pro-
tection have often been unrecognized, downplayed, or suppressed. The
result has often been disaffection, protest, rebellion, and, occasionally,
secession attempts. Sometimes, the elites of minority territorial com-
munities have demanded a relaxation of the modern territorial state
and citizenship model to allow for territorial-political recognition of
and protection for the distinctive values of the community they claim
to represent. Typically, they demand some measure of distinctive self-
rule. In this way, the exclusionary citizenship associated with individu-
alistic conceptions of the nation contributes to generating demands for
departures from the standardized approaches to citizenship and territo-
rial governance that produced the exclusion.
Paradoxically, individualistic understandings of identity also often
shape the ways that standardization is weakened in order to accom-
modate differences. This occurs to the extent that minority territo-
rial communities, like nation-states, are treated as if their identities
and values were fixed, internally coherent, monodimensional, ter-
ritorially bounded, apolitical, and prior to social interaction. As
Merry (2001: 41–42; see also Sieder and Witchell 2001) has pointed
out, individualistic conceptions of collective identity take on hard
structural characteristics when institutionalized in international and
domestic legal documents and “common sense” ways of talking and
thinking about identity. Consequently, the leaders of distinctive terri-
torial communities—indigenous communities, in her example—will
be more likely to gain recognition and entitlements for their com-
munities if they portray them as having identities that are internally
uncontested, clearly demarcated from other communities, and eternal.
Gains are made, and the power of community elites reinforced, by
hiding, ignoring, downplaying, and delegitimizing the complex lived
experience of identity as f luid, internally contested, multiple, spatially
unbounded, and cleft by multiple internal differences. At the same
time, the choices of indigenous and minority community elites ref lect
their relatively weak power position in external decisionmaking pro-
cesses and the oppression by states and other powerful external agents
that their communities confront.
For these and other reasons, paradoxically, the processes of making
and maintaining minority territorial communities can be just as exclu-
sionary as the making and remaking of nation-states. Just as individual-
istic conceptions of the nation can contribute to exclusionary citizenship
institutions and practices with respect to minority territorial commu-
nities, individualistic conceptions of the minority community can con-
tribute to exclusionary citizenship with respect to vulnerable groups
and individuals within that community. The latter are termed internal
minorities in the present study. This raises the question of how special
status arrangements can be designed so that this danger is minimized.
We might hypothesize that when individualistic understandings of the
minority territorial community are entrenched in the institutions and
processes of special status, it is more likely that the arrangement will
contribute to exclusionary citizenship with respect to internal minori-
ties. The specific nature of the institutionalized collective values will
affect the harm experienced by vulnerable groups and individuals.
The Dual Axes of Contention

So, individualistic approaches to identity, when institutionalized in
the political systems of states and special status arrangements, poten-
tially create exclusionary citizenship. Two main axes of political
contestation—state-territorial and intraterritorial—result, as individu-
als and groups, or the elites claiming to represent them, challenge the
resulting exclusion. State-territorial contestation is well recognized in
the literature. Political conf lict associated with this axis involves the
struggles of members of minority territorial communities for more
inclusive terms of citizenship in the state, including through recognition
and protection for their distinctiveness through special status arrange-
ments and other group-differentiated rights. By contrast, intraterritorial
conf lict involves struggles by internal minorities, or their representa-
tives, for inclusive citizenship within the minority territorial commu-
nity. These two axes of contestation are intertwined with others related
to the ties of state and minority territorial community actors to com-
munities and decisionmaking processes beyond the state, but these are
largely bracketed by the present study.2
The political dynamics associated with state-territorial and intra-
territorial contestation have a dialogic or, more accurately, multilogic
character (Tully 2000; see also Linklater 1998). To Gladney (2004: 6),
the political dynamics involved in such contexts are less dialectical than
a complex dialogue, for “identities do not always emerge antithetically
to the old: new identities may surface, old ones may be reinvented,
and each will be in constant dialogue with the other.” The collective
identities constituted by governmental institutions and practices will
always be unjust because they will always fail to recognize and rep-
resent some members, or some dimensions of identity. As such, they
constitute their own challengers, who will, in turn, seek recognition
and accommodation, producing new exclusions. The resulting chains
of struggle, negotiation, and accommodation are multiple and inter-
connected. The contestation observed is often connected to the issues
identified in chapter two—state security, stability, and territorial integ-
rity, social solidarity, equality, democracy, and economic moderniza-
tion and development as well as economic globalization and regional
integration.
Outcomes
The present study uses both order and justice criteria—specifically,

stability and inclusive citizenship—to assess the outcomes of special
status arrangements. The aim is to understand whether and under what
conditions special status arrangements can bolster both order and jus-
tice when deviating from some of the institutionalized patterns of the
modern territorial state and citizenship model. The aim is, thus, to
investigate two contentions: that of Hannum (1990), who asserts that
territorial autonomy arrangements are a compromise between state and
minority rights that can help simultaneously advance both (see also
Wolff and Weller 2005) and that of Kymlicka (1996), who asserts that
minority autonomy arrangements can provide external protection to
vulnerable minorities without being inherently hostile to the individ-
ual freedom of members of those communities.
Stability
First, the study examines whether the special status arrangements
enhanced stability and under what circumstances this was likely to
occur. Both the stability of the state and the special status territory are
considered, and, drawing from Lustick (1979) and Arel (2001), both
minimal and maximal stability are assessed. Minimal stability refers to
whether there was continuity in the most important patterns of politi-
cal behavior needed to maintain the political institutions of the state
and special status arrangement. Minimal stability says nothing about
the nature of state or special status political institutions, though their
character, including the regime type, may be one factor inf luencing
the political behavior of the relevant actors. Maximal stability sets a
higher bar. It refers to whether political contestation related to the spe-
cial status arrangement was institutionalized in the sense that politics was
not characterized by mass violence or other extra-institutional political
action, or by state repression or its threat.
State stability is related, but not reducible to durability. The latter
refers to whether the state remained territorially intact, its external
borders unchanged by successful secessionist movements. It also refers
to whether the special status arrangement was durable. Extrapolating
from Nordquist (1998: 66), the durability of a special status arrange-
ment is indicated by whether it “continued to exist on the basis of an
operative political document after at least one constitutional change of
government/head of government in the central state” and, given the
focus of the present book, at least one constitutional change of gov-
ernment/administration within the territory. Note that durability does
not require that the political documents setting out the institutions
and processes of special status be static. However, to be consistent with
maximal stability, any change must be achieved through institutional-
ized processes, as outlined earlier.
Inclusive Citizenship
The study also examines the impact of special status arrangements on
the quality of citizenship for minority territorial communities and their
internal minorities. Drawing from several authors, inclusive citizenship
refers to fullness of belonging with respect to the multiple political and
social processes, public and private, that enable or limit political par-
ticipation, social inclusion, cultural recognition, and economic security
and well-being in a political community. Citizenship is affected by the
legal relationship between the individual and the state, based on formal
rights and duties. However, it is also affected by the norms and practices
of public authorities at multiple levels and of markets, communities,
and families. All of these can negatively affect the identity and political
and socio-economic positioning of individuals and groups (see Kabeer
2005; Wong 2002; Young 1990; Fraser 2003; Lister 2007). Citizenship
has material dimensions, too. The distribution of economic, social, and
political resources affects who fully belongs. Distribution is affected
by markets, but also by the strength of and access to public and private
protection systems. Citizenship is also about norms, practices, mean-
ings, and identities (Isin and Turner 2002). It is affected by the domi-
nant discourses and representational practices that exert social power
through their capacity to tell people and communities who they and
others are (see Williams 2007; see also Fraser 1997).
In liberal terms, struggles for citizenship in the state have involved
demands for equal, universal access to civil, political, and social rights
for individuals, regardless of gender, age, ethnicity, religion, race,
sexual orientation, or ideology. Historically, this has been achieved
through extending formal citizenship rights and formal equality to
expanding numbers of previously excluded groups (see Marshall 1973).
More broadly, the strengthening of citizenship has involved struggles
to establish supportive norms, practices, and institutionalized cultural
values in all areas of life and spaces that impinge on the ability of indi-
viduals and communities to have equal respect and recognition and
equal opportunities to achieve social esteem and material well-being
(Fraser 2003). The struggle for inclusive citizenship has additionally
come to encompass the demands for recognition, participation, inclu-
sion, security and well-being by collectivities, including minority ter-
ritorial communities. As we have seen, these struggles have involved
demands for collective self-government and other group-differentiated
rights over and above formal state-based individual citizenship rights.
Achieving substantive as opposed to only formal equality has involved
establishing institutions and practices that recognize differences of
identity, needs, and positioning in hierarchies of gender, class, ethnic-
ity, race, religion and sexual orientation.
The territorial state is still the main space in which citizenship, under-
stood as legal status or nationality, is realized. There are still relatively
few citizenship laws made by suprastate authorities. However, if citi-
zenship is understood in the broader sense outlined earlier—where it
refers to fullness of belonging with respect to multiple political and
social processes that affect political participation, social inclusion, cul-
tural recognition, and economic security and well-being—a myriad
of actors and processes beyond the state potentially inf luence its qual-
ity (see Lister 2007). Similarly, relatively few substate authorities have
the autonomy to set their own formal citizenship norms and practices.
However, when citizenship is understood to encompass more than for-
mal status, then special status and other minority territorial authorities
emerge as important sites where the terms of belonging are contested
and negotiated. Like states, special status territories confront three par-
ticular challenges in this regard. First, the increasing mobility of people
challenges the meanings and entitlements of citizenship, understandings
of community, and efforts by public authorities to regulate people and
territory (Desforges, Jones, and Woods 2005). Second, the contest for
global economic competitiveness pressures public authorities and firms
and other private realm actors at all levels to cut costs and inefficiency
through practices that can diminish the quality of citizenship. Finally,
as already discussed, the citizenship norms and practices of territorialized
polities—both states and special status territories—enhance belonging
for some individuals and groups and some dimensions of identity, but
are simultaneously tools of exclusion (see Isin and Turner 2002).
Indeed, the very territorial dimension of both states and special status
territories as political communities appears to accentuate the poten-
tial for exclusion. As Campbell asserts, any territorial form of political
authority will always fail to recognize and represent some individuals
and/or some dimension of their complex identities. However, the more
authority is based on the bounded territoriality of the individualistic
“nationalist imaginary,” the greater the risk that it will marginalize
some residents (Campbell 1998: 143; see also Young 2000). One pur-
pose of the present study is to examine the challenges to citizenship
posed by the intersection of territory and identity in particular cases of
special status. As Young (2000: 197) wrote, “[s]patial group differen-
tiation . . . should be voluntary, f luid, without clear borders, and with
many overlapping, unmarked, and hybrid places.” If this is so, what
factors contribute to its development?
As Tully asserts, there is no ideal configuration of institutions, dis-
courses, and resources that will satisfy the identities and needs of the
contending parties forever. Given the f luidity and intercultural com-
plexity of individual and collective identities, given the persistent
exclusion caused by territorialized political institutions and by processes
associated with economic globalization, citizenship conf licts cannot be
permanently solved. Rather, Tully says the aim should be to maintain
institutions and practices that accommodate ongoing, free, and open-
ended contestation over identities and belonging at multiple levels. For
Tully, freedom is the goal, “the freedom of the members of an open
society to change the constitutional rules of mutual recognition and
association from time to time as their identities change” (2001: 4–6).
The cases studied here permit analysis of the effects of regime type on
the open-endedness of special status arrangements, including but not
limited to contexts of democratization. As Wanda Dressler (2002: 9)
has put it with respect to the experience of democratization in post-
Soviet Europe, the central question is what “level of institutionalisa-
tion and f luidity of cultural difference must be allowed so that what is
regarded as an advance in representative democracy does not turn into
its opposite.”
A further clarification about the uses of the term “democracy” in
the present study is necessary. Unless otherwise modified, it refers to
formal democracy, understood in procedural terms as a political system
with regular, competitive, free, and fair multiparty elections based on
universal adult suffrage, backed by protection for individual civil and
political rights, where the elections are used to select an executive and/
or legislature with binding decisionmaking authority. Formal democ-
racy is characterized both by elections and a range of liberal institutions
such as free speech, freedom of association, and the rule of law and
other elements of constitutionalism. However, after Young (2001), the
study takes the position that even societies that are not formally demo-
cratic may still possess some democratic and/or liberal elements. Hong
Kong is an example of such a polity.
A later section will specify how the notion of inclusive democracy as
applied to minority territorial communities and their internal minori-
ties is operationalized in the present study.
The Study
Method
The study uses a case-oriented comparative approach broadly based on
what Alexander George (1979) has called “structured, focused compar-
ison.” This comparative approach involves asking generalized questions
of a small number of cases of the same phenomenon and formulating
in terms of generalizable factors, accounts of outcomes that interest
the researcher. George has argued that structured, focused comparisons
are appropriate for exploratory studies of phenomena about which we
know relatively little and may be particularly useful for identifying sub-
sets of the phenomenon under study. As George and Fredrickson have
explained (1981), structured, focused comparison looks at uniqueness
against a background of similarity amongst cases. The researcher aims
to identify and explain some of the complexity of the phenomenon and
the discrete causal patterns evident in a few cases that may indicate key
variations within the wider set.
In the present study, structured, focused comparison is used to iden-
tify and explain both the commonalities and differences in the special
status arrangements examined. This includes analogous characteristics
that may have distinctive origins as well as patterns that may, if studied
across a larger set of cases, prove generalizable across all special status
arrangements or within a subset of them.
Case Selection
The diversity of the cases studied—Catalonia, Corsica, Hong Kong,
and central Tibet—serves several purposes. It allows comparative study
of some of the important contexts of constitutional rupture or shift in
which special status arrangements have arisen since World War I (see
Henders 1997). The four contexts of origin examined here include:
democratization, democratic maintenance, decolonization and post-
communist marketization, and communist state-building. Further
research is needed to determine the extent to which the cases studied
are typical of all instances of special status associated with these par-
ticular contexts. The following paragraphs brief ly outline the consti-
tutional rupture or shift associated with the emergence of the cases
studied in this book.
Democratization: The agreement that permitted Catalonia to become
an Autonomous Community (Comunidad Autonoma) with distinctive
features was part of the constitutional pacts that led to the democratiza-
tion of Spain following the death in 1975 of dictator Francisco Franco.
Democratic Maintenance: The territorial authority created under the
1982/83 statut particulier for Corsica was an instance of a special status
arrangement emerging during a constitutional shift within a consol-
idated democracy. The shift involved changes associated with state-
wide decentralization reforms made by the newly elected socialist
government of the time and that aimed to revitalize democracy and
the economy both in Corsica and across France.
Decolonization State-building and Post-Communist Marketization: The
Sino-British Joint Declaration paved the way for British Hong Kong
to become a Special Administrative Region within China in 1997.
The agreement emerged out of the efforts of post-Mao Chinese leaders
to end British colonial rule of the territory, while advancing China’s
market-led economic modernization.
Communist State-building: The unusual degree of special status permit-
ted central Tibet in the 1950s was a state-building technique deployed
by the leadership of the newly established People’s Republic of China
(PRC) in a hostile Cold War climate.
The second reason for focusing on such diverse cases is to extend to
non-Western and non-democratic contexts the “new debate on minor-
ity rights,” which has had Western liberal democracies as its princi-
pal focus (Kymlicka and Norman 2000: 2). The cases allow for the
comparison of two examples of special status in Western democratic/
democratizing states—Corsica and Catalonia—with two in authori-
tarian China—central Tibet and Hong Kong, permitting preliminary
observations on the effects of regime type.
Third, the choice of cases permits comparative study of polities and
societies inf luenced by liberalism and communism. As we have seen,
both social theories have, in their dominant forms, been hostile to
asymmetry and the recognition of cultural difference. The cases allow
consideration of why special status arrangements arise in what would
appear to be normatively inhospitable environments. They also permit
the study of prospects for outcomes supportive of stability as well as
inclusive citizenship in such circumstances.
Fourth, the case selection permits examination of special status
arrangements with differing directionality and temporality. It per-
mits the comparison of cases that are integrative and temporary (Hong
Kong and central Tibet) with cases that are devolutionary and perma-
nent (Catalonia and Corsica). In addition, the case selection allows for
comparison of special status in relatively wealthy territories (Catalonia
and Hong Kong) with relatively poor ones (Corsica and central Tibet).
Nevertheless, the choice of such divergent cases raises questions
about their comparability. Some will question whether special status
arrangements in authoritarian states are the same phenomenon as those
in democratic states. This is a legitimate concern. Nevertheless, the
phenomenon of special status arrangements must be broadly defined if
we are to study them in contexts beyond the democratic West. A broad
definition of special status arrangements is also necessary if we are to
study the effect of regime type on the use of asymmetrical territorial
governance in contemporary states.
A second difficulty with respect to the comparability of the cases con-
cerns their historical time frame. Central Tibet’s special status under the
Seventeen-Point Agreement spanned the 1951 to 1959 period, while the
Corsica, Catalonia, and Hong Kong special status arrangements were
all negotiated in the late 1970s and early 1980s and implemented in the
years following. The situation is unavoidable if we are to include in
the comparison an instance of special status associated with Communist
state-building. Minority territorial autonomy arrangements were
widely used in the building of the Soviet Union, Yugoslavia, China,
and Vietnam in the twentieth century (Connor 1984). However, all of
these arrangements emerged prior to the late 1970s. To help address the
lack of common timeframe across the four cases studied here, the analy-
sis of central Tibet is extended beyond the collapse of the Seventeen-
Point Agreement in 1959 to include the Tibet Autonomous Region,
the territorial autonomy arrangement subsequently applied to central
Tibet and which took on particular importance following the Cultural
Revolution, precisely in the period in which the other three special sta-
tus arrangements were established.
A third issue with respect to comparability concerns variations in
the nature of the dominant identity claims associated with the cases.
This will be most obvious with respect to Hong Kong, whose special
status arrangement primarily protects the territory’s liberal capitalist
way of life, according to dominant representations. By comparison, the
other special status arrangements are normally represented as protect-
ing minority communities whose distinctiveness is ethnolinguistic and
also religious in the case of central Tibet. However, in practice, there
are multiple and competing identity discourses associated with each
of the four arrangements. Moreover, in addition to protecting liberal
capitalism, the Hong Kong arrangement also protects the territory’s
distinctive Cantonese and English ethnolinguistic identifications, for
instance. In the case of Corsica, the special status arrangement protects
the Corsican language and culture, but also is a response to the terri-
tory’s island status and its associated socio-economic vulnerability. For
central Tibetans, in addition to ethnolinguistic and religious identity
claims, contestation over autonomy and special status also arises from
the poverty of Tibetans and the vulnerability of Himalayan ecosystems.
In all cases, the special status arrangement is associated with a territorial
community claimed to have an identity distinct from the core of the
state. The specific nature of this identity and its associated values are,
in each case, multiple and contested political claims, regardless of their
attribute of focus. The study will consider on how this contestation
plays out in the political dynamics of each arrangement and how the
particular characteristics of dominant identity claims affects the out-
comes, particularly with respect to inclusive citizenship.
Sources
This book relies mainly on English-language secondary literature by
academic writers specializing in the study of each of the four territories.
It makes some use of English-language primary documents and more
limited use of Spanish, French, and Chinese-language primary and sec-
ondary sources. Interviews were conducted by the author in Catalonia,
Corsica, and Hong Kong. These were mainly for background purposes
and only a few have been explicitly cited here. The data for the study
were, with a few exceptions, gathered before autumn 2006.
The primary and secondary sources available on central Tibet were
more limited than those for the other cases, due to the barriers to con-
ducting independent research on a politically sensitive topic in an authori-
tarian state. The sources available say little about the actual operations of
political institutions within China’s central party-state and central Tibet
or their impact on Tibetan society. The case study on central Tibet will
discuss this issue further. The limitations on media freedom and on con-
ducting independent academic research in the PRC also restricted the
relative availability of primary and secondary source material on central
government decisionmaking with respect to Hong Kong.
Research Questions
In accordance with the method of structured, focused comparison, the
study asks generalized questions of each case, derived from the ana-
lytical framework presented in chapters two and three. The aim is to
understand the similarities and differences in the special status arrange-
ments in terms of their origins, nature, political dynamics, and out-
comes. The questions are as follows.
Origins: The study asks why state actors agreed to the special sta-
tus concessions, identifying both facilitating factors and immediate
causes.
Nature: The study asks what features were associated with each spe-
cial status arrangement. It identifies their normative and institutional
characteristics, but also their type and degree of asymmetry, direction-
ality, and temporality. In addition, it identifies the dominant discourses
of identity associated with each arrangement.
Political Dynamics: The study asks what political dynamics were asso-
ciated with each arrangement. Specifically, it identifies the key tensions
related to asymmetry and autonomy, associated with both the state-
territorial and the intraterritorial axes of conf lict. Particular attention is
paid to tensions related to state security, stability, and territorial integ-
rity; social solidarity; equality; democracy; and modernization and
economic development as well as economic globalization and regional
integration, as outlined in chapter two.
Outcomes: In keeping with its focus on order and justice, the study
asks whether the special status arrangements contributed to enhanc-
ing stability for both the state and special status arrangement and to
enhancing inclusive citizenship for both the minority territorial com-
munity and its internal minorities. The indicators of stability used were
detailed earlier in the present chapter. The indicators of inclusive citi-
zenship are outlined below.
First, the study will use the strength of the political autonomy of
the territorial authority as an indicator of the strength of the inclusive
citizenship of the minority territorial community within the state, rec-
ognizing that this is but one albeit critical ingredient in full belonging.
The study will examine four factors that contribute significantly to the
degree of political autonomy of the territorial authorities: de jure and de
facto final decisionmaking authority; de jure and de facto fiscal auton-
omy; de jure and de facto external effectiveness in state decisionmaking;
and de jure and de facto scope for asymmetrical policies (see Agranoff
2004). The indicators are general enough to permit the comparative
assessment of the strength of political autonomy in arrangements in both
democratic and non-democratic contexts. At the same time, they allow
examination of the effect of democratic elections and constitutionalist
institutions, norms, and processes on political autonomy. A number of
studies suggest that political autonomy will be greater in democratic
constitutionalist polities than in their non-democratic, nonconstitution-
alist counterparts (e.g., Agranoff 2004; see also Davis 1989).
Final decisionmaking authority refers to the extent that the territo-
rial executive, legislature, judiciary, and other public bodies have the
de jure and de facto authority to make their own decisions in their
areas of competence without state interference or oversight. Final
decisionmaking authority is closely connected to what Agranoff has
termed the “power of immunity” of territorial authorities vis-à-vis the
state (Agranoff 2004: 30, 40, 58–59).
Fiscal autonomy also affects the strength of political autonomy. It
includes both the degree of formal fiscal authority of the territorial
authorities and their de facto fiscal autonomy, particularly their actual
fiscal capacity. Political autonomy will be strengthened to the extent
that territorial authorities have the authority to raise and keep locally
generated tax revenue, set tax rates, and determine how revenue is
spent. However, formal authority will mean little if the society is poor
and unable to generate tax revenue commensurate with the policy
authority and needs of the special status territory government. State
revenue transfers are critical.
A third factor affecting political autonomy concerns the degree to
which the territorial authority is “externally effective” (Davis 1989:
Chapter 5). “External effectiveness” refers to the extent to which the
territorial government has the authority to participate in and the abil-
ity to inf luence external decisionmaking processes that potentially
affect its competencies or otherwise harm territorial values and inter-
ests. The decisionmaking processes of concern exist both within and
beyond the state in both the private and public realms. However, the
present study mainly examines the de jure and de facto external effec-
tiveness of territorial authorities in state decisionmaking processes.
It will focus primarily on two indicators of external effectiveness in
state decisionmaking processes: the strength of territorial representa-
tion and/or inf luence in state executives, legislatures, judiciaries, and
political parties and whether territorial authorities or voters have an
effective veto over processes for amending state laws or constitutions
that affect the status and prerogatives of the territorial authorities or
the group-differentiated rights of territorial residents (see Beramendi
and Máiz 2004; Wolff 2005). We might expect external effectiveness
to be considerably reduced if autonomy provisions in laws or constitu-
tions can be revoked without the consent of territorial residents or their
locally elected or chosen representatives. This suggests that the stron-
gest political autonomy will be available in federal states or in special
status arrangements that allow federal-style constitutional protection to
the territorial authority.
Scope for asymmetrical policies is the final factor contributing to
territorial political autonomy, to be examined in the book. Scope for
asymmetrical policies refers to the extent that the territorial author-
ity can, de jure and in practice, deviate from the policies standardized
elsewhere in the state. Without this possibility, the choices available to
the territorial authorities will be constrained.
With respect to internal minorities, the specific vulnerable groups
examined are: in Catalonia, women, native Castilian-speakers, and
immigrants, especially those from North Africa; in Corsica, women
and immigrants, especially those from North Africa; in Hong Kong,
women, the poor, including poor recent mainland immigrants, non-
Han Chinese, and the democratic opposition; and in central Tibet, the
poor, mostly rural ethnic Tibetan majority, poor non-Tibetan minority
nationalities, and Tibetan dissidents.
The study aims to determine to what extent and in what ways, if at
all, the exclusion experienced by these vulnerable groups was attrib-
utable to or aggravated by the special status arrangement including its
institutions, discourses, and political dynamics. Because the published
data on internally inclusive citizenship is generally weak and is very
uneven across the cases, the conclusions offered will be particularly
tentative. As noted earlier, inclusive citizenship, in its fullest terms,
refers to the fullness of belonging with respect to the multiple politi-
cal and social processes, public and private, that enable or limit politi-
cal participation, social inclusion, cultural recognition, and economic
security and well-being. The focus in the present study will be on the
following indicators of inclusive citizenship: whether vulnerable indi-
viduals and groups had the right to participate as voters, candidates, and
elected officials in territorial executives and legislatures; the extent to
which they were represented in the ranks of elected officials and ter-
ritorial administrators; whether the material distribution of resources
disproportionately disadvantaged members of these groups, judged by
such indicators as poverty rates, income distribution data, and human
development indices as well as by the availability of public social pro-
tection schemes; and whether the values and membership criteria for
the minority territorial community were exclusionary, as expressed in
institutions and dominant discourses. As the available published infor-
mation varied across the cases, not all of these indicators have been
assessed for all of the cases.
Chapters four through seven, which follow, provide case studies of
the four special status arrangements of focus.
CH A P T E R FOU R
Catalonia as an Autonomous Community
The building of a state composed of autonomous regions is our

only way out of Spain’s current problems, but it is also the princi-
pal risk that threatens our fragile democracy.
Spanish Prime Minister Adolfo Suárez, 1980
By means of this Statute, Catalonia wishes to progress towards an

improved form of democracy.
Preamble, Proposal for Reform of the
Autonomy Statute of Catalonia, Catalan Parliament, 2005
The post-communist transitions from authoritarian rule in post-Cold

War East and Central Europe refocused attention on the sometimes
problematic relationship among state, nation(s), and democratization,
or what Linz and Stepan (1996: 16) have called “stateness.” This often
conf lict-ridden triad has confounded attempts to establish stable demo-
cratic regimes in some states with minority territorial communities.
Not so for post-Franco Spain. Following the 1975 death of General
Francisco Franco, Spanish political elites successfully secured a demo-
cratic transition partly by agreeing to give special status to Catalonia, the
Basque Country, and Galicia, the so-called historic regions. A region
of northeast Spain, Catalonia had active nationalist movements claim-
ing the territory had a distinct identity due to its language (Catalan),
economic and social dynamism, and history of autonomous political
institutions. A few nationalists demanded independence, but most were
moderates calling for the reestablishment of Catalonia’s earlier autono-
mous political status within a democratic Spain.
This chapter argues that the decision by Spanish elites to grant
Catalonia special status was closely connected to the democratiza-
tion process itself, due to the close relationship between the struggles
for democracy and for ethnic minority recognition. Franco-era elites
needed the support of Catalan nationalists and voters if they were to
maintain power while successfully negotiating a transition to democracy
for Spain. They also needed to placate the even more highly mobilized
Basque nationalists, some of whom had resorted to violent tactics.
The Catalan special status arrangement in many ways is an example of
the successful use of special status by political elites attempting to nego-
tiate a complex and fragile transition from authoritarian to democratic
rule. It also points to the limits of the ability of special status arrange-
ments to enhance inclusive citizenship within a liberal democratic and
a capitalist order. The arrangement has contributed to the stability of
the Spanish state. However, conf licts over perceived incompatibilities
between asymmetrical autonomy and Spanish national unity, equality,
and social solidarity have restricted the degree of asymmetry permit-
ted Catalan authorities. Market forces and European integration also
restricted the ability of Catalan governments to protect Catalan culture
and depart from standardized norms, even if, comparatively speaking,
their political autonomy has been significant. In addition, the arrange-
ment’s record for enhancing inclusive citizenship was mixed, even if
the exclusion experienced by these groups largely did not originate
with the arrangement.
Background
Spain has experienced ongoing conf licts over the territorial distribution
of political authority due to asymmetries of history, language, identity,
socioeconomic factors, and geography. As one of Europe’s oldest states,
Spain encompassed all of its present-day territory by 1512. The fact
that state-building occurred under monarchical government prior to
the rise of nationalism helps explain the continuing salience of ter-
ritorial identities and the periodic willingness of the political center to
permit territorial elites to retain some prior privileges and separate laws
(Linz 1973; see also Comas 2003). In the past two centuries, territorial
identity claims, intertwined with conf licts over secularization and class
interests, continued to be politically salient in Spain, including with the
emergence of the first explicitly Catalan nationalist program in the late
nineteenth century. By this time, the central state had been weakened
Catalonia as an Autonomous Community 51
by ideological conf licts, the loss of empire, economic stagnation, and
uneven development. It could offer little to the minority territorial
communities, and its nationalist projects could not fully integrate them
into the Castilian core.
With the emergence of the Spanish state, Catalonia experienced
periods of relative political and cultural autonomy interspersed with
central government attempts at centralization and, in later years, assim-
ilation. The territory lost many of its autonomous political institu-
tions and some of its distinct private law system in 1714, following the
War of Spanish Succession. Catalan authorities regained some of their
autonomy under the Mancomunitat (1913–23) and again during the
Spanish Second Republic (1932–36). Following plebiscites, the cen-
tral government agreed to draft autonomy statutes for Catalonia, the
Basque Country, and Galicia. By the time the Spanish Civil War began
in 1936, only the Catalan statute had been implemented, establishing
the Generalitat, made up of a Catalan parliament, president, and execu-
tive council. After the war, the Franco regime abrogated the autonomy
statutes. It also made the suppression of public expressions of territorial
identity a pillar of its political program. During the harshest period,
from 1939 to 1943, the regime banned Catalan from public use, includ-
ing in the work place and street conversations; destroyed Catalan books
and patriotic monuments; fired or transferred outside the territory
teachers sympathetic to the Catalan cause; prohibited university classes
and institutions dedicated to Catalan culture and purged university
staff; banned the Catalan f lag, anthem, national dance, and songs; and
even censored private correspondence in Catalan. It also fired, fined,
jailed, or forced into exiled many individuals who resisted (Conversi
1997). In later years, the regime allowed public expressions of Catalan
identity in only specified controlled circumstances. In 1973, there were
only two hours of Catalan-language television programming permit-
ted monthly (Argelaguet 2003).
At the same time, like Spanish governments before it, the Franco
regime used selective departures from standardized territorial gover-
nance to build political support. It permitted the continuance of the
1841 Ley Paccionada, which granted privileges to the historically Basque
region of Navarre to bolster the government’s anti-Republican sup-
porters. It also permitted the tax privileges granted to Alava under the
1876 Conciertos Económicos, while eliminating the historic privileges of
the other two Basque provinces (Linz 1989). In Catalonia, there was
an attempt to codify the territory’s distinct civil laws and some limited
toleration of their use (Coll 2003).
For their part, most ethnic Catalans living in what was to become
the Catalan Autonomous Community retained a sense of distinct iden-
tity. This was primarily based on the widespread use and symbolic
importance of the Catalan language. Other important factors were, the
maintenance of Catalan civil law and an identification with Catalonia’s
history as a commercial empire and a territory with separate political
institutions. Unlike most other regional languages in Spain, Catalan
enjoyed high prestige, including amongst urban dwellers and the mid-
dle classes, even when they also spoke Castilian. The territorial lan-
guage was the most important vehicle of communication in business,
and Catalan skills were critical for social advancement (Conversi 1997;
Hoffmann 1995). By the time of Franco’s death, about 78 percent of
Catalonia residents still claimed to speak Catalan, the proportion ris-
ing to 97 percent amongst the locally born (Shabad and Gunther 1982;
Shabad and Ramo 1995).
Throughout the Franco years, the fight for the recognition of Catalan
identity and for self-government became intertwined with the struggle
for democracy, such that many in Catalonia saw the two objectives
as interdependent. There was significant cooperation amongst Catalan
nationalist and non-nationalist oppositions. By the late 1970s, Catalan
nationalist elites, many of whom had spent years in exile, could legiti-
mately claim broad support from Catalan political groups of diverse ide-
ologies and political persuasions, including worker and pro-democracy
movements, as well as non-nationalist political parties. Thus, the lead-
ers of the post-Franco regime confronted a relatively coherent Catalan
opposition when they attempted to negotiate the democratization of
Spain through a series of consensus-based constitutional pacts. Then,
as now, the territory also carried electoral weight due to its popula-
tion and economic clout. By the early 1970s, Catalonia had just over
15 percent of the Spanish population of 33.8 million, but generated
more than 20 percent of Spanish GDP and was an important source of
state tax revenue. In the early transition, Catalonia accounted for 48
Congressional seats (nearly 14 percent).
By the early 1980s, Spain had established a regime based on constitu-
tionalist, liberal democratic principles with an increasingly European-
style welfare state. The constitutional pacts that made this possible
addressed several issues: the democratization of political institutions;
the role of the state in socioeconomic relationships; and, of most
direct concern here, the territorial distribution of political authority
and the character of the Spanish nation and of sovereignty. In the lat-
ter “stateness” pact, elites agreed to devolve some political autonomy
to democratically accountable institutions in the “historic regions,” a
term referring to the territories promised autonomy under the Second
Republic. Along with Andalucia, they became the first Autonomous
Communities (Comunidades Autonómicas, ACs). In 1977, the Spanish
government revived the Catalan Generalitat. Two years later, the
Cortes (Spanish parliament) approved the Catalan Autonomy Statute.
However, the formal asymmetry of the Catalan AC was weak from the
start. The post-Franco Spanish Constitution allowed groups of prov-
inces across the country to form ACs with competencies similar to the
“historic regions.” By spring 1984, there were 17 territorial authorities
with autonomy statutes and elected parliaments, covering the entire
state, as well as two autonomous cities. The competencies of the ACs
became increasingly similar over time.
For analytical purposes, the present chapter largely treats the case
of Catalan special status in isolation. In practice, its story is closely
tied to the process of devolution that has occurred across Spain more
generally and, especially, the struggle over asymmetry and autonomy
with respect to the Basque AC. The Basque Nationalist Party, which
is moderate and Christian Democratic, dominated the Basque parlia-
ment from 1978 until losing control following the election of May
2009, although it sometimes governed through coalitions. Unlike
Catalonia, the Basque Country has a violent nationalist separatist
movement, Basque Homeland and Freedom (Euskadi Ta Askatasuna,
ETA). In 2004, the Basque parliament approved a plan for a possible
referendum on the territory becoming “a free state associated with
Spain.”
Despite these differences, Catalan territorial politics, like those of the
Basques, have been dominated by political parties representing various
intensities and varieties of Catalan nationalism and a range of ideologi-
cal orientations. From the first election in 1980 until 2003, Catalonia
was governed by Center-Right Christian Democratic and moderate
nationalist coalitions led by Convergence and Union (Convergència i
Unió, CiU) under President Jordi Pujol. In 2003, the CiU lost control
to the Socialist Party of Catalonia (Partit dels Socialistes de Catalunya,
PSC), which formed a coalition with the left-wing independence-sup-
porting Catalan Republican Left (Esquerra Republicana de Catalunya,
ERC) and the former-communist eco-socialist party Green Initiative
for Catalonia-United Left Alternative (Iniciativa per Catalunya Verds-
Esquerra Unida i Alternativa, ICV-EUiA). Even with the change of
government, the CiU remained the party with the most seats in the
Catalan parliament and even the PSC called itself “Catalanist.”
Although the CiU had, under Pujol, championed a distinctive sta-
tus for Catalonia amongst the ACs of Spain, in recent years Catalan
politicians have largely been more accepting of AC uniformism, per-
haps content with their success in gaining autonomy concessions for
Catalonia even if these have later been generalized across the country
(see Losada and Máiz 2005; Davis 2004). As the then Socialist Catalan
President Pasqual Maragall put it during negotiations for a new Catalan
autonomy statute in 2005, “The statute does not have to be particu-
lar . . . the word nation is polysemic” (The Economist, June 18, 2005). The
new statute, with expanded powers for the territory, was approved by
the Spanish Congress and endorsed by 73.2 percent of Catalan electors
voting in a referendum in 2006. Voter turnout was under 49 percent.
The ongoing push by Catalan governments to expand the territory’s
autonomy is not evidence of a homogeneous society, as individual-
istic conceptions of minority territorial communities would suggest.
Rather, as the chapter will detail, the core values of the community,
the purposes of self-rule, and the status of Catalonia within Spain were
all contested within and outside the territory. Even the boundaries of
Catalonia are not clear cut. The political borders of the Catalan AC
roughly coincide with the old Principality of Catalonia. However, if
Catalonia were to include all territories where variants of Catalan are
spoken, it might include the Balearic Islands, Valencia (although some
regard Valencian as a separate language rather than a variant of Catalan),
and parts of Aragon, all of which are separate ACs. It would also take
in parts of southwest France. The expanse of Catalan-inf luenced areas
ref lects the trading links and conquests made by the Principality of
Catalonia which, during the late Middle Ages, was an important mari-
time power under the crown of Aragon.
Internally, the Catalan AC has been ethnolinguistically diverse, with
ethnic and class boundaries often coinciding. The first part of Spain to
industrialize in the nineteenth century, Catalonia was also the motor of
Spain’s late “economic miracle” under Francoist economic liberaliza-
tion in the 1960s and 1970s. The political economy characteristics of
the territory have had a number of consequences. For one, the ethnic
Catalan bourgeoisie who led the early nineteenth-century economic
transformation through the expansion of textile manufacture, became
an important social base for Catalan nationalist movements. More
recently, the CiU maintained strong links with ethnic Catalan small
business owners. Meanwhile, Catalan industry attracted large num-
bers of workers from poorer Castilian-speaking areas of Spain, espe-
cially Andalucia. From 1940 to 1970, the Catalan population more
than doubled. By 1981, about 35 percent of its 5.1 million residents
were born outside Catalonia. Nearly half of residents had family ori-
gins outside the region. These individuals often had identities different
from native Catalan speakers and those whose families had lived in
the territory for generations. They also often had different economic
interests, as individuals who were not locally born tended also to be
overrepresented in low-status, lower paid occupations. Only 38 per-
cent of them spoke Catalan, compared to 98 percent of their locally
born counterparts (Shabad and Gunther 1982; Shabad and Ramo 1995;
Gunther, Sani, and Shabad 1986).
More recently, Catalonia has become even more heterogeneous,
with the arrival of significant numbers of non-Spanish migrant work-
ers, particularly from North Africa. In 2003, about one third of Spain’s
2.6 million foreign residents lived in Catalonia, mostly in Barcelona.
In 2004, about 20 percent of Catalonia’s foreign residents were from
outside Europe, most from Morocco, compared to only 1 percent in
the late 1980s. Although still accounting for only a small percentage of
the Catalan population, by 2004 immigrants made up about 60 percent
of new school children in the territory (Agusti-Panareda 2006). They
were also disproportionately represented amongst the poor.
Origins
As chapter three discussed, stateness issues tend to be highly politically

salient during transitions from authoritarian rule in states with minor-
ity territory communities. However, not every such democratization
process helps bring about a special status arrangement. Particular insti-
tutional and socio-political characteristics of the Spanish transition and
of Catalonia’s place in it pushed Spanish elites to agree to the creation
of the Catalan AC.
First, the Franco years had convinced Catalan political elites that
democratization required the recognition of territorial-cultural dif-
ference and that territorial self-rule would not be restored without
democratization (Giner 1984; Giner and Moreno 1990). This convic-
tion encouraged wide support for the restoration of Catalan autonomy
amongst political groups and movements beyond the nationalist politi-
cal parties. Reestablishing Catalan autonomy was not the majority view
in popular Catalan circles until later in the transition (Blas Guerrero
1989), but its support amongst political elites, organizations, and move-
ments made it harder for Spanish elites to ignore.
The pressure on the Spanish government due to Basque nationalist
mobilization also increased the political weight of Catalan autonomy
demands. In the early months of the transition in late 1976 and early 1977,
Basque nationalists mobilized citizens in strikes and street demonstra-
tions demanding democracy, autonomy, independence, and an amnesty
for political prisoners. There was also a series of violent attacks by radical
Basque nationalists and a sense that Basque nationalist mobilization could
derail democratization (see Vallès 1992; Linz 1989). Although Catalonia
was comparatively quiet, many of its residents sympathized with Basque
demands, if not the extreme methods used by some. On September 11,
1977, more than a million people participated in Barcelona celebrations
for the Diada, Catalan national day. There were calls for political free-
dom, amnesty, and reestablishment of the Generalitat. A little more than
two weeks later, the Spanish government agreed provisionally to rein-
state the Generalitat. Shortly after, it recalled Josep Tarradellas, the exiled
Catalan president, to be its leader (Conversi 1997).
The nature of the Spanish and Catalan party systems, the political
climate of the first post-Franco Spanish elections in June 1977, and
Catalonia’s electoral importance helped cement support for restor-
ing Catalonia’s autonomy. Across Spain, political parties were newly
formed or newly legalized and, thus, were financially and institutionally
weak. They depended on symbolic resources to mobilize supporters.
In Catalonia, parties across the political spectrum appealed to Catalan
identity and demands for self-government (Vallès 1992; Pérez-Díaz
1993). Even the Union of the Democratic Center (Unión de Centro
Democrático or UCD), the Francoist party governing Spain during
the transition, supported Catalan autonomy when campaigning in
Catalonia. This strategy grew out of its links with territorial parties and
its inability to attract voters with discredited Spanish nationalist claims
(Maravall and Santamaría 1986; Linz 1989; Aguilar 1997). The Spanish
Socialist Workers Party (Partido Socialista Obrero Español, PSOE)
became “Catalanized,” combining ideological and Catalan nationalist
issues to appeal to a wider spectrum of voters (Marsal and Roiz 1985;
Carretero 1988). The 1977 election itself produced a minority UCD
government for Spain that depended on the votes of the PSOE and
the Pujol-led Democratic Pact for Catalonia (Pacte Democràtic per
Catalunya, DPC) to maintain a majority in Congress. Both backed
Catalan self-rule. In a pattern that would repeat itself many times,
Catalan politicians successfully extracted autonomy concessions when
minority governments in Madrid depended on the votes of nationalist
Catalan deputies in Congress.1
Other factors facilitated the decision by Spanish political elites to
grant Catalonia self-rule. By the onset of the post-Franco transition,
the PSOE and the Spanish Communist Party (Partido Comunista
de España, PCE) had largely abandoned their suspicion of sub-
state ethno-nationalism as a basis for political mobilization, having
spent years in common cause with anti-Franco minority nationalists
(Guibernau 2000). Spain’s earlier history of tolerating distinct regional
laws and privileges also provided a “usable past” for those who sought
legitimacy for minority autonomy and special status concessions
(Keating 2001b: 223; see also Linz 1973; Moreno 2001). That moderate
nationalists were dominant in Catalonia—there were few supporters of
independence—made autonomy a less risky option for the Spanish gov-
ernment, compared to the Basque case. Further, key Catalan nationalist
leaders, including Pujol, shared the socioeconomic conservatism of the
UCD Spanish government (see Heiberg 1982; Linz 1973). The willing-
ness of state and Catalan elites to compromise was also facilitated by a
desire, thought to have been widespread amongst Spanish elites at the
time, to avoid a repetition of the bloodshed and animosity of the Civil
War years (see Edles 1995; Aguilar 1997; Pérez-Díaz 1990; Maravall
and Santamaría 1986).
The Nature of Catalan Special Status
The institutional features of the Catalan special status arrangement

ref lected the nature of the democratization process in which it arose:
equality norms, sometimes mobilized through electoral competition,
were especially politically salient (Blas Guerrero 1992; Vallès 1992;
Linz 1989); the transition was shepherded by Franco-era elites rather
than pushed by forces from below, resulting in the continuity of some
norms, institutions, and decisionmakers from the authoritarian period;
and there was considerable uncertainty as to the outcome, not least
because of danger that a right-wing backlash could ensue should devo-
lution and special status concessions go too far. Consequently, the
arrangement was constrained in terms of the autonomy and special
status it permitted Catalan authorities. The following analysis is based
primarily on the 1979 Catalan autonomy statute. The 2006 revised
statute is discussed in a later section.
The post-Franco Constitution and its distribution of territorial politi-
cal authority, embodied antagonistic visions of the new democratic
state. One stressed its unitary nature, centralization, and homogeneity
along the lines of the modern territorial state and citizen model. The
other opened the way for a federalizing, decentralized, even asymmetri-
cally organized Spain. Art. 1 established a single sovereignty “residing
in the Spanish people, from which the powers of the State emanate”
and stressed the “indissoluble unity of the Spanish Nation, common and
indivisible patria of all Spaniards.” By contrast, Art. 2 recognized and
guaranteed “the right to autonomy of the nationalities and regions of
which it is comprised.” By speaking of “nationalities” and “regions,” the
Constitution implied differences amongst Spain’s territorial communi-
ties and individual citizens. Yet, as explained below, the Constitution
also stressed the equality of Spaniards and ACs. These ambiguities and
contradictions facilitated agreements amongst politicians with differing
understandings of the stateness of Spain. However, the constitutional
order also provided institutional resources for those who sought standard-
ization and a slowing down of devolution in the 1980s (Vallès 1992; Linz
1989; Bonime-Blanc 1987; Pérez-Díaz 1990; Maravall 1982).
The contours of the “state of the autonomies” (estado de las autono-
mias) ref lected contradictory constitutional norms, too. For the “his-
toric regions” such as Catalonia, the Constitution provided a quicker
route to establishing an AC with the most expansive competencies
possible under the Constitution (Transitional Provision Art. 1 and 2).
Andalucia also became an AC by this route. However, the Constitution
allowed any contiguous group of provinces to form ACs and eventu-
ally gain the same competencies (Chapter III generally, esp. Art. 143).
If standardization was thereby encouraged, there also was some limited
scope for asymmetry. The Constitution initially allowed a smorgasbord
approach to devolution, permitting AC authorities to choose from the
constitutionally available competencies and the Spanish parliament to
devolve its own competencies to one or more ACs (Art. 148, 150).
The competencies available to ACs under the Constitution included
wide-ranging economic authority in matters concerning mountains,
forests, agriculture, livestock, and fishing in local waters; the internal
production, distribution, and transportation of energy; territorial and
urban planning; public works that affect only the AC; water resources;
local roads and highways; and, with some exceptions, internal com-
merce and industry; as well as education, health, and social services.
State competencies under the constitution included such matters as
foreign policy; defense; monetary affairs; customs; banking and insur-
ance; economic stabilization; pensions; unemployment insurance; and
the administration of justice (Art. 148, 149, 150). There were also many
areas of shared competence, more of which below.
These constitutional provisions, along with other factors, resulted in
mild special status for Catalonia under the 1979 autonomy statute, within
a country-wide territorial governance regime that has other asymmetri-
cal features. For instance, Catalonia, but also the Basque Country, have
their own, largely autonomous police forces, which share policing with
state agencies (see Hannum 1990). The central government also has less
control over the governments of the “historical regions” in such matters
as the size of cabinets and timing of elections. The territorial admin-
istrations of these regions also have had fewer civil servants transferred
from the central administration as part of devolution (Agranoff 2005).
The Spanish Constitution recognizes Catalan as a regional language co-
official with Castilian, but also Euskara (Basque), Galician, Valencian,
and Majorcan, the latter two Catalan variants. Both Catalonia and
Galicia have their own civil laws. Moreover, in matters of tax and fiscal
autonomy, Catalonia is actually less autonomous than the Basque and
Navarre ACs, more of which later.
In its key institutional features and degree of political autonomy
overall, Catalonia’s autonomy arrangement was similar to other ACs.
The 1979 statute provided for a directly elected unicameral parlia-
ment with a president and executive accountable to it, although these
institutions did have the distinctive title of Generalitat, providing some
symbolic and institutional asymmetry. Like other ACs, Catalonia had
an autonomous administration and a High Court of Justice dependent
on the Spanish judicial system. Like its counterparts elsewhere, the
Catalan parliament had the authority to approve the territorial budget
and elect representatives to the Spanish Senate (Statute of Autonomy
1979, Section II). The central government and Spanish Cortes could not
suspend the Catalan parliament or unilaterally amend the autonomy
statute (Statue of Autonomy 1979, Section IV), giving Spain some fed-
eral characteristics. Importantly, the amending process set out in the
1979 Catalan autonomy statute was largely territory led. When put
into practice in drafting the 2006 revised statute, it meant that the
Catalan government and parliament initiated the amendment process
and determined its parameters and goals. Catalan elected representa-
tives first negotiated a draft text, which they later took to the state
level, negotiating a final version that was approved by the Cortes and,
finally, by Catalan voters in a referendum.
At the same time, the post-Franco Constitution specifically lim-
ited the political autonomy of Catalan authorities in other respects,
including the extent to which Catalan policymakers could depart from
Spanish norms. As with other ACs, Catalan laws were subject to the
supremacy of the Spanish Constitution. A Constitutional Tribunal
(Tribunal Constitucional) was empowered to settle disputes over interpre-
tation (Constitution, Art. 161). Many disputes over competency were
taken to the Constitutional Tribunal, which lacked strong legitimacy
in Catalonia because its composition implied a unitary rather than a
plurinational Spain (Beramendi and Máiz 2004; Requejo 1999). The
Constitution also allowed the central government to intervene in Catalan
and other AC policymaking to protect the general interest or to force
the AC authorities to fulfill their obligations (Art. 155). The emphasis in
the Constitution on equality and state-wide social solidarity explicitly
limited policy asymmetry. Thus, when “the general interest requires
it,” the Cortes could harmonize AC laws (Art. 150–153). To protect
the equality of Spaniards and of territories, as well as their solidarity,
the state was to ensure that there is “an adequate and just economic
equilibrium amongst the diverse parts of the territory of Spain, with
particular attention to the actual circumstances of islands” (Art. 138[1]).
Moreover, the Constitution stated that “[t]he differences amongst the
Statutes of the distinctive Autonomous Communities shall not in any
case imply economic or social privileges” (Art. 138[2]) and that “[a]ll
Spanish have the same rights and obligations in any part of the terri-
tory of the State” (Art. 139[1]). In keeping with the liberal economic
norms of post-Franco Spain, the Constitution also prohibited asym-
metries that impeded the movement or settlement of people or f low of
goods (Art. 139[2], 152[1]).
The central government’s constitutional obligation to defend country-
wide equality and solidarity has been particularly evident in the many
areas of concurrent state-AC competencies, including transport, envi-
ronmental protection, highways, social welfare including but not lim-
ited to health and education, and economic development. The Spanish
government has typically used framework laws to fulfill its obligations,
thereby setting the policy parameters for Catalan authorities and nar-
rowing their political autonomy and the degree of policy asymmetry
possible.
The upshot of all of these features has been that the asymmetrical
features of the Catalan autonomy arrangement have often been short-
term and without constitutional or legal protection. Some asymme-
try was simply due to the variable speeds at which ACs were formed
and acquired the competencies permitted under the post-Franco
Constitution. Initially, Catalonia often led the way, taking on and
developing competencies more quickly than other ACs because of its
comparatively strong administrative capacity, resources, and political
will for self-rule. However, other ACs quickly followed. By the early
1990s the major difference amongst ACs was not between so-called
historic and other regions, but between so-called high-level ACs—the
“historic regions” plus Valencia, Andalucía, Navarre, and the Canary
Islands—and “low-level” ACs. The former quickly took on most of
the competencies allowed, including expensive and complex areas
such as education and health. The latter developed limited social wel-
fare programs and such competencies as fairs and civil events, librar-
ies and museums, leisure and sports, tourism, historic preservation,
economic development, and ports and small airports. The high-level/
low-level distinction was subsequently eroded as demonstration effects
and fiscally motivated off loading by the state encouraged further
standard ization (Agranoff 1993). There has also been a leveling out of
administrative capacities as, as part of devolution, the state transferred
large parts of its administrative corps to AC authorities across Spain
and as all ACs and larger cities developed more professional public
management.2 Catalonia has had more strongly asymmetrical author-
ity intermittently when its governments have managed to extract con-
cessions from the central government when the latter was dependent
on the votes of Catalan nationalist deputies. As noted earlier, the cen-
tral government has tended to make the same concessions to other
ACs later, restoring uniformity.
The distinctive energy with which Catalan authorities have devel-
oped competencies available to all ACs has also created de facto asym-
metries. Under Pujol, the government aggressively developed policies
aimed at making Catalan the normal language of communication in
public and private spheres for all residents. None of the other ACs where
variants of Catalan were spoken did as much (Agranoff 1996). Other
asymmetries existed because Catalan authorities took more initiative
than other ACs in areas where their competence was implied rather
than constitutionally explicit. An example is the Generalitat’s promo-
tion of Catalan interests abroad through the quasi-diplomatic activities
of its presidents; participation in the European Union (EU) Committee
of the Regions and other international organizations; and the setting
up of tourism, trade, cultural, and immigration offices abroad. The
Basque government was also relatively active externally. In immigra-
tion matters, Catalan authorities also were more active, earlier than
other ACs and have had distinctive policies, detailed later. Catalonia
has also exercised more regulatory and operational control with respect
to financial institutions and has unique shared legal controls over the
operations of banks (Agranoff 2005).
However, as noted, in the realm of taxation, Catalonia has actually
had less autonomy than the Basque and Navarre ACs. The latter, due
to their historical foral privileges, were permitted to collect most major
taxes and, within limits, set tax rates and bases, paying an annual nego-
tiated quota to the Spanish government (Cuchillo 1993; Keating 1993;
Curbelo 1994). Consequently, they have had higher per capita rev-
enues, which they have used to develop the strongest social programs
and education systems in Spain. For other ACs, including Catalonia,
the state initially held onto most tax authority and transferred money to
the ACs based on their expenditure functions (Agranoff 1993; Cuchillo
1993).3 This left Catalonia largely dependent on state transfers and
debt instruments, with restricted capacity to set tax levels. Over time,
Catalan governments have won the cession of all or parts of some taxes
(including 50 percent of the Value Added Tax by 2006 and a rising
portion of income taxes), plus some authority to set rates and bases.
However, central governments have also extended these concessions to
other non-foral ACs, reinforcing uniformity.
The inf luence of Catalan territorial authorities in state decision-
making has been under-institutionalized through the Senate and
interexecutive processes, despite the extensive areas of shared compe-
tence. Bargaining has tended to be piecemeal and subject to the par-
tisan distribution of Cortes seats (Beramendi and Máiz 2004; Comas
2003; Gillespie 1993; Giner and Moreno 1990; Curbelo 1994; Linz
1989; Bonime-Blanc 1987). The desire of Catalan authorities for an
institutionalized role in Spanish policymaking with respect to the EU
has been contentious, as discussed later. There has been inadequate
institutionalization of bilateral consultations through the so-called
Sectoral Conference (Conferencia para Asuntos Relacionados con la
Comunidad Europea, CARCE). The Conference allowed AC repre-
sentation in formulating the Spanish government EU strategy, but was
used irregularly by central governments. The latter also tended to push
ACs to take a single, collective position (Roller 2004).
Beyond these institutional features, the Catalan special status
arrangement has been associated with representations of Catalan iden-
tity as both ethnic and civic in varying proportions. The defense of
the Catalan language and other ethnic elements of culture has been
central to Catalan identity and the nationalist struggle. At the same
time, dominant nationalist discourses have painted Catalonia as a
community defined by civic values, leading the democratization and
Europeanization of Spain. Dominant representations have also stressed
the hardworking, thoughtful, rational, and moderate character of
Catalans, implying that other Spaniards did not have these attributes to
the same degree (Solís 2003). Under Pujol, CiU Catalan nationalism
married civic and ethnic elements. It emphasized that Catalan identity
is based on residency in Catalonia and a willingness to be Catalan,
meaning primarily a willingness to learn and speak Catalan, regardless
of one’s ethnic identity or mother tongue. As CiU deputy, Josep Lluís
Cleries i Gonzàlez, put it in 2005, noting his own Catalan-Castilian
mixed heritage: “It is a nationalism of people, not of blood. It is based
on voluntarism, not frontiers” (Cleries i Gonzàlez, interview).
Tensions over Asymmetry and Autonomy
The Catalan special status arrangement has experienced ongoing ten-

sions over asymmetry and autonomy, both with respect to AC-state
relations as well as internally. The character of the democratization
process; Spanish national unity, citizen equality, and democracy norms;
the politics of social solidarity; and processes of economic globalization
and European integration were key inf luences on the conf licts.
Democracy
In the early years, the character of Spanish democratization shaped
the tensions surrounding Catalan special status. The top-down nature
of the transition, including the ongoing leadership of Franco regime
elites, meant that key Franco-era norms, institutions, and personnel
committed to a centralized, unitary state remained in place, sometimes
with renewed legitimacy and capacity. The effects were most obvious
with the failed coup attempt of 1981. The coup was motivated pri-
marily by concerns amongst military factions that Basque nationalist
violence, devolution, and special status threatened Spain’s territorial
integrity, which the armed forces had a constitutional duty to protect
under Art. 8. Afterward, there was renewed legitimacy for claims that
unity and equality had to be protected by reining in special status and
devolution. The UCD central government, supported by the PSOE,
moved to slow down and harmonize devolution to the ACs, even
in the face of some contrary rulings by the Constitutional Tribunal,
including the court’s support for the general thrust of Catalan linguistic
normalization (Pérez-Díaz 1990; Linz 1989). As the consensus politics
of the early transition declined and partisan competition intensified,
the UCD, PSOE, and PCE tended to oppose special status and deeper
autonomy, now seeing them as threats to the directive capacity of the
state. They now saw Catalan nationalist and other territorial parties as
competitors (Vallès 1992; Linz 1989). The PSOE began to see its ear-
lier support for Catalan nationalist claims as having alienated its natu-
ral working class constituency, particularly amongst native Castilian
speakers in Catalonia (Maravall and Santamaría 1986). After the PSOE
won a majority in 1983, achieving Spain’s first democratic alternance of
government, the push to harmonize AC competencies and slow down
devolution continued.
Equality
The formal equality norms in the post-Franco Constitution provided
institutionalized resources and impetus for those seeking to limit asym-
metrical devolution. As a result, particularly during the Pujol years,
Catalan nationalists feared that the estado de las autonomias would result
in federalization, which they associated with a symmetrical distribu-
tion of territorial political authority. As Pujol stated in 1980, he would
only support federalism:
if the federation were among the authentic and real nationalities

of the state, that is to say, Basque Country, Galicia, Castile and all
of its area of inf luence, and the Catalan lands [países] (or strictly
Catalonia, if the Valencian land [país] and the islands decline to
reach an understanding with the principality). But a federalism of
the regions, of all the 14 or 15 regions and nationalities that make
up Spain, is no more than a new disguised uniformism. And it is
certain that, as things are going, we will have to be vigilant that
we are not going to end up with this. ( Jordi Pujol 1980, Construir
Catalunya, Pòrtic: 26, quoted in Marcet 1988: 116)
The formal equality norms that pushed uniformity were rooted in

long-standing Napoleonic understandings of citizenship in Spain (see
Pérez-Díaz 1990; Blas Guerrero 1992). Electoral competition in the
new democracy further encouraged standardization. Political elites
across Spain used territorial political and identity claims and AC insti-
tution-building to try to mobilize voters, whether with discourses that
resurrected historical regional identities or invented new ones (Giner
and Moreno 1990; Gunther, Sani, and Shabad 1986; Arbós 1987).
Cantabria and La Rioja became separate ACs despite being culturally
and historically part of Castile; Madrid, for functional reasons, formed
its own AC detached from its Castilian hinterland (Conversi 1997). The
perception that the original autonomy arrangement did not sufficiently
recognize the uniqueness and nation claims of Catalonia by granting
it distinctive autonomy did contribute to the discontent that prompted
Catalan politicians to seek a revised autonomy statute in the mid-2000s
(Colino 2009). However, as we shall see later, a more important reason
was a desire to protect Catalan autonomy from what Catalan politicians
saw as central government interference. This interference was enabled
by constitutional provisions protecting formal citizen and territorial
equality, as well as others protecting Spanish unity.
Equality, Unity, and the Protection of the Catalan Language

The political dynamics surrounding attempts by Catalan authorities to
protect and strengthen the Catalan language have been entangled in
tensions between formal individual equality and Spanish unity and the
collective rights of the minority territorial community. The conf lict
has been made more complex by the ethnic diversity of Catalonia,
the interculturality of its residents, and economic globalization and
European integration. While Catalan authorities have asserted Catalan
ethnolinguistic identity to support their claim to represent a distinct
society meriting special status and autonomy, efforts to make Catalan
the normal language used in public and private spheres in the territory
has in practice required teaching Catalan to Castilian-speakers and to
immigrants from outside Spain, particularly through Catalan-language
schooling (Woolard 1989).
By some measures the linguistic normalization policies have been
quite successful. They have significantly increased competency in spo-
ken Catalan. By 2001, those who said they understood the language
had increased to nearly 95 percent, compared to 93.8 percent in 1991
and 81 percent in 1981. In 2001, just over 74 percent of respondents said
they could speak and read the language. Compared to 40 percent in
1991 and 31.5 percent in 1986, 50 percent in 2001 said they could write
in it. Most of the increase was amongst school-aged respondents (see
Costa 2003; Generalitat de Catalonia 2003; Keating 1996; Hoffman
1995).
However, for many reasons, the day-to-day reality in Catalonia
has become de facto bilingualism, not Catalan unilingualism. For
one, state policies and norms have made the co-officiality of Catalan
and Castilian in the territory lopsided. In 1986, the Constitutional
Tribunal ruled that under the Constitution citizens could not be
required to know and use languages other than Castilian. Later rul-
ings struck down a 1994 Catalan law requiring school-leavers to know
both languages before graduating, citing violations of equality rights
and the state’s authority in the granting of school diplomas. The cen-
tral government also has not fully implemented co-officiality in postal
services, telecommunications, judicial proceedings, and tax adminis-
tration (Costa 2003).
In Catalonia itself there have been public protests and mobiliza-
tion campaigns as well as electoral competition centered on language
rights, with opposition to linguistic normalization from some par-
ents, intellectuals, regional opposition parties, and state-level political
actors (Conversi 1997; Balcells 1992). In the 1990s, there was relatively
strong public support for normalization policies even amongst native
Castilian-speakers, due to expanding Catalan use and the continu-
ing high status of the language, which meant that learning Catalan
was thought to increase life chances (Keating 1996; Hoffman 1995).
Subsequently, support softened. There was concern that normalization
laws overly benefitted the nationalist clientelist networks of the long-
governing CiU coalition. Even some native Catalan-speakers were
uncomfortable with the perceived aggressiveness of some policies,
which appeared to hamper individual freedom and equality (Costa
2003; Roller 2002; Hoffman 1995). The 2006 territorial election saw
the emergence of a party dedicated to the defense of Castilian, the
Citizens-Party of the Citizenry (Ciutadans-Partido de la Ciudadanía,
C-PC), which won 3 percent of the vote and three seats (Pallarés and
Muñoz 2008).
Other factors contributed to weaker support for strongly pro-
Catalan linguistic policies over time: the fading immediacy of Franco-
era linguistic repression; a growing comfort with bilingualism within
Catalonia and with the use of Castilian to communicate with the rest
of Spain; the growing inf luence of English, to which Castilian is a
counterweight; and the economic advantages of Castilian given Spain’s
deepening links with Latin America (Hoffman 1999).
These changes ref lected the growing interculturality of many Catalan
residents. Since 1980, there has been a strong rise in citizen identifica-
tion with the AC, but also in the proportion with dual Catalan-Spanish
identities (Moreno, Arriba and Serrano 1997), in keeping with the
moderate nature of dominant strains of Catalan nationalism. In the late
1990s, there was a rise in the proportion of residents claiming solely
Catalan identity, especially amongst the so-called autonomic generation
of native offspring. There was also a rise in solely Spanish identities,
particularly amongst first generation Catalans (Martínez-Herrera 2002:
434–36, 444–46). However, for most of the post-1979 years, dual iden-
tities were the norm in Catalonia and moderate nationalism encouraged
nationalist and non-nationalist parties alike to abandon an exclusively
ethno-nationalist agenda and adopt a civic view of Catalonia. The prac-
tice of dual voting, where voters tended to choose the CiU in AC elec-
tions due to Catalan issues, and the PSOE or Popular Party (Partido
Popular, PP) in state elections based in ideological preferences, discour-
aged parties from adopting highly confrontational nationalist positions
(Pallarés and Keating 2003). A later section will discuss tensions related
to language policy associated with European integration and economic
globalization.
Social Solidarity
Building a European-style welfare state was the social complement of
electoral democratization in Spain. In the 1980s, the process encouraged
standardization and some centralization. Reforms aimed to provide a
more comprehensive, universal, publicly funded social, educational,
and health system along the lines of other Western European states, as
Spain prepared to join the European Communities in 1986 (Gunther
1996; see also Guillén, Álvarez, and Adão e Silva 2001). ACs, including
Catalonia, were given primary responsibility for legislation and ser-
vices in social policy areas with strong service elements such as health
care, social services, and minimum income guarantees. However, the
state retained exclusive authority over major contributory programs
like unemployment insurance and pensions and set framework legisla-
tion in terms of social programs. It also retained significant control over
funding, receiving revenue from richer ACs, particularly Catalonia,
and transferring it to poorer ones to equalize benefits and universalize
access (Moreno and Trelles 2005).
Social policy initiatives and related spending have the potential to
help Catalan governments appeal to voters who are less interested or
even hostile to Catalan language and other ethnonationalist policies
(see Béland and Lecours 2005a, 2005b). They also help legitimate the
liberal capitalist political economic order. These factors likely encour-
aged CiU governments to take up related social policy competencies
early and develop them more fully than most ACs (McRoberts 2001).
Yet, Catalan governments had relatively little scope to claim policy
ownership and make policy innovations in social policy areas. This
had to do with the standardized, somewhat centrally controlled nature
of welfare programs—it was an area of shared competence—coupled
with the limited ability of Catalan governments to retain tax revenue
(see McEwen 2005). The uniformity of social programs in Spain is
partly, but not entirely due to the role of central government in social
policy. Other factors include demonstration effects and competition
amongst ACs; the inf luence of the state-wide parties and their links
with regional parties; the Europeanization of Spanish programs; and
the similarity of values and policy challenges across Spain (Moreno
and Trelles 2005; Keating and McEwen 2005; McEwen 2005; see also
Béland and Lecours 2005b).
Interestingly, both under CiU- and Socialist-led governments,
Catalan authorities have tried to increase their share of retained taxes
to address funding shortfalls in expensive social policy areas, especially
education, health, and social services. Conf lict over the territory’s fis-
cal deficit has been ongoing, raising questions about what Catalan tax-
payers owe Spain as a community of social solidarity when territorial
services are also underfunded. Reaching an estimated 8.1 percent of
Catalan GDP in 1997, the territorial fiscal deficit was larger than such
wealthy EU regions as Baden-Wurttemberg (4.4 percent), lle-de-France
(4.4 percent), the UK South East (6.7 percent), and Stockholm (7.6 per-
cent) (Pons-i-Novell and Tremosa-i-Balcells 2005). Paradoxically, the
special tax status of the foral ACs, the Basque Country and Navarre,
make revenue transfers from Catalonia all the more crucial to central
government coffers.
Outside Catalonia, demands for more tax autonomy for the territory
have often been portrayed as greedy attacks on the equality and social
solidarity of Spaniards (Woodworth 2005). However, during negotia-
tions for the new autonomy statute in the early 2000s, Catalan parties
of the Left and Right (except the PP) claimed greater tax autonomy
and a reduction of the territorial fiscal deficit were essential to equal-
ity and social peace within Catalonia. The Left pointed to the need for
funds to provide services for the growing numbers of poorer immi-
grants in Catalonia, of which the territory has a disproportionate share.
The Catalan Left particularly stressed that improving Catalonia’s fiscal
balance need not threaten minimum social program standards and ben-
efits for all Spaniards (Estruch Mestres, interview). Both the CiU and
Catalan Socialists have argued that, without lessening Catalonia’s fiscal
deficit so that territorial authorities can improve funding for educa-
tion and infrastructure, the AC cannot remain a motor of the Spanish
economy (Ibid.; Cleries i Gonzàlez, interview).
Economic Globalization and Regional Integration
Processes of economic globalization and, in particular, European
regional integration have been sources of tension because of their con-
tradictory effects on the Catalan special status arrangement. On the
one hand, Catalan nationalists have been agents of the Europeanization
of Spain, seeing it as a force for modernization and a way of bolstering
Catalan autonomy vis-à-vis the Spanish central government. On the
other hand, aspects of the single European market and other EU poli-
cies have put limits on Catalan special status and autonomy.
Additionally, market processes and EU integration constrained the
ability of Catalan governments to adopt aggressive linguistic normal-
ization policies. Catalan has not been widely used in all areas of busi-
ness and commerce, and some business owners regard efforts to expand
its use as imposing financial burdens (Keating 2001b). These views
encouraged CiU-led governments to use incentives and contractual
agreements rather than coercive measures as it tried to expand job
opportunities for a generation of young people educated in Catalan.
CiU-led governments often prioritized their market ideology and
Christian Democratic social cooperation agenda over nationalist goals,
aware that the latter were not always a priority for many Catalan voters,
particularly the coalition’s business and Center-Right constituencies
(Keating 2001a; Shafir 1995). Economic liberalization and the privat-
ization of public services encouraged under the single European market
are also expected to increase the use of international languages, espe-
cially English and Castilian, by putting more public services outside the
direct regulatory authority of the Generalitat (Costa 2003). It remains a
problem that Catalan is not an official EU language, so EU directives
and regulations are only published in Castilian in Catalonia. Catalan is
not required on food labels under EU rules (Roller 2002). In this con-
text, norms protecting formal individual equality reinforce the market
advantage of Castilian and weaken the ability of the territorial authori-
ties to protect Catalan.
Furthermore, European integration policies have contributed to
the Catalan fiscal deficit. It grew markedly in the early 2000s when
the central government, controlled by an absolute PP majority, intro-
duced major funding cuts and balanced budget requirements to meet
or exceed European single currency criteria (Garcia-Milà 2003;
Guillén, Álvarez, and Adão e Silva 2001). More generally, efforts to
build a single European market by allowing the free f low of the fac-
tors of production, have been hostile to special status arrangements.
The standardization of policy required has imposed restrictions on the
authority of the Catalan government to develop distinctive policies in
areas such as agriculture and dairy production, fishing and fisheries,
labor markets, and taxation (Agranoff 1993).
At the same time, especially since the 1992 Maastricht Treaty, EU
institutions have treated aspects of the autonomy of substate territo-
rial authorities as complementary to European integration. Regional—
termed “territorial” in the present study—and other local governments
have been treated as more legitimate, if second-tier European policy
actors. CiU-led Catalan governments actively promoted this develop-
ment and tried to use it to bolster their power and authority vis-à-vis
the Spanish state and their attractiveness to voters (see Roller 2004).
Tensions arose as the impact of EU policy and spending on matters
of Catalan competence and interests grew, pushing Catalan authorities
to seek a more effective, formalized role in EU policymaking and in
Spanish policymaking with respect to the EU (Keating 2001b). The
1979 autonomy statute had been nearly silent on the role of Catalan
authorities in external affairs. The gap ref lected traditional, unitary
understandings of sovereignty associated with the modern territorial
state model, which assigned external affairs competency to state-wide
governments. The statute did authorize and facilitate official Catalan
contacts on language and cultural affairs, with communities outside
Spain sharing Catalan heritage (see Art. 27-4). It established the duty
of the Generalitat to implement agreements and treaties in its areas of
competence (Art. 27-3), but failed to give Catalan authorities the right
to participate in, let alone the responsibility for, making these agree-
ments and treaties in its areas of exclusive competence.
Since Spain’s accession to the EC, now the EU, Catalan government
leaders, backed by substate authority counterparts in other European
member states, have demanded formal external affairs autonomy and
enhanced status in European institutions for stateless nations and ter-
ritorial authorities with legislative powers. They have objected to EU
policies that treat all substate authorities equally, regardless of their
identity claims and political attributes (Roller 2004; Guibernau 2000).
CiU politicians have gone as far as to envision Spain and Europe in
post-Westphalian terms. They have called for Catalonia to be rec-
ognized as a “free associated state” or “associated region” of the EU.
With precedents in federal Belgium, they also demanded a bilateral
relationship with the state on EU matters, the right to representation
in the EU Council of Ministers with respect to policy matters of rel-
evance to Catalan interests and competencies, and state help in securing
recognition for the Catalan language in European institutions and trea-
ties (Roller 2004: 87–88).
Outcomes
All of the tensions discussed above surfaced during negotiations for the
new statute for Catalonia, which laid bare the tensions in the special
status arrangement to date. The process of revising the statute brought
into sharp relief conf licting visions of the state, citizenship, and democ-
racy, which were stirred up by politicians for partisan gain.
The draft statute that emerged from the Catalan parliament in 2005
after 20 months of negotiations was supported by four of five par-
ties, representing 120 of 135 parliamentary seats and both nationalist
and non-nationalist persuasions. Only the Catalan PP voted against
it. It was partly the product of nationalist outbidding between the
CiU, whose votes were needed to secure the two-thirds parliamentary
majority needed to approve the text, and the ERC, part of the Socialist-
led governing coalition in Catalonia. However, the text also ref lected
institutional factors, broader partisan compromises and competition, as
well as accumulated grievances. Moreover, it emerged out of the rare
opportunity presented by the partisan political circumstances of the
time, that is, Socialist-led governments in both Catalonia and Spain.
The draft sparked considerable controversy in Catalonia and Spain
as a whole because of the perceived unconstitutionality of some pro-
visions, the view that it amounted to a revision of the Constitution
dictated by a regional parliament, and the judgment that the text
would push Spain towards becoming an asymmetrical, confederal state
(Colino 2009). The draft text declared Catalonia to be a “nation” with
a right to self-determination and self-rule. It provided for foral-style
tax authority, the right to promote Catalan at the expense of Castilian,
the co-responsibility in EU matters of the Catalan government and
the state, and a Catalan High Court more autonomous from state-level
authorities and with more jurisdiction over issues of exclusive Catalan
competence like language policy. The text was also controversial for its
expansiveness in comparison with the original statute. The final ver-
sion had 223 provisions compared to the 57 in the 1979 law. The statute
also touched on virtually all areas of public policy, giving it state-like
scope. Its vision of Catalan society not only stressed the territory’s dis-
tinctive language and culture, but its commitment to inclusive citizen-
ship and to political, civil, socioeconomic, and cultural rights, both
individual and collective (Parliament of Catalonia 2005; Woodworth
2005; Statute of Autonomy, 2006; see Requejo 2004).
Opponents from the Right in Catalonia and Spain saw the draft
text as a threat to Spanish unity, stability, and social solidarity in what
was characterized as a Catalan nationalist power and money grab.
Prominent left-wing politicians, including Spanish President Zapatero,
also expressed concerns (“Statut de la Catalogne: seule l’Espagne est
une ‘nation’ (Zapatero),” Agence France Presse, December 1, 2005;
Pasqual Maragall, “Catalonia Is a Nation,” The Wall Street Journal
Europe, November 21, 2005; Woodworth 2005). Some analysts pre-
dicted that the statute would only create new asymmetries, triggering
a new round of emulation by politicians in other ACs, who would seek
similar autonomy, in turn feeding grievances in Catalonia and other
ACs with nationalist parties and movements. This would, in turn, cause
them to push for further, distinctive devolution (Colino 2009).
Political tensions were high as Catalan and Spanish parliamentar-
ians and governments negotiated a version of the text that could be
approved by the Cortes. Many parts of the draft were opposed by mem-
bers of state-wide parties, societal groups, some constitutional experts,
and members of the central government, whose support for Catalan
demands had come “somewhat grudgingly and forced by the political
circumstances” (Colino 2009: 268). Opinion polls at this time indi-
cated the Spanish public, but a minority of Catalan residents opposed
the statute (“Pour 71.4% des Catalans, un nouveau statut d’autonomie
est nécessaire,” Agence France Press, October 30, 2005; “Majority of
Spanish oppose Catalonia autonomy move: Poll,” Agence France Press,
November 4, 2005). Right-wing politicians called on Spanish consum-
ers to protest Catalan demands by boycotting Catalan products such as
cava (sparkling wine) ( John Carlin, “Spain cuts cava in Catalan boy-
cott,” The Sunday Times, January 15, 2006). The peak of the contro-
versy came on January 6, 2006, when senior Spanish general José Mena
Aguado publicly declared the military’s right to intervene should the
Catalan statute exceed constitutional limits. There were many com-
parisons with the 1981 coup attempt (“Un general espagnol s’insurge
contre l’autonomie de la Catalogne,” Le Monde, January 9, 2006).
Stability
Throughout the more than two years of negotiations of the statute,
the state proved to be highly stable in both minimalist and maximalist
terms. There were significant political tensions, but the revision was
achieved according to established constitutional and legal procedures,
and the final text was approved by both the Cortes and Catalan elec-
tors. The Catalan coalition government fell apart due to the watering
down of the Catalan nationalist provisions of the 2005 draft required
for the text to get Cortes approval. Right-wing opponents largely used
institutionalized means, such as the Constitutional Tribunal, to contest
its most controversial provisions. The verbal intervention of General
Aguado was worrying. However, the reaction of Spanish authorities
and most Spaniards affirmed that the threat to the democratic con-
stitutional order was minimal. The general was quickly placed under
house arrest and relieved of his command (“Spanish cabinet sacks army
chief,” BBC News (online), January 13, 2006). Catalonia remained free
of nationalist or other political violence, despite the increase in support
for separatism and in singularly Catalan and Spanish identities evident
in the preceding years, mentioned earlier.
Inclusive Citizenship for the Minority Territorial Community:

The Strength of Political Autonomy
With the 2006 autonomy statute, Catalonia reached a new level of
political autonomy and, therefore, collective citizenship in Spain,
although one with significant limits. By the time negotiations for the
statute began in the Catalan parliament in 2004, all territorial political
parties except the Catalan PP had come to support the need for revi-
sions that would protect and expand Catalan political and functional
autonomy and better recognize the specificities and national rights of
the territory. Perhaps the key reason was that between 2000 and 2004
the PP majority government in Madrid had declared an end to decen-
tralization and pursued policies that aggressively asserted an individual-
istic, Catholic, and culturally Castilian Spanish identity. Constitutional
norms and procedures supportive of a unitary and centralized state built
on formal citizen equality facilitated the reigning in of elements of
asymmetry and plurinationality. The central government had blocked
negotiations with the nationalist ruling parties of Catalonia and the
Basque Country as well as other ACs such as Andalucia which were
led by parties then in opposition in Congress. Encroachments on the
legislative and executive powers of the Generalitat had always occurred,
but in the early 2000s they were not offset by the concessions of minor
decentralization and asymmetry that had eased tensions in the 1990s.
Nationalist parties in both Catalonia and the Basque Country became
more radicalized and critical of the system. Even the Catalan Left, then
in opposition, came to make a major reform of the autonomy statute an
electoral pledge (Colino 2009).
The draft statute that emerged from the Catalan parliament in 2005
ref lected these accumulated grievances and a number of new challenges
confronting Catalan political autonomy. Political elites wanted to bet-
ter protect the AC from central encroachment on its competencies
through concurrent legislation. They sought a text that was as specific
and detailed as possible and that formalized the gains Catalonia had
made in earlier years. They wanted to see more adaptation of central
institutions such as the judiciary to decentralization, more participa-
tion of Catalan authorities in state policymaking and EU decision-
making, and the recognition of Catalonia as a nation. They also wanted
Catalan authorities to have adequate, stable, and secure funding, which
required addressing the perceived fiscal deficit. These financial prob-
lems were seen as the cause of deteriorating infrastructure and public
services, lower economic growth than some regions, and the inability
of public authorities to respond effectively to accelerating immigra-
tion into Catalonia. The fiscal deficit was also seen as a barrier to new
territorial government initiatives to promote economic development
(Colino 2009).
The expansiveness of the Catalan demands in the draft statute
ref lected the expectation of politicians that they should demand as
much as possible because it could be decades before another revision
opportunity arose (Cleries i Gonzàlez, Estruch Mestres, interviews).
The draft and final text also embodied many aspects of the national-
ist CiU agenda and long-term strategy, given the party’s continuing
strength in Congress and the Catalan parliament. That the final text
only required 51 percent support to pass in the Cortes meant there was
no need to reign in Catalan demands to win the backing of the PP
opposition (Colino 2009).
The final version approved by the Cortes and Catalan voters that
autumn strengthened all four elements of political autonomy of interest
to the present study: de jure and de facto final decisionmaking author-
ity, fiscal autonomy, external effectiveness in state decisionmaking pro-
cesses, and scope for asymmetrical policy. Nevertheless, limits were
imposed to gain support in the Cortes and address anticipated incom-
patibilities with the Constitution.
To enhance the de jure final decisionmaking authority of Catalan
authorities by protecting them from central government interference,
the statute provided more detailed definitions of competencies and
responsibilities. It also brought into the law some of the “autonomy-
friendly interpretations” of the distribution of competencies made by
the Constitutional Tribunal over the years (Colino 2009: 275–76).
Further, it made explicit Catalan jurisdiction in a range of areas that
were not reserved to the state under the Constitution, in some cases
areas where the Generalitat was already active, such as immigration.
The statute enhanced the ability of Catalan authorities to make
final decisions with respect to the protection of Catalan culture. It
gave firmer legal status to long-standing linguistic normalization poli-
cies that positively discriminated in favor of Catalan. It also established
Catalan as the language of preferential use in public administration,
public media, and educational instruction, extending the latter to uni-
versities. It made it a duty for citizens to know Catalan, moving to
equalize its status with Castilian. It made it obligatory for businesses
and establishments to respond to clients and users in the language of the
latter’s choice (Colino 2009).
Also important for de jure final decisionmaking authority was the
strengthened autonomy of territorial courts vis-à-vis central judicial
authorities. The statute made the Catalan High Court of Justice less
dependent on state-level institutions and strengthened its authority. It
created the Council of Justice of Catalonia, deconcentrating the power
of judicial appointment of the Spanish Council of the Judicial Power
(Art. 95[5][6]; Colino 2009).
The de jure tax autonomy of the AC was also enhanced in a number
of ways. The statute permitted a Catalan tax authority to exist alongside
that of Spain and increased to 50 percent Catalonia’s share of the VAT
and income taxes collected in the territory. Various measures compen-
sated for and limited the fiscal deficit: there was an attempt to limit
revenue redistribution amongst the ACs and abandon the aim of total
equalization. The “ordinality” principle stated that equalization should
not change the per capita income rank position of Catalonia amongst
the ACs before equalization. For seven years, the central government
would be obliged to invest in infrastructure in Catalonia according
to the territory’s share of Spanish GDP (18 percent) (Colino 2009).
Further, the statute affirmed limited Catalan autonomy in the spending
of EU monies (Art. 114).
A range of measures increased the right of Catalan authorities to par-
ticipate in state decisionmaking processes that affect its competencies
and interests and strengthened the institutionalization of this participa-
tion. The statute established a Generalitat-State Bilateral Commission
(see Section 3) with equal numbers of state and Generalitat representatives
and chaired alternatively by the two parties (Art. 183[2(a)(b)]). Another
bilateral commission, similarly organized, focused on economic and
fiscal matters (Art. 210).
The statute preserved the preeminent external affairs role of the state,
including with respect to the EU. The Preamble stated that Catalonia’s
EU participation occurred “by means of the State,” rejecting the
demand for the “co-responsibility” of “national communities” in the
construction of Europe, which had been in the 2005 draft. However,
the statute also established the right of Catalonia to participate in
EU-related policymaking within Spain and in Spanish representation
to the EU when its powers or interests were implicated (Art. 184-9).
It provided for bilateral participation in forming central government
policy in EU matters that affected its exclusive powers and that Catalan
views would be decisive in these instances or where a European policy
would have particularly important financial or administrative conse-
quences for Catalonia (Art. 186[2][3]). The statute also formalized the
right of Catalan authorities to maintain a delegation to the EU (Art.
192) and affirmed its direct access to the European Court of Justice
(Art. 191). In addition, it affirmed Catalan authority to implement EU
policy within its areas of competency (Art. 189).
More broadly, the statute formalized the right of the Generalitat to
“foster the external protection of Catalonia and promote its interests in
this area,” although always “while respecting the power of the State in
foreign affairs” (Art. 193[1]). The statute affirmed the right of the AC
to maintain offices abroad (Art. 194) and to sign collaborative agree-
ments (with the right to state support if necessary) (Art. 195). It also
had the right to be informed of and participate in state negotiations
for treaties that would have “a direct and singular effect on Catalonia”
(Art. 196). In keeping with the centrality of cultural autonomy to the
AC, the statute affirmed Catalonia’s right to “participate in the compe-
tent international bodies in matters of important interest for Catalonia,
especially UNESCO and other cultural bodies, in the form established
by the corresponding regulations” (Art. 198).
The final statute, particularly in the Preamble, reasserted Catalonia’s
regional and cultural identity, distinctive history, and will as a people,
enhancing the symbolic asymmetry of Catalan autonomy. Unwilling
to accept a direct declaration of Catalonia as “nation,” which had
been included in the earlier draft text, it used an indirect formulation
that alluded to the Catalan parliament having defined Catalonia as a
nation. It also reaffirmed its status as a nationality in the Constitution.
Significantly, the statute included historical rights as a source of
Catalan self-rule, emulating the treatment of the Basque Country and
Navarre.
It is too soon to know whether this symbolic asymmetry will help
build a case for Catalonia developing more distinctive forms of politi-
cal and functional autonomy, in recognition of its oft asserted “hecho
diferential,” or differential reality, as former Catalan leader, Pujol, often
termed it (see Pujol 1997). Certainly, efforts to get state agreement for
foral-like fiscal status for the AC failed. Notably, however, the bilateral
mechanisms for enhancing Catalan participation in state decisionmak-
ing and more institutionalized state-territory policy coordination have
the potential to expand the scope for distinctive policies. However,
many barriers to stronger special status remain, not least the ongoing
constitutional emphasis on unity and formal equality, the standardizing
pressures associated with market forces and European integration, and
the intercultural identities of Catalan voters.
Inclusive Citizenship for Internal Minorities

Catalonia has a long history of social protest movements focusing on
socioeconomic, political, gender, as well as ethnic exclusion. During
the democratic transition, a variety of them were active, especially in
Barcelona and other larger Catalan cities. Political parties have since
come to dominate organizational life and the politics of exclusion (see
Keating 2001a). Policies related to the citizenship of internal minori-
ties in the territory have been fought over during Catalan and Spanish
elections. The role of central governments and state-wide parties has
been crucial because of the responsibility of the state to protect the
rights and equality of all Spaniards and its crucial role in social welfare
policy and immigration. The local political arena has been important
in the struggle to expand inclusive citizenship due to the role of local
authorities in the delivery of social programs, the reception and inte-
gration of immigrants, and economic development. Prior to his time
as Catalan president, Pasqual Maragall used his position as PSC mayor
of Barcelona to make social democratic goals, including the reduction
of urban inequality, part of the territorial political project of Catalonia.
He explicitly contrasted his approach with what he termed the overem-
phasis on ethno-linguistic issues of the then CiU-led Catalan govern-
ment (McNeill 2001).
Is this only partisan posturing, or has the special status arrange-
ment and the nation-building project of successive CiU-led govern-
ments harmed the citizenship of vulnerable groups and individuals
within Catalonia? Overall, the evidence suggests that the special sta-
tus arrangement has not been inherently exclusionary with respect to
most dimensions of citizenship for internal minorities (see Guerin and
Pelletier 2000). It broadly accords with the assertion that in economi-
cally developed democratic states, internal social solidarity can be built
and retained while valuing regional diversity and pluricultural citizen-
ship (see Moreno 2003; Laitin 2004). The evidence also accords with
the claim of Banting and Kymlicka (2004) that there is no consistent
statistical relationship between the adoption of multicultural policies
and the erosion of the welfare state. The marginalization of the poor,
of vulnerable native Castilian-speakers, immigrants, and women pre-
dates the estado de las autonomias and, for the most part, appears to have
little to do directly with Catalan nationalist policies or the emphasis
on advancing self-government or special status. Rather, the exclusion
stems from the political economy and gender order in which the spe-
cial status arrangement is embedded. However, there are significant
challenges ahead if internally inclusive citizenship is to be strength-
ened while advancing the collective political autonomy of Catalans and
preserving the territory’s role in Spain, understood as a community of
social solidarity.
Socioeconomic Inequality
By the mid-1990s, after nearly 15 years of CiU-led governments,
Catalonia had one the highest levels of internal income disparity
amongst the ACs as well as a moderately high risk of social exclusion.
With a Gini coefficient of 0.316, Catalan income disparities slightly
exceeded the Spanish average (0.305) and that of the Basque Country
(0.301), the lowest in Spain (Adelantado et al. 2002a). Catalonia also
had moderately low levels of public social protection compared to the
Basque Country, which had the strongest levels in Spain. Notably, that
both territories had nationalist governments for most of the post-Franco
period suggests that factors other than nationalist policies explain these
differences.4 Overall, the risk of social exclusion across the ACs cor-
related most strongly with variations in tax autonomy, the ideology of
the governing party, institutional conditions, and the strength of social
capital (see Subirats 2005; 2004; Subirats and Gallego 2002).5 Thus,
Catalonia’s relatively poor record, given its relative wealth, may be
attributed to the noninterventionist policies of Center-Right CiU-led
governments compared to their left-leaning Basque nationalist coun-
terparts, Catalonia’s lower retained taxes compared to the foral ACs,
and its relatively low social capital compared to the Basque Country.
Of these factors, only revenue levels were directly related to the spe-
cial status arrangement. However, as a factor contributing to social
exclusion, Catalonia’s lower retained taxes ref lect the weakness rather
than the strength of Catalan autonomy (see Adelantado et al. 2002a;
Adelantado et al. 2002b; Subirats 2004; 2005; see also Mota 2002).
Since 2003, Catalan governing parties have advanced platforms that
promote greater socioeconomic inclusion along with nationalist poli-
cies promoted by the ERC coalition partner, and “Catalanist” initia-
tives, as the Catalan Socialists term them. The desire for revenue to
expand social program coverage and services was a key reason most
Catalan political parties demanded more tax autonomy for Catalonia
and a reduction of the fiscal deficit during negotiations for the new stat-
ute (Estruch Mestres, Cleries i Gonzàlez, Àngel Mesado, interviews).
Native Castilian-Speakers
For the most part, the Catalan special status arrangement and the
nation-building process it has engendered since 1979 have not sharp-
ened the exclusion of native Castilian-speakers in Catalonia.
Increases in affective attachments to Catalonia since 1980 suggest the
special status arrangement has had some success in fostering a sense of
belonging to the territory amongst native Castilian-speakers, or, at least,
that it has not significantly harmed the strengthening of these attach-
ments. “Spanish only” affective attachments declined from the early
1980s until 1998 for both migrants and native Catalans, with dual iden-
tity becoming the norm. Being locally born was the strongest predictor
of dual identity, regardless of mother tongue. However, as noted earlier,
the strengthening of Spanish-only identities in the late 1990s, particu-
larly amongst the offspring of migrants, underlines that integration is
not a one-way process. The data also suggests that socialization, age,
and educational attainment had some impact on the locus of affective
attachments, not just mother tongue. Older individuals born outside
Catalonia were more likely to express a dual identity than their younger
counterparts. Those less than 30 years old with low educational levels
were more likely to identify as exclusively Spanish or Catalan than their
better-educated elders (Moreno, Arriba and Serrano 1997).
Despite the strengthening of attachments to Catalonia, some evi-
dence suggests that mother-tongue Castilian speakers may be less likely
to participate in territorial politics than native Catalan-speakers, despite
their formally equal participation rights. Catalonia has had particularly
high rates of abstention in AC elections, second only to Galicia between
1982 and 1993. Electoral abstentions have been highest amongst
individuals with family origins outside the region and those with lower
levels of competence in Catalan (Ross 1996; Font and Rico 2003).
That AC electoral campaigns are predominantly conducted in Catalan
may help explain this finding (Font and Rico 2003), which points to
a tension between the desire to normalize Catalan in territorial public
spheres and inclusive political citizenship. However, the abstention pat-
terns observed may not indicate disaffection due to language abilities
or place of origin in a straightforward way. Font and Rico found that
having political identities of any type, whether Catalan or state, was
associated with greater political participation at all levels of elections,
regardless of whether it was the level of political community to which
the voter felt most attached (Ibid.).
The coincidence between class and ethnicity in Catalonia has declined
over time, but its institutionalized legacies remain and still contribute
to exclusion. An important example is the private school system, which
has contributed to the exclusion of non-Catalans. However, the rea-
sons are only indirectly related to post-1980 nationalist politics and
the special status arrangement. Historically, private schools played an
important role in the Catalan educational system because of the nation-
alist politics of the Franco years as they played out in schools in the
territory. However, even in 1994–95, private schools still accounted for
41 percent of school places, and their students were still more likely to
graduate from high school and get the best jobs. Moreover, children
from lower socioeconomic groups and those with non-Catalan parents
still had less access to private school places, although the situation was
improving. Notably, however, in recent years exclusion from private
schools has affected the children of non-European immigrants even
more severely than native Castilian-speakers (Adelantado et al. 2002a;
Jacott and Maldonado Rico 2006).
More broadly, linguistic normalization policies undertaken under
the special status arrangement cannot but have effects on the inclu-
sion of non-native speakers, including their socioeconomic citizen-
ship. By the late 1990s, the higher the social status, prestige, and power
associated with an activity, the more likely Catalan was the language
used (Atkinson 2000). At the same time, the acquisition of Catalan
skills has been uneven. While almost all residents can now speak some
Catalan and many can read it, as we have seen, only just under half
can write it. It is likely that those who cannot are shut out of at least
some higher-status jobs, particularly in the public sector. The prob-
lem appears to affect native Castilian-speakers more than their native-
Catalan counter parts as well as newcomers from outside Spain.
Immigrants
Across Spain, immigrants often face significant socioeconomic and
political exclusion. There is little regionally disaggregated data to indi-
cate whether or not they are worse off in any particular AC or whether
variations in exclusion can be attributed to factors related to the char-
acter of particular territorial autonomy arrangements or related nation-
alist politics. Regardless, questions related to the quality of citizenship
for immigrants in Catalonia raise distinctive issues, given the emphasis
that Catalan governments have placed on protecting and gaining rec-
ognition for Catalan identity, language, and culture.
As we have seen, Catalonia has a long history of receiving migrants
from poorer parts of Castilian-speaking Spain who came in search
of work in the territory’s factories. However, the most recent wave
of non-European immigration has, in the minds of many residents,
brought new challenges, both economic and cultural. First, in com-
parison with earlier Spanish migrants there is more perceived cultural
distance between established residents and these newcomers, most of
whom are individuals of Islamic heritage from North Africa. Their
integration is assumed by many residents to be more difficult as well
as potentially threatening to Catalan language and culture (King and
Rodríguez-Melguizo 1999). While much of this is driven by percep-
tions, it is the case that, except for the few immigrants from Latin
America, most recent newcomers speak little or no Catalan or Castilian
when they arrive. Earlier Castilian-speaking migrants had an advan-
tage in learning Catalan due to the Latin roots of both languages and
the inf luence they have had on each other over many centuries. Most
native Castilian-speakers also shared the Roman Catholic religious
heritage of most ethnic Catalans. By contrast, the events of 9/11 and
the 2004 Madrid bombings have accentuated the perceived cultural
distance between established residents of Catalonia and North African
migrants (Moreras 2005; Santamaría 2002). Serra i Salamè (2004)
argues that media coverage of the lives of new migrants may exacer-
bate the problem by exoticizing their experience, making it seem a new
phenomenon unconnected to the experiences of earlier migrants and
the already-resident poor of Catalonia.
On the economic side, there is evidence to suggest that non-European
immigrants face significant economic challenges, perhaps sometimes
even greater than earlier newcomers. Poor language skills and per-
ceived cultural differences mean they have more difficulty competing
in the labor market, especially if they are from regions other than Latin
America. However, this problem is not particular to Catalonia. Across
Spain, newer arrivals disproportionately fill low-skill, low-status jobs
in the informal sector with fewer of the protections available to formal
sector employees. Undocumented individuals—of which Catalonia,
like Madrid, has particularly high numbers—are the most vulnerable
to exploitation and the resulting exclusion (Solé 1995; Encarnación
2004).
Recent years have seen open and sometimes violent conf licts
between immigrants and more established Catalan residents, as well as
instances of discrimination and racist protest (Solé 1995; Moreras 2002;
2005). However, there is no statistical evidence to suggest that Catalans
are any less or more tolerant of newcomers than other Spaniards, nor
that those with stronger Catalan nationalist preferences are more likely
to be intolerant than those with weaker or no nationalist preferences.
What limited data is available, from surveys in 1987 and 1990, do not
point to a strong association between Catalan nationalism and racist or
xenophobic views. They found that place of birth alone did not predict
anti-immigrant preferences. Rather, length of residence, age, socioeco-
nomic status, and place of residence within Catalonia also mattered.
Respondents tended to reject immigrants for “pragmatic reasons,”
such as to protect employment and access to social welfare (Solé 1995:
98–100). Nevertheless, it is worrying that some Catalan nationalists have
in recent years publicly expressed negative views about poor, non-EU
immigrants and that some nationalist discourses have begun claiming
a stronger religious component to Catalan identity in response to the
presence of “Islamic” immigrants (Moreras 2005). In the 2006 territo-
rial election campaign, the CiU proposed linking some services and
benefits for immigrants to their willingness to integrate into Catalan
society. However, it was the Catalan PP, perhaps the least Catalan
nationalist of the parties, that most advocated regulating immigration
f lows and stopping illegals (see Pallarés and Muñoz 2008).
Moreover, since the abovementioned surveys, increases in numbers
of poorer non-EU immigrants have coincided with funding shortages
for social programs and increased use of means testing in Catalonia.
Established residents have been more likely to see poorer immigrants
as the prime beneficiaries of these programs. The fear that such a situ-
ation will undermine social peace has encouraged Catalan politicians
to demand a greater share of tax revenues and measures to offset the
territorial fiscal deficit so that more can be spent on social welfare
programs, including education and health care, and coverage can be
expanded for poorer longer-term residents (Estruch Mestres, Cleries i
Gonzàlez, interviews).
These concerns were also behind demands by Catalan political elites
for expanded autonomy in immigration-related matters in the new
statute. Immigration is exclusively a state competency, but ACs have
(co-)jurisdiction with respect to many social, education, and labor mar-
ket policies that affect the integration of newcomers. The Generalitat
was more active in immigrant integration earlier than other ACs and
often in distinctive “Catalan” ways, guided by the CiU’s relatively
inclusive civic nationalism (Zapata-Barrero 2005: 17–21). However,
more recently, Catalan authorities have sought to better harmonize
immigrant integration and nation-building. The new statute provided
Catalonia with new executive authority to administer work permits, in
coordination with the state, and the right to participate in state poli-
cymaking on immigration matters particularly important to the AC,
especially immigrant selection (Art. 138). The statute also confirmed
Catalonia’s competency in integration matters and its exclusive author-
ity in matters of initial reception. The hope amongst nationalists is that
the changes will facilitate the selection of individuals willing and able
to learn Catalan and make Catalan rather than Castilian the language
first and most often encountered by immigrants in dealing with public
officials (Zapata-Barrero 2005).
It was unclear at the time of writing whether these new powers can
improve the citizenship of immigrants in Catalonia in ways complemen-
tary to the desire of many Catalans to protect and expand the use of the
Catalan language. According to the ERC, the more immigrants learn
Catalan, the more they can fully participate in Catalan society and the
labor market, so the goals of nation-building and immigrant inclusion
can be mutually reinforcing (see Esquerra Republicana de Catalunya,
n.d.). This underscores the need for schools that can successfully teach
newcomers to speak, read, and, especially, write Catalan and the need for
the use of Catalan in workplaces that employ immigrants. Immigrants
may move to other parts of Spain if they decide learning Catalan is
undesirable or if learning both Catalan and Castilian—an increasing
necessity—is too burdensome given the socioeconomic challenges they
already face. That Catalan capitalism has historically depended on a divi-
sion of labor that has always been partly ethnic suggests that improve-
ments to the socioeconomic position of immigrants will not be easy to
achieve in the current political economic order (see Shafir 1995).
Women
Except for aspects of political participation, the Catalan special status
arrangement, and the stress on nation-building by successive CiU-led
governments, does not appear to have directly harmed efforts to advance
gender equality in Catalonia. Like Spanish women as a whole, Catalan
women saw marked improvements in the post-Franco years in levels of
educational attainment, attitudes towards gendered divisions of labor,
integration into the paid workforce, and political participation through
the holding of elected office, even if across most of these indicators Spanish
women as a whole still lag behind the European average (Astelarra 2005;
Peinado and Céspedes 2004).
According to the Gender Disparity Index, which focuses primarily
on women’s participation in the paid labor force,6 differences in gender
disparities across Spain appear to be unrelated to the varying strengths
of regional nationalist politics and autonomy. The Basque Country, but
also Madrid and the Canary Islands, had the lowest gender inequal-
ity, while Catalonia and Galicia were in the middle ranks along with
Navarre and the Balearic Islands. Variations in the Gender Disparity
Index across the ACs appear to correlate with variations in levels of
industrialization and urbanization and the character of the service sec-
tor economy, factors which affect levels of unemployment, labor force
participation, and remuneration. As such, Catalan women have had
one of the highest workforce participation rates in the country, at 50.72
percent in 2004 compared to 45.79 percent for Spain (Instituto de la
Mujer 2005a; 2005b). The spread between unemployment rates for
men and women as well as absolute levels of women’s unemployment
were lower in Catalonia than in Spain generally (see Institut Català de
les Dones 2006; Astelarra 2005).
Variations in gender inequality appear have little to do with AC
government policies and strategies promoting equality, for these tend
to be highly homogeneous across Spain, regardless of the ideology and
nationalist color of AC governments. This uniformity ref lects the piv-
otal role in the fight for gender equality played by feminists within the
PSOE and its AC-level counterparts and allied parties across Spain.
Moreover, the Women’s Institutions (Institutos de la Mujer) that now
exist at all levels, tend to be similar across Spain because they mod-
eled themselves on European-level programs and strategies (Astelarra
2005).
If Catalan women do comparatively well in labor market equality,
they have lagged behind their counterparts in some parts of the coun-
try in elected officeholding. By 1999, across Spain at both the state and
AC level, an average of 30 percent of parliamentary seats were held by
women. However, in Catalonia, only 24.4 percent of AC deputies were
women (Astelarra 2005). The dominance of the CiU in Catalan politics,
where it led territorial governments until 2003, appears to have been a
major reason for the gap. Across Spain, regional and nationalist parties
have tended to elect lower proportions of women to AC parliaments
than non-regional or non-nationalist parties. In 1999, only 22.4 percent
of nationalist or regional party deputies were women, compared to 40.1
percent for the PSOE, 28.6 percent for the IU, and 28.1 percent for the
PP (Sánchez Ferriz 2000). In Catalonia, as elsewhere in Spain, the fight
for gender equality has long been championed by feminists on the Left
(see Nash 2001). The push for electoral parity came from the PSOE,
which, in turn, encouraged the PP to elect more women (Sánchez Ferriz
2000; Astelarra 2005). By contrast, the CiU was unable to consolidate
gains in electing women to the Catalan parliament and has had a poor
record with respect to electing women to Congress and Senate (Instituto
de la Mujer, c. 2004a; c. 2004b). Lest it be thought that nationalist parties
inherently have poor records on gender parity, note that the national-
ist ERC elected 39 percent women to the Catalan parliament in 2003.
Clearly, a nationalist platform does not preclude progress on this issue.
The ERC has developed a strong feminist wing and recognized its need
to develop gender equity policies in order to compete with the PSC for
voters. Both the PSC and Catalan PP are the main reasons that women
held just over 30 percent of Catalan parliamentary seats in 2003, which
is an improvement, but is still below the AC average of just over 37 per-
cent (L’Institut Català de les Dones 2003; Instituto de la Mujer 2005a).
Notably, in the second PSC-ERC coalition government elected in 2006,
just over 31 percent of the executive were women. While this was a
Catalan record, it was four points below the AC average (Institut Català
de les Dones 2006). The PSC and ERC, particularly their feminist wings,
succeeded in having the new autonomy statute specify that the Catalan
electoral law must establish criteria for gender parity for electoral lists
(Art. 56[3]). The new statute also affirmed the duty of Catalan public
authorities to promote gender equality (Art. 4[3]). Here, Catalonia is
catching up to the Spanish standard. Some other ACs already have gen-
der parity laws. In 2007, the Spanish parliament passed a gender equality
law requiring that women and men each account for at least 40 percent
of all state and AC election lists.
Conclusions
The Catalan special status arrangement contributed to the successful

transition of Spain to a minimally stable, consolidated democratic state.
Subsequent controversy surrounding the new autonomy statute has
since tested the stability of the arrangement, for its provisions appear
to push Spain towards greater levels of functional and political decen-
tralization, the recognition of multiple nations, and greater asymmetry,
further challenging the modern territorial state and citizenship model.
Over the years, the weaknesses and ambiguities of the 1979 statute
pushed Catalan governments and parliaments to seek greater, more
secure autonomy, and greater scope for asymmetry for the territorial
authorities. Nevertheless collective citizenship for Catalans in Spain,
measured by political autonomy, is considerable in comparison with
the Franco years. Catalan authorities have also been able to use their
autonomy to normalize the use of Catalan as the language of instruc-
tion in schools and other public spheres, if less successfully in the pri-
vate realm.
Over this 30-year process, democracy has both inspired and lim-
ited Catalan autonomy and special status. The Preamble to the 1979
autonomy statute spoke of the recovery of self-government as part of
the recovery of democracy for the territory. The Preamble to the 2006
statute spoke of “the collective liberty of Catalonia in the institutions of
the Generalitat” as part of the building of a democratic society. Yet, the
Spanish constitutional order also continued to stress the formal equality
of citizens and ACs, the unity of the Spanish people, their social soli-
darity, and majoritarian democracy. These two visions of the state and
of democracy, one plurinational and asymmetrical, one uninational
and uniform, coexist in tension in the Spain-Catalan relationship and
within Catalonia itself.
While many of the citizenship practices that produce socioeconomic
and political exclusion in Catalonia are not directly due to the special
status arrangement, the dominance of Catalan nationalist politics and
governments has contributed to some inequalities affecting the poor,
women, and immigrants. However, the Catalan special status arrange-
ment is, to use Tully’s term, significantly open-ended, within the limits
posed by the political economic order. The 2003 territorial elections,
which brought about a major alternance in the governing coalition,
demonstrated the ability of liberal democratic institutions to provide
a check on the potential exclusionary effects of any single vision of
Catalonia. Although the moderate nationalism of the CiU continues
to have a major effect on the arrangement, no single understanding of
Catalonia prevails. The new statute, the product of partisan negotiations
and electoral competition, represented the territorial community as
many things simultaneously. The threats to inclusive citizenship posed
by a narrowly ethnolinguistic, nationalist framing of Catalonia have
been balanced by other visions: of a community of diverse traditions,
cultures, and peoples; a democratic community aspiring to collective
self-rule; a community of justice and equality seeking to advance a
dignified quality of life for all residents; and a community in solidar-
ity with Spain and Europe. The quality of the democratic processes
in Catalonia, Spain, Europe, and beyond, including their articulation
with political economic processes at multiple levels, will continue pro-
foundly to affect the trajectory of Spain as an asymmetrical state and
Catalonia as an inclusive society.
CH A P T E R F I V E
Corsica after the 1982/1983 Special Statute
. . . the Left knows that what characterizes regimes that are truly
democratic is their respect for minorities. Not only for their exis-
tence, of course, but above all for their rights. And not only for
their right to express themselves . . . but their right to be different
and to take care of their own affairs.
Gaston Defferre (Preface to Phlipponneau 1981),
French Minister of the Interior and of Decentralization
. . . in a democratic Europe all island regions should have special

statutes.
Pierre Joxe, French Minister of the Interior
(quoted in Hintjens, Loughlin, and Olivesi 1995: 127)
Democracy is that: to know to whom to talk. . . . A single local

authority will bring that clarity. . . . excessive complexity does not
serve democracy.
Jean-Pierre Raffarin (2003b), French Prime Minister
The Socialists together with the Communists swept to power in the

May and June 1981 presidential and legislative elections on promises to
transform France (see Wright 1981). They had pledged to revitalize the
economy, create a more equitable society, build a “new citizenship,”
and strengthen democratic life, in part through decentralizing the ter-
ritorial distribution of political power and authority. A future Socialist
Prime Minister Michel Rocard described the decentralization plan as
the “institutional decolonization of France.” It was heralded as one
of the “great reforms” of the new government. Named after Gaston
Defferre, minister of the interior and of decentralization under Prime
Minister Pierre Mauroy, the decentralization reforms included a statut
particulier,1 or special statute, for Corsica, where violence linked with
nationalist groups and independence demands had been on the rise.
The special statute gave Corsican regional authorities a unique insti-
tutional configuration and autonomy in education, social and cultural
policy, and economic development that, initially, was unavailable to
other parts of metropolitan France.2 As the quote above demonstrates,
Defferre himself emphasized that recognizing the right to difference
and autonomy of minority territorial communities showed the truly
democratic nature of a country. Some analysts declared his decentral-
ization reforms the most important deviation from the principles of
the centralized, symmetrical Jacobin state since the French Revolution
(Keating and Hainsworth 1986; Mazey 1993).
France’s “hidden” constitution, in Tully’s terms, had long allowed
for asymmetries at the level of practice and implementation to make the
Jacobin version of the modern territorial state and citizenship model
more workable (see Hayward 1983; Grémion 1977; Worms 1966). As
such, the special statute is remarkable for the de jure asymmetry that
it offered the island. The chapter explores why, without the impetus
of war or regime change, the new French government agreed to the
Corsican special status arrangement. The argument made is that the
statute needs to be understood in the context of the state-wide decen-
tralization reforms of the new government. It aimed to renew island
democracy and energize its economy by co-opting moderate national-
ists and the so-called forces vives in the hope of ending Corsican nation-
alist violence. The decision to grant the special statute was facilitated
by the lack of international support for Corsican independence, by the
economic and political peripherality of the island, and by the Socialists’
prior conversion to decentralization and minority rights.
As with Catalonia, many of the asymmetrical elements of Corsican
autonomy proved short-lived, eroded by standardized decentralization
reforms that occurred across France and by institutionalized norms of
equality and majoritarian democracy. Later attempts by French gov-
ernments to grant the island more autonomy and special status have
encountered similar resistance and pressure for policy harmonization
associated with the single European market. Some Corsicans have
themselves also resisted further, distinctive devolution, whether to
protect citizen equality and democracy, retain clientelist networks, or
protect high state spending and subsidies for the island. For all of these
reasons, the special status arrangement has, to date, provided Corsican
Corsica after the Special Statute 91
territorial authorities with only mild political autonomy. Their scope
to depart from state-wide policies has been limited, inhibiting robust
efforts to protect Corsican culture and language. Nevertheless, nation-
alist parties now participate in the institutions of self-rule, although
nationalist violence has continued. Although the special status arrange-
ment largely cannot be directly blamed for the citizenship deficits for
internal minorities, Corsican nationalist and other identity politics
appears to have contributed to their exclusion.
Background
Corsica is geographically and demographically peripheral within met-

ropolitan France. The most mountainous of the Mediterranean islands,
it is located some 170 kilometers from Nice, but only 90 kilometers
from mainland Italy and 11 kilometers from Italian Sardinia. In 1982,
the year of the special statute, Corsica’s 240,000 people accounted for
only 0.43 percent of France’s 55.6 million inhabitants. Its 8,681 square
kilometers make up but 1.6 percent of metropolitan French territory.
Italian and French inf luences have dominated the island culturally and
politically in recent centuries, but the island’s history points to the
heterogeneity of its peoples and cultures because of its location at the
cross-roads of Mediterranean trade, war-making, and cultural f lows.
From the thirteen century until its purchase by Louis XV of France in
1768, Corsica was mainly under the formal control of the city-state of
Genoa except for periods of control by the Aragonese and the French
crowns. After a 1729 revolt against Genoan rule, Corsicans were effec-
tively self-governing for more than two decades.
The territorial language, Corsican, has Latin roots and is related to
Tuscan, Ligurian (the language of Genoa), and Sardinian. Corsican has
several dialects, the product of a mountainous terrain that made cross-
island communication difficult until the last century. Standardization
has been ongoing. Lacking the prestige of Catalan, Corsican has become
increasingly marginalized under the pressure of French nation-state-
building and as Corsicans migrated in search of economic opportunity.
French increasingly dominated public spheres, including education,
and became the language of socioeconomic advancement. Many par-
ents ceased to teach Corsican to their children (Blackwood 2007;
2004). By the last quarter of the twentieth century, only one in ten
children spoke Corsican with their parents either exclusively or habitu-
ally (INSEE 2005). Yet, Corsican remained the strongest of France’s
regional languages. In 1982, the year of the special statute, 96 percent
of Corsican-origin residents said they could understand it and 86 per-
cent said they could speak it. Since the 1960s, there has been an active
movement to reverse its decline, but progress has been difficult. The
protection of the Corsican language and culture have been part of the
foundation of the nationalist platform.
The island’s economic underdevelopment has also been a focus of
nationalist grievances. Corsica has long been the poorest region of met-
ropolitan France. A reliance on state spending in the form of subsidies,
special tax status, social program spending, and, especially, state-sector
jobs has sharpened a sense of the island’s distinctiveness and caused
some nationalists to see its relationship with France as one of colo-
nial dependence. For others economic dependence has reinforced a
sense of attachment to France (Daftary 2008). Unemployment has long
been high by French standards. By the early 1960s, decolonization had
largely ended opportunities for upward mobility through the French
colonial service. Even in 2002, by which time state spending and the
growth of the agriculture and tourism sectors had improved standards
of living, the GDP per capita of Corsica was still 87.7 percent of the
EU average, compared to 115 percent for France as a whole. At 13.3
percent, Corsica still had the highest unemployment rate amongst the
metropolitan regions of France, just ahead of Nord-Pas-de-Calais. The
rate was 8.7 percent in France as a whole (EU 2006).
State agents trying to consolidate and legitimate French rule have
long combined standardization and centralization with deviations from
the administrative institutions and practices used elsewhere. Taken by
the French army in 1768, the island was first separately administered,
then incorporated into the French empire in 1789 and established as
a department in 1790. Subsequently, Corsica was subject to a series of
separate administrative, fiscal, and judicial ordinances. Even in recent
decades, the island still had some distinct inheritance taxes and exemp-
tions from and reductions in consumption taxes, such as the Value
Added Tax, on transport costs for goods from continental France. These
asymmetries have been threatened by the push to standardize taxes and
policies in a bid to create a single market amongst the member states of
the EU (see Olivesi, Orsini, and Pastorel 1994).
After World War II, French governments made a number of changes
to the administration of Corsica, most within the legal-administrative
framework used elsewhere in the metropolitan area. In 1964, Corsica
was attached to the administrative region of Provence–Côte d’Azur–
Corse. In 1970, it became a separate region only to be divided into
two departments, Haute Corse and Corse-du-Sud, four years later.
This was ostensibly to address underadministration, create jobs, and
make administration more publicly accessible (Boisvert 1988), although
critics declared it a divide-and-rule tactic. In 1967, the government
created the Corsican Economic Expansion Fund (Fonds d’Expansion
Economique de la Corse). Unique in France, it aimed to offset the eco-
nomic handicaps of being an island (Orsini 1991). President de Gaulle’s
stillborn 1969 decentralization reforms would also have given the
island some functional administrative special status. In 1971, the state
created the unique Corsican Economic Development Commission
(Commission de Développement Économique de la Corse) in another
effort to address Corsica’s economic malaise.
Demands for improved transport links with the continent, lower
living costs, and special fiscal measures, justified because of Corsica’s
island status, had long been Corsican grievances. By the 1960s, Corsican
autonomists and nationalists were demanding political change as well,
part of a wave of ethno-nationalist and decentralist mobilization across
Western Europe (see Lijphart 1977; Heisler 1990; Gurr 1993a). They
called for an elected Corsican assembly, self-rule, and protection for
Corsican culture and language. A few demanded independence. The
nationalist cause encompassed elements of the so-called forces vives—
new business people, a middle class marginalized by recent tourism
and agricultural developments, young people, and the unemployed.
Among its leaders were members of the young, continent-educated
elite, such as Edmond Simeoni. They had began returning to Corsica
in the late 1960s and early 1970s (Dressler-Holohan 1985; Boisvert
1988). Environmental concerns also impelled nationalist demands.
The 1972 dumping of toxic waste into the waters off Cap Corse by
the multinational Montedison—the “affaire des boues rouges”—
had sparked a major public outcry and mobilization across the island
(Olivesi 1996: 6–7).
Demographic trends aggravated the sense of decline and cultural siege
amongst many Corsicans, fueling the nationalist cause. Despite high
emigration and low birth rates, between 1960 and 1980 immigration
increased the island population to 240,000 from 170,000. Most newcom-
ers were from mainland France and North Africa and were not ethni-
cally Corsican. By the early 1980s, the time of the special statute, one in
three islanders originated elsewhere. Along with Ile de France, the region
that includes Paris, Corsica had the highest proportion of immigrants in
the state: 13.2 percent of the population in 1975, 11.3 percent in 1982,
and about 10 percent today (INSEE Corse and FASILD 2004; Luciani
1995).3 Due to outmigration, declining birth rates, and the unwilling-
ness of many native Corsicans to do low-skilled agricultural or service
sector work, immigrants accounted for a significant proportion of the
island work force, about 57 percent in the early 1990s and nearly 71 per-
cent of agricultural laborers (Luciani 1995). As the twenty-first century
began, immigrants made up as much as 20 percent of Corsican cities and
a growing proportion of school-aged children. Corsica also had propor-
tionately more North African immigrants than the rest of France, with
Moroccans especially numerous (42 percent of the total, compared to 12
percent country-wide) (INSEE and FASILD 2004).
State economic policies also fed the nationalist movement in the
1960s and 1970s. Chief amongst them was the state-sponsored agricul-
tural land acquisition and financing schemes used to develop orchard
crops and vineyards. Although state policymakers claimed the poli-
cies would help develop and commercialize Corsican agriculture,
nationalists saw them bringing disproportionate benefits to the new
landowners, mostly newly arrived French rapatriés4 and migrant North
African agricultural workers. State-encouraged mass tourism and
coastal development also appeared to many mainly to benefit outside
investors while harming land and aquatic environments (Olivesi 1996;
Boisvert 1988). The f lip side was that state spending, which was higher
than the per capita average for metropolitan France, was pushing up
Corsican standards of living to levels more comparable with the conti-
nent. Nationalists and others argued that these gains came at the cost of
the gutting of most local production, an exodus of the rural population,
and the smothering of what was distinctive about Corsica by a universal
consumer culture (Michalon 1985c).
Also high on the nationalist grievance list was the clientelist structure
of the Corsican political economy. Critics declared it anti-democratic
and exclusionary, the product of collusion between state authorities and
the so-called “clans.” The term referred to nominally left- and right-
wing factions centered on a few big families, their relatives, allies, and
“clients.” A product of the relationship of local social forces and politi-
cal economic structures with state personnel, programs, and policies,
the clans had strong links with state-level political parties. Through
these, clan leaders—termed here traditional elites—competed electorally
for the role of mediator between Corsican society and the state. This
role gave these traditional elites the ability to provide for their cli-
ents using the economic and political resources of the state (Lamprecht
1981; Dressler-Holohan 1985). Although clan dominance had lessened
somewhat by the late 1970s, traditional elites still maintained their
position through systemic electoral fraud.5 Their clientelist practices
helped to perpetuate an overdependence on state employment, entitle-
ment payments, subsidies, and other state programs. Critics, including
some nationalists, argued that identities based on family and patron-
client relations sublimated the democratic role of free and equal citizens
(see Giudici 1997).
However, not all Corsicans accepted the nationalist diagnosis that
the island’s economic problems and cultural decline were the unnat-
ural consequence of colonial external domination and weak internal
democracy. Not everyone shared the view that Corsica needed to
defend its culture, much less seek self-rule or, as a minority of radi-
cal nationalists argued, demand independence. In addition to the ten-
sions over nationalism, the island was divided by clan, north/south,
coastal/interior, generational, class, gender, ethnic, ideological, and
other cleavages. There was no single understanding of the island’s col-
lective identity (see McKechnie 1993). Many traditional elites in par-
ticular feared devolution could threaten their political and economic
power within Corsica and role as mediators with the state. Some feared
devolution could marginalize the island within France and potentially
reduce the f low of state revenue and the sense of social solidarity that
helped sustain it (Dressler-Holohan 1985). Some saw cultural and eco-
nomic decline as an inevitable part of socioeconomic integration into
France and Europe and the benefits of economic modernization. From
this perspective, the solution was not autonomy or special status, but
state money to improve public facilities, reduce the disadvantages f low-
ing from Corsica’s island status, and promote new economic activity.
Others, such as some Corsican feminists and Communist party mem-
bers, opposed self-rule for other reasons. The former accused national-
ists of promoting patriarchy in the name of protecting Corsican cultural
identity and claimed Republican equality as the way to strengthen
women’s rights (see de Zerbi 1987; Quastana and Casanova 1986).
Corsican nationalist demands also had little appeal for North African
migrant workers, for whom claims about Corsican identity and self-
rule lacked clear terms of inclusion (see Luciani 1995).
Nationalists were themselves divided over goals and tactics. Radical
nationalists pursued independence and thought violence a legitimate
means to that end. Their more moderate counterparts aimed at auton-
omy and either explicitly denounced or took an ambiguous position on
violence. These differences in goals and tactics have undermined sus-
tained electoral cooperation amongst nationalist groups. After 1977, in
the years leading to the 1981 election of the Socialists in France, there
were increasing numbers of violent attacks, either linked with nation-
alist claims or the so-called barbouze counterattacks.6 Of the 5,737 ter-
rorist incidents between 1975 and 1984, three-quarters were associated
with nationalist groups ( Jongman 1992; see also Boisvert 1988).7 Most
targeted property, not people (Fox 1998).
Following the 1982/1983 special statute, French governments in the
early 1990s and again in the early 2000s expanded Corsican autonomy
and gave it additional asymmetrical features. The changes of the early
2000s followed a period of particularly intense violence from the mid- to
the late 1990s. The attacks and killings of this period involved rival fac-
tions of the Corsican National Liberation Front (Fronte di Liberazione
Naziunale di a Corsica, FLNC) and sometimes had a political dimen-
sion, but were also mixed with vendettas associated with clan poli-
tics and with ordinary criminality (Sylvie Florence, “Many Corsican
bombs due to gangs, not guerrillas,” Reuters, January 7, 1997). Attacks
on local branches of French administrative agencies surged from 1996.
In February 1998, French Prefect Claude Erignac, the senior central
government official on the island, was assassinated in the streets of
Ajaccio, an unprecedented event that sparked unprecedented anti-vi-
olence demonstrations on the island. In a 2003 referendum, Corsicans
narrowly rejected a proposal for a more unique configuration of ter-
ritorial political institutions.
Origins
The 1982/1983 special statute in many respects had its roots in the
democratic legitimacy that underlies substate ethnonationalist claims.
Using the language of self-determination and self-government, these
claims rely on the idea of democracy or are, at minimum, populist (Seth
1995). Consequently, in liberal democracies, substate nationalist claims
potentially challenge the democratic legitimacy of the country-wide
government. They imply the existence of a competing demos with as
much or more democratic legitimacy than the demos associated with the
nation-state. As such, democratic regimes cannot easily remain coher-
ent if they consistently deny autonomy or special status claims or use
violence to suppress minority territorial identity claims over long peri-
ods (see Gurr 1993b; Linz and Stepan 1992; 1996). As a result, repro-
ducing the legitimacy of state political power in liberal democracies
involves ongoing negotiations and contestation with minority territo-
rial communities and their political elites with respect to the territorial
distribution of political authority in the state. These negotiations are
part of what might be termed processes of democratic maintenance. The
decentralist trend in many liberal democracies that began in the late
1960s had other causes, too: uneven economic development, urbaniza-
tion, and regional planning needs; sectional interests linked to political
parties, politicians, and state bureaucracies; and central state fiscal pres-
sures (Sharpe 1993a). However, the link said to exist between decen-
tralization and democracy provided additional impetus, especially for
minority territorial identity communities such as Corsica. All of these
factors had a role in encouraging the Socialist government to introduce
decentralization reforms early in its term of office.
With the French decentralization reforms as a whole, the Socialists
aimed to revitalize democracy through the recognition and accom-
modation of territorialized difference. They also wanted to improve
administrative efficiency and strengthen economic planning, all while
leveraging their own reelection from their regional power bases. The
Socialist Party had made electoral advances in Brittany and the Basque
country and other local authorities and administrative bodies in the
1970s—although not Corsica, notably. The gains had been partly due
to the party’s platform of decentralization and a “right to difference”
(Phlipponneau 1981; Keating 1985; Chaussier 1988; Wright 1981).
Consequently, increasing numbers of left-wing politicians had personal
experience of the prefectural tutelle, the a priori control that the state
exercised over local authorities through its prefects. Both the prime
minister and interior minister had been regional presidents, so were
aware of disgruntlement with the undemocratic nature of the weak
and unelected regional councils. Furthermore, amongst the Socialist
Party ranks by the late 1970s were Corsicans who supported stron-
ger regional authorities with more political clout (d’Arcy 1993; Berger
1977; Phlipponneau 1981; Keating 1985; Hintjens, Loughlin, and
Olivesi 1995; Dressler-Holohan 1985).
The central pillar of the Defferre reforms was the creation across
France of directly elected regional councils with expanded author-
ity (Phlipponneau 1981). The reforms also replaced the prefect’s tutelle
with the a posteriori control of an administrative court (Thoenig 1992;
d’Arcy 1993; Grémion 1989). In the 1970s, Mitterrand had sensed the
declining legitimacy of Jacobin discourses, which referred to an inter-
nally homogeneous nation composed of equal, undifferentiated citizens.
He had begun defending the principle of respect for distinctive cultural
identities, even advocating a separate department for the French Basque
country and a special statute for Corsica (d’Istria 1997). There was also
discussion of making the regional administrative border of Brittany
ref lect Breton cultural boundaries. Once in office, however, the
Socialists decided that Corsica would be the only metropolitan region to
gain territorial-political recognition (Phlipponneau 1981; Safran 1985).
The government hoped that a distinctive form of autonomy would
help reduce the political and economic costs of governing Corsica, but
be consistent with goals of the wider decentralization scheme. The
problem of nationalist violence was a major factor motivating the deci-
sion. The immediate political goal was to co-opt moderate nationalists
and other forces vives, encouraging them to compete for seats in a new
directly elected territorial assembly, thereby weakening both radical
nationalists linked with clandestine groups and traditional politicians.
To encourage reconciliation, the special statute included an amnesty
clause for some political crimes (Assemblée nationale 1982; see also
Dressler-Holohan 1985). The government also abolished the death
penalty and the controversial Security Court (Cour de sûreté). A mixed
military-civilian tribunal with authority over crimes concerning state
unity and security, it was controversial partly because Corsicans up on
terrorism charges had to be tried on the continent (Wierviorka 1990).
Several factors also facilitated the government decision to give Corsica
a special statute. One was the Socialists’ conversion to decentralization
and softening towards minorities as rights-bearing collectivities, which
had occurred after the events of May 1968. Its earlier objections to these
policies were rooted in the Revolutionary-era view that substate col-
lectivities and provincial autonomies were anti-progressive relics of the
ancien régime. The shift required a rethinking of the Jacobin version
of the modern territorial state and citizenship model, with its emphasis
on standardization, centralization, formal citizen equality, and the uni-
tary nature of the French nation. For the model denied the possibility
of there being another people, or nation, within France. The Jacobin
model also put less emphasis on liberty, a norm potentially supportive
of the legitimacy of self-government and asymmetrical distributions of
territorial-political authority (Phlipponneau 1981; Brubaker 1992).
The decision to allow Corsica special status was likely also eased by
the view in government ranks that the island was politically and geo-
graphically peripheral, so treating it distinctly would not create a dan-
gerous precedent.8 Opponents of the policy in the National Assembly
claimed the statute would push France down the road to federalism or
even disintegration (Assemblée nationale 1982). However, there is some
evidence suggesting the French public may have regarded Corsica as a
special case: 48 percent of continental French who participated in one
1980 poll said they assumed or looked forward to the eventual inde-
pendence of the island (Ramsay 1983). Corsican nationalism was also
less threatening because, in contrast with the French Basque country,
there was no mobilized “ethnic” kin territory outside France. There
had been irredentist sympathies in Italy during World War II, but these
had all but disappeared (Chaussier 1988; Keating 1985).
An additional facilitating factor was the mild asymmetry already
permitted in French administration and law, some of which had
applied to Corsica, as noted earlier (Assemblée nationale 1982). The
1958 Constitution had included limited provisions for derogations
from standardized law for overseas departments and territories, as well
as Ile-de-France and Paris (Michalon 1985a; Berthon 1996; see also
Connell and Aldrich 1989). Alsace-Lorraine also had distinctive legal
rules and traditions (Glenn 1974).
Finally, the limited nature of the Corsican reforms made them easier
to accept. The Defferre reforms, including the special statute for Corsica,
were mostly technical and administrative in nature (see Richard 1995).
They did not significantly challenge the power of established political
elites, for they left communal and departmental administrations intact,
used established territorial administrative borders, and did not limit the
right of local politicians to hold multiple elected offices (Keating 1985).
It also helped that the statute could be passed without the need for con-
stitutional amendments or referenda. This lowered the political risks
involved, but also the degree of distinctiveness that would be permitted.
The Nature of Corsican Special Status
Since the introduction of the special statute, Corsica’s autonomy has been
mainly functional and administrative, although its political autonomy
has marginally increased over time. It has had only mild special status.
The statute provided some symbolic and institutional asymmetry.
The institutional organization of the island’s regional authorities was
said to take into account its geographic and historical specificities (Art. 1,
Loi no. 82-214, March 2, 1982). The statute provided for additional
symbolic and institutional asymmetry in the form of territorial insti-
tutions with a uniquely political f lavor and legitimacy in comparison
with other regional councils. The regional council had the more politi-
cal title of Corsican Assembly. It took advice from the Economic and
Social Council and the Culture, Education and Environment Council,
bodies merely called “committees” elsewhere. Further, the Assembly
was elected through a proportional representation list system based on
a single, island-wide constituency rather than the department-based
electoral districts used in the other regions. The aim of this special
provision was to give the Corsican Assembly island-wide legitimacy,
encourage the participation of nationalists in territorial elections, and
challenge the departmental power bases of traditional politicians. Lists
needed only 1.6 percent of the popular vote to win a seat, a means of
encouraging nationalists and forces vives to participate.
Other measures, modeled after the French overseas territories,
attempted to give the Assembly a more parliamentary nature, with-
out infringing on the constitutional principles protecting the indivis-
ibility of the French nation and the unitary state through the latter’s
monopoly on legislation and regulation.9 Constitutional Art. 3 stated
that “national sovereignty belongs to people who exercise it through
its representatives and through referenda. No section of people may be
given this right.” Thus, the role of the Corsican Assembly in legislative
and regulatory processes was advisory. It could, on its own or when
asked by the prime minister, suggest legislative or regulatory changes
related to territorial competencies, to Corsica’s social, cultural, and
economic development, and to state services on the island (Rémond
and Blanc 1989; Bouzely 1989; Boisvert 1988; Michalon 1985a; 1985b;
Olivesi, Orsini, and Pastorel 1994). The Assembly, presided over by
its own choice of president, could also meet at its own initiative or
that of its president or executive and fix its own order of business.
The territorial president also replaced the prefect as chief executive,
implementing Assembly decisions, running the territorial administra-
tion, and controlling the territorial budget based on state block grants
(Phlipponneau 1981; Verpeaux 1996; Thoenig 1992).
The statute did provide limited functional special status in cultural
and economic development matters (Michalon 1985a). The teaching
of Corsican language and culture was already occurring outside regu-
lar school hours and on a voluntary basis for students and teachers,
organized by the rectorat d’académie. The statute transferred the relevant
state resources and the authority to organize Corsican language and
cultural classes to the territorial authority. However, French remained
the only official language on the island. Corsican classes still had to
be optional and supplementary so as not to violate the singularity of
the French nation (Michalon 1985b). State support for Corsican self-
rule in cultural matters was still highly circumscribed and chronically
underfunded. State officials remained resistant to the registration of
children with Corsican rather than French given names. Nevertheless,
the policies of the first Mitterrand presidency did somewhat expand
Corsica’s cultural self-rule and valorized demands that Corsican lan-
guage and culture be protected. Notably, the statute allowed the ter-
ritorial authorities to make suggestions to state authorities concerning
local university education and research. In 1981, the university in Corte
had been reopened, the original institution having been established by
the nationalist hero Pasquale Paoli late in the nineteenth century. The
revived university would eventually be permitted to make the learning
of Corsican mandatory for all full-time students (Blackwood 2007).
There were other minor asymmetries. Corsica already received more
state money per inhabitant than other regions in areas such as profes-
sional training, education, and agriculture. As already noted, it retained
remnants of a separate fiscal regime. Now Corsican authorities were
handed somewhat greater administrative responsibility in regional eco-
nomic planning, housing, transport, water, and agricultural and rural
development, although still without legislative or regulatory authority
or tax-raising powers. Within these limits, the aim was to empower
Corsicans to solve their own economic problems so that they could
create more opportunities to live and work in their own land (see Romi
1988; Bouzley 1989; Michalon 1985a; 1985b).
Later French governments attempted to use further devolution and
special status to address the ongoing political and economic problems on
the island and, by the 1990s, the rapid advance of European integration.
The details of these reforms will be discussed in the next section, in the
context of the tensions surrounding the special status arrangement.
The 1991 Joxe reforms and the changes to Corsican autonomy follow-
ing the Matignon Process, early in the 2000s, grew out of weaknesses
in the original special status arrangement. They ref lected ongoing con-
f licts over asymmetry and autonomy connected to democracy, equality
norms, and the unitary French state and nation, ties of social solidarity
with France, and the legal and fiscal standardization required for the
single European market.
Democracy and Equality

The democratic context in which the Corsican special statute emerged
indirectly contributed to the tensions that characterized the arrange-
ment from the beginning. Unlike the Catalan case, there was no regime
change to necessitate a renegotiation of the French Constitution. The
special statute and wider Defferre reforms had to conform even more
strongly to established constitutional norms. This blocked movement
towards a more plurinational form of territorial governance allowing
greater asymmetrical autonomy. The Right referred the special statute,
as well as almost every other significant piece of Socialist legislation of
the early 1980s, to the Constitutional Council, which was dominated
by former right-wing ministers and parliamentarians appointed by the
former government. The resulting “juridicization” of the legislative
process pushed the government to weaken the distinctive features of
the special statute in anticipation of Constitutional Council objections
(Stone 1992; Favier and Martin-Roland 1990). Later, the Constitutional
Council was to strike down or significantly challenge key provisions
for violating citizen equality, the indivisibility of the Republic, and the
singularity of the nation.
The context of constitutional continuity in which the special statute
emerged also meant that the communal and departmental power bases
of traditional elites were left intact. This was to weaken the ability of
the reforms to challenge radically the dominance of these politicians
(Boisvert 1988; Thoenig 1992; Rokkan and Urwin 1983; Preteceille
1988). This was to subvert the democratizing intent of the Defferre
reforms across France (see Schmidt 1990). Consequently, traditional
elites dominated the new Corsican Assembly. Their electoral success
was aided by Constitutional Council rulings that rejected as a viola-
tion of citizen equality the distinctive electoral provisions of the special
statute. These had aimed to reduce the power of traditional elites. The
disunity amongst nationalist groups further boosted the electoral success
of traditional elites in the regional polls (see Romi 1988; Sénécal 1988;
Rémond and Blanc 1989; Michalon 1985b). Partly because of its com-
position, the Assembly took few initiatives supportive of change in its
early years. Other factors contributing to its status quo orientation were
its financial dependence on the state, the difficulty dominant political
parties had in maintaining working majorities, and the Assembly’s weak
local legitimacy. In sum, paradoxically, elements of the democratic con-
text of the special status arrangement limited the extent to which it
could enhance the inclusive, open-ended, and plurinational quality of
democracy in Corsica, particularly prior to the Joxe reforms.
Equality and Indivisibility

From the time of the first special statute, institutionalized norms of for-
mal citizen equality have set limits to the degree of special status possible
under the arrangement. A 1982 decision of the Constitutional Council
deemed constitutional the granting of a special statute to a metropolitan
territorial authority such as Corsica, citing the distinct status of Paris as
a precedent (Decision no. 82–138, February 25, 1982). Nevertheless,
appeals to formal citizen equality were used by state-level and Corsican
opponents to block a number of elements of the original Defferre reforms.
The government had to dilute key asymmetrical elements to win politi-
cal support in government, in key state political institutions including
the National Assembly and Senate,10 the Council of State (Conseil d’Etat,
France’s highest administrative court), the Constitutional Council, as
well as in Corsica itself (see Favier and Martin-Roland 1990; Boisvert
1988; Dressler-Holohan 1985; Michalon 1985a). Thus, the draft version
had referred to “the Corsican people, a component part of the French
people.” However, the final version shied away from affirming an eth-
nic or nationalist understanding of Corsican identity by referring merely
to the territory having geographical and historical specificities (Art. 1,
Loi no. 82-214, March 2, 1982).
A good deal of the asymmetry created by the 1982/1983 special
statute occurred because the government delayed its decentralization
plans for the other French regions, but moved more quickly in Corsica,
hoping to maintain the tenuous peace achieved with the promise of
an amnesty and of a special statute (Mény 1992). Thus, the Corsican
statute ended up being a pilot scheme for key elements of the Defferre
reforms, creating asymmetries that disappeared as decentralization
established elected regional councils with greater authority across con-
tinental France.
Even in this diluted form, critics argued that the statute legitimated
radical nationalist and independence demands. At a time when state
representatives were holding secret negotiations with clandestine
nationalist groups, critics claimed the statute was more evidence that
the state shared a degree of responsibility for the lawlessness on the
island (Assemblée nationale 1982). In its own defense, the government
argued the special statute would not legitimate separatism or nationalist
violence, but rather strengthen the inclusion of Corsica within France.
Nevertheless, resistance to asymmetrical autonomy existed amongst
both the Left and the Right. It is possible that the special statute would
not have been possible at all, except in the context of a state-wide
decentralization policy where Corsica could serve as a laboratory for
state-wide reforms.
The 1991 Joxe reforms, under the Socialist government of Michel
Rocard, attempted to get around the constraints posed by the
constitutional norms of equality and indivisibility. They also responded
to the effects of European integration on the island, the subject of a
later section. The Joxe reforms gave Corsican authorities new func-
tional competencies and slightly more political autonomy. Importantly,
they also transformed the Corsican region into a territorial authority
sui generis. Like the overseas territories of Saint-Pierre-et-Miquelon
and Mayotte, Corsica would now have a constitutional status of its
own, so that its institutions and policies could sometimes legitimately
deviate from standardized norms (Berthon 1996).
However, the reforms again triggered opposition from key gov-
ernment ministers and some government deputies, the parliamentary
opposition, the Constitutional Council, and inf luential individuals and
groups in Corsica itself (see Olivesi 1991; Olivesi, Orsini, and Pastorel
1994; Andreani 1993). They claimed that formal citizen equality and the
indivisibility of the Republic and nation were again under attack. The
Joxe bill had resurrected part of the draft Defferre reforms, referring
to a “Corsican people, a component part of the French people, [with]
the right to preserve its cultural identity and defend its specific eco-
nomic and social interests” (quoted in Olivesi 1991: 710). The wording
provided symbolic recognition of the distinctiveness of the island and
ref lected the phrasing of a motion that had been passed by the Corsican
Assembly. However, in 1991, the Constitutional Council annulled the
article, on the familiar grounds that the Constitution “only recognizes
the French people, composed of all French citizens without distinction
of origin, race or religion” (Decision no. 91-290 DC, May 9, 1991). It
also annulled a provision prohibiting Corsican Assembly members from
simultaneously holding seats in departmental assemblies and another
requiring that the Corsican Assembly be elected from a single island-
wide electoral district, rather than from the departmental electoral dis-
tricts used in other metropolitan regions. The annulled provisions had
once again aimed at reducing the political dominance of traditional
politicians. In addition, the Constitutional Council annulled a provi-
sion that would have strengthened the inf luence of Corsicans in state
decisionmaking. It required the French government to give Corsican
parliamentarians information concerning projects of interest to Corsica.
The Constitutional Council said the provision violated the norm that
parliamentarians represent all French citizens equally (Ibid.; see also
Rémond and Blanc 1989; Stone 1992).11
Nevertheless, the Council also somewhat legitimated group-
differentiated rights. It confirmed that the law can treat different territo-
rial units differently if derogation from the equality principle protected
the general interest. As such, it accepted Corsica’s status as a territorial
authority sui generis. It allowed the teaching of Corsican in schools,
although classes still had to be non-obligatory. It accepted the require-
ment that Corsicans renew their voter registration annually, a mea-
sure aimed at reducing electoral fraud (Luchaire 1991). Additionally,
the Council accepted the transfer to the territorial authority of some
departmental competencies in education, housing, and transport.
Finally, it permitted provisions mildly strengthening the inf luence of
the territorial authorities in state policymaking while retaining the
unitary structure of the state. The territorial executive was given a
somewhat parliamentary character similar to equivalent institutions in
the French overseas territories.12 It was allowed a greater consultative
role in formulating state legislation and regulation, although still no
autonomous legislative role. The Assembly could pass resolutions on
state policies, but only had the right to be consulted on state decrees. It
was also given authority to choose its own members to the departmen-
tal electoral college responsible for selecting Corsica’s senators (Olivesi,
Orsini, and Pastorel 1994; Olivesi and Pastorel 1993). In addition, the
Constitutional Council endorsed some electoral changes aimed at mak-
ing the Assembly responsive to more than clan-based clientelist pres-
sures and giving it a more stable majority.13
However, due to institutionalized norms of equality and indivis-
ibility, which continued to have significant political support across the
political spectrum in France and Corsica, it was not until the Matignon
Process of 1999–2000 that there was serious discussion of significantly
expanding Corsican political autonomy through devolving legislative
authority (Daftary 2000). The Matignon negotiations, initiated by the
Socialist government of Lionel Jospin, came during the period of sig-
nificant violence in Corsica in the mid to late 1990s and followed the
assassination of Prefect Erignac. The prime minister said that public
condemnation of violence was a precondition for dialogue and while
not all nationalists complied, the Matignon Process was made possible
by unprecedented support for major institutional reforms amongst tra-
ditional and nationalist members of the Corsican Assembly, more of
which below. The talks resulted in a third autonomy statute in January
2001 and constitutional reforms in 2003 that permitted Corsica more
autonomy and scope for greater special status, although in a manner that
ultimately would lead to a high degree of de jure uniformity amongst
territorial authorities.
First, the 2001 law increased the functional autonomy of the Corsican
Assembly. It also mildly increased its final decisionmaking authority by
giving the Assembly new, if limited authority to adapt regulations in
its areas of competence (Loi no. 2002-92, January 22, 2002).14 The law
restated the provision, originating in the Joxe reforms and accepted
by the Constitutional Council, authorizing the Assembly to suggest
modifications to legislation and regulations in its areas of functional
competence. However, the Assembly still had no authority to derogate
from French laws due to this violating the unity of the nation (Decision
no. 2001-454 DC, January 17, 2002; see Daftary 2002; Vallet 2004).
A second set of reforms, under the right-wing government of Jean-
Pierre Raffarin, went further, by taking France further away from the
model of a unitary, centralized state and nation and a standardized dis-
tribution of territorial political authority. So much so that the changes
required constitutional amendments in March 2003, which some
declared the most important since 1958 (Vallet 2004). Art. 1 of the
Constitution still affirmed the “indivisibility” of the French Republic,
but it also declared its organization to be “decentralized.” The amend-
ments recognized the principle of subsidiarity (Art. 88-5), namely that
competence should be exercised at the lowest level of authority possi-
ble. While introduced into the Constitution with reference to the rela-
tionship of France with the EU, subsidiarity also implied that Corsica
could acquire competencies linked directly to its distinctiveness as an
island (Vallet 2004). Other amendments to strengthen local democratic
accountability in state decisionmaking were to have particular impor-
tance for Corsica. They allowed for the holding of local referenda on
matters relevant to the competence, organization, or policies of a local
authority, at the initiative of a local authority, citizens, or the French
parliament (Art. 72-1). The July 2003 referendum held in Corsica under
the new provision demonstrated that, although the results were legally
non-binding, they were politically difficult for governments to ignore.
In effect, the new constitutional provision had redefined the unitary
Republican model (Vallet 2004). Other amendments in this latest
wave of reforms improved the fiscal autonomy of the island by better
establishing the link between transfers of competencies and transfers
of resources (Art. 72-2; Vallet 2004). Last but not least, Art. 37-1 and
Art. 72 increased the scope for asymmetrical policies. They allowed
territorial authorities to derogate from country-wide laws and regula-
tions on an experimental basis, providing certain rules were followed.
However, this asymmetry could only be temporary. The amendment
allowed the derogation for five to eight years, after which it had either
to be generalized to all relevant territorial authorities or expire (Vallet
2004; see also Cole 2003).
Equality and the Protection of the Corsican Language
The protection of Corsican has been another conf lictual dimension of
the special status arrangement, with constitutional norms protecting
formal citizen equality and the unity of the French nation contributing
to blocking robustly asymmetrical policies. Until 2001, the modern
territorial state and citizenship norms embedded in the constitutional
framework prevented the holding of Corsican classes during regular
school hours and required that they be voluntary. With the new law,
language could be taught during the regular school day for pre-primary
and primary children for the first time, but only with parental approval.
The provision came after a decade of halting, ambiguous progress in
revitalizing the language.
During the 1990s, the protection of regional languages in France was
inhibited by measures taken by governments to protect French against
the use of English in the international marketplace. It was in this con-
text that a 1992 constitutional amendment declared that “The language
of the Republic is French” (Art. 2). Meanwhile, other state regulations
and laws allowed for the promotion and protection of Corsican within
limits. The Académie de Corse, the territorial body responsible for
Corsican language education, established the teaching of some subjects
in both Corsican and French and set up bilingual and Corsican immer-
sion schools. From 1995 to 1997, the numbers of kindergarten and pri-
mary school-aged students studying Corsican in school or studying in
bilingual French-Corsican programs, increased thirteenfold (from 250
to 3,500) (INSEE Corse 1995; see also INSEE 2005). In autumn 1999,
the central government allowed Corsican to be required as a subject
in high schools unless parents explicitly objected. It was a controver-
sial attempt to get around the constitutional barriers to compulsory
minority-language education and to address the declining numbers of
students studying Corsican in higher grades due to competition from
other subjects. With the 2001 provisions giving similar treatment to
Corsican as a subject in lower grades and other measures taken in the
2000s, Corsican became the most protected minority language in
France (Blackwood 2007).
Although some of the legal barriers to the compulsory teaching of
Corsican were finally being overcome, socioeconomic factors weaken-
ing the language did not change. Educational and occupational advance-
ment were still overwhelmingly determined by French-language skills.
Economic pressures continued to push native Corsicans to leave the
island, while the children of immigrant families made up a growing
proportion of the school-aged population. In 1999, 45 percent of resi-
dents said they spoke Corsican to others, but the rate was only 33 per-
cent amongst those younger than 20 years. Amongst those under 35
years of age and born in Corsica to Corsica-born parents, only 60 per-
cent reported using Corsican (INSEE 2005).
An additional barrier to preventing further decline of the language
has been the weak support amongst ethnic Corsicans for compul-
sory Corsican language education. According to Blackwood (2004),
Republican values like citizen equality and the unity of the nation were
only partly to blame. Mandatory classes were also seen as contradicting
the voluntary, family-based nature of Corsican identity and the view
that Corsican was not as useful to study as English, German, or Italian.
For immigrants, learning French often took priority over Corsican,
even if obligatory Corsican language classes could sometimes be sym-
bols of integration, too. Nevertheless, Blackwood suggested that few
parents appeared to be exercising their right to have their children opt
out of Corsican classes (Blackwood 2004).
Social Solidarity
Some of the greatest tensions associated with the special status arrange-
ment have concerned the inclusion of Corsica in France as a community
of social solidarity. This is in a context of the island’s ongoing relatively
high levels of poverty and unemployment in the French context and
significant dependence on state subsidies and transfers. The Corsican
public has been divided over many aspects of autonomy and special sta-
tus, but there has been, relatively speaking, more unity over economic
grievances and a desire to protect the f low of state revenues to the island.
In spring 1989, there was a paralyzing 11-week strike and major public
demonstrations following the mishandling by the French government
of a public sector labor dispute over the “bonus of insularity.” Yet, the
dispute was not entirely about money. Arguments about culture and
identity typically became entangled in these more material claims (see
Jaffe 1990). In autumn 2005, as many as 10,000 Corsicans held public
protests against a government plan to privatize the ferry service linking
the island with continental France (Bernard Delattre, “La Corse sous la
menace des ‘ultras,’ ” La Libre, October 3, 2005). The context of intense
tensions over the maintenance of ties of social solidarity with France
has been fiscal tightening and moves toward fiscal harmonization by
the French government under pressure from European integration and
global economic competition, which will be discussed below. Tensions
also stem from evidence that the French public may be becoming less
willing to support Corsica financially given the apparently unsolvable
problem of political violence and seemingly perpetual Corsican griev-
ances against the state. According to Jean-Louis Andreani (1998), there
is a tendency for the French public negatively to stereotype Corsicans
and lack understanding of the underlying political, economic, and
social causes of island problems.
Regional Integration
The intensification of European economic integration has been a
source of tensions, too, with its ambiguous impacts on the special status
arrangement. Particularly from the 1986 Single European Act, mea-
sures to strengthen the internal European market began threatening
the continuation of Corsica’s special fiscal status. The transformation
of Corsica into a territorial authority sui generis under the 1991 Joxe
reforms appeared to make the island’s legal status more like that of
other European island regions, giving it some scope to deviate from
standard French and European tax and other policies in order to
respond to the problems associated with its economic, political, and
geographic peripherality (Balme 1995; Hintjens, Loughlin, and Olivesi
1995). Nevertheless, political contestation in Corsica over the Joxe
reforms became entangled in wider debates over the 1992 Maastricht
Treaty and its provisions for European political integration and deeper
economic union, including in monetary matters. Closer to home, the
treaty appeared to have ambiguous implications for the island.
The debates surrounding Maastricht and the results of a France-wide
referendum on the treaty ref lected the difficulty of maintaining if not
expanding the special status arrangement in the emerging European
Union. The treaty provided for a Committee of the Regions with con-
sultative status in European policymaking, a somewhat strengthened
successor to the then existing council representing European local and
regional authorities. Corsican traditional and nationalist politicians,
some of whom had been involved in the council, had supported the pol-
icy change (see Baggioni 1995). At the same time, the treaty appeared
to threaten the state subsidies and distinctive tax regime that supported
the island economy. Corsica did not appear on Maastricht’s list of ultra-
peripheral regions (which included the French overseas territories, the
Spanish Canary Islands, and Portuguese Açores and Madeira). These
regions had been promised special development programs and deroga-
tions from harmonized European laws because of the structural nature of
their socioeconomic problems and because of their geographic predica-
ment. Consquently, Corsicans were ambivalent or negative about the
treaty. Abstention rates in a September 1992 referendum on the treaty
reached nearly 45 percent (compared with 30 percent across France). 57
percent of Corsican voters said no, compared to a positive vote of just
over 51 percent across the state. In November 1992, about 10,000 peo-
ple, including representatives of the dominant nationalist group, Corsica
Nazione, traditional right-wing parties, and island professionals, took
part in demonstrations demanding continuing fiscal exemptions. Most
appeared unconvinced by the arguments of some nationalists during
the Maastricht referendum that European norms and institutions were
essential counterweights to the Jacobin modern territorial state and citi-
zenship model (see Dupuy 1995/96; Dressler-Holohan 1993).
The French government did eventually get European Commission
agreement to postpone dismantling the island’s fiscal exemptions as
well as its distinctive business and professional tax credits (“Corsica
tax haven plan approved,” Reuters, November 13, 1996; Olivesi 2000;
Gherghisan 2003).15 However, the European Commission made it
clear that Corsica’s fiscal asymmetries would have to end eventually.
Meanwhile, the territory faced the loss of EU objective 1 structural
funds by the end of 2006 as its improved GNP per capita—despite
chronically high unemployment and poverty—meant it was now too
rich to qualify under EU rules (Olivesi 2000). The 2001 autonomy law
increased Corsica’s retained portion of the petroleum tax to 18 percent
from 10 percent, to help offset the impending financial losses.
Democracy and Violence

Throughout the life of the special status arrangement, political violence
has, amongst its many negative effects, harmed the quality of democ-
racy on the island and been a source of tensions at multiple levels. These
tensions came to a head during the wave of violence of the mid to late
1990s. One consequence was the birth of an anti-violence movement
called Manifeste pour la vie, which aimed to convince the state and
both Corsican political elites and ordinary people of the dire need to
address the deeply rooted causes of violence. Its founders argued that
everyone, including ordinary people and politicians, had a role in per-
petuating the culture of violence, silence, and lawlessness that pervaded
the island because they failed firmly to reject nationalist and other
forms of violence and accepted at face value exclusionary, individual-
istic understandings of Corsican identity. The state also contributed by
failing to enforce the law equally and dispassionately, by negotiating
with violent nationalists, and by supporting a non-transparent culture
of public policymaking on the island (Manifeste pour la vie c. 1996).
The 1998 demonstration that Manifeste pour la vie organized to
protest Erignac’s assassination drew a record 60,000 people into the
streets of Bastia and Ajaccio, Corsica’s major cities (Le Figaro February 8,
1999). The movement’s founding 1996 petition bore 5,000 signatures
(Manifeste pour la vie c.1996). Until 2004, members of Manifeste also
held small, but regular public protests to draw attention to the need
to bring all murderers to justice, to the importance of rule of law, and
to the pivotal role that nonviolence played in strengthening Corsican
democracy. According to Paule Graziani Parci, a Manifeste founder
and Bastia city councillor, the movement’s most important achieve-
ment was to encourage Corsican politics to become more pluralistic
and democratic. She believes the movement’s anti-violence message
helped encourage public denunciations of violence by the Party of the
Corsican Nation (Partitu de a Nazione Corsa, PNC) (Graziani Parci,
interview). For all its f laws and ambiguous outcome, the Matignon
Process of state-Corsica negotiations in 1999–2000, following the
strong public outcry against the violence, occurred more openly and
allowed for the public participation not only of elected representatives,
but also of civil society groups. Noëlle Vincensini, president of the
anti-racism group Avà Basta, declared it “the first time that discussion
has occurred in front of Corsican people” (CCASInfo 2002).
Democracy, Interculturality, and Special Status

In another democratic first, the 2003 constitutional amendments
explained earlier opened the way for Corsicans to have an unprec-
edented opportunity to express their views democratically on a plan
to establish a single territorial authority on the island. The Raffarin
government campaigned aggressively to sell Corsicans on the proposed
change. They sold the proposal not as concessions to ethnonation-
alists or Corsican identity, but as a means of improving democracy
through simpler, more efficient, more accountable, and more coher-
ent public administration—and a pioneer reform for all of France
(Raffarin 2003b). As the new super-Assembly would be elected under
France’s new gender parity law, more of which later, Raffarin (2003a)
also claimed the changes would strengthen civil society and pluralism.
With a strong turnout of just over 60 percent, 51 percent of participants
voted against and 49 percent in favor of the plan, which appeared to
propose abolishing the departments and handing their competencies to
the Corsican Assembly. It would be simplistic to portray the result as
a simple ref lection of tensions between collective self-rule and formal
citizen equality and French unity. The narrow “no” vote ref lected both
the misleading wording of the referendum, the complex intercultural-
ity of Corsican identities and preferences, the power configuration on
the island, and other factors.
News reports suggested that strongly Republican and nationalist voters
said no because the reforms either went too far or not far enough. For the
former, the institutional configuration proposed challenged Republican
values. The latter were disgruntled because the proposal gave no legis-
lative power to the Corsican Assembly. Some voted “no” because the
departmental power bases of traditional elites appeared threatened. In
practice, the communes would have continued to exist and there were to
have been new department-like entities with residual authority delegated
from the Corsican territorial authority (Loi no. 2003-486, June 10, 2003).
Others rejected the proposal because it did not sufficiently challenge tra-
ditional elites. Some civil society groups, wanting a more pluralistic poli-
tics on the island, said a strengthened Assembly would further entrench
the power of traditional and nationalist politicians. Other “no” votes
ref lected concerns that the state was using the ongoing investigation into
Erignac’s assassination to inf luence voters and legitimate a return to state
repression: during the referendum campaign, eight individuals accused
of complicity in the crime were tried in Paris. Two days before the poll,
police arrested Corsican nationalist Yvan Colonna, who was eventually
convicted of the murder. Finally, some voters said “no” because of a
French pension reform bill that threatened the privileges of public sec-
tor employees (“Chirac urges yes vote in Corsica referendum,” Agence
France-Presse, June 27, 2003; “A worrying result” The Economist July 12,
2003; “Corsica rejects referendum on autonomy from France,” Voice of
America, July 7, 2003; Christine Olivier, “Corsicans narrowly reject his-
toric referendum designed to ease separatist violence,” Associated Press,
June 7, 2003; “Devolution for Corsica? France’s regions,” The Economist
August 3, 2002).
Outcomes
Stability
By the latter half of the first decade of the new century, the impact of
the Corsican special status arrangement on stability was mixed. There
was no danger that Corsican nationalism would break apart France.
Arguably there never had been. The special status arrangement had
proven durable through several changes of government and adminis-
tration at both the state and territorial levels and through two revisions
of the autonomy statute and a round of major constitutional amend-
ments. Moreover, the arrangement was minimally stable. The most
important patterns of political behavior needed to maintain its institu-
tions and processes had continued since the early 1980s.
However, maximal stability eluded the arrangement. There was
some progress in that political contestation was more institutionalized
than it had been prior to the special status arrangement. Nationalist
lists regularly participated in territorial elections and had become
the second force in the Corsican Assembly. They had gained insti-
tutional power bases in civil society groups, including organizations
of agricultural land owners and of business owners, at the university
in Corte and in students organizations, and in the Corsican Workers
Union (Syndicat des Travailleurs Corses) (Dominici 2005; Andreani
2004). Nationalists had also helped to make support for collective
Corsican identity claims and self-rule more mainstream and institu-
tionalized. As a result, traditional political elites themselves sometimes
expressed solidarity with nationalist claims, including declarations
that Corsicans constituted a people (Daftary 2001). Voters still mainly
opted for state-wide parties—nationalists never gained more than a
quarter of Assembly seats—and were mostly unsupportive of inde-
pendence and of violent tactics. None the less, many had nationalist
sympathies.16 Of greater concern with respect to maximal stability,
many voters were sometimes ambiguous in their stance on nation-
alist violence (d’Istria 1997). Extra-institutional political action by
nationalist groups continued, including the use of violence in fac-
tional clashes and against state targets. The destabilizing effects of the
Erignac assassination were long-lasting: the event was followed by a
long police and judicial investigation. Judicial proceedings for those
accused of the crime continued into 2009 (“Corsican’s life sentence
for murder upheld,” Irish Times, March 28, 2009). State responses
to political violence have also sometimes strayed into the realm of
the extra-institutional. In 2002, former prefect Bernard Bonnet
(Erignac’s successor) was found guilty of ordering the illegal burn-
ing of an illegally constructed beach restaurant said popular with
Corsican nationalists (see Hossay 2004). Moreover, as in the 1990s,
the line between nationalist attacks and ordinary criminality and
clan violence remained unclear at times, helping to explain why the
gradual expansion of autonomy and special status for Corsica has not
fully stabilized politics on the island.

Between the early 1980s and the mid-2000s, the French state and citi-
zenship model had moved away from individualistic understandings of
France to become more inclusive of Corsica as a minority territorial
community. A somewhat more plurinational conception of France was
ref lected in the expanded if still weak de jure political autonomy of
the island authorities. In terms of final decisionmaking authority, the
Corsican Assembly now had limited authority to adapt regulations in
its areas of functional, administrative competence and could suggest
modifications to relevant legislation and regulations, even if it still could
not, itself, legislate or regulate. As noted earlier, the 2003 constitutional
amendments recognized the need for a better balance between transfers
of competencies and resources, potentially increasing Corsican de jure
fiscal autonomy, although the island’s economic problems continued to
limit de facto fiscal self-rule.
The de jure scope for asymmetrical policies has expanded since the
special statute, if in a limited way. The 2003 constitutional amend-
ments allow the island authorities to derogate from French legal norms
temporarily, although they also affirm the need for ultimate unifor-
mity. As in the early 1980s, the territory may once again become a
place where reforms in territorial governance are piloted, somewhat
in parallel with the role of Catalonia and the other “historic regions”
in Spain. Moreover, as Daftary (2008) underlines, Corsica remains,
implicitly, a special status territory that will have greater de facto self-
government than other territorial authority counterparts due to its dis-
tinctive identity and nationalist politics, socioeconomic and geographic
situation, and history, even if the de jure recognition of this asymme-
try in the French constitutional order remains limited. Paradoxically,
French constitutional norms protecting standardization have, as in the
early 1980s, meant that giving Corsica scope for de facto special status
has been accompanied by an increase in the decentralization of terri-
torial governance across metropolitan France and expanded scope for
further such country-wide reforms.
Finally, in comparison with their Catalan counterparts in federaliz-
ing Spain, the Corsican territorial authorities have virtually no formal
institutionalized statutory role in central state decisionmaking bodies,
except for their participation in selecting Corsica’s senators. The uni-
tary structure of the French state has consequences. In any case, the
island has only 4 deputies in the 577-seat National Assembly and 2 seats
in the 343 member Senate. Nevertheless, as Vallet (2004) has argued,
the new constitutional provision allowing local referenda on matters
of local governance has in practice given Corsicans a veto over some
decisions of the central authorities with respect to their self-governing
institutions. Although the referendum of July 2003 was nonbinding
under the Constitution, the government treated it as if it were bind-
ing, even though island voters went against the expressed wishes of the
government in voting “no.”

Unlike their Catalan counterparts, the Corsican territorial author-
ity has no legislative and relatively few administrative roles directly
affecting issues of socioeconomic inclusion and the citizenship of
internal minorities. Most major social entitlement programs and poli-
cies are in state hands, sometimes through deconcentrated state agen-
cies. Departments have a significant role in program administration.
Therefore, to gauge the effect of the special status arrangement on the
citizenship of vulnerable internal groups, the following analysis will
focus on the indirect effects of the politics of identity and especially of
Corsican nationalism.
Women
Women in Corsica have seen some improvements in their status since
the early 1980s, but these have been due to socioeconomic change,
state legislation, and state-sector employment practices, not the special
status arrangement. In fact, some critics argue that the increased politi-
cal salience of nationalist politics has actually helped perpetuate some
dimensions of gender inequalities.
Due to the economic underdevelopment of the island, the eco-
nomic position of Corsican women largely has not improved as much
as French women in general over the last two decades. Even more
than in France as a whole, Corsican women were more likely than
men to be poor, a problem especially acute for elderly women living
in rural areas (Giovanetti, interview). Some indicators suggested there
have been areas of marked gains in equality, too. From the early 1980s
divorce rates climbed in Corsica, reaching levels close to the French
average by 1990. Birth rates also fell as women gained more formal
education, worked more outside the home, began families at a later
age, and had more access to abortion. Women’s participation in the job
market jumped 44 percent between 1982 and 1990, reaching just over
39 percent, still almost 10 percent lower than France as a whole and
the lowest amongst metropolitan regions. Corsica also still had the big-
gest gender spread in employment activity rates amongst the regions.
Corsican women were more likely than their continental counterparts
to be unemployed. Like other French women, they were more likely
than men to be in precarious work, though they make up a smaller
proportion of part-time workers than did French women as a whole (25
versus 30 percent) (INSEE Corse 1995).
Their relatively strong presence in the full-time workforce probably
is due to the high proportion of state sector employment in the island
labor market, which has had beneficial effects for women. Consistent
with the rest of France, women in Corsica had lower salaries than
men by an average of 15 percent and occupied inferior posts requir-
ing fewer educational qualifications. However, the gender wage gap in
Corsica was half that of France. This was probably because Corsican
men earned on average less than other French men, but also because
Corsican women were more likely to be in public sector jobs than
French women as a whole, due to their higher levels of educational
attainment in comparison with Corsican men. Note, however, that the
gender wage gap in the private and semi-public sectors was more typi-
cal of the French average (INSEE Corse 1995). Given the above fea-
tures of the Corsican labor market, protecting state-sector jobs is not
only a matter of recognizing the distinctive economic and geographic
predicament of the island, but of protecting the economic citizenship
of women.
State-level norms have also been important in advancing the politi-
cal citizenship of Corsican women. Until 2003, Corsican women were,
on the whole, less well represented in elected office than other French
women (Torre 2005). Corsica’s two departments had only one woman
amongst their 27 councillors, the island had never sent a woman to
the National Assembly or Senate, and there were only 7 women in
the 51-member Corsican Assembly (13.57 percent, well below the
26.5 percent average across France). Even the areas in which Corsican
women had more representation—they have made up 11 percent of
mayors since 1995, roughly double the French rate—the difference has
had less to do with gender equality than with the strength of family-
based politics in rural communes. There was only one woman amongst
the mayors of cities of more than 3,500 inhabitants. Women mostly
headed communes with fewer than 100 people, where they tended to
represent families, replacing, by default, fathers, brothers, or spouses
(INSEE Corse 1995).
The 2003 French gender parity law was expected to enhance the
political participation and representation of Corsican women in ter-
ritorial politics, but in ways limited by the legislation and continu-
ing patriarchal structures. The law required parity in the number and
placement of male and female candidates on party lists for territories
and regions, for communes with more than 3,500 inhabitants (Corsica
has very few), and for senatorial races in larger departments where PR
list systems are used (which excludes Corsica). The rules also applied
during EU elections. In territorial polls such as those in Corsica,
parties were disqualified if they did not meet parity requirements
(see Bird 2002; Baudino 2003; Freeman 2004; Zimmermann 2005;
Lépinard 2006). The 2004 territorial election, the first under the new
law, saw 24 women elected to the Corsican Assembly, a 33.4 percent
increase over 1998. Nevertheless, the effect of the law was diminished
in Corsica, as it was elsewhere in France, because some male politi-
cians got around the law, securing their reelection by setting up sepa-
rate lists with themselves at the head. It is uncertain that the increase
in women in the Assembly will mean policies that strengthen the
citizenship of women. Male political elites may simply try to use
women from their families as party list figureheads (Zimmermann
2005; Bègles 2004).
Advances in gender equality have tended to come mainly through
state- and European-level norms and feminist political struggles
(Sallembien-Vittori 1999). Consequently, some Corsican feminists have
been skeptical of what can be gained for women through collective
special status and autonomy and have accused nationalists of perpetuat-
ing traditional gender roles and hierarchies. According to Marie-Thé
Mariani, a founder of Manifeste pour la vie, hierarchical constructions
of femininity and masculinity underlay dominant understandings of
Corsicanness, the root simultaneously of the culture of violence and
impunity that pervaded the island’s public realm and of violence against
women in the private realm. Nationalism and patriarchy perpetuated
what she termed the machoistic fratricidal war that enveloped Corsican
life in the mid to late 1990s. Corsica was an “overarmed island where,
from adolescence, all adult males regard the carrying of arms as a matter
of virile pride,” she stated (Mariani n.d.), and where “the formulation
‘Me, woman, mother, sister, wife of Corsica’ . . . tends to reduce women
to their belonging to a man or to an ethnic group and makes them
bringers/bearers of exclusion” (Mariani 1996). The dominant identity
discourse also reinforced the idea that, to be Corsican, one must be
silent about violence out of loyalty to family, clan, and nation, Mariani
asserted. The result is a culture of public and private lawlessness, which
reinforces patriarchy. She accused local newsrooms of mainly reporting
violence with an acknowledged “political” purpose—that is, national-
ist grievance—while comparatively under-reporting supposedly non-
political “ordinary” violence like muggings and sexual assault, to the
detriment of the security and citizenship of many, including women
(Mariani n.d.). A government report on the status of Corsican women
argued similarly that a culture of silence on the island exacerbated the
usual taboos surrounding the public discussion and reporting of vio-
lence against women and girls (INSEE Corse 1995). For this reason,
some activists involved in Manifeste pour la vie argued that Corsica
could not evolve unless the oppression of women is put at the center
of political debates (Charest 1996). The special status arrangement did
not cause gender inequality, but may perpetuate it to the extent that
it has not solved the problem of violence and has strengthened hierar-
chical discourses of belonging, including, but not limited to those of
the nationalists. During the Matignon Process, some feminists argued
against increasing the competencies of the Corsican Assembly on these
grounds.
Immigrants
There is some limited evidence suggesting that the politics of iden-
tity has similarly harmed the citizenship of immigrants, including
migrant workers, in Corsica. As with gender-based exclusion, the
effects of the special status arrangement on these groups are mostly
indirect, through the apparent exclusionary effects of individualistic
identity discourses and an over-emphasis in the politics of special status
on defending Corsican culture and special economic benefits from the
state. Yet, the citizenship of immigrants is of inordinate concern, not
least because the economic and social well-being of Corsican society
increasingly depends on whether the special status arrangement offers
clear terms of inclusion for these individuals (Giovanetti, interview).
Corsica’s native-born and ethnically Corsican population is aging, the
result of declining birth rates, the inmigration of retirees, and the out-
migration of younger individuals. Residents of North African heritage
were comparatively young and had comparatively high birth rates (2.4
for Moroccans, 2.04 for Tunisians, and 1.63 for Algerians versus 0.9 for
Corsica as a whole in the early 2000s). Economically, the agricultural
and services sectors had become increasingly dependent on the labor of
immigrants (INSEE Corse and FASILD 2004).
As elsewhere in France, economic marginalization has been a key
factor harming the citizenship of immigrants in Corsica. They are
more likely than other residents to experience poor housing conditions,
precarious work, and unemployment (keeping in mind that Corsica has
the highest unemployment rates in metropolitan France). They tend to
hold lower-skill jobs and, lacking French nationality, have little access
to public sector work, where remuneration is higher. Even those immi-
grants who naturalize have higher unemployment levels than French-
born workers on the island. Non-European immigrants and women
fare particularly badly, with women of Moroccan and Tunisian origin
the worst off (INSEE Corse and FASILD 2004).
Some indicators suggest that immigrants to Corsica experience
greater social and political exclusion than their counterparts elsewhere
in France. Country-wide, approximately one in two immigrants lived
in “mixed” couples (Borrel and Tavan 2004), while the rate was only
one in four in Corsica and even lower amongst North Africans (INSEE
Corse and FASILD 2004). Amongst the French regions, Corsica also
had the lowest percentage of immigrants adopting French nationality
(21 percent compared to just over 36 percent). Amongst Moroccans
in Corsica, the nationalization rate was as low as 12.5 percent. Even
adjusting for time since arrival and age, naturalization rates were low
by French standards and partly ref lected the lower rates of permanent
settlement (INSEE Corse and FASILD 2004). This, in turn, ref lected
the poor employment conditions on the island and the undocumented
status of many. Additionally, many immigrants do not speak French,
let alone Corsican, potentially doubling their difficulties in school,
the job market, in society, or in encounters with public authorities,
although this is changing amongst the Corsica-born children of North
African immigrants. Low naturalization rates translate into political
exclusion because only nationals are eligible to vote and hold public
office. Research from the early 1990s also suggests that participation
rates were also weak in ethnic friendship associations that advocate for
immigrants (Luciani 1995).
North African immigrants and Corsicans, as members of minor-
ity communities, both strain the monolithic nation assumed by the
Jacobin version of the modern territorial state and citizenship model
(see Kastoryano 2002; Feldblum 1999). Many amongst both groups
are marginalized economically due to the weaknesses of the Corsican
economy. Yet, there is little to suggest that most Corsicans see the
experience of many immigrants as similar to their own. In fact, the
arrival of large numbers of immigrants and other non-Corsicans from
the 1960s was a significant factor behind the rise of nationalist mobili-
zation. Anti-immigrant, racist, and xenophobic discourses and attacks
have been associated with elements of the Corsican nationalist move-
ment since the 1970s, directed at continental French, rapatrié settlers,
and North African immigrants. The early years of the special status
arrangement coincided with a particularly vicious wave of such attacks.
This prompted the establishment of the anti-racist group, Avà Basta,
in 1985. The following year two Tunisian migrant workers were mur-
dered in attacks claimed by the FLNC. In recent years, Corsica recorded
a disproportionate number of racist and anti-immigrant attacks for its
population. The attacks were also more likely to be serious because
they were more likely to involve explosives (Rufin 2004). The French
Human Rights League claimed that, in 1999, 15 of 27 acts of racist
violence registered with the French police, including four involving
injuries to humans, occurred in Corsica (Ligue des droits de l’homme
2000), while the French Consultative Commission on Human Rights
reported that, in 2002, 61 percent of reported “anti-Muslim” attacks
in France (45 of 74 cases) occurred on the island (Rosenthal 2003).
Between 2002 and 2004, tiny Corsica recorded nearly half of the inci-
dents of racial and anti-immigrant attacks in France, many directly or
indirectly linked with nationalist groups (Forcari 2004; Costa 2004;
Commission Nationale Consultative des Droits de l’Homme 2002).
Whether these statistics mean Corsicans as a whole and national-
ists in particular are more racist or xenophobic than other French is
contested. Rufin (2004) suggests many of the attacks were not directly
due to xenophobia, but a tactical attempt by radical nationalist fac-
tions to widen their support base by appearing to defend Corsica from
threatening outsiders (Rufin 2004; see also “La Corse est secouée par
une vague de violences racists,” Le Monde online ed., August 18, 2004).
Representatives of both Avà Basta and the Ligue des Droits de l’homme
say that racist attacks in Corsica likely get reported more often than
those on the continent because of the close-knit nature of Corsican
society, the intense media scrutiny of Corsican politics, and the more
prevalent use of explosives (André Paccou, Noëlle Vincensini, Paule
Graziani Parci interviews; Vincensini 2000a; “Un racisme corse,” A
Contresens, August 9, 2004; Luciani 1995). Avà Basta President, Noëlle
Vincensini, has suggested that the failure of some Corsicans to rec-
ognize and value the identities of others is linked with the failure of
French authorities to recognize Corsican identity. She has also argued
that the economically precarious position of many Corsican youths may
contribute to their racist attitudes (Vincensini 2006). There is a lack
of data on what demographic and socioeconomic characteristics, self-
identifications, or political identifications most strongly correlate with
racist and xenophobic views (see Luciani 1995). Even less is known
about how immigrants view their place in the political struggles sur-
rounding Corsican special status and autonomy. Interviews conducted
by Luciani offer anecdotal evidence that some do have concerns. One
immigrant respondent told her, “it is better if Corsica remains with
France because if Corsica gets its independence it would be hard for
Arabs” (Luciani 1995: 167; my translation).
The nationalist movement has been internally divided over immi-
gration issues. Although the members of some groups carry out rac-
ist and anti-immigrant attacks, others have publicly denounced both
and called for Corsica to be an open, welcoming “community of
destiny” that includes both “ethnic” Corsicans and other residents
(Askolovitch 2004). The nationalist Union of Corsican Workers has
participated in anti-racist activism and advocated for North African
workers (Vincensini 2000a; 2000b). The Web site of the nationalist
organization Unità Naziunale speaks of the importance of the fight
against poverty, unemployment, and racism and condemns acts of rac-
ist violence, while also espousing an ethnic understanding of Corsican
identity and concerns (www.unita-naziunale.org/portail/080906-
synagogue-unione.htm, viewed September 12, 2008). It had recently
emphasized its rejection of Corsica as a community defined by blood,
asserting it is, instead, a community of destiny. The group argued that
racist attacks on North Africans had been used to discredit Corsican
nationalism, exonerate Corsicans and France from responsibility for
the problems of the island, and divert attention from the racism expe-
rienced by Corsicans in France (http://www.unita-naziunale.org/
portail/06060603-ICC-LDH-racisme-corse.htm). Danièle Maoudj,
an Avà Basta founder and economist of Kabyle and Corsican descent,
noted that both exclusionary and inclusive strains have long been part
of Corsican nationalism. The latter has been inf luenced by a left-wing
political economy critique of the citizenship problems facing Corsicans
in France and seeks to build common cause with workers of all ethnic
origins so that all residents gain control of their own destiny (Maoudj
c. 2000). The problem, she said, is that nationalist leaders are strategi-
cally ambiguous with respect to racism and exclusion, only standing
up against it when it suits their political agenda of the moment and
failing to address the day-to-day marginalization of most immigrants
(Maoudj, interview; Maoudj c. 2000). Paule Graziani Parci echoed
these concerns. She argued that “[n]ationalism is a barrier to true
socioeconomic equality in Corsica.” She says that many nationalists are
willing to fight against patrons and bosses from outside Corsica, but
not to challenge the exploitation of immigrants by Corsican employers
(Graziani Parci interview; see also “Manifestation du monde agricole à
Ghisonaccia,” Corse-Matin, June 17, 2006; “CGT condamne ‘le travail
dissimulé,’ ” Corse-Matin, June 17, 2006; “Corsica nazione: un ‘comi-
tatu’ pour prévenir les blocages,” Corse-Matin, June 22, 2006).
Still, given the exclusion faced by immigrants elsewhere in France,
the inadequate response of Corsican public officials to the socioeco-
nomic and political marginalization of immigrants cannot be entirely
blamed on nationalist politics. Moreover, the situation could get
worse, as traditional and nationalist politicians compete with the anti-
immigrant platform of the French nationalist Front Nationale, which
had been gaining votes on the island (see Christophe Forcari, “Trop de
voile,” Libération online, March 17, 2004).
In the face of graffitied I Arabi Fora (Arabs out) and I Francesi fora
(French out) that adorns some of the walls and highway signs on the
island, anti-racist and human rights activists in Corsica have cam-
paigned to change public discourses and attitudes. They have argued
for envisioning an intercultural Corsica, heir to a history of cultural
diversity and melding. Avà Basta visits classrooms to teach children a
version of Corsican history that opens up possibilities for a more toler-
ant society. This history emphasizes the syncretic nature of Corsican
culture, Corsica’s close connection with other communities, and its
lack of ethnic purity (Vincensini, interview). In its publication, “The
10,000 Years of Migration that Made Corsica,” Corsica is represented
as a crossroads for Mediterranean peoples and cultures. The most
recent wave of North African immigration is only one of many that
have “renewed” and “enriched” Corsican society over time (Arrighi,
Graziani, and d’Orazio c. 2002; see also Giudici 1997). Meanwhile,
traditional politicians have begun to pay more attention to the plight
of immigrants. In 2005, just prior to the riots by youth of immigrant
origins that rocked many French cities, then president of the Assembly,
Camille de Rocca Serra, of the Gaullist Union pour un Mouvement
Populaire, announced the establishment of an ad hoc commission on
problems of work, housing, and precariousness, suggesting this was a
policy area where the territorial authority might wish to experiment
with expanded prerogatives (de Rocca Serra 2005). It was but a small
step, but one pointing to an emergent possibility of building a form
of self-rule that has as one of its aims the expansion of citizenship for
immigrants and other vulnerable residents.
Conclusions
Three decades ago, French policymakers launched the project of the

political region to address functional, fiscal, and planning concerns,
to aid economic development, to help get (re)elected, and to revital-
ize democracy. Within this project, giving Corsica mild asymmetrical
autonomy under a special statute was a response to the political, eco-
nomic, cultural, and geographical specificities of the island. Not least
of these was the challenge to the legitimacy of the French state and of
democracy posed by Corsican nationalist mobilization, particularly its
violent manifestations. The special status arrangement has not ended
nationalist nor other violence, nor the dominance of traditional politics
linked to clientelism. Bringing some nationalists to the ballot box has
helped democratize some of them. However, making nationalism more
mainstream runs the risk of harming the struggle for gender equality
and inclusive citizenship for immigrants, to the extent that the accom-
panying identity politics is premised on individualistic understandings
of collective identity and ignores the intertwined issues of recognition,
redistribution, and self-rule important to both Corsicans and internal
minorities.
That being said, the Matignon Process of the late 1990s involved
more open consultations by the state with a wider range of civil society
groups and resulted in an unprecedented referendum in which Corsican
voters had a direct say in the institutional structure of governance on
the island. These events, along with the campaigns of anti-racist, anti-
violence, and human rights civil society groups offer hope for a more
pluralistic politics on the island. Meanwhile, the political autonomy
of the territorial authorities, including their scope for asymmetrical
autonomy, had increased even if it was still shallow in absolute terms.
The norms of equality and indivisibility, the unitary state structure,
European integration, and other factors continued to limit the de jure
special status of the island. They belie the de facto specificities of the
island’s status and institutions and the ways in which ongoing struggles
over Corsican autonomy and special status have contributed to making
the French constitutional order more plurinational and heterogeneous,
if often by increments, some of which prove temporary.
CH A P T E R SI X
Hong Kong as a Special Administrative Region
. . . Hong Kong compatriots have become true masters of this

Chinese land . . . we have successfully resolved the Hong Kong
question through diplomatic negotiations and finally achieved
Hong Kong’s return to the motherland.
Jiang Zemin (1997), PRC President
Hong Kong is one of the freest and most vibrant economies in the
world. . . . Free enterprise and free trade; prudent financial man-
agement and low taxation; the rule of law; an executive-led gov-
ernment and efficient civil service have been part of our tradition.
All these factors underlie our success and have been guaranteed
in the Basic Law.
Tung Chee-hwa (1997), Hong Kong
Special Administrative Region Chief Executive
Since 1949, the leaders of the People’s Republic of China (PRC) have
firmly rejected federalism and insisted on the state’s unitary structure.
Yet, they have sometimes deviated from a formally homogeneous dis-
tribution of territorial political authority, responding to the exigencies
of state- and nation-building as well as economic development. The
special status arrangements applied to the British colony of Hong Kong
and Portuguese-administered Macau are recent examples. In negotia-
tions with the British government in the 1980s, the PRC leadership
agreed to apply what it termed its “one country, two systems” policy to
Hong Kong. The special status policy facilitated incorporation of the
liberal capitalist territory into China on July 1, 1997. It promised Hong
Kong would have a high degree of autonomy for 50 years from that
date. As the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (HKSAR), the
minority territorial community would maintain its capitalist system
and liberal rights and freedoms. Although there were strict limits on
the degree of political autonomy the PRC government would permit
the territory, it was promised considerably more self-rule than other
parts of China (see Lieberthal 1995).
The chapter argues that the Chinese authorities agreed to the special
status arrangement because of their state-building and economic goals,
facilitated by China’s own post-Mao economic and political transfor-
mation and other factors. The special status arrangement would allow
the PRC government to bring Hong Kong back to the motherland in a
manner that the government hoped would encourage Taiwan to follow.
The arrangement would also aid China’s own attempt to modernize
through market reforms, by protecting Hong Kong’s economic pros-
perity and economic institutions. To date, the arrangement has proven
minimally stable and has eased the incorporation of Hong Kong into
China. Hong Kong people have considerable freedom and the Hong
Kong authorities have significant political autonomy in the Chinese
context. However, the final decisionmaking authority of the HKSAR
has been constrained by China’s authoritarian political system and uni-
tary state structure, by the central government’s insistence on a patrio-
tism premised on an individualistic understanding of the nation, and
by the embeddedness of Hong Kong in the PRC economy. A politi-
cal alliance between the central government and Hong Kong Chinese
business elites has blocked democratization of the territorial political
system, although limited direct elections and liberal rights and freedoms
make Hong Kong’s pro-democracy groups and political parties the only
legal free opposition in China. Under the British, Hong Kong society
was and it remains today ethnically and racially hierarchical and highly
unequal in socioeconomic terms. The special status arrangement has
largely reinforced the exclusion of the poor, women, and ethnic and
racialized minorities, despite gains in formal equality and the legal pro-
tection of other human rights. In summary, special status has allowed
Hong Kong to remain a distinctive society in the PRC context, but
many pressures push it to become more like its mainland counterpart.
Background
Since its founding as a British crown colony in 1842, Hong Kong has
been “the most physically visible scar” of the subjugation of Chinese
Hong Kong Special Administrative Region 127
rights at the hands of European and Japanese imperialists (Chan,
Ming K. 2003: 493). Chinese governments have long argued that the
three treaties by which the British took control of the territory were
unequal and illegitimate. With the establishment of People’s China in
1949, the new regime also declared Hong Kong to be Chinese sover-
eign territory that it would take back “when the time is ripe.” That
time came with the expiry of the 99-year lease, the Second Convention
of Peking, by which the New Territories had been incorporated into
British Hong Kong in 1898. The New Territories comprise most of
Hong Kong’s 1,071 square kilometres, in comparison with the original
lands ceded to Britain in 1842 and 1860 following the first and second
Anglo-Chinese wars. The Sino-British talks over the future of Hong
Kong began in the early 1980s, when the imminent expiry of the New
Territories lease had begun causing economic uncertainty in the terri-
tory. It was also the beginning of China’s post-Mao economic liberal-
ization, which made it possible for PRC leaders to imagine allowing a
liberal capitalist enclave to exist within China, especially one that was
becoming a valuable source of investment (see Tsang 1997).
The Sino-British Joint Declaration (hereafter, JD) setting out the
future of Hong Kong was signed in 1984. In it, British authorities
pledged to hand over the entire territory of Hong Kong to PRC
authorities on July 1, 1997, when the New Territories lease expired.
For their part, the PRC authorities promised to allow Hong Kong
a half century of a distinctive form of autonomy that would allow
the territory to maintain its liberal capitalist institutions and estab-
lished way of life. Subsequently, PRC government representatives and
a small group of PRC-government chosen Hong Kong elites worked
out the detailed terms of this special status arrangement. These provi-
sions were embodied in the Basic Law of the HKSAR (hereafter BL),
which was passed by China’s National People’s Congress (NPC) in
1990. Seven years later, the British f lag was lowered in Hong Kong
and the HKSAR was born.
Founded as a base for British commercial interests in the China
trade, Hong Kong’s economy has risen and fallen with the economic
fortunes of China. Always a free port, the territory was an important
commercial harbor until eclipsed by the economic rise of Shanghai
later in the nineteenth century. Decades later, Hong Kong’s population
swelled with refugees from the Chinese civil war and the political tur-
moil and economic hardship that followed the 1949 Communist vic-
tory. From the early 1950s, Hong Kong became the main link between
the communist state and the capitalist world. From the late 1950s, it
also developed its own, successful light manufacturing export sector.
However, it was the decision by China’s post-Mao leaders after 1978 to
open the economy to the outside world and to allow some marketiza-
tion that shot Hong Kong into the ranks of the Asian tiger economies.
From 1974 to 1984, average annual GDP growth in Hong Kong was
8.5 percent (Hong Kong 1995). It remained high until the 1997 Asian
financial crisis. With the opening of China, Hong Kong’s manufactur-
ers gradually relocated their operations to lower-wage cost areas, par-
ticularly in the mainland’s Pearl River Delta bordering the territory.
The resulting job losses in Hong Kong were huge and hit middle-aged,
poorly educated women particularly hard. Nearly 400,000 manufac-
turing jobs disappeared between 1991 and 2001 alone (Chiu and Lui
2004), but Hong Kong’s service sector boomed.
With these structural changes, the territory emerged as the invest-
ment motor of China’s own burgeoning export sector and the interna-
tional service hub for the China trade. By the time of the Sino-British
talks on the future of Hong Kong, the economy of the latter had a num-
ber of institutional features, know-how, and international linkages that
made the territorial economy worth preserving so that it could contrib-
ute to China’s economic development. The territory offered interna-
tional business-standard financial services, legal, accounting, logistics,
and design services, communications infrastructure, a strong property
rights regime, and unimpeded access to information due to its liberal
rights regime, all in a climate of relative political and economic stabil-
ity. Hong Kong had become one of the world’s major transhipment
ports and largest trading economies, a major global financial center in
terms of external banking transactions and stock market capitalization,
an important regional headquarters for foreign firms, and the world’s
largest port measured in container throughput. Hong Kong firms were
the largest single source of investment in the PRC, while PRC firms
were becoming important investors in Hong Kong. The continuing
health of the territory’s economy and its political stability had become
indispensible to China’s own modernization.
In the early 1980s, the differences between the Hong Kong and China
economies were marked, despite the latter’s early market reforms. Then,
as now, Hong Kong had a reputation as one of the world’s freest econo-
mies, perhaps the most free, according to British Hong Kong authori-
ties, international business leaders, the international business press, and
right-wing think tanks (“Hong Kong again named the world’s freest
economy” International Herald Tribune January 16, 2007; see also http://
www.heritage.org/index/Country/HongKong). This representation of
Hong Kong belied its history of both active government noninterven-
tion and actual government intervention in the economy to protect the
political economic order. Hong Kong has always been a free port with
low personal and business taxes. However, its domestic economy has
long been a complex of cartels and monopolies in the financial, services,
and entertainment sectors particularly (Overholt 2001). Land, which is
scarce due to the territory’s small size and mountainous terrain, is pub-
licly owned, but leased to developers who, along with the government,
gain by keeping property prices high (“Asia: A high-rise bust,” The
Economist June 27, 1998). This arrangement has exacerbated economic
inequality.
In the four decades ending in 2003, the size of the Hong Kong econ-
omy increased 15 times and per capita GDP increased more than seven
times in real terms, vaulting the territory into the ranks of developed
societies (Zhao and Zhang 2005). At the same time, income inequality
in the territory has increased steadily, more of which later. In the years
after World War II, the government responded to the threat to political
stability posed by the potent mix of poverty and colonial rule by pro-
viding public housing to nearly half of workers. It also gradually devel-
oped a residual public social protection regime, including public health
care at modest fees, free primary schooling (later expanded to 9 years),
laws to protect workers against some of the worst abuses, and meager
social assistance for the very poorest residents. However, coverage rates
have remained low, with many gaps by the standards of Western indus-
trial democracies, an approach the government and business elites justi-
fied as necessary to maintain incentives for work and self-sufficiency
(see Ho 2004; Chan, Raymond K.H. 2003; Lee 2006). Ultimately, the
government depended on families and charities to provide in times of
hardship and need (Chau and Yu 1999).
The identities of Hong Kong people suggest there has been a shifting
interculturality in their attachments, ref lecting the territory’s changing
position in the global economy and its location at an intersection of
the Chinese and British empires, if on the periphery of both. Nearly
95 percent of Hong Kong people have Han Chinese heritage and many
have family and economic ties with mainland China. However, in the
1980s, many Hong Kong Chinese developed a sharper sense of their cul-
tural and socioeconomic and political distinctiveness from their main-
land “compatriots,” an official PRC term. The changing perceptions
were a consequence of the increasing contacts between Hong Kong
and the mainland that had accompanied post-Mao China’s opening
to the outside world. They also stemmed from the imminent transfer
of Hong Kong to PRC rule, which sparked intense public debate over
what Hong Kong was and what it might and should become (see Lau
and Kuan 1988; Lau, Lee, Wan, and Wong 1991). Moreover, by the
1980s, more than 60 percent of Hong Kong residents were locally born.
The mostly first-generation descendants of mainland refugees, many of
the territory’s people had seen significant improvements in their fam-
ily financial circumstances as the Hong Kong economy expanded and
became part of a society that was not only more prosperous than its
mainland counterpart, but more cosmopolitan and outward-looking.
British colonial rule was far from democratic. Society was racially, eth-
nically, and socioeconomically stratified. However, significant numbers
of Hong Kong people benefited from the colonial political economic
order, especially its rule of law, independent judiciary, private prop-
erty rights regime, and liberal rights and freedoms, all of which were
unavailable in China. The stark political differences between Hong
Kong and China became all the more apparent during the Tiananmen
Square protests and harsh government crackdown in Beijing in the
spring of 1989. The event was extremely unsettling, as Hong Kong
people were acutely aware that they would be ruled by the same gov-
ernment in a little more than eight years. Many came from families
who had f led the repressive political campaigns of the Mao years.
Hong Kong is unique amongst the four minority territorial com-
munities studied here because its special status arrangement mainly
aimed to protect its distinctive liberal, capitalist way of life, not its
ethnolinguistic and/or religious identity. Yet, Hong Kong does have
some characteristics of an ethnically distinct minority community in
the PRC context. Many Hong Kong people identify with elements of
Western cultures. Most of its people identify with Cantonese culture,
which in official PRC terms is a subgroup of the Han Chinese, the
majority nationality of China. Hong Kong people often have family
ties with neighboring Guangdong province and its Pearl River delta
region (Siu 1993), the same region that became Hong Kong’s trade
and investment hinterland after 1978. As of 2001, nearly 90 percent
of Hong Kong people said their usual spoken language was Cantonese
(minyu), the language of Guangzhou, Guangdong’s capital city, although
many also spoke other Han Chinese languages. Only 0.9 percent of
Hong Kong people said they usually spoke Mandarin (putonghua), the
official language of China. Mandarin originated in northern China
and is mutually unintelligible with Cantonese despite some shared
elements. Cantonese and Mandarin speakers both write in Modern
Standard Chinese. However, the mainland uses a simplified form of
the traditional characters used in Hong Kong, Taiwan, and much of the
Chinese diaspora. Cantonese is an important language of business on
both sides of the Hong Kong–Guangdong border and is widely used in
Hong Kong-produced popular music, film, television, and books sold
worldwide. Some Hong Kong newspapers, advertisements, publicity,
and slogans use a written form of spoken Cantonese. After Cantonese,
English is the second most important language in Hong Kong. As of
2001, it was the “usual language” of only 3.2 percent of the population,
but nearly 40 percent of residents said they spoke some English. The
language has high prestige, being important in international business
and in the territory’s legal and professional sectors. Many school chil-
dren and university students study primarily in English.
The protection of Hong Kong’s unique ethnolinguistic characteris-
tics was not a major issue in the Sino-British talks on Hong Kong, but
language is politically salient in the territory. Historically, there have
been Hong Kong and cross-border movements to valorize Cantonese
identity and language and use them as political mobilization tools. By
1974, one such movement had pushed the British Hong Kong gov-
ernment to grant co-official status to Cantonese/Modern Standard
Chinese alongside English, the language of the colonial authorities and
of international business. Debates over the language of instruction in
Hong Kong schools began under the British and continued after 1997,
an issue we return to later.
Although Hong Kong is a predominantly ethnic Chinese society,
about 5 percent of the population are not ethnic Chinese, or some
350,000 of the territory’s nearly 7 million residents. As of 2001, the
bulk of these individuals were migrant workers, including 170,000 to
200,000 foreign domestic workers (FDWs) who were mostly women
from the Philippines whose social reproductive work in the homes
of the emerging middle class allowed ethnic Chinese women to join
the paid labor force in larger numbers. After 1978, there were also
increasing numbers of highly paid transnational entrepreneurs, man-
agers, and professionals, most Caucasians from ethnically European-
majority societies and most temporary residents, while a few have lived
in Hong Kong longer term and think of themselves as Hong Kong
people (Sautman 2004). Finally, Hong Kong is home to approximately
20,000 people of South Asian descent, many the locally born descen-
dants of individuals who migrated to the territory as workers or traders
in the British days (White 1994).
Hong Kong society is not only strongly intercultural but also strongly
transnational. There is a long history of emigration amongst its ethnic
Chinese residents and of sending family members abroad for business or
study (Skeldon 1994). Migration increased during the years leading up
to the transition to PRC rule, mainly due to uncertainty about Hong
Kong’s political and economic future. The outf low reached a height
of 53,000 to 66,000 people annually between 1990 and 1994 follow-
ing the Tiananmen crisis (Chiu, Stephen 2001; see also Skeldon 1995).
Many later returned to work and do business, adding to the already sig-
nificant numbers of Hong Kong Han Chinese with nationality or right
of abode in countries other than China, particularly the United States,
Canada, Australia, and New Zealand. Increasing numbers of Hong
Kong people have also been living in the mainland as students, manag-
ers, and professionals. In addition, some 45,000 mainlanders settle in
Hong Kong each year (Sautman 2004).
Colonial rule was based on a complex non-democratic political sys-
tem and a hierarchy based on race, ethnicity, and class (Klein 1995). A
series of white British expatriate governors appointed by the British
government ran the territory, advised by appointed executive and
legislative councils, originally composed of white expatriate colonial
officials and merchants, including eventually some Hong Kong ethnic
Chinese elites. The British Hong Kong authorities, supported by busi-
ness elites, rejected demands for democracy, arguing that Hong Kong
people were apolitical, that the Chinese government would respond
negatively and/or have too much inf luence in an elected legislature,
and that democratization would lead to expensive welfare programs
and economically harmful labor rights (Pepper 2008; Tsang 1988). It
was not until the transition to PRC rule that British and PRC authori-
ties agreed gradually to add elected seats to the legislature in a bid to
encourage local and international confidence in Hong Kong’s future.
Popular demands for democratization had increased markedly from
the 1980s, in significant part a defensive reaction to the coming of
PRC rule and the desire to protect the territory’s way of life after its
return to China. With the first reforms in 1985, 24 of the 57 seats in
the Legislative Council had been chosen by local government council-
lors and representatives of select occupational groups, the latter termed
functional constituencies. In 1991, Hong Kong voters were for the first
time allowed to directly elect 18 of 60 seats in the Legislative Council.
By 2004, there were 30 directly elected seats, while the rest were cho-
sen by functional constituencies dominated by business and other con-
servative, pro-China interests.
Hong Kong’s business elites have increasingly identified with the
perspectives of the PRC government, on whose favor their business
dealings on the mainland often depended. By the mid-1990s, many
former pro-British local Chinese capitalists publicly declared their loy-
alty to the PRC government. Along with Hong Kong’s old pro-Beijing
Left, these elites were rewarded with important positions in top PRC
political bodies and in PRC-appointed institutions preparing for the
handover (see Sing 2004a; So 1999). After 1997, Hong Kong Chinese
business elites dominated the new political institutions of the HKSAR,
establishing what some critics called a “tycoon dictatorship” (So 1999:
231). The first HKSAR chief executive, Tung Chee-hwa, symbolized
the alliance, for his family shipping company had once been bailed out
by the Chinese authorities ( John Ridding, “Tung sets sights on Hong
Kong’s top job,” Financial Post October 18, 2006, 6).
Origins
The Hong Kong special status arrangement, and the “one country, two
systems” policy that underpinned it, must be understood in the context
of both the state-building and economic modernization strategies of
China’s post-Mao leadership. Mainland leaders initially advanced the
“one country, two systems” special status policy in the late 1970s in an
unsuccessful bid to lure back to the mainland Taiwan, which mainland
authorities regarded as a renegade province. Afterward, then paramount
leader, Deng Xiaoping, decided to use the “one country, two systems”
policy to end British colonial rule in Hong Kong. The hope was also
that, by demonstrating the policy could protect the freedom, stability,
and prosperity of Hong Kong, Taiwan people would eventually agree
to join China under an even more generous special status arrangement
(Tsang 1997; see also Weng 1988; Wu 1994). However, bringing Hong
Kong under PRC rule was an important state-building and economic
development goal in itself.
Firstly, the distinctive autonomy promised Hong Kong would make
it easier for the British government to agree to hand over the terri-
tory to China. It enabled the British to leave with more honor than
would otherwise have been possible, given their failure to democra-
tize the territory, allow its people self-determination, and permit most
Hong Kong people from acquiring British nationality. British officials
could claim to have done their best to protect Hong Kong people by
pushing Chinese negotiators to commit to a relatively detailed writ-
ten agreement setting out the specifics of Hong Kong’s special status
within China. The autonomy arrangement would reassure Hong Kong
professionals, middle managers, and capitalists as well as international
investors that the capitalist and liberal institutions of Hong Kong would
be protected, once under PRC rule. Recall that at the time British and
PRC leaders signed the JD, PRC authorities had just begun introducing
market and other economic liberalization and legal reforms. Moreover,
its authoritarian Leninist political system remained unchanged.
From the point of view of the PRC leadership, the special status
arrangement was also as much about protecting the mainland politi-
cal economic order from Hong Kong preferences as the reverse (see
Hughes 1997), making the case unique amongst the four studied here.
As a regional financial and service center that could not function with-
out significant liberal freedoms and strong property rights, Hong Kong
residents were to be subject to comparatively low levels of state surveil-
lance and enjoy higher civil, political, and economic rights than people
in other parts of China. In this sense, the special status arrangement
was an example of what Ong (1999) has called “graduated sovereignty.”
Because Hong Kong’s liberal institutions were a potential threat to the
power and legitimacy of the PRC party-state, compartmentalizing
Hong Kong from the mainland also prevented these institutions from
contaminating PRC society and its political system.
Closely connected to the PRC government’s state-building and eco-
nomic modernization goals was its desire to establish an international
reputation for China as a law-abiding state. By making special status
concessions in the JD, a formal international agreement registered with
the UN, the PRC leadership affirmed the transition of China from a
revolutionary to “system maintaining” state willing to comply with its
treaty commitments and to resolve territorial disputes peacefully, as set
out in Art. 2 of the UN Charter (Kim 1987: 131–32; see Foot 1995:
Chapter 9). As Deng told British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher
when signing the JD: “People worry whether China, after signing the
agreement, will carry it out from beginning to end. We not only tell
Your Excellency and the British friends present, but also the people of
the whole world, that China is a country that keeps its word” (Deng
1993: 28). At the same time, PRC leaders did not officially treat the
special status arrangement as a form of minority autonomy. Nor is there
any sense that the PRC leadership saw territorial self-government for
minority territorial communities as an emergent international legal
principle. Rather, as both the JD and BL make clear, the PRC leader-
ship represented the arrangement as a sovereign act of national reuni-
fication longed for by all Chinese and to which they were entitled
because of the unequal treaties.
The promise of special status paid immediate dividends in terms of
political and economic stability in Hong Kong and China’s interna-
tional and local reputation. When the JD was announced in 1984, its
contradictions, vague elements, and silences on key issues, discussed
below, did not go unnoticed in the Hong Kong and international media.
However, Hong Kong people and local and international investors were
generally relieved and even celebratory. After all, British negotiators
and the Hong Kong government had presented the accord to them as a
fait accompli, the alternative to which was no accord at all. Moreover,
the special status package seemed unexpectedly detailed and gener-
ous, especially after months of often acrimonious talks and political
uncertainty (see Cottrell 1993; Cheek-Milby 1995). The Hong Kong
economy bounced back from the triple currency, banking, and fiscal
crisis it had suffered in 1982–1984, after China announced it would
take back Hong Kong ( Jao 1988). There was relief amongst manag-
ers in the banking, media, legal services, and publishing sectors that
the liberal institutions on which they depended would be protected.
Coming before the Cold War’s end, when China’s opening to global
capitalism was still uncertain, the JD was hailed by world economic and
political leaders, journalists, and academics from liberal democracies as
an innovative autonomy strategy ref lecting the new pragmatic PRC
leadership (see Domes 1988). As then U.S. Secretary of State George
Schultz put it:
the agreement will provide a solid foundation for Hong Kong’s

enduring future progress. . . . We expect American business com-
munities, both in the United States and Hong Kong, will see in
this agreement good reason for sustained confidence in the future
of Hong Kong as an attractive and thriving commercial center.
(quoted in Costa 1993: 851 n.181)
Indeed, except for the immediate aftermath of the 1989 Tiananmen

crackdown, the special status agreement did help sustain high economic
growth and political stability in the territory prior to the handover to
PRC rule, despite a surge in emigration by the territory’s managerial
and professional classes.
If Chinese reunification and economic modernization goals pro-
vided the impetus for the special status arrangement, several other fac-
tors facilitated the special status concessions for the central government.
That Hong Kong had a non-democratic political system helped offset
the risks that came from ruling a territory accustomed to significant
freedom. So did the territory’s lack of independence and ethnonation-
alist movements and its people’s albeit contested reputation for political
apathy. In addition, the PRC leadership had a political support base in
Hong Kong, especially amongst the old Left and ethnic Chinese capi-
talist elites. This could be used to protect the interests of the central
government. The identifications many Hong Kong people had with
Chinese civilization and their family and business ties to the mainland
meant that nationalism could potentially be used to bolster the power
and legitimacy of the central government in the territory (Lau and
Kuan 1988).
The leadership’s decision to grant special status to Hong Kong may
also have been facilitated by the regime’s past experience with asym-
metrical autonomy, including in minority nationality areas. The most
stark example of special status concessions was the Seventeen-Point
Agreement for central Tibet in the 1950s, the subject of the next chap-
ter. The arrangement had collapsed in 1959, but due to factors that did
not appear to exist in the Hong Kong case. Moreover, the government
appeared to see the Hong Kong special status arrangement as part of a
system of territorial political asymmetries aimed at achieving its reuni-
fication and economic modernization goals. The 1982 Constitution
contained a provision that allowed the government to establish “special
administrative regions . . . in light of the specific conditions” (Art. 31).
In the early 1980s it not only signed the JD, but set up special economic
zones (SEZs) in economically strategic coastal areas bordering Hong
Kong, Macau, and Taiwan. The SEZs were given authority to attract
international investors with concessionary taxes, rents, and other asym-
metrical policies.
The Nature of Hong Kong’s Special Status
The Hong Kong special status arrangement has been widely regarded
as an innovative departure from the modern state and citizenship
model, particularly, but not only in the PRC context (see Hannum
1990; Lapidoth 1997; Davis 1989). Davis (1989: 131) has placed it in an
intermediate position between “an associated state and various internal
autonomy models.” It provided for significant elements of political,
functional, institutional, and symbolic asymmetry. The arrangement
was also characterized by marked regime asymmetry between the ter-
ritory and the mainland political and economic systems. In addition to
its autonomy provisions, other elements of the arrangement advanced
state-building, providing for decolonization, reunification, and the
assertion of state sovereignty and central government control.
On the state-building side, underlining its integrative directionality,
the JD and BL provided for the end of British rule and the assertion of
PRC sovereign authority in the territory under a policy of “upholding
national unity and territory integrity” ( JD Art. 3[1]). This was justified
in nationalistic terms: the first article of the JD said that “to recover
the Hong Kong area . . . is the common aspiration of the entire Chinese
people.” Under “one country, two systems,” the traditional prerogatives
of sovereignty, foreign and defense affairs, were reserved for the central
government ( JD Art. 3[2]). The PRC authorities would have the right
to station military forces in Hong Kong for defense purposes, although
these forces “shall not interfere in the internal affairs of the Hong Kong
Special Administrative Region” and the central government “will pay
for their expenditures” ( JD Annex I [XII]). Moreover, although Hong
Kong’s special status was enshrined in an international agreement, the
JD, the PRC government would not permit third-party oversight of
the implementation of the accord and only permitted the British gov-
ernment formally to monitor it until January 1, 2000 (Annex II[8]).
On the autonomy side, the central government promised a half cen-
tury in which “the current social and economic systems in Hong Kong
will remain unchanged, and so will the life-style” ( JD Art. 3[5][12]).
The emphasis was on economic autonomy. Hong Kong was to con-
tinue as a juridically separate capitalist economy based on the free f low
of goods, intangible assets, and capital. The PRC authorities would not
regulate its monetary, trade, customs, property rights, fiscal, and finan-
cial arrangements. Hong Kong would continue to have its own freely
convertible currency and was not required to contribute tax revenues
to central government coffers. Its free port, shipping registry, interna-
tional financial center status, and separate customs regulations were to
continue ( JD 3[6]–[8] and Annex I [V]–[IX]). The BL also entrenched
what, in the colonial period, had become the cardinal principles of ter-
ritorial public economic management: “keeping expenditure within
the limits of revenue,” low taxes, and prudent fiscal reserves (BL Art.
107, 108, 111; Chan Chak-Kwan 1998: 280–81). Further, the arrange-
ment protected the system of land leases and related rights that had
helped sustain the territory’s property-based wealth divide (Overholt
2001; JD Annex III; BL Art. 120–123).
The HKSAR government was given a high degree of external
affairs autonomy, particularly in economic matters, preserving the
high degree of international legal status Hong Kong had gained in the
British period. Unusually for any substate authority, especially in a uni-
tary state, it could maintain relations with outside states, regions, and
relevant intergovernmental organizations dealing with economic mat-
ters ( JD Art. 3[10]; see also Tang 1993; Davis 1989). Consequently, the
HKSAR was subsequently able to maintain one of the world’s highest
participation rates in intergovernmental organizations amongst non-
sovereign authorities, measured in memberships or associate member-
ships, and continue to make hundreds of international agreements,
mainly in the economic realm (Henders 2000; 2001).
Under the JD and BL, Hong Kong had functional self-rule in all
areas except defense and foreign affairs, including but not limited to
education, science, culture, sports, religion, labor, and social welfare
and policy. It had authority to maintain its own public order and police
force (BL Art. 14).
However, the wide functional autonomy of the HKSAR was under-
girded by uneven political autonomy. It had full de jure autonomy with
respect to both fiscal and monetary matters, and its de jure autonomy
in external decisionmaking at the interstate level is unusually exten-
sive, as we have seen. In terms of final decisionmaking authority, the
JD also vested the HKSAR with “executive, legislative and indepen-
dent judicial power, including that of final adjudication” (JD 3[3]).
Further, it promised to maintain British-era laws and to protect liberal
rights and freedoms, formally providing Hong Kong with a separate
human rights regime from that in mainland China (JD 3[5]). Under
BL Art. 29, the provisions of the International Covenant on Civil and
Political Rights (ICCPR), the International Covenant on Economic,
Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR), and various international labor
conventions in force in the British era remained in force and were to be
incorporated into HKSAR law. Many of these rights and freedoms were
regularly violated in the PRC, such as the right to freedom of the per-
son, freedom from arbitrary arrest, the right to privacy and to freedom
from arbitrary search of one’s home, the right to freedom of speech, the
press, assembly, demonstration, and association, the right to freedom of
movement and travel, the right to freedom of conscience and of reli-
gious belief and practice, the right to freedom of marriage and to raise a
family, and the right to freedom to engage in academic research, literary
and artistic creation, and other cultural practices (BL Chapter III). The
BL also protected a range of legal rights also regularly violated in the
mainland, including the right “to challenge the actions of the execu-
tive in the courts,” to equality before the law, and to “confidential legal
advice, access to the courts, representation in the courts by lawyers of
his choice, and to obtain judicial remedies” (BL 25 and 35). Moreover,
the central government promised that Hong Kong people would rule
Hong Kong after the British departure (Deng Xiaoping 1984).
However, other provisions of the JD, the BL, and subsequent prac-
tices have constrained the political autonomy of the HKSAR in sev-
eral ways. The essential point is that while the territorial authorities
have significant de jure final decisionmaking authority, some elements
of the JD and BL and PRC norms and practices give the final say
to state authorities, directly or indirectly. Echoing JD Annex I(I), the
BL did promise a legislature “constituted by elections” with the “ulti-
mate aim” being “the election of all the members of the Legislative
Council by universal suffrage” (Art. 68). However, at the time of writ-
ing half the legislature was still chosen by functional constituencies,
which in the 2004 election consisted of only 192,374 corporate body
and individual electors. By comparison, 3,207,227 electors were regis-
tered for the competitive, multiparty elections by which the other 30
legislators were chosen (Chan and Chan 2006). The upshot is that the
Legislative Council was dominated by business elites and other pro-
China conservatives.
The BL also preserved the executive-led nature of the political sys-
tem in a manner that further weakened the de facto and de jure final
decisionmaking authority of the HKSAR authorities. The HKSAR
chief executive was not directly elected by Hong Kong voters, but
appointed by central authorities after being chosen by a Selection
Committee made up of 800 mostly pro-China Hong Kong permanent
residents (BL Art. 45 and Annex I). Further, procedural rules rein-
forced the dominance of business and other pro-China elites in territo-
rial lawmaking. The BL provided that the chief executive must give
written approval for the introduction of bills concerning government
policy into the Legislative Council. The chief executive alone could
introduce bills concerning public expenditure, political structure, or
government operation. Moreover, in order to pass, bills, motions, or
amendments to government bills introduced by individual legislators
must have the support of the majority of both functional constituency
legislators and those directly elected, giving conservative pro-China
interests an effective veto (BL 74 and Annex II[II]; Sing 2004a).
Hong Kong authorities or other territorial representatives have little
de jure institutionalized roles in central government decisionmaking
on matters that affect the autonomy, status, and interests of the terri-
tory. Where they had a role, it was structured so that Hong Kong views
were represented by pro-China elites. The NPC Standing Committee
had sole authority to interpret the BL and approve amendments to its
text (BL Art. 158, 159). Getting a proposed amendment to the BL on
the NPC agenda required approval from the HKSAR chief executive,
two-thirds of HKSAR legislators, and two thirds of Hong Kong’s NPC
delegates. The latter were chosen, not democratically, but by a local,
but NPC-appointed 400-member Selection Committee that ensured
the victory of pro-China candidates, although the process is more
open, competitive, and direct than its mainland counterpart. Delegates
to the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Congress (CPPCC) were
also not democratically chosen (Pepper 2008). The BL provided for a
Committee for the Basic Law, which the NPC was supposed to consult
when ruling on interpretations of the BL or amendments to it. The
committee had six members each from the mainland and Hong Kong,
giving it a mildly federal f lavor. However, the Hong Kong members
were appointed by the NPC Standing Committee itself, after being
named jointly by the chief executive, Legislative Council president,
and chief justice of the HKSAR Court of Final Appeal. It appeared the
result was that the Hong Kong committee members were unable or
unwilling to defend Hong Kong’s liberal institutions.1
The emphasis on state-building, through provisions that directly
or indirectly reinforced central authority over the HKSAR, was also
ref lected in the criteria for the holding of senior public office. These
provisions reinforced the modern territorial state and citizenship mod-
el’s assumption of a singular, bordered nation. The BL required that
top administrative and judicial positions, and 80 percent of legisla-
tive seats, must be held by permanent HKSAR residents who are PRC
citizens and do not have right of abode in a foreign country. Some positions
also require the holder to have lived in Hong Kong for a continuous
period of not less than 15 years, or 20 for the office of chief cxecutive
(BL Art. 43, 44, 55, 61, 67, 71, 90, 101). The requirements clashed
with the outward-looking, transnational lives of many Hong Kong
residents, especially efforts by many in the middle classes to secure
right of abode in stable liberal democracies prior to 1997, and the
long-standing importance of foreign professionals and business people
in the economy. Most of these nationality requirements were added to
the final version of the BL at central government insistence after the
Tiananmen crisis in spring 1989, events which had triggered massive
protests in Hong Kong in sympathy with the PRC student demon-
strators. The nationality and residency requirements were part of an
attempt to ensure that the post-1997 political system would be led by
individuals the central authorities deemed “patriotic.”
Nevertheless, the final version of the BL did not require that all pub-
lic administrators, judges, and elected officials met the patriotism and
residency criteria. Moreover, the special status arrangement provided
other spaces for the survival of some of the outward-looking, trans-
national identifications of Hong Kong people and their intercultural
heritage. The BL (Art. 9) provided for the co-officiality of English and
Chinese, although giving higher status to the latter. As the provision
did not specify what was meant by “Chinese,” it effectively allowed
Cantonese to be used as the normal spoken language in public realms
and the continued use of traditional characters to write Modern Standard
Chinese. Art. 136 of the BL gave the HKSAR authorities jurisdiction
over education, including the language of instruction in local schools
and other educational institutions. Unlike in Cantonese-speaking areas
of neighboring Guangdong province, there was no requirement that
Hong Kong schools teach in Mandarin.
Finally, it should be noted that, formally speaking, the institutional
configuration and nomenclature of Hong Kong’s political and legal
system remained very similar to the British years, creating substantial
institutional asymmetry. In this way and in others, the special status
arrangement allowed for symbolic asymmetrical autonomy. Thus, while
the HKSAR was required to display the PRC f lag and emblem, it was
also permitted its own regional f lag and emblem (JD Annex I). Hong
Kong athletes could compete autonomously in international competi-
tions under the name “Hong Kong, China” (JD 3[10] and Annex I).
The tensions associated with the special status arrangement ref lected
the unitary, centralized, and authoritarian nature of the PRC political
system and the ways it clashed with Hong Kong’s liberal, pluralistic
institutions and political culture and the desire of many of its resi-
dents for greater political autonomy. They also ref lected the roots of
the arrangement in the state-building and economic modernization
aims of the PRC leadership and Hong Kong’s position in between the
global and Chinese economies.
State Sovereignty, Security, and Patriotism

Many tensions in the arrangement stem from the Chinese central
leadership’s emphasis on state sovereignty, security, and patriotism. It
frames these norms in terms of an individualistic understanding of the
nation and the embodiment of the latter in the state as represented by
the Chinese Communist Party (CCP)–dominated central people’s gov-
ernment. In addition, a discourse combining Han, or ethnic, Chinese
identity claims and patriotism has gained inf luence in Hong Kong since
1997. It represents Hong Kong as an ethnic Chinese community loyal
to the PRC state, whose identity, values, and interests are deemed con-
sistent with those of Hong Kong. The slogan “Love the motherland,
love Hong Kong,” which appeared in such places as the PLA garrison
building in the central business district in 1998, embodied this elision
of Hong Kong and the nation-state (Keith B. Richburg, “Residents
of Hong Kong searching for identity,” The Washington Post online ed.,
June 30, 1998). Since 1997, patriotism has been reinforced through civic
education in schools and public campaigns as well as popular culture
(see Tse, Thomas K.C. 2004; Mathews and Lui 2001). Under pressure
from the central government, the HKSAR government has since 2004
required the playing of the PRC national anthem before nightly news-
casts, sung in Mandarin. The period of the 2008 Olympics in Beijing
sparked a particularly sharp rise in Chinese nationalistic expression
and propaganda in Hong Kong. There were confrontations between
patriotic and pro-Tibet protesters and concern on the part of human
rights NGOs in Hong Kong that the local media was succumbing to
nationalism (Augustine Tan, “Winning Hong Kong hearts,” Asia Times
Online June 26, 2008). The Hong Kong Journalists Association warned
about the dangers of allowing a single understanding of Hong Kong
identity and the purposes of self-rule to dominate:
Rising nationalism will lead to a dominant view that excludes

opinions that are at variance with those propagated in Beijing.
This would see Hong Kong developing a lack of tolerance that
could marginalize dissenting voices and persuade people that it
is in their best interests not to speak out, even though they know
an injustice has been done. This would be to the detriment of the
development of a healthy, pluralistic society. (quoted in Ibid.)
Senior administrators and elected officials have been subject to tests of

patriotism. In 2008, controversy ensued when the media revealed that
five of eight newly appointed deputy-ministers in the HKSAR gov-
ernment had second passports. In the public debate that followed, some
argued that the top public jobs in a global city should be based on merit
alone. Nevertheless, the appointees all announced they would give up
their second nationalities (“Thou shalt have no other,” The Economist
June 7, 2008, 58).
Democracy, Human Rights, and Patriotism

The BL promise of democratization for Hong Kong has become a
casualty of this intensified patriotism. Pro-Beijing and pro-democracy
politicians have conf licted over the meaning of patriotism in a context
where PRC officials have said that only a patriotic Hong Kong will be
allowed to democratize (Lam, Willy 2004). For many Hong Kong peo-
ple, democratization is a means to protect the territory’s liberal values
and autonomy. However, partly because Hong Kong pro-democracy
groups have sometimes actively supported pro-democracy groups on
the mainland, the central government has deemed the Hong Kong
groups unpatriotic. Pro-democracy political parties have also consis-
tently out-performed pro-China parties in direct Legislative Council
elections, usually winning more than 60 percent of votes cast. Despite
pressure from the central government, significant numbers of Hong
Kong people have continued openly to demand democratization. This
was a theme during the public demonstration on the anniversary of
the handover on July 1, 2003, which brought some 600,000 people,
nearly one in ten residents, to the streets to decry the economic and
policy performance of the HKSAR government. On January 1 and
July 1, 2004, 100,000 and 200,000 people, respectively, took part in
pro-democracy rallies (Pepper 2008).
The central authorities have continued to block and delay democ-
ratization and made efforts to ensure existing elections have patri-
otic results. Notably, this is despite formal provisions in the BL that
give the Standing Committee of the NPC a veto over whether Hong
Kong can have a directly elected chief executive, but not whether the
Legislative Council is democratized. Making the latter reform would
formally speaking only require the support of the chief executive and
two-thirds of the Legislative Council (BL Annex I, II). The central
government’s rejection of democratization has been supported by many
Hong Kong business elites, who are fearful that democratization would
lead to policies that would undermine the economic competitiveness
of the territory (see So 1999: 20; Sing 2004a). Late in 2007, the NPC
Standing Committee said it would consider allowing the direct elec-
tion of the chief executive in 2017, but that candidates would have
to be approved by the central government. It also said it would con-
sider allowing democratization of the Legislative Council in 2020
(“Democracy denied,” The Economist January 5, 2008; NPC Standing
Committee 2007). Yet, many in the opposition greeted the news with
distrust and frustration. Some 15,000 people expressed their discon-
tent in a January 1, 2008 protest (“HK ‘to elect its leader by 2017,’ ”
BBC News December 29, 2007; “Activists attack China ruling on Hong
Kong democracy,” AFP December 29, 2007).
The distrust is understandable given that representatives of the cen-
tral state and their local allies have in recent territorial elections been
more openly trying to ensure that the election results are politically
palatable. The Legislative Council is not officially part of the people’s
congress system used on the mainland, so is formally outside the pro-
cess the CCP uses to vet representatives at various levels of that system.2
However, the CCP, through its Hong Kong branch, has worked with
sympathetic trade unions, political parties, business groups, and media
organizations in the territory to mobilize grassroots support for pro-
China parties and candidates. Deng’s transition-era statement that only
patriotic Hong Kong people should be allowed to rule Hong Kong has
been periodically repeated by mainland leaders and pro-PRC Hong
Kong elites (Pepper 2008; Lam, Willy 2004).
A political climate in which challenges to politically sensitive
mainland policies are deemed unpatriotic has encouraged more self-
censorship and conservatism in the local media. There have been threats
by pro-Beijing interests against local journalists and public warnings by
PRC officials not to discuss taboo subjects such as Taiwan indepen-
dence or the Tiananmen Square crackdown (see Lo 2008). In the early
2000s, the HKSAR government also tried to pass a national security
law, which critics claimed was based on illiberal mainland norms that
insufficiently protected civil rights and freedoms (Pepper 2008). After
a major public outcry, the HKSAR government eventually withdrew
the bill. Although this was some consolation for those defending lib-
eral institutions in Hong Kong, it may prove a temporary reprieve.
Presumably the government will have to introduce a new bill eventu-
ally because Art. 23 of the BL required the HKSAR to legislate against
treason, secession, sedition, and subversion against the Central People’s
Government as well as to control links between political organizations
and foreign groups.
As the Art. 23 controversy attests, not all threats to civil rights and
freedoms come directly from the central government and its insis-
tence on patriotism. Actions of the HKSAR authorities have also
undermined the autonomy of the Hong Kong legal system. Under
Chief Executive Tung, there were high profile instances of HKSAR
executive interference in the justice system, including to protect a local
business executive and the local branch of the CCP (Pepper 2008).
Particularly controversial was a 2001 interpretation of the BL by the
NPC Standing Committee at the request of the HKSAR government.
The interpretation effectively overturned a Hong Kong Court of Final
Appeal ruling, which had recognized the right of mainland-born indi-
viduals with Hong Kong parentage to live in the territory. The eco-
nomic interests that motivated the HKSAR government to ask that the
court decision be overturned will be discussed later. What matters for
the present argument is that actions by the HKSAR government and
the NPC Standing Committee were a major blow to judicial indepen-
dence, weakening the final decisionmaking authority of the HKSAR
(Lo 2008).
At the same time, HKSAR institutions and political culture are still
partly pluralistic and liberal and its legislature partly elected. This has
political effects. Most importantly, assertive and vigilant civil soci-
ety groups and political parties have used the political space permit-
ted under the special status arrangement to struggle to maintain and
strengthen civil and political rights, protect the rule of law, and push
for democratization (Ibid.). They have confronted the institutionalized
power of pro-China groups and individuals willing to compromise the
territory’s liberal institutions, rule of law, and democratic aspirations
in order to smooth relations with China and protect the political eco-
nomic status quo.
As Sonny Lo (Ibid.) has documented, the central government has
not always been able completely to control its Hong Kong allies and
the Hong Kong government is not always able to command the support
of pro-China individuals and groups. During the Art. 23 controversy,
some conservative politicians and business elites said the proposed bill
would hamper the freedom of information needed to maintain the
competitiveness of the territory’s financial sector (“Hong Kong treason
law worries bankers” BBC News (Online), December 2, 2002). As the
global economic crisis took hold in autumn 2008, legislators from both
the patriotic and democratic camps responded to public discontent by
challenging an attempt by the HKSAR government to limit an inquiry
into the sale of so-called mini-bonds, which had been backed by the
failed U.S. investment bank, Lehman Brothers. Public pressure also led
both sides to cooperate in challenging a government plan to impose a
means test on recipients of old age allowance. The government planned
to increase monthly payments to HK$1,000 (US$129) from its previ-
ous level of HK$705 (US$91) (Chris Yeung, “Hong Kong: Feeling the
stones en route to democracy,” Hong Kong Journal, January 2009). The
Hong Kong government has tried to improve relations with pro-dem-
ocratic parties, as it regularly needs their support to get bills through
the legislature. Their efforts have been hampered by the lingering
mutual distrust between the central government and pro-democracy
politicians (Ibid.).
Language Conflicts and Patriotism

Finally, policies affecting the languages used in the public realm have
been a source of conf lict in post-1997 Hong Kong, although only partly
due to the central governments stress on patriotism. English has histori-
cally been widely used as a medium of instruction in local schools. In the
latter British years, the government increased the teaching of Mandarin
as a subject of study, in anticipation of the 1997 handover and growing
economic links with China (Tsui 2006). It also expanded the use of spo-
ken Cantonese and written Modern Standard Chinese as languages of
instruction, arguing that children learn better in their mother tongue.
Many parents resisted because they saw English-language schooling
opening doors to higher education, better jobs, and immigration (Bray
and Koo 2004; Will Clem, “Research casts doubt on mother-tongue
education,” South China Morning Post March 15, 2008). The controversy
continued after 1997, becoming entangled with the politics of patrio-
tism. In 2008, in response to public pressure, the HKSAR government
lifted the restrictions that had forced most secondary schools to teach in
Cantonese, opening the way not for Mandarin-language instruction but
more English-medium education (“Cat got your mother tongue?” The
Economist June 14, 2008, 54). Meanwhile, the HKSAR government has
itself emphasized the competitive advantage of trilingual workers who
can function in English, Cantonese, and Mandarin (Tsui 2006; see also
HKSAR Standing Committee on Language Education and Research
2003). Alongside these apparently instrumental views of language,
however, are its political and symbolic dimensions. It was no accident
that former Chief Executive Tung gave his speech at the 1997 handover
ceremony in Mandarin, but his first Policy Address in the Legislative
Council in Cantonese. Surveys of post-1997 Hong Kong residents sug-
gest that those with the most positive attitudes toward Cantonese and
English as opposed to Mandarin also had the strongest attachments to
Hong Kong (Tsui 2006). Although Mandarin is popular as a subject of
study and is viewed more positively by Hong Kong people than before
1997, the suggestion that it be used as a language of instruction in local
schools has sparked expressions of concern about forced patriotism in
some newspapers (Mathews, Ma, and Lui 2007).
Economic Development and Modernization

China’s modernization and market liberalization have had contra-
dictory affects on Hong Kong’s autonomy and special status. In key
respects, the HKSAR owes its very existence to the economic devel-
opment and modernization policies of post-Mao Chinese leaders,
which made Hong Kong economically useful to China and its lib-
eral institutions worth preserving. However, the same policies have
unleashed rapid socioeconomic changes that have begun eroding the
very differences that distinguished Hong Kong from the mainland
and that had been useful to China because of their role in maintain-
ing the prosperity of the territory. Shanghai and other mainland cities
increasingly compete with Hong Kong as international business ser-
vices centers (see Enright and Scott 2005; see also Chiu, Peter Y.W.
2006). China’s growing integration into the global economy has also
increased Hong Kong’s integration into the Chinese economy. State-
owned firms and companies owned or managed by individuals with
ties to high-ranking PRC officials, have come to play an important
role in the territory. International and Hong Kong business media
have expressed concern that mainland political connections have
begun trumping the market and the law in the territorial business cul-
ture (e.g., Edward A. Gargan, “Hong Kong fears unravelling of rule
of law,” New York Times May 7, 1997; “Business: Interference on the
line; Telecoms,” The Economist July 8, 2006, 65). In 2004, the Fraser
Institute gave the territory a lower ranking in its Economic Freedom
Index due to industrial subsidies, red tape, and threats to the integrity
of the legal system (Robin Kwong, “Key indicators of Hong Kong’s
economic freedom all falling,” South China Morning Post December 1,
2006). Incidents such as the beating of a well-known Hong Kong leg-
islator and lawyer in 2006 have led to concern about increasing triad
inf luence (Keith Bradsher, “Hong Kong takes a hit as lawmaker is
beaten,” New York Times August 25, 2006).
The integration of the two economies has increased Hong Kong’s
economic dependence on China and, therefore, its political vulnerabil-
ity. The profits and livelihoods of the territory’s business people, pro-
fessionals, and workers increasingly depend on the mainland economy.
By 2006, the mainland accounted for 46 percent of Hong Kong’s total
trade and 31 percent of total direct investment, the largest single source.
From 1996 to 2006, the number of trips to or through Hong Kong
by mainlanders increased fivefold to 13.6 million annually (HKSAR
2006), many of them by tourists. By 2001, Hong Kong residents were
making 53 million trips into mainland China, versus 29 million only
five years earlier (Holliday, Ma, and Yep 2002). A growing number of
Hong Kong managers and professionals work on the other side of the
border. The economic crises that plagued the early years of the spe-
cial status arrangement, especially the 1997 Asian financial crisis and
the SARS outbreak of 2003, pushed the HKSAR and PRC govern-
ments to stimulate Hong Kong’s economic recovery by reducing bar-
riers to trade, investment, and labor/managerial mobility between the
two economies (see Chiu, Peter Y.W. 2006; Enright and Scott 2005).
These initiatives raised concerns in Hong Kong about the weakening
of autonomy and liberal institutions and rule of law due to growing
economic reliance on the mainland economy and the further penetra-
tion of mainland-style “crony” capitalism (Cheng, Joseph Y.S. 2004:
737; Philip Bowring, “Hong Kong and China: Trade pact opens door
to cronyism,” International Herald Tribune June 24, 2003).
Although economic interdependence is a serious threat to political
autonomy, it also means that there is a growing need to manage prob-
lems cooperatively and for Hong Kong authorities and civil society
groups to become inf luential in mainland decisionmaking processes.
The problem is that those individuals with the most inf luence are those
least likely to challenge mainland policies.
Equality and Social Solidarity

Unlike in the Spanish and French contexts of Catalan and Corsican spe-
cial status, liberal ideas play little role in China’s constitutional political
order. There has been little if any publicly expressed concern that the
Hong Kong special status region undermines formal citizen equality in
the PRC by granting Hong Kong people additional rights. Moreover,
the central authorities appear to have been able to manage public rep-
resentations of its “one country, two systems” policy to a significant
degree, at least on the mainland. They have portrayed the policy as part
of its national reunification strategy, not one aiming at recognizing
group rights in order to remedy the exclusionary effects of the modern
territorial state and citizenship model. The mainland authorities have
themselves offered another territory—Taiwan, which they claim is part
of the state—a more generous version of the Hong Kong–style special
status arrangement.
Even so, China is not entirely immune to the politics of equality and
the danger that other parts of the state will demand Hong Kong–style
autonomy. It did experience a snowballing of demands in response to
the creation of the first SEZs in the early 1980s, which had been based
on policies partly inspired by Hong Kong commercial norms. The
higher levels of investment, subsidies, and tax revenue accruing to local
political elites and authorities in these zones encouraged their coun-
terparts in other parts of China to demand similar treatment (Breslin
1996; see also Wang and Hu 1999). The resulting “zone fever” lead the
central government to extend SEZ-style freedoms to more coastal cit-
ies and areas and, later, parts of interior provinces, too (see Yang, Dali
L. 1997; Zhong, Zhu Ding 1998). Moreover, in 2003, the Dalai Lama
asked that Tibet be given Hong Kong–style special status (Zhang, Jing
2003; see also chapter seven). The central government rejected the
demand, stating that the “one country, two systems” policy was created
to accommodate imperialist-ruled territories where the PRC had to
resume the exercise of its sovereignty while accommodating “another
social system.” These conditions, it said, did not exist in Tibet (PRC,
State Council 2004).
Closely related to the politics of equality are questions concern-
ing China as a community of social solidarity and the responsibility
of Hong Kong with respect to China’s socioeconomically marginal-
ized regions and residents. Hong Kong is the wealthiest part of China.
Many Hong Kong people have benefited economically from main-
land economic development. This development has brought increased
socioeconomic inequality alongside improvements in living standards
for many in China. Yet, as part of its autonomous status, the HKSAR
remits no tax revenue to the central government, revenue that could
be redistributed to poorer parts of the state. Nor does the HKSAR
pay for central government programs and services from which Hong
Kong residents directly benefit, such as those related to defense and
foreign affairs. The territory’s complete fiscal autonomy no doubt reas-
sured those in the territory who feared tax increases after 1997. For
now, the social solidarity of Hong Kong with respect to poorer main-
landers is expressed through voluntary contributions made to charities
involved in social development and emergency relief on the mainland.
However, this solidarity is typically expressed in terms of patriotism
and/or benevolence, rather than equality and citizenship rights ( Jesse
Wong 1991; Denise Young, “H.K. Tycoons, pop-stars pitch in to help
f lood-battered China,” Reuters July 15, 1991). It seems only a matter of
time before there is political pressure for Hong Kong to transfer some
of its wealth to China through taxes. Some Hong Kong academics and
civil society activists have already begun raising the issue (e.g., Joseph
Y.S. Cheng, “Shame on us,” South China Morning Post September 1,
2003). The issue will likely figure in negotiations on the post-2047
status of Hong Kong.
Temporality
As we have seen, the Hong Kong special status arrangement is tempo-
rary in nature. For now, this has caused few tensions directly. However,
as the above discussion suggests, the situation is bound to change as
2047 approaches. Conf lict is especially likely because the JD and BL
do not specify what is to happen to the territory at that point, who gets
to decide, and by what process. Long-term uncertainty is balanced by
the hope that, after 50 years of “one country, two systems,” China will
have become more like Hong Kong politically in ways that could facili-
tate the protection of local liberal values and democratic aspirations.
Ironically, however, this hope increases the stake that Hong Kong
people have in the direction of political and socioeconomic change in
China as a whole. Some Hong Kong organizations and activists sup-
portive of democratization and stronger protection for human rights and
the rule of law in the territory have been involved in supporting citizen
movements struggling for complementary reforms on the mainland.
Especially since the Tiananmen crisis, the PRC leadership has treated
such activities by Hong Kong people as unpatriotic and emphasized
that under “one country, two systems,” well water is not permitted to
mix with river water ( jingshui bu fan heshiu) (Pepper 2008). The maxim
points to an ongoing paradox inherent in the regime asymmetry of the
special status arrangement.
Outcomes
Stability
Assessment of the stability of the special status arrangement depends
on one’s interpretation of the JD and BL, which, as discussed earlier,
contain contradictory norms. The contradictions allow both the cen-
tral government and its HKSAR allies as well as the pro-democracy
opposition to argue that they are acting in a manner consistent with
the BL. Arguably, however, the HKSAR has continued to exist on
the basis of the JD and BL through two changes in state president and
CCP general secretary in the PRC and one change of chief execu-
tive in the HKSAR. Despite some erosion of the legal system and of
the protection for civil rights and freedoms, the important patterns of
political behavior needed to maintain the institutions of special status
have largely continued. Therefore, the arrangement can be considered
minimally stable to date.
The arrangement is shakier in terms of maximal stability. There
has been no mass violence or other extra-institutional political action
nor repression by the state or HKSAR authorities, despite continu-
ing concern with media self-censorship and the HKSAR authorities
denying entry to the territory of some practitioners of Falun Gong,
an organization banned in China, but permitted in Hong Kong (U.S.
State Department 1997–2006). Nevertheless, there is a latent threat of
state repression, given the recentness of the PRC government’s brutal
crackdown on student demonstrators in 1989, which had a deep psy-
chological and political effect on Hong Kong people (see Yahuda 1996;
Pepper 2008).

To summarize earlier analysis, Hong Kong’s political autonomy is
uneven, based on the indicators examined in the present study. The
territory has total de jure fiscal autonomy and significant de facto
fiscal autonomy. However, its final decisionmaking authority is con-
strained by the role of central authorities in appointing the chief
executive and interpreting and amending the BL. In policy matters
considered politically sensitive by the central government, territo-
rial authorities have more limited final decisionmaking authority in
practice. The de jure inf luence of HKSAR authorities and repre-
sentatives in state decisionmaking processes is limited by the small
size of its representation in PRC political bodies and by the control
of central authorities over the selection of Hong Kong members on
the Committee for the Basic Law and of territorial delegates to the
NPC and the CPPCC. The ability of these representatives to defend
Hong Kong’s autonomy in state decisionmaking processes in prac-
tice is restricted by the collusion of pro-Beijing elites with central
authorities, as evidenced by the role of Hong Kong members of the
Committee for the Basic Law during the right of abode case (Lo
2008). Nevertheless, outside politically sensitive areas, the HKSAR
has significant de facto scope to adopt policies distinctive from those
in the mainland, scope which is also ref lected in the de jure provi-
sions of the JD and BL.

The above analysis has already begun to show that conf licts between ter-
ritory and central government actors over Hong Kong’s special status
and autonomy have been intertwined with conf licts over citizenship
norms and practices within Hong Kong. This is not least because of
the political alliance between PRC political elites and territorial busi-
ness and other pro-China conservative elites, based on their clientelist
ties and shared interest in maintaining the political economic order on
both sides of the border. This intertwining of the two axes of political
contention important in special status arrangements remains hidden
if Hong Kong is conceptualized individualistically, as a territorially
bounded, internally undifferentiated community in which the costs
and benefits of the arrangement are similar for everyone. The special
status arrangement mostly did not create the exclusionary citizenship
that marks the territory. However, it has done much to perpetuate the
marginalization of women, the poor, and vulnerable ethnic and racial-
ized groups.
Internal Economic Inequality

Hong Kong has seen significant and growing income inequalities,
increasing structural unemployment, and significant absolute poverty,
all of which began before 1997. Living standards improved for many in
Hong Kong in the 1970s and 1980s. However, in all but the 1966–1971
period, income inequality steadily augmented as the income growth of
poorer households did not keep pace with that of richer ones. Measured
by Gini coefficients, inequality reached .525 in 2001, the highest in the
developed world (Sing 2004b; Zhao, Zhang, and Sit 2004; Sautman
2004; Zhao and Zhang 2005). The high-income bracket was 23 times
wealthier than the lowest income bracket, compared to 13 times
greater in 1996. The percentage of middle income families had fallen
to 58.6 percent from 64.4 percent (Law and Lee 2006; see also Zhao
and Zhang 2005). Meanwhile, in 1995, before the post-1997 economic
downturns, unemployment had already hit 3.5 percent, the highest
official rate in ten years. The Hong Kong Federation of Trade Unions
estimated a rate closer to 13 percent (So 1999). The welfare roll had
risen to more than 100,000, up from 83,000 in mid-1993. Inf lation was
greater than 9 percent. After the Asian financial crisis hit in 1997, offi-
cial unemployment climbed to 6.3 percent in 1999 and remained high
for several years (Chan, Raymond K.H. 2003; Zhao, Zhang, and Sit
2004). Wages, already dropping, fell further. The proportion of low-
paid, fragmented, and part-time work in the service sector increased.
Poverty grew and remained high for a wealthy economy. Unofficial
estimates from the mid-1990s for the numbers of individuals living in
poverty (i.e., on less than half the median income)—again, before the
post-1997 downturns—ranged from 575,000 to 847,000 in a popula-
tion just under 7 million (Yip and La Grange 2006). The Hong Kong
Social Security Society states that, in 1999, the crisis had expanded
that number to more than 1 million, about 360,000 of them work-
ing poor (Chan, Raymond K.H. 2003; see also Social and Economic
Policy Institute 2001).
This inequality and poverty were serious issues prior to 1997. Since
then, the institutions and representational practices of the special status
arrangement have helped institutionalize inequality and poverty and to
hide their increasingly structural nature. As earlier sections discussed,
the institutions of special status aimed to preserve the laissez-faire capi-
talist political economic order in Hong Kong, including its signature
policies of “keeping expenditure within the limits of revenue,” low
taxes, and prudent fiscal reserves. This has been accompanied by a
discourse of economism with a similar purpose. The discourse largely
continues British-era representations of Hong Kong people as profit-
seeking, politically apathetic and conservative, and self-sufficient in the
family (see Ho 2004; Chan, Raymond K.H. 2003; Lau and Kuan 1988).
In the colonial period, these representations helped justify a residual
approach to public social protection. Public social welfare was deemed
unnatural interference in the family and local culture, even as the gov-
ernment increased its involvement in these areas after World War II,
as detailed earlier. In the post-1997 period, economism has functioned
similarly to naturalize socio-economic inequality, the political domi-
nation of business interests, a residual welfare state, and an instrumen-
tal approach to law and civil and political rights. The latter refers to
the notion that law and rights can legitimately be overridden if higher
values—particularly economism, but also patriotism—are threatened
(see Jones 1995; 1999; Scott 1998).
Economistic representations of Hong Kong people have only
strengthened since the 1997 handover to PRC rule and, in the first few
years, was combined with an emphasis on the ethnic Chinese roots of
this ethos. In public speeches, Tung, the first HKSAR chief executive,
declared that to be Chinese was to be apolitical and preoccupied with
wealth creation, deferential to authority, committed to mutual care
in the family, especially of the elderly, and hard-working (HKSAR
1997; Chan, Raymond K.H. 2003; Sautman 2004). Reinforcing the
Chineseness of Hong Kong people reinforced the political order and
vice versa. The public statements of Donald Tsang, Tung’s successor,
have also stressed economistic values, but with less emphasis on their
supposed ethnic roots (Tsang 2005–6; “Asia: A knight of the people’s
paradise,” The Economist June 18, 2005).
The discourse of economism constitutes Hong Kong people as mar-
ket actors and subjects, at times also as co-ethnics, but not as citizens
with a range of social, economic, political, civil, and cultural rights (see
Ghai 2001). It helps perpetuate the idea that, with hard work and some
luck, anyone can get rich and that a meaningful public social safety
net is an unnecessary and harmful public burden. The current reality of
poverty and precarious livelihoods for many is made to disappear, with
exclusionary consequences for citizenship. As Cheung puts it:
the hardships of poverty have been, so to speak, petrified, dis-

tanced as a faraway historical period—archaeologically termed the
Age of Poverty—and thus, in effect, removed from the present-
day social memory of Hong Kong . . . poverty and the impover-
ished are suppressed by this glittering totem and are effectively
removed from the social agenda. (Cheung 2000: 236)
The discourse of economism is powerful in a society where so many

grew up comparatively poor and the increase in wealth is new, where
competition and the drive for efficiency have been experienced as nat-
ural, and where money has been one of the few things Hong Kong
families could count on, given their experience as refugees from politi-
cal instability and poverty in China and as colonial subjects (Mathews
and Lui 2001; Hong Kong People’s Alliance [HKPA] n.d.).
Nevertheless, significant segments of the population have challenged
the exclusionary effects for citizenship of the economistic representa-
tion of Hong Kong values and the economistic purposes of its self-rule.
Contradicting the supposed political apathy of Hong Kong people, this
resistance continues the pattern of public political mobilization in defense
of citizenship that marked post–World War II British Hong Kong. This
mobilization included movements defending Chinese national dignity,
against racism, demanding the use of spoken Cantonese and written
Modern Standard Chinese in public institutions, and defending wom-
en’s rights, freedom of association, and economic fairness and equity
(Lam Wai-man 2004; Klein 1995). Citizenship activism increased in
the run up to the 1997 handover as limited electoral competition was
introduced and as economic restructuring brought major job losses in
manufacturing (Lam Wai-man 2004). Protests related to economic
grievances continued with the economic crises in the first years of the
HKSAR. In the worst of the Asian financial crisis, there were daily
demonstrations outside government offices, demanding economic
fairness (So 1999). Many who took to the streets in the major public
demonstrations of July 1, 2003 and 2004 voiced discontent with Chief
Executive Tung’s handling of the economic downturn. There have also
been major protests by professionals and workers demanding reforms
to address economic, social, and political inequalities and exclusion
(Chan, Raymond K.H. 2003; Sing 2004b).
The early years of the HKSAR had seen the government use its
authority in ways that perpetuated the socioeconomic inequalities of
the British days. In the external affairs realm, it continued to pur-
sue the global strengthening of neoliberal economic policies, including
through its participation in the WTO (HKSAR 2006). It also contin-
ued the British Hong Kong government policy of denying the appli-
cation of International Labour Organization (ILO) conventions that
protect freedom of association with respect to trade union member-
ship and the right to collective bargaining (Hong Kong Human Rights
Commission 1998; Social and Economic Policy Institute 2001; “SAR
government violates international labour conventions,” Hong Kong
Voice of Democracy November 21, 1998; Automotive Market Research
Council 2002). The territorial authorities also maintained policies that
continued to marginalize FDWs by failing to provide them with sta-
tus and legal protections that would reduce abuse and exploitation by
employers, such as permanent residency, welfare benefits, and union
rights (Migrants Rights International, 2003; Bell 2001). The Coalition
for Migrants Rights claims these policies violate the ILO Conventions
to which the HKSAR government is a signatory through China. In its
early days, the post-1997 Provisional Legislature, with its pro-Beijing
and business elite majority, overturned laws aimed to improve social
programs and labor protection, which had been passed in the excep-
tional circumstances of the last days of British rule (So 1999). Faced with
declining revenues in the context of the Asian financial crisis, the Tung
administration canceled most promised social program improvements.
It introduced new policies that reduced welfare access through work-
fare and regulations reinforcing the family as the economic and welfare
provisioning unit. Pre-1997 reforms introducing market mechanisms
into welfare services continued (So 1999; Ho 2004; Chan, Raymond
K.H. 2003; Chow c. 2004; Chan Chak-Kwan 1998).
During the downturns, government and conservative elites repre-
sented Hong Kong people as aggressively self-reliant individuals and
families in a global city facing intense competition. Welfare recipients
were portrayed and often treated as outsiders who lacked the traits of
real Hong Kong belongers (Hui 2004; Chan Chak-Kwan 1998). In his
regular “Letter to Hong Kong”(Tsang 2005–6), Chief Executive Tsang
talked of how Hong Kong people “don’t want special treatment. They
just want to be able to compete fairly” (October 16, 2005). Stressing the
pragmatism and “craftiness” of local people ( June 24, 2006; August 26,
2006) and papering over inequality and the clashing socioeconomic
interests and ideologies underlying the dispute over democracy, Tsang
declared that “Working industriously together, we have forged an eco-
nomic miracle. And that is why I am confident that all political differ-
ences can be resolved . . .” (August 26, 2006).
Yet, civil society groups, political parties, and individuals have fought
to maintain political space in which their demands for expanded socio-
economic citizenship are heard. They have had some limited success
in challenging the legitimacy of the existing order and its laissez-faire,
economistic understanding of Hong Kong values. Aware of intense
public hostility to the economic policies of his predecessor, Tsang spoke
of “fairness” and “improving people’s livelihood” in his 2006 policy
address. He said the government would experiment with sector specific
voluntary minimum wages and promised to study standard working
hours (Tsang 2006). In the early months of the global economic crisis
in October 2008, given public disgruntlement with the poor results
of the voluntary approach, the government announced that it would
impose a legally enforceable minimum wage for the first time (“HK to
impose statutory minimum wage,” Financial Times October 16, 2008).
At the time of writing, details of the policy were unavailable.
Yet, a deeper shift in the political economic order will have to occur
if socioeconomic inclusion is to be seriously taken up as a citizenship
issue by the territorial authorities. Democratization is a necessary first
step if these issues are to have political weight. However, democracy
alone will not achieve fundamental change, particularly given the
inconsistent record of the pro-democracy camp with respect to issues
of socioeconomic inequality (see Sing 2004a; So 1999; Sing 2004b).
Rather, pro-democracy parties have largely focused on expanding polit-
ical autonomy, protecting liberal institutions and values, and securing
democracy, the issues that dominated their “foundation moment” in
the transition period. In a bid to attract middle-class voters, the largest
pro-democracy party, the Democratic Party, shifted to a stronger free-
market platform after 1997 and advocated only minor socioeconomic
reforms (Lau and Kuan 2000: 716; see also Lau and Kuan 2002).
Gender
Women are more likely to experience exclusionary socioeconomic
citizenship than other residents. This did not begin with the spe-
cial status arrangement, but it has continued with it. At the same
time, there have been some gains in formal gender equality associ-
ated with the arrangement, particularly in the years leading up to the
1997 handover. These gains were due to longer-term socioeconomic
changes as well as the introduction of limited direct elections, the
spillover into civil service employment of women’s growing partici-
pation in the paid labor force, the imminent handover to PRC rule,
and pressure from territorial women’s groups in a climate of increas-
ing politicization.
The special status arrangement that would begin in 1997 aimed to
preserve the established political economic order in Hong Kong, minus
British colonial rule. Nevertheless, adjustments to that order had to be
made to secure the legitimacy of the arrangement and preserve eco-
nomic and political stability. With this in mind, in its final years and
working within the terms of the JD, the British Hong Kong authorities
introduced legal reforms to improve formal human rights protections,
including prohibitions against discrimination, and introduced limited
direct elections. Improvements to the formal status of women in the
1990s need to be understood in this light. The 1991 Bill of Rights
Ordinance explicitly provided for the first time in Hong Kong law that
entitlement to rights was without distinction as to sex and that men and
women were equally entitled to civil and political rights (Art. 1). A 1995
ordinance prohibited sex-based discrimination. The following year the
government established the Equal Opportunities Commission, while
the British government extended to Hong Kong the UN Convention
on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women.
Facing pressure from women’s and human rights groups, the Hong
Kong authorities also repealed a legal ban on women inheriting property
in villages in the New Territories. The decision challenged JD and BL
provisions interpreted by some as giving the long-standing male-only
inheritance laws quasi-constitutional status (see Samuels 1999; Hong
Kong Association of Business and Professional Women n.d.).
However, both before and after the establishment of the HKSAR,
there were problems of enforcement with respect to these rights, not
least because of the ongoing socioeconomic marginalization of many
women, who could not afford to challenge rights violations in court
(Peterson 2003). Hong Kong women had in recent decades made sub-
stantial gains in educational attainment and in participation in the
paid labor market (Lee 2003), but were still less likely than men to
gain senior positions. In 2002, median monthly employment earnings
for women, even excluding FDWs, were still 21 percent below men
(HKSAR Government 2004). Women had disproportionately borne
the costs of the loss of industrial jobs. The discourse of self-reliant fami-
lies, which was stepped up after the 1997 handover, reinforced patri-
archy, placing a double burden on women as homemakers and wage
earners (Lee 2003).
Politically, women continued to be underrepresented in the politi-
cal decisionmaking institutions and the administration of the HKSAR
despite their formal equality with men in terms of political rights.
On the administrative side, in 2002, women accounted for 34 per-
cent of civil servants, but only 24 percent of those at directorate level
or above (see HKSAR 2004; UN, Committee on the Elimination of
Discrimination Against Women 1999). A woman, Anson Chan, has
served as the chief civil servant of the HKSAR. However, in terms of
elected office, the number of women in the Legislative and Executive
Councils has remained well below their proportion of the population.
This is despite the number of women legislators having increased to 18
percent by 2000 compared with 11 percent in 1991. In 2001, women
held only 3 of 14 Executive Council seats (HKSAR Legislative Council
Secretariat 2004).
The continuing use of functional constituencies to choose half of
HKSAR legislators is not only undemocratic and has a class bias, but
contributes to the under-representation of women. The system allocates
seats to sectors of the economy deemed to have a productive function.
Women, especially poorer women, are disproportionately represented
in several groups denied seats because these groups apparently have
no such productive function. These groups include the unemployed,
the majority of Hong Kong workers, homemakers, and FDWs (Hong
Kong Women’s Coalition for Beijing ‘95 1997; Young and Law 2004).
Women’s groups have demanded the abolition of functional constitu-
ency seats, linking the democratization of the legislature to advancing
women’s political representation (Leung Lai-ching 2004). However,
democratization would not on its own solve the political exclusion
of FDWs, who are denied the permanent residency status required to
qualify as voters (BL Art. 26; Migrants Rights International, 2003; Bell
2001).
Ethnicity and Racialization

The nationality law was one of the few PRC laws to apply to the
HKSAR (BL Annex III), although it was adapted to the Hong Kong
context through the provisions of memoranda attached to the JD and of
the BL. In effect, Hong Kong has its own nationality regime based on
the articulation of adapted PRC nationality norms with a formal ter-
ritorial membership status termed permanent residency (BL Art. 24).
Together, they contribute to maintaining what Sautman (2004: 125) has
termed is a “quasi-ethnocracy” favoring Hong Kong ethnic Chinese
over other residents. As applied to Hong Kong, the PRC law reserved
Chinese nationality to Hong Kong ethnic Chinese who are HKSAR
permanent residents. Individuals not ethnic Chinese were typically eli-
gible to become PRC nationals only if they had near relatives who
were recognized as ethnic Chinese, if they were settled in China, and
if they renounced nationality in other states. The latter requirement
was not applied to Hong Kong Chinese given PRC nationality in 1997.
HKSAR permanent residents who were not ethnic Chinese normally
could not get an SAR passport, even if they were locally born. They
were also subject to stricter residency requirements to maintain perma-
nent residency status (Sautman 2004; BL Art. 24).
Once class hierarchies are taken into account, ethnicity-based
exclusion is revealed as having more continuity with the pre-1997
period. Then, as under the special status arrangement, migrant work-
ers from outside China and recent mainland migrants racialized as
outsiders experienced considerable marginalization, due to their
presumed cultural interiority and their poverty and lower education
levels (Chiu and Lui 2004; Sautman 2004; see Pun and Wu 2004;
Leung Hon-Chu 2004; Law and Lee 2006). They have also been
disproportionately poor and faced discrimination or exclusion in the
workplace, in accessing public services, and in society at large. White
expatriates, who are typically professionals or managers, usually have
experienced less socioeconomic marginalization (Sautman 2004; Law
and Lee 2006).
After much lobbying by civil society groups, the HKSAR govern-
ment passed an anti-racism law in 2006 (Stephen Vines, “Race law
‘is a memorial to my Harinder,’ ” The Observer December 3, 2006).
However, critics of the policy said it would not counter the general
exclusionary thrust of HKSAR government policies and widespread
community attitudes. These hit women newcomers from the mainland
particularly hard in terms of unemployment, poverty, and racializa-
tion (Sautman 2004; Sze 2004). Government policies block access to
social services for many individuals, while inhibiting the reunification
of families divided by the HKSAR-mainland border that would allow
these women better to share income and social reproduction respon-
sibilities with family members. Amongst recent mainland migrants,
single parents (who are mostly women) and married women with chil-
dren pay especially dearly for the HKSAR’s residual approach to public
social protection and patriarchal policies. There is a shortage of afford-
able daycare. Programs allocate benefits according to lifetime paid
employment patterns typical of male permanent residents and presume
women engaged in unpaid social reproductive work are married to
men with incomes. Official discourses accompanying the introduction
of workfare programs after 2000 stigmatized all social service users, but
especially newly arrived mainlanders (Leung Lai-ching 2004).
It is in this context that the NPC Standing Committee interpreta-
tion of the BL in the 2001 right of abode case was not only alarming
for its harm to judicial independence, but for its exclusionary effects on
citizenship based on class and racialization. To recall, the interpretation
overturned elements of a Hong Kong Court of Final Appeal ruling
that affirmed the right of abode in Hong Kong of all mainland-born
children of Hong Kong permanent residents. The effective result was
that many ordinary mainland-born individuals with Hong Kong par-
entage were denied right of abode, while skilled mainland workers and
professionals continued getting work visas and permanent residency.
The HKSAR government tried to legitimize the Standing Committee
decision using economistic logic and racialized representations of main-
land migrants as unemployed, welfare-dependent outsiders. It made the
exaggerated claim that, unless the ruling were overturned, 1.67 mil-
lion mainland-born individuals would be eligible to come to the ter-
ritory, overloading public services and social programs and taking jobs
away from Hong Kong residents (Law and Lee 2006; Ku 2001). The
claims appealed to widely held prejudices, so swayed considerable pub-
lic opinion to the government side. However, others in the territory
challenged the exclusionary understanding of Hong Kong values legiti-
mated by the government’s actions and representation of the situation.
Church, human rights, and welfare activist groups, legal professionals,
university students, and some legislators waged a protracted and intense
campaign in support of the right of abode claimants already in Hong
Kong, some of whom went on hunger strikes to protest their exclu-
sion. In addition to public marches, protests, petitions, and candlelight
vigils, the protestors communicated their concerns to the UN High
Commissioner for Human Rights (Ku 2001).
Conclusions
The HKSAR is a highly unusual special status arrangement because it

has aimed primarily to protect the liberal capitalist institutions and way
of life of the former British colony and only secondarily and incon-
sistently to protect Hong Kong’s outward-looking, intercultural, and
Cantonese identities. Several mutually reinforcing characteristics of
the arrangement limit its stability, the political autonomy it permits
the HKSAR territorial authorities, and the citizenship it provides for
internal minorities. The first is its embeddedness in the social rela-
tions that underpin China’s recent economic transformation, including
Hong Kong’s role in these processes. The territory’s economic integra-
tion with and dependence on the mainland has fostered clientelist rela-
tions between PRC political elites and Hong Kong’s big business and
other pro-China elites. These Hong Kong elites have proven willing
to sacrifice liberal pluralist values and inclusive citizenship in the name
of smooth relations with Beijing and the preservation of the existing
political and socioeconomic hierarchy in Hong Kong. The second dan-
ger comes from the regime asymmetry that marks the arrangement.
Despite 20 years of economic liberalization, expanded social freedoms,
and strengthened rule by law, China’s political system remains illiberal
and Leninist and officially communist. Its authoritarian political insti-
tutions and processes clash with Hong Kong’s liberal, pluralist political
institutions and culture. Despite the federal f lavor and possibilities in
elements of the special status arrangement, the PRC remains a funda-
mentally centralized, unitary state with an approach to sovereignty and
an understanding of patriotism premised on individualistic concep-
tions of state and nation. Thus, there are significant tensions between
the autonomy and special status promised Hong Kong and the state-
building elements of the arrangement, inherent in its integrative direc-
tionality and authoritarian context.
Progressive elements in Hong Kong civil society have fought to
protect the territory’s autonomy and its liberal institutions. Prominent
amongst them are some members of the Hong Kong scholarly com-
munity, NGOs concerned with protecting human rights, advancing
gender equality, improving public social protection programs, and
strengthening environmental sustainability, churches, and many in
the legal and social work professions. They have used, reinforced, and
tried to expand the political space made possible by the special status
arrangement, demanding democratization to open a broader dialogue
about the exclusionary values that define Hong Kong and the pur-
poses of self-rule as well as to strengthen political autonomy. Some have
also sought to expand the capacity of the special status arrangement to
advance the substantive socioeconomic citizenship and political rights
of vulnerable internal minorities.
In the absence of political liberalization and democratization in
China as a whole, the democratization of the Hong Kong political sys-
tem only has limited potential to make the special status arrangement
more open-ended in terms of the kind of community Hong Kong
might become. Moreover, in the absence of changes to the political,
economic, gender, and ethnocratic order in Hong Kong itself, democ-
ratization will do little to expand the citizenship of the poor, women,
and ethnic and racialized minorities.
CH A P T E R SE V E N
Central Tibet from the Sino-Tibetan

Seventeen-Point Agreement to the
Tibet Autonomous Region
The task of building successful states is far from easy but the
building of nations, particularly simultaneously with state build-
ing may probably be even more difficult.
Linz 1993: 360
Given the cycle of protest and rebellion and state repression that has
characterized Sino-Tibetan relations in recent years, it is easy to forget
that, for most of the 1950s, the governments of the People’s Republic
of China (PRC) and of the Dalai Lama coexisted in central Tibet.
The special status framework that made this possible was formally
called the Agreement of the Central People’s Government and the
Local Government of Tibet on Measures for the Peaceful Liberation
of Tibet, but known as the Seventeen-Point Agreement (hereafter,
the Agreement). A 1951 accord between the central Tibetan and PRC
authorities, the Agreement affirmed the PRC takeover of Tibet, but
temporarily gave central Tibet a degree of autonomy unavailable to
local authorities elsewhere in China. The Agreement allowed the con-
tinuation of the religiously based central Tibetan government under
the Dalai Lama, of Tibetan Buddhist institutions and practices, and of
the Tibetan manorial socioeconomic system. The PRC authorities also
agreed to delay socialist reforms until Tibetan elites voluntarily agreed
to them. It was the only time the new regime settled the terms of its
takeover of a territory through a written agreement.
Why did a nationalist, communist, atheistic regime make conces-
sions apparently so inimical to its values and goals? After all, Chinese
Communist Party (CCP) leaders thought Tibetans backward, priest-
ridden, feudal, and reactionary. This chapter argues that the Agreement
was a state-building strategy thought necessary due to the distinct situ-
ation the new regime faced in central Tibet. For Mao Zedong, the
principal CCP decisionmaker on Tibet, the Agreement would help the
party-state establish physical and military control of central Tibet in
the short-term, while building alliances with Tibetan elites that would
eventually allow the Chinese authorities to reform and integrate the
Tibetan political economic and social orders into the emerging social-
ist nation. In short, the Agreement was a state-building strategy that
aimed to ease nation-building at a later date.
The special status arrangement survived until 1959, when an upris-
ing in Lhasa caused the Dalai Lama and his government to f lee into
exile in India. The chapter argues that tensions between the state-
building and the autonomy and special status dimensions of the
Agreement contributed to this collapse. These tensions were exac-
erbated by the acute regime asymmetry between central Tibet and
China and by revolts that broke out in ethnic Tibetan areas outside
the special status territory. Nevertheless, for much of the 1950s, the
Agreement largely allowed central Tibetans to continue their way
of life and gave the central Tibetan government significant political
autonomy. At the same time, because it protected established hierar-
chies in the territory, the arrangement did not enhance the citizen-
ship of the most vulnerable community members, including the poor
rural Tibetan majority.
After 1959, the party-state gradually integrated central Tibetans
more closely into its socialist nation-building project, eventually estab-
lishing the Tibet Autonomous Region (TAR) of today. Overall, in
comparison with the 1950s, the new autonomy arrangement reduced
the political autonomy of central Tibetan authorities, including their
scope to diverge from standardized policies. Moreover, the majority
of Tibetans are still amongst China’s most marginalized residents.
The prioritizing by the central government of state security, patrio-
tism, and externally driven development policies has contributed to
the ongoing instability and exclusionary citizenship associated with
the TAR.
The analysis that follows deals with the Seventeen-Point Agreement
and the TAR in separate sections.
Tibet as an Autonomous Region 165
Tibet under the Seventeen-Point Agreement
Background
More than the other cases studied here, the academic literature on
Tibet is as deeply polarized as the political debate about the status of the
territory in China. Neither the PRC nor Tibet have traditions of inde-
pendent, critical scholarship. There is also comparatively little usable
data on Tibet, due to a paucity of reliable current or historical statistics
and the difficulty of freely conducting research on politically sensitive
topics in the territory. A good deal of the literature is also problematic
to use because it replicates monolithic, static, bounded conceptions of
identity and political community associated with the modern territo-
rial state and citizenship model. To navigate around some of these dif-
ficulties, the present study uses the words “Tibet” and “Tibetan” and
“China” and “Chinese” to designate general geographic entities and
societies whose social make-up, political loyalties, governments, and
boundaries have changed over time and which are internally diverse and
contested, both internally and externally. The term “political Tibet”
refers to the territory ruled by the Dalai Lama’s government in Lhasa
in recent centuries (Goldstein 1997: xi), much of which is now part of
the TAR. Peoples with Tibetan cultural identifications today number
well over 5 million and live in many parts of Central Asia, includ-
ing the southwestern PRC (the present TAR and parts of neighboring
Xinjiang, Qinghai, Sichuan, Gansu, and Yunnan provinces), northern
India (including areas of Ladakh, Sikkim, northern Uttar Pradesh, and
Arunachal Pradesh), northern Nepal, and Bhutan (see Goldstein 1997).
In the present study, “ethnographic Tibet,” following Goldstein (1997:
x–xi), refers to people with Tibetan cultural identifications who live in
parts of China outside political Tibet. According to official PRC sta-
tistics, there are approximately 2.4 million ethnic Tibetans in the TAR
and 5 million in all Tibetan autonomous entities in China.
Historically, political Tibet, like China prior to 1949, cannot be
understood in terms of a single, centralized, territorially discrete polity
based on the modern territorial state and citizenship model. From the
seventh to the ninth century, early Tibetan kings based in Lhasa united
much of the then culturally Tibetan world under their rule. Later,
some outlying regions became independent or semi-independent, or
fell under the sway of neighboring rulers. Weak central government
remained the rule. From 1913 to 1951, when the Thirteenth Dalai Lama
brief ly ran a relatively strong and centralized state, his government had
only 400 to 500 fully gazetted monk and lay officials. They formally
administered some 1 million people spread over a territory nearly the
size of Western Europe (Samuel 1993; Goldstein 1989). Consequently,
as Geoffrey Samuel writes, “most Tibetans, through most of Tibetan
history, lived in communities that were not under the day-to-day con-
trol of any strong centralized government, whether that of Lhasa, some
other Tibetan regime, or the Chinese” (1993: 143–44).
Political claims based on the assumptions associated with the modern
territorial state and citizenship model are, thus, misleading, particularly
when analyzing political Tibet before 1949. Samuel instead advocates
the use of Stanley Tambiah’s notion of a “galactic polity” to capture
the overlapping and incompletely territorialized orbits of its nodes of
power and authority. At the galactic center was the Lhasa government,
dominated by Buddhist religious orders and noble families and rest-
ing on a religiously based ideology that supported the Dalai Lama’s
rule. The latter was seen as the incarnation of Avalokitisvara (Chenresig
in Tibetan), the Buddha of compassion. Claiming “the universality of
religion as the core metaphor of Tibetan national identity” (Goldstein
1989: 2), the Lhasa government ruled through a network of patron-
client relations. The agricultural areas of central Tibet had loosely asso-
ciated power centers that were significantly autonomous, including
hereditary noble manorial estates, large Tibetan Buddhist monasteries
and their estates, and the estates of powerful lamas. On the eastern and
northeastern fringes of central Tibet were the predominantly herd-
ing communities of Kham and Amdo. Even more loosely associated
with Lhasa, and sometimes under the direct or indirect tutelage of
China-based empires, the local chieftains and headmen of these regions
resisted the control of any state. At the time of the PRC invasion in
1950, Kham and Amdo were largely outside both central Tibetan and
PRC government control (Goldstein 1994; Samuel 1993). It is impor-
tant to note that the Agreement that granted special status to central
Tibet excluded both territories, forcing their comparatively rapid inte-
gration into the emergent PRC nation-state. This was to give rise to
violent resistance in Kham and Amdo to the monolithic and bounded
understandings of nation that underpinned this project.
Tibet had long been at the junction of competing empires. In recent
centuries, the China-based Manchu Qing dynasty (1644–1911), Russia,
and British India had vied for inf luence over the territory (Goldstein
1989). PRC leaders saw control over central Tibet, Kham, and Amdo
as crucial to the security of the emergent state’s southwest frontier, as
had their predecessors. That said, PRC claims to sovereignty over Tibet
need to viewed in light of the fact that, before 1951, political Tibet and
much of ethnographic Tibet had not been part of China in the modern
territorial state sense. The reality was more complex.
In its golden age, the expanding Tibetan kingdom sometimes seri-
ously challenged the power of Chinese rulers, conquering their subor-
dinate kingdoms and, at one point, taking the Tang dynasty capital at
Changan (Xi’an) (Goldstein 1997). During the Ming dynasty (1368–
1643), the Tibetan and Chinese polities had little contact. Under the
Mongol Yuan (1279–1368) and Manchu Qing, the political and admin-
istrative control of China’s rulers over culturally Tibetan areas and rulers
f luctuated (van Walt van Praag 1987; Mackerras 1994; Goldstein 1989).
Indirect rule characterized imperial China’s relations with borderland
areas, as discussed in chapter two. Moreover, this rule was highly for-
malized, typically based on pledges of non-aggression and ritualized
loyalty from Tibetan leaders (Teiwes 1993). It demanded little of ordi-
nary Tibetans, for whom religious and/or local attachments remained
primary: they identified with a particular school of Buddhism, mon-
astery, or religious leader, and/or with local leaders in their particular
valley, confederation, or area (Stoddard 1994). It was not until the late
nineteenth century that the Qing tried to establish forms of rule more
akin to the modern territorial state model, when they attempted to
exercise direct rule in the parts of Sichuan within ethnographic Tibet,
in reaction to rising British imperial inf luence (Goldstein 1997). More
broadly, Qing rulers had a f luctuating protectorate role in political
Tibet after the early eighteenth century. They wielded power through
little more than periodic military occupations, typically in support of
and invited by Tibetan authorities, through imperial residents stationed
in Lhasa, and through an occasional formalized role in selecting the
Dalai Lama (Mackerras 1994). With the collapse of Qing rule in 1911,
the Lhasa government declared its independence. Although Chinese
Republican governments claimed sovereignty over Tibet and all other
territories claimed by the previous Qing rulers, their authority was
absent on the ground in many areas, including political Tibet. From
1913 to 1951, the Tibetan government in Lhasa was independent in
practice. If it did not gain international recognition as a state, Tibet did
gain territory in military confrontations with Nationalist and Sichuan
warlords in Sichuan in the 1920s. By the 1940s, it exercised its own
foreign and defense policies (see Kirby 1997).
The society that the central Tibetan government ruled over before
1951 was organized around manorial estates. Owned by aristocratic
families, monasteries, and incarnate lamas, the estates depended on
the labor of poorer monks and peasants, linked to them hereditar-
ily by ascription. Society was hierarchical and unequal, and gender
relations were patriarchal, but social immobility and levels of poverty
were less intense than in feudal Europe (Samuel 1993). Some peas-
ants became quite rich, income differences were relatively small, and
education through monasteries was open to all males. The authority
of lords was often diffuse: an overarching legal system formally sub-
jugated both peasants and lords to the authority of the Dalai Lama if
mutual obligations were breached. Governmental posts were held by
equal numbers of lay officials and monks, the latter sometimes from
poorer backgrounds (see Goldstein 1971; Miller 1987).
Prior to the PRC invasion, some central Tibetan officials had wanted
to introduce some modernizations to Tibetan society, but conservative
elites had blocked most reforms. Consequently central Tibet was espe-
cially ill-equipped to confront the Chinese. Its army was small, dis-
organized, badly trained, and poorly equipped relative to the People’s
Liberation Army (PLA).1 Its officials, few of whom could speak English
or understand international law and politics, were ill-equipped to make
Tibet’s case diplomatically. There were no roads and almost no mod-
ern infrastructure. Radio Lhasa, the first broadcaster, had just begun
to operate. Central Tibet had no modern industries: 80 percent of
exports—mostly wool, but also furs, yak tails, and musk—were sold to
the United States via Indian buyers. There was little trade with China
(Goldstein 1989).
By January 1950, the PLA had taken all the territory of the present-
day PRC except Hainan Island and Lhasa-ruled Tibet. These, along
with the renegade province of Taiwan, were its declared targets for the
new year. PRC representatives attempted to negotiate Tibet’s “peace-
ful” incorporation. Talks stalled as the Lhasa government sought inter-
national recognition and military support from the U.S., British, and
Indian governments and the United Nations (UN). PLA advance units
reached Kham and Amdo by April 1950. By August, the PRC was posi-
tioned along the frontier of political Tibet and on October 7 defeated
the Tibetan army after 14 days of fighting. Mao then halted the advance
and tried again to negotiate. After making more failed attempts to get
international backing, Tibetan negotiators began talks on April 29
the next year. In less than two weeks, with few meaningful conces-
sions to the Tibetan side, the parties concluded the Seventeen-Point
Agreement. On September 9, nearly a year after the Kham invasion,
the first PLA units arrived in Lhasa after a largely peaceful march. The
Dalai Lama telegraphed Mao on October 24, recording his acceptance
of the Agreement (Smith 1996; Goldstein 1989). The implementation
of the special status arrangement is the subject of a later section.
The collapse of the arrangement in the March 1959 Lhasa uprising
was followed by a sweeping military crackdown in central Tibet, on
top of the counterinsurgency campaigns already underway in Kham
and Amdo due to major revolts that had begun in 1956, more of
which below. In the two years after the Lhasa uprising, approximately
80,000 Tibetans f led China, most settling in India, Bhutan, and Nepal
(Goldstein 1989). Meanwhile, the state waged harsh campaigns against
religious institutions and the clerical and secular elite. Strikingly, how-
ever, the PRC leadership again applied distinctive policies in central
Tibet. It was not until 1965 that it formally established the TAR, with
institutions similar to other minority nationality regions such as for the
Uyghur in Xinjiang and modeled on the Han-majority provinces.
Origins
The Agreement that established the special status arrangement for cen-
tral Tibet in 1951 originated in the state-building needs and nation-
building challenges of the new PRC regime in the context of the early
Cold War. The willingness of PRC leaders to make these exceptional
concessions appears to have been facilitated by several factors: the exis-
tence of Tibetan moderates, CCP civil war experiences in non-Han
Chinese areas, the inf luence of Soviet policies, weak international sup-
port for Tibet independence claims, and practices of indirect rule in
China’s imperial past.
The party-state faced particularly difficult circumstances in its desire
to bring central Tibet into People’s China. The territory had weak
transportation and communications links with China, and its climate
and terrain were harsh. The party-state also lacked a military presence
in the territory and had no political bases. It confronted a minority
territorial community whose culture was perceived as antithetical to
communism and radically different from the ways of the Han Chinese,
China’s politically dominant majority nationality. Thus, Mao antici-
pated that central Tibetans would resist incorporation into the PRC
if they immediately had to give up valued institutions and ways of
life. Mao thought that altering the status of Tibetan Buddhism or
the Dalai Lama would meet with particularly stiff popular resistance
(Mao 1987–1992). By allowing Tibetan institutions to continue in the
short term, the Agreement postponed the most controversial aspects of
the standardizing processes associated with nation-building until the
party-state had military control of central Tibet and until it could con-
vince moderate Tibetan elites to convince ordinary people to accept
reforms.
The strategy emerged in a context where China’s leadership under-
stood itself to be fighting a multifront battle against international capital-
ism, led by the U.S. government, which was allied with the CCP’s civil
war enemy, the Chinese Nationalists, and other reactionary elements.
China’s leaders believed Tibetan independence claims were being used
and fomented by China’s Cold War adversaries. Diplomatically, using
special status to secure Tibet’s “peaceful liberation” would potentially
strengthen the international legitimacy of China’s sovereignty claim
over and military advance into the territory. Militarily, the aim was to
avoid a guerrilla-style conf lict that would leave the PLA dependent on
long and exposed supply lines, given the lack of roads and railways con-
necting central Tibet with China (Goldstein 2007). In 1949 Mao wrote
that, if an agreement could be reached with the Tibetan government,
leveraged with the offer of special status, then “next year’s march on
Lhasa might be smoothed a little” (Mao 1987–1992: 475). The Tibetan
invasion was planned and the special status offer drafted before the
onset of the Korean crisis in June 1950. However, events on the Korean
peninsula may have strengthened Mao’s resolve to avoid a protracted
military conf lict in Tibet. The Kham invasion began the day the U.S.
army crossed the 38th parallel in Korea, only days before Chinese
troops first engaged UN forces on October 25 (see Mao 1987–1992;
Smith 1996; see also Chen 1994; Gurtov and Hwang 1980).
Although the geopolitical context made the PRC leadership anxious
to assert its claim to Tibet and to control the southern Tibetan frontier,
the diplomatic context in some ways made the special status conces-
sions less risky for China and more attractive to the Tibetan govern-
ment. In the months leading to the Agreement, the British, Indian, and
U.S. governments had shown themselves somewhat sympathetic to the
Tibetan government’s position, but did not support its independence
claim. They demanded the Sino-Tibetan dispute be settled peacefully
in a manner consistent with Tibet’s history of de facto autonomy from
China. The aim was to avoid antagonizing the PRC government, as
the British, Indian, and American governments were unwilling and
unable to defend Tibet militarily (see Goldstein 1989; Grunfeld 1987;
Smith 1996). The only way the British or Americans could act was with
the cooperation of newly independent India, through which military
aid on any scale would have to pass. For its part, the Indian government
was unsupportive of U.S. involvement in Tibet and sought good rela-
tions with the Chinese government to facilitate Indian efforts to broker
a ceasefire in Korea (Goldstein 1989; Mackerras 1994; Zhai 1994; Addy
1994).
The CCP civil war experience also facilitated the decision to make
special status concessions. During the Long March and the fight against
the Japanese, the CCP had often fought in minority nationality areas.
Its leaders had learned the value of affirming and working through
the political authority of established minority leaders, appropriating
their legitimacy and expertise to smooth relations with local people.
The strategy had also helped distance the party from the assimilation-
ist policies of the Nationalist Chinese (Teiwes 1993). In the civil war
years and the war against the Japanese, the CCP recruited members
of minority nationality communities into the army, party, and state,
where possible to more senior posts. It used the forms and nomencla-
ture of minority nationality communities in its work in minority ter-
ritories. It promoted minority languages and cultures and trained Han
Chinese cadres to respect minority nationality ways of living (Ibid.).
These policies probably had other inf luences, beyond the CCP’s own
direct experience. Mao’s thinking may have been affected by the forms
of indirect rule that China’s imperial governments had used to manage
its diverse and far-f lung realms, including relations with strategically
important borderland communities (see chapter two), 2 for he is said to
have been a keen student of Chinese history (Snow 1968). The policies
were also a unitary version of the nominally federal ethno-territorial
autonomy arrangements used by the Soviets, who in the early 1950s
were close allies of and mentors for the CCP. The Soviet nationalities
policies, based on Lenin’s concept of “national in form, socialist in con-
tent,” had similarly facilitated Soviet state-building in minority nation-
ality areas during and after the Russian civil war (see Connor 1984).
With the Soviet model and communist ideology came the material-
ist expectation that the political salience of ethno-territorial differences
would disappear over time. The process would be aided by political
education campaigns stressing the unity of the Chinese motherland
and a class-based world view; Han migration into minority nationality
areas; closer transport and communications links with Han territories;
and socialist economic modernization, all under the leadership of the
CCP. However, in the short term, concessions to local differences were
needed to reduce resistance (Eberhard 1982; Teiwes 1993). As such, the
comparatively extensive autonomy granted central Tibet in 1951 was
the most extreme example of wider CCP policies, particularly evident
until 1955. They involved using pragmatic lags in policy to achieve
longer-term goals. Generally, the regime first implemented reforms in
North and Northeast China, where socioeconomic and political con-
ditions were most propitious. They expanded the reforms southward
as circumstances allowed, before attempting them in the particularly
sensitive minority nationality areas in the Northwest and Southwest
(Teiwes 1993).
The expectation that special status concessions would allow the
Chinese authorities to exploit internal Tibetan cleavages in a united
front strategy also facilitated concessions (see Anand 2002).3 Through
the arrangement, they hoped to gain the support of moderate central
Tibetan elites who would then persuade ordinary people and harder
line elites to accept reforms (Goldstein 2007). The Dalai Lama, who
was attracted to the egalitarian promises of communism, was one such
moderate Tibetan (Ibid.). The expectation was also that poorer Tibetans
could be convinced that Chinese rule was beneficial when they real-
ized it would bring them previously unavailable educational oppor-
tunities, medical care, material improvements, and advancement and
status as cadres, soldiers, and party members. However, it was expected
that this would occur more easily once Tibetan elites willingly agreed
to integrate into socialist China (Ibid.).
In short, the PRC leadership used special status instrumentally. With
the Agreement, they backed away from an individualistic understanding
of the emerging nation-state, for the time being allowing the minority
territorial community to exist as a distinct collectivity within China
with its pre-1951 leadership and institutions largely intact.
The Nature of Central Tibet’s Special Status

The Agreement created a special status arrangement notable for its
marked regime asymmetry and the tension between its integrative, or
state-building, and its autonomy elements. The Agreement was also
vague and effectively temporary in that it was expressly aimed at pro-
tecting established institutions in order to prepare the way to reform
them in future.
In terms of self-rule, the Agreement formally allowed extensive
political, functional, and symbolic asymmetrical autonomy. It permit-
ted the established manorial system to continue, along with Tibet’s reli-
giously based political, cultural, and social systems. The government
of the Dalai Lama was to remain in place (Point 4), although it would
now be a local authority with “national regional autonomy under the
leadership of the Central People’s Government” (Point 3). The central
authorities pledged not to change the Dalai Lama’s “established status,
functions, and powers” and to allow officials to remain in their usual
posts (Point 4). Tibetan religious beliefs, customs, and habits were to be
respected. The Agreement also pledged to protect the “Lama monaster-
ies,” including their income (Point 7), which came from land-holdings,
the labor and payments-in-kind of dependent peasants and monks, and
donations from adherents. The central Tibet government was permit-
ted its own army, f lag, currency, tax collection, and criminal and civil
justice systems. It would continue to make its own spending decisions
and run its own bureaucracy. As Goldstein notes (2007: 541–42), under
the Agreement, “[a]mazingly, even runaway serfs could still be caught
and whipped with impunity. In the history of the PRC, the scale of this
was, and still is, unique.”
As noted earlier, the special status provisions of the Agreement were
intended to be temporary in the sense that it explicitly stated that there
would eventually have to be reforms in central Tibet. However, the pre-
cise implications of the reforms were unclear. Firstly, there was no date
specified for their implementation. Nor did the Agreement detail the
reforms that would take place. However, it was stated that the reforms
would not be forced on Tibet without the consent of Tibetan elites.
“There will be no compulsion on the part of the Central Authorities,”
the Agreement read. “The Local Government of Tibet should carry
out reforms of its own accord, and when the people raise demands for
reform, they must be settled through consultation with the leading
personnel of Tibet” (Point 11). However, it was also clear that the PRC
party-state meant to bring change to Tibet’s established institutions
eventually, in the form of development, understood as socialist mod-
ernization and transformation (see Goldstein 2007). The Agreement
stated that education, agriculture, industry, and commerce would be
developed “step by step in accordance with the actual conditions in
Tibet” (Points 9 and 10). That the specific nature of the reforms was
left unstated was in keeping with the approach of PRC leaders to state-
building and the reconstruction of China more generally in the early
years after 1949. At this time, the leadership stressed the need to solve
immediately pressing problems and the gradual nature of the CCP pro-
gram, only giving socialist transformation more emphasis from 1953
(Teiwes 1993).
The national reunification and state-building elements of the
Agreement were strong from the start and in tension with the prom-
ised continuity of preexisting institutions. The Agreement was said
to return central Tibet to the motherland, driving out the imperialist
aggressors and ending the anti-patriotic attitude of the central Tibetan
government (Preamble, Point 1). It required Tibetan authorities to
“actively help the PRC to enter Tibet and consolidate the national
defense” (Point 2). However, the PRC authorities pledged to pay the
cost of its military penetration (Point 2, 13, 16) and that the PLA would
respect Tibetan autonomy (Point 13). The Agreement affirmed China’s
sovereignty, too. It declared external affairs and defense matters entirely
central government prerogatives (Point 14) and that the PLA would
gradually absorb most of the Tibetan army (Point 8). The central gov-
ernment was also to establish a military and administrative committee
as well as a military headquarters staffed by central party-state person-
nel and PRC-approved Tibetans (Point 15).
Elsewhere in China, military and administrative committees were
interim administrations until “people’s governments” could be estab-
lished. The Chinese tried to reassure the Tibetan elites that, in the case
of central Tibet, the committee would not infringe on the autonomy
of the Tibetan government because the former would deal with “new
activities” related to implementing the agreement and to moderniza-
tion, not “traditional” activities. It promised that the Dalai Lama would
head the committee. The vice-chair positions would be given to a
PRC representative and the Panchen Lama who, after the Dalai Lama,
was the most important incarnation of the Gelugpa sect of Tibetan
Buddhism and the second largest estate-holder after the Tibetan gov-
ernment (Goldstein 2007). The role of the Panchen Lama in the special
status arrangement is discussed further later. To gain the support of
Tibet elites, the PRC authorities made other gestures, such as agree-
ing secretly to allow some Tibetan army regiments to remain intact,
to a Tibetan police force, and to a phased introduction of PRC cur-
rency (Goldstein 1989). The Agreement said those who had sided with
the “imperialists” and Chinese Nationalists could remain in office if
they supported the new regime (Point 12). Central Tibet was spared
the political campaign waged elsewhere in China, which by 1951 had
seen more than 2.5 million “reactionaries” arrested and some 710,000
executed (Chen 1994).
The lack of detail in the Agreement is stark, in comparison with
the Sino-British Joint Declaration setting out the special status of
Hong Kong (see chapter six). The Agreement had only 1,375 words
excluding the secret clauses, in comparison with the 10,095 of the Joint
Declaration, including its memoranda and annexes. In the early 1980s
in comparison with the 1950s, the Chinese government was anxious
to demonstrate its credentials as an international law-abiding state and
was negotiating with a government that was based on constitutionalist
practices. The vagueness of the 1951 Agreement likely also ref lected
the comparatively wide asymmetry of power favoring China over cen-
tral Tibet in the early 1950s. A significant silence in the Agreement was
that it made no provision for an institutionalized means legitimate to
both sides for resolving disputes arising during implementation of the
arrangement. It would come down to the preferences of PRC authori-
ties, although, as we will see, Mao did agree to many concessions in the
hope of winning the support of moderate Tibetan elites.
Finally, the Agreement needs to be placed in the context of PRC
policies in ethnographic Tibet and with respect to the Panchen Lama.
A rival of the Dalai Lama, the Panchen Lama had been absent from
central Tibet for three decades. Prior to 1951, the CCP had struck
a strategic alliance with him (Goldstein 1989). The Agreement then
restored the Panchen Lama to his traditional seat at Shigatse, near
Lhasa (Points 5 and 6), while the PRC authorities also promised to
give him one of the vice-chair positions on the military and admin-
istrative committee. Meanwhile, Amdo and eastern Kham were
excluded from the special status arrangement and mostly incorporated
into neighboring provinces. Unlike central Tibet, from 1955 these
ethnic Tibetan areas began experiencing “democratic reforms,” which
in the wider PRC context referred to land redistribution, policies to
suppress landlords and counter-revolutionaries, and campaigns insti-
gating class divisions and class struggle. Some areas of ethnographic
Tibet were almost simultaneously subject to collectivization, without
the preparatory stage of establishing mutual aid teams and coopera-
tives typically used elsewhere (Smith 1996). The decision to bring
ethnographic Tibet into the emergent socialist nation so quickly was
to have momentous consequences.

Throughout the 1950s, there were significant tensions over asymmetry
and autonomy due to contradictions between the norms and practices
associated with state-building and reform in an authoritarian, commu-
nist context and the norms promising autonomy and continuity with
established institutions. It proved difficult to separate state and nation-
building in practice. Regime asymmetry, the temporary nature of the
arrangement, and the exclusion of Kham and Amdo further contrib-
uted to the 1959 collapse.
As we have seen, although the Agreement promised the continuity
of pre-1950 central Tibetan institutions, its purpose was to facilitate
state-building policies on the way to establishing what aimed to be the
first de facto modern territorial state and citizenry in Chinese history.
These short and longer-term goals had consequences on the ground.
There was an inf lux of PRC personnel into central Tibet, efforts to
link the territory physically with China, and initial steps at moderniza-
tion and development. So, while the Tibetan government continued
to operate and Tibetan institutions remained intact, some aspects of
life began changing for some people and the precariousness of Tibetan
autonomy became increasingly evident.
PRC authorities almost immediately began building roads from
Sichuan and Qinghai to link Tibet with China. By 1952, they had
also begun establishing telegraph and telegram lines and branches of
Chinese banks. They introduced Tibetan and Chinese newspapers,
radio programs, and book and pamphlet printing, as well as hospitals,
health clinics, medical training, and veterinary stations. Airline ser-
vices began in 1956, coal mining in 1958, and the first blast furnace in
1959 (Grunfeld 1987).
Some cadres, sometimes contradicting central government direc-
tives, attempted to begin reorienting the identities, values, and prac-
tices of central Tibetans toward the emergent Chinese communist
nation. They discouraged and even prohibited aspects of Tibetan cus-
tomary law they found most objectionable. Some tried to reduce the
use of corvée labor and to withdraw the power of some local officials
to tax and to adjudicate legal disputes. They established political asso-
ciations and began holding public criticism sessions. They offered
peasants new power vis-à-vis landholders by paying them in cash for
road-building and to encourage children to attend newly established
secular schools. Opportunities for ordinary Tibetans to train as cad-
res created new means of social mobility outside established Tibetan
institutions (Ginsburgs and Mathos 1964; Grunfeld 1987). It is unclear
how many ordinary central Tibetans were affected by these actions.
Central Tibetans were disunited in their responses in the early 1950s.
Tibetan government elites felt their authority threatened, but while
some more strongly resisted PRC policies, others were willing to coop-
erate with Chinese authorities in limited ways, whether because of
China’s power or because of the CCP promise to build a more egalitar-
ian and modern society. The young Dalai Lama largely fell into the lat-
ter category (see Goldstein 2007). For their part, ordinary Tibetans, to
the limited extent they had contact with Chinese authorities, may have
remained suspicious of PRC officials because their alliance with Tibetan
elites and commitment to maintaining existing institutions appeared
to contradict their egalitarian claims (Shakya 1994). Moreover, in the
early years of the Arrangement, the presence of hundreds of Chinese
cadres pushed up the price of food and other essentials, sparking unrest
in Lhasa that led to significant protests in 1952 (Goldstein 2007).
Meanwhile, Chinese political elites were themselves divided over
how to create political conditions conducive to securing long-term
PRC goals. Throughout the 1950s, Mao backed the continued use of
special status in order gradually to win over Tibetan elites who would
then bring ordinary people over to the PRC project. Others argued for
more rapid reforms in central Tibet. Following the 1952 protests, Mao
reaffirmed the decisions not to reorganize the Tibetan army or create
a military and administrative committee “until conditions are ripe”
and until the army was “truly able to produce its own supplies and gain
the support of the masses” (Mao 1987–1992: 384–87). He also moved
to strengthen direct CCP Central Committee control over ideologi-
cally zealous cadres in Tibet (Mao 1987–1992). He would take similar
steps again following the outbreak of a major rebellion in ethnographic
Tibet in 1956.
In the year leading up to the rebellion, the regime appeared to be
in a stronger position. The roads into central Tibet had been com-
pleted. The Indian government had formally recognized PRC sover-
eignty in Tibet (Smith 1996). The Chinese had moved to establish the
Preparatory Committee for the Autonomous Region of Tibet, which
would oversee the creation of minority nationality autonomy institu-
tions in central Tibet similar to those being used elsewhere in the state
(Smith 1996). The Preparatory Committee embodied the contradic-
tion between sovereignty and autonomy at the heart of the special sta-
tus arrangement and the thinness of the promise that deeper integration
into China would be at a pace chosen by Tibetan authorities. Although
the Preparatory Committee had a Tibetan leadership and majority,
actual decisions were made by the CCP Tibet Committee and had to
be approved by central party-state authorities (see Grunfeld 1987; Ling
et al. 1968; Smith 1996).
From 1956, events in Kham and Amdo made the tensions between
the PRC and Tibetan political and socioeconomic norms more evident.
From 1955, Kham and later Amdo underwent land and labor reforms,
collectivization, and policies deemphasizing religion (Grunfeld 1987;
Smith 1996). By 1956, initially isolated incidents of armed resistance
to the changes had become a more general, organized rebellion, which
was to spread to Amdo. The PRC policies increasingly challenged the
centrality of religion to Tibetan values and ways of life. They also sub-
jected the people of Kham and Amdo, who had a history of resisting
the rule of any state, to the rule of an especially intrusive one. The
PRC nation-state project would require not only the personal political
allegiance of Tibetan elites, but a shift in the identities, loyalties, and
political worldview of ordinary people away from their local and reli-
gious foci and toward the secular, socialist, Chinese nation and political
center (see Teiwes 1993; Teufel Dreyer 1976). Roderick MacFarquhar
(1983: 172) has characterized the rebellion in ethnographic Tibet that
resulted from these policies as “the gravest episode of internal disorder
[in the PRC] prior to the cultural revolution” (see also van Walt van
Praag 1987; Grunfeld 1987; Norbu 1994; Smith 1996).
It is unclear whether the Kham rebels demanded special sta-
tus concessions similar to those given to central Tibet, somewhat
akin to the snowballing of autonomy and special status demands in
post-Franco Spain. Despite their ethnic commonalities with central
Tibetans, Khamba leaders had, prior to 1950, regarded the mounting
Sino-Tibetan tensions as a conf lict between the Lhasa and Chinese
governments that had little to do with them (Goldstein 1989; Smith
1996). Locally focused loyalties, socioeconomic divisions, and the
long-standing animosities between the Lhasa government and Kham
elites initially prevented the rebellion from assuming a nationalist
character (Norbu 1994).4 Over time, however, some central Tibetan
elites found common cause with rebel leaders as news of the effects
of PRC policies on Tibetan religion and way of life in ethnographic
Tibet spread into the territory along with refugees from the fight-
ing. By August 1958, Kham rebels were recruiting supporters in the
central Tibetan capital, although not all central Tibetans welcomed
their presence.
With tensions rising, the Chinese government further extended the
period of the special status concessions in central Tibet. By the end of
1956, collectivization would largely be completed elsewhere in the PRC.
However, Mao announced in February that central Tibet’s exemption
from reforms would extend throughout the Second Five-Year Plan
(1958–1962) and perhaps into the Third (MacFarquhar, Cheek, and Wu
1989; see also Smith 1996). Grunfeld (1987) says that, in late 1957, the
PRC government actually withdrew many of its cadres, claiming the
move demonstrated its commitment to the Agreement. It also largely
excluded central Tibet from the political campaigns waged elsewhere
in China during the second half of the 1950s, including those foster-
ing class struggle, anti-rightist policies, and the Great Leap Forward
(MacFarquhar 1974; Grunfeld 1987).
Central Tibetan leaders were divided over their response to the over-
tures of the rebels. The Dalai Lama appears to have expressed public
support for the Chinese and encouraged both sides to negotiate peace-
fully, while not openly condemning the rebels (Smith 1996; Grunfeld
1987). There are conf licting accounts of the events immediately pre-
ceding the 1959 Lhasa uprising (e.g., MacFarquhar 1974; Grunfeld
1987). Most pertinent here is that, by early that year, some Tibetan
officials felt the Dalai Lama should seek asylum abroad to fight for
independence; others felt compromise with the PRC the only realistic
course. Lhasa was crowded with rebels and Lunar New Year pilgrims.
Tensions were high. An invitation from local Chinese leaders for the
Dalai Lama to attend a play unaccompanied appears to have sparked
fears for his safety. An uprising ensued that lasted about a month in an
organized way (Smith 1996). Both lay people and members of monastic
orders participated, as did both women and men (Shakya 1999; Butler
1999b). It is less clear how much active support the revolt had outside
Lhasa. The CIA had a role in the uprising, but did not instigate it (see
Goldstein 1997; Smith 1996).
With the f light to India of the Dalai Lama and his government, the
PRC officials withdrew the Agreement. Counterinsurgency opera-
tions were already underway in Kham and Amdo. The Chinese now
aggressively cracked down on dissent in central Tibet, too. Tibetan
figures place the numbers killed at 5,000 to 10,000, with as many as
20,000 arrests (Smith 1996). Many ended up in labor camps, often only
accused of indirect participation in the uprising. According to Shakya
(1999), widespread public resentment resulted: to many ordinary rural
Tibetans, who often had had no direct contact with PRC authorities up
to that point, China and communism had now established themselves
as alien and threatening, whatever the injustices of the old system. In
this sense, the special status arrangement had failed because it had not
convinced most central Tibetan elites or ordinary people to accept
reforms voluntarily. In fact, following the uprising, Mao actually fur-
ther delayed some reforms, more of which later. At the same time, from
the party-state’s point of view the special status arrangement had been
successful in the narrow sense that it had helped forestall major open
resistance in central Tibet until the party-state was in a better position
militarily to quell it.
Outcomes
Stability
For several years, the special status arrangement was minimally stable
in that the PRC and central Tibetan authorities largely kept to the
terms of an admittedly vague and contradictory Agreement. However,
this minimal stability proved fragile, for the Agreement collapsed in an
uprising. Arguably, the failure of the Agreement to achieve maximal
stability played a role: the threat of state repression had never been
much below the surface. The agreement of central Tibetan authorities
to the arrangement had been achieved coercively. Moreover, the PLA
remained a significant presence in central Tibet and, after 1956, in the
counterinsurgency campaigns aimed at quelling rebellion in Kham and
Amdo. Arguably, it was only a matter of time before the latter extra-
institutional, armed political action, and the coercive state response
undermined the survival of the special status arrangement in central
Tibet. Throughout the 1950s, China’s maintained its territorial integ-
rity with respect to Tibetan areas, but at a cost in terms of its ability to
maintain its rule without resorting to repression.

The above analysis of political dynamics under the special status arrange-
ment suggests that the central Tibetan authorities had significant de
jure final decisionmaking authority through the 1950s, but that PRC
state-building and reformist policies had begun eroding that authority
in practice. Until the 1959 uprising, it appears that the Tibetan gov-
ernment had considerable scope for policy asymmetry, although it was
clear that this would narrow once central Tibet accepted the reforms
being implemented elsewhere in the state. The information available
points to Tibetan authorities having significant de jure fiscal autonomy,
although this may have sometimes been more limited in practice, such
as when PRC cadres attempted to limit the use of corvée labor. Finally,
the Agreement gave Tibetan authorities de jure control over state deci-
sionmaking with respect to the pace of reforms in the territory, effec-
tively giving them a formal veto over amendments to the arrangement.
Although some PRC cadres infringed on the veto of Tibetan officials
in practice by trying to reduce what they saw as the worst inequali-
ties in Tibetan society, Mao affirmed the veto and continued to delay
reforms. At the same time, despite the formal leadership of the Dalai
Lama in the Preparatory Committee for the Autonomous Region of
Tibet, de facto final decisionmaking authority was in the hands of the
CCP central leadership, for there were no autonomous courts capable
of holding the central authorities to the terms of the Agreement.

The special status arrangement largely did not cause the socioeco-
nomic, gender, and ethnic exclusion that characterized central Tibetan
society in the 1950s. Rather, the exclusion was mostly perpetuated by
the Agreement’s protection of the pre-1950 manorial system, the reli-
giously based system of elite-centered, non-democratic government,
and patriarchal gender relations. At the same time, PRC policies also
initially exacerbated the socioeconomic vulnerabilities of some ordi-
nary Tibetans.
To recall, the presence of PRC cadres and soldiers caused food short-
ages and inf lation that aggravated the economic hardships of ordinary
people and, by 1952, had ignited mass protests and other open challenges
to PRC rule in Lhasa. Events saw the emergence of a Lhasa residents’
group called the People’s Association, or Assembly (Mimang Tsondu), the
first nonelite organization to act politically independent of the Tibetan
government. Although anti-Chinese and anti-Communist, the asso-
ciation was also critical of the Tibetan government’s dealings with the
PRC (Goldstein 2007). It advocated both some reform of the existing
socioeconomic system, but also an arm’s length relationship for central
Tibet with China, akin to the loose protectorate status of the territory
under the Qing dynasty. Paradoxically, the People’s Assembly gained
support from hard-line Tibetan elites, who were often the least support-
ive of internal reforms, but were strongly anti-China (Goldstein 2007).
Prior to the special status arrangement, Tibetan women had had
important roles in both social reproduction and production in the ter-
ritory. They sometimes ran major businesses or estates and acted as
heads of household even when married (see Government of Tibet in
Exile 1995b; Thonsur 2003). However, they also had fewer educational
opportunities than men and were excluded from participation in the
central Tibetan government and from senior leadership roles in all but
a few religious institutions. Patriarchal interpretations of Buddhist doc-
trines and popular culture legitimated these inequities (Tsomo 1995;
Nimri 1995).
Little changed under the special status arrangement. The central
authorities did sponsor the establishment of the Lhasa Patriotic Women’s
Association in 1953, which introduced the idea of organized politi-
cal activity by women into central Tibet. However, very few Tibetan
women joined voluntarily. The association was primarily a united front
organization subordinate to the CCP and aimed at mobilizing support
for PRC policies. It gave gender equality secondary attention (Butler
1999a; 2003).
Little information was available regarding the fate during the 1950s
of the diverse communities of Muslims and Nepalese that had long been
resident in Tibetan areas. Given the centrality of Tibetan Buddhism
to traditional government institutions, members of these communi-
ties normally could not become officials, but were prominent in trade
and commerce. As intermarriage did occur, they were often of mixed
culture in practice (Chen 2003; Rahul 1961; Mishra 2003). Prior to
the 1950s, these internal minorities had some distinctive citizenship
rights including exemptions from some local laws, the protection of
“home” governments, and trade privileges (Rahul 1961; Butt 1994).
These group-differentiated rights were disrupted or withdrawn under
the PRC. With the collapse of the special status arrangement and the
hard-line policies that followed, some Muslims f led central Tibet and
some went into exile (Butt 1994; Mishra 2003).5
The Tibet Autonomous Region
The Cultural Revolution (1966–1976) saw Tibetans suffer vicious

attacks on their ways of life. The campaigns against tradition of these
years affected all of China, but were especially devastating for Tibetans
due to the centrality of religion to their ways of life. Radical leftists,
ethnic Tibetans amongst them, destroyed most of the material elements
of Tibetan Buddhism that had survived earlier political campaigns.
Religious practices were prohibited (Goldstein 1998). It was not until
1980, following the death of Mao and the fall of the Gang of Four,
that Tibetans in the TAR experienced a period of comparative free-
dom. In the early 1980s, the central government tried to undo some
of the cultural and economic damage of previous policies, which had
left TAR Tibetans amongst China’s poorest people with their culture
and self-rule in tatters. However, by the late 1980s, a cycle of protests
by Tibetans and state crackdowns had begun and the political space
for self-rule and distinctive policies contracted. The years since have
been marked by an unknown number of Tibetans in the TAR and
many Tibetans in exile criticizing PRC political and development poli-
cies in Tibet for failing to provide meaningful political autonomy, for
eroding Tibetan identities and ways of life, for failing significantly to
improve material standards of living, and for human rights abuses by
the state. Some Tibetans demand Tibet’s independence.
Background
Following the 1959 uprising, the authorities had abolished traditional
government and Tibet’s special status as a theocratic manorial entity.
They ended the social, economic, and political dominance of clerical
and secular elites and confiscated their estates. They closed most mon-
asteries and attacked religious practices (Goldstein 1997). To improve
the material conditions of ordinary people and win their support, offi-
cials also abolished corvée labor, reduced rents, and began “democratic
reforms” by redistributing land. They conducted political campaigns
against “feudalism.” Paradoxically, they then delayed socialist reforms
for five more years because of continuing local resistance and as part of
the delays in communization across China due to the devastating fam-
ines of 1959–61 (Grunfeld 1987; Lieberthal 1993; Yan 2000).
The TAR was finally established in 1965 as was the Tibet branch
of the CCP, marking the institutional integration of central Tibet into
the political structures used throughout minority nationality and other
areas of China. The Cultural Revolution then ushered in a decade of
extremely harsh attacks against tradition in which only class mattered.
Ethnic and religious identifications were deemed anti-revolutionary.
Radical leftists, including some ethnic Tibetans, destroyed virtually
all remaining material vestiges of religion in central Tibet, while new
policies prohibited religious practices (Goldstein 1998).
Following Mao’s death in 1976 and the fall of the Gang of Four, the
new CCP general secretary, Hu Yaobang, instituted dramatic changes
that brought a period of unprecedented liberalization and cultural
recovery. He ordered the hiring of more Tibetan cadres, Tibetan-
oriented development policies, and schooling in the Tibetan language.
For much of the 1980s, Tibetans could more freely practice their reli-
gion. Monasteries were reopened and given more autonomy in matters
of custom, language, and education. With the introduction of mar-
ketization policies, rural Tibetans experienced less state control over
household economic decisionmaking. The PRC authorities allowed
the Panchen Lama, who had been imprisoned during the Cultural
Revolution, some inf luence in policymaking (Shakya 1999; Goldstein
1994). They also appointed the first non-Han Chinese as CCP sec-
retary in the TAR, although Wu Jinghua was from the Yi minority
nationality, not a Tibetan.
The period of relatively strong collective autonomy and personal
freedom ended in 1987. The TAR has since seen an intermittent cycle
of Tibetan protests and state crackdowns. In 1989, when Hu Jintao,
now PRC president and CCP general secretary, was CCP head in
Tibet, Lhasa began what was to be nearly 14 months under martial
law. Protestors—often led by monastics—have sometimes called for
independence for Tibet, but demonstrations have also often had more
limited aims, protesting state restrictions on religion, economic poli-
cies, and inf lation (see Mackerras 2005).
In this political climate, state security has been the main preoccupa-
tion of the central authorities in the TAR along with the economic
development of what has remained a very poor society. After 9/11,
PRC authorities used the U.S.-led “war on terror” to justify the harsh
treatment of Tibetans charged with national security crimes. Large-
scale military exercises in the TAR and other borderland minority
nationality areas were billed as anti-terrorism efforts (Human Rights
in China 2007). Meanwhile, the post-Mao state has channeled massive
public spending into the TAR, particularly for infrastructure develop-
ment, aiming to reduce the territory’s development gap with the rest
of China and to strengthen state control. As we will see, these policies
have proven highly controversial and protests against Chinese policies
have continued.
Given ongoing restrictions on freedom of expression in the TAR,
the voices most openly critical of PRC policies have been in the
Tibetan diaspora. More than 111,170 strong as of 1998, members of
the diaspora still live mainly in India and Nepal, as well as the United
States, Canada, Bhutan, Europe, Taiwan, Japan, Australia, and New
Zealand. The Tibet Government in Exile, based in Dharamsala, India,
claims to represent both the diaspora as well as Tibetans in China. It is
still headed by the Dalai Lama, although he has reduced his own politi-
cal role and supported democratization and other reforms to expand
inclusiveness and popular accountability (see Boyd 2004). Nevertheless,
adherents to all sects of Tibetan Buddhism continue to revere the Dalai
Lama and understand themselves as owing allegiance to him, although
the extent of his temporal and spiritual authority is contested by some
nationalists (Misra 2003).
The Dalai Lama has earned international respect for his insistence on
nonviolence and commitment to finding a compromise status between
full independence and the status quo for Tibet. As discussed in chap-
ter five, in recent years, he has asked that the TAR be given a status
similar to Hong Kong, but with some additional special autonomy.
PRC leaders have rejected the demand, accusing him of fostering
separatism (“Attempt to separate Tibet from China doomed to fail-
ure: Chinese diplomat,” Xinhua June 28, 1988; see also Sha Zhou,
“What is it behind the Dalai Lama’s ‘plan’?,” Beijing Review February
19–25, 1990, 22) (see chapter six). Despite China’s past willingness to
use innovative and exceptional forms of group-differentiated rights
for minority territorial communities, its current policies are highly
constrained by individualistic understandings of state and nation. The
current impasse also stems from a similar tendency on the part of the
most vocal Tibetan nationalist group, the Tibetan Youth Congress
(TYC). The TYC supports Tibetan independence rather than greater
autonomy and has criticized the Dalai Lama’s policy of peaceful resis-
tance for achieving little for Tibetans (Misra 2003; Dhume 2000;
Smith 1996). Both PRC authorities and the TYC rejected the Dalai
Lama’s Five Point Peace Plan, the so-called middle way proposal that
won the Tibetan leader the Nobel Peace Prize. The proposal envi-
sioned Tibet as a self-governing democratic community “associated”
with China, but autonomous in all external affairs except defense.
Internally, it would have a democratic and autonomous government
entrusted with “the task of ensuring economic equality, social justice
and protection of the environment” and all matters relating to Tibetans
(Dalai Lama 1988). The proposal was later withdrawn. The periodic
talks held between the Tibet Government in Exile and PRC officials
since 2002 have failed to find common ground (see Michael Bristow,
“Tibetans blamed for failed talks,” BBC News (online), November 10,
2008). The PRC authorities have the advantage due to their military
and political control over Tibetan areas and the active nonintervention
of major outside states, who are unwilling meaningfully to challenge
the PRC government over its Tibetan policy. Therefore, they may be
biding their time until the death of the present Dalai Lama, now 73,
hoping his passing will weaken the Tibetan cause (Human Rights
Watch 2003).
The Nature of Tibet’s Status under the TAR

The 1982 PRC Constitution states that China is “a unitary multi-
national state built up jointly by the people of all its nationalities”
(Preamble). It provides that China’s 54 officially recognized minority
nationalities have the right to protect and develop their “ways and cus-
toms,” to use their own languages, and to equality and nondiscrimi-
nation (PRC Constitution Art. 4, 117–119). Minority nationalities
living in “compact communities,” such as central Tibetans, are allowed
“regional autonomy” and “organs of self-government” through which
they “exercise of the right of autonomy” (Art. 4). Within this frame-
work, there is some formal scope for asymmetry. The authorities of
minority nationality autonomous regions, prefectures, and coun-
ties are permitted “to implement the laws and policies of the state in
the light of the existing local situation” within limits set by the state
Constitution and laws (PRC Constitution Art. 115). The people’s con-
gresses of autonomous regions such as the TAR are also allowed “to
enact autonomy regulations and specific regulations in the light of the
political, economic and cultural characteristics of the nationality or
nationalities in the areas concerned,” although these must be approved
by the Standing Committee of China’s National People’s Congress
(Art. 116). Like other autonomous regions, prefectures, and counties,
the TAR formally has financial autonomy (Art. 117); the authority
independently to administer local economic development “under the
guidance of the state plans” (Art. 118); and the right to have territorial
interests duly considered with respect to the state exploitation of natural
resources and building of enterprises (Art. 118). The TAR has indepen-
dent administrative authority in educational, scientific, cultural, public
health, and physical culture matters (Art. 119). TAR authorities, like
those of other minority nationality autonomous areas “may, in accor-
dance with the military system of the state and concrete local needs and
with the approval of the State Council, organize local public security
forces for the maintenance of public order” (Art. 120).
At the same time, the Constitution formally gives state rights pre-
cedence over minority nationality autonomy and stresses the unitary
nature of the state. TAR political institutions are organs of “state
power” (Art. 96). Although the Constitution protects the equality of
the nationalities, it also prohibits “any act which undermines the unity
of the nationalities or instigates their separation” (Art. 4). PRC authori-
ties have interpreted these provisions expansively. The 1984 Law on
Regional Ethnic Autonomy (LREA) states that “[i]nstitutions of self-
government in ethnic autonomous areas shall place the interests of the
state as a whole above all else and actively fulfill all tasks assigned by
state institutions at higher levels” (Art. 7).
The right to autonomy of the minority nationalities is exercised
through the people’s congresses and people’s governments of the
autonomous area. The members of the nationality or nationalities with
regional autonomy are represented in these institutions, while mem-
bers of other nationalities living in the area are also given “appropriate
representation” (Art. 113). The administrative head of an autonomous
region must be a member of the nationality or nationalities exercising
regional autonomy in the area (Art. 114), as are one or more of the
chair and vice-chairs of the standing committee of the people’s con-
gress of an ethnic autonomous area. An equitable share of the adminis-
trative posts must also be held by such minority nationality individuals
(LREA Art. 16, 17).
With respect to the TAR, the PRC authorities claim that, in 2003,
ethnic Tibetans made up nearly 70 percent (298 out of 400) of depu-
ties in the TAR People’s Congress and 81 percent (13 out of 16) of
its Standing Committee seats. At that time, 92 percent of TAR resi-
dents were of Tibetan ethnicity. Two Han Chinese and a Hui held the
other Standing Committee seats (Xinhuanet 2003). Tibetans have also
occupied the chairs of the TAR People’s Congress and its Standing
Committee and headed the territorial administration (see Shakya 1999).
Tibetans made up nearly 79 percent of the territorial Chinese People’s
Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC) (Ibid.). On the admin-
istrative side, PRC authorities claim that, by the late 1990s, Tibetans
made up 60–70 percent of territorial cadres (Goldstein 1998). Due to
the expansion of state employment in recent years, however, the pro-
portion had fallen to less than 50 percent by 2003 (Fischer 2005).
Formally, the Constitution and the LREA give Tibetans the right to
develop and use the Tibetan language, to freedom of religious belief,
and to protect and develop Tibetan culture (PRC State Council 2004).
Trial regulations of the TAR People’s Congress formally require that
both Tibetan and Chinese are used, with Tibetan given precedence.
Resolutions, laws, regulations, and decrees adopted by the people’s
congresses and official documents and proclamations issued at all lev-
els in the territory are supposed to be in both languages. Court cases
involving Tibetans are supposed to be conducted in Tibetan and legal
documents are to be written in Tibetan. Schools are supposed to teach
in Tibetan up to the secondary level (Ibid.).
In addition to these collective rights, TAR Tibetans, like the mem-
bers of all minority nationalities, have individual rights over and above
their rights as PRC nationals. Of particular note are provisions that
generally permit Tibetans to have more than one child and give them
preferential access to administrative jobs and related training as well
as to higher education, special economic assistance for business start-
ups, and some tax relief (Gladney 2004; Kormondy 2002). Gladney
(2004) points out that these group-differentiated rights may be highly
desirable to some people, given that increasing numbers of groups and
individuals in China have asked to be recognized as minority nation-
alities or the members of such groups.
Tensions Related to Asymmetry and Autonomy

State Sovereignty, Security, and Patriotism
The central authorities see politics in the TAR mainly through the
lens of state sovereignty, particularly security, stability, and territo-
rial integrity. A preoccupation with central control and a tendency to
distrust the patriotism of Tibetans characterize many Chinese policies
in the territory, as do militarized responses to Tibetan protests. From
the perspective of the Chinese government, the response is justified
because the territory sits on a strategically important border region
and has a history of political unrest including nationalist mobilization.
Moreover, the government sees the claims of the Tibet government in
exile and the Dalai Lama that they speak for Tibetans in China, and
their demand that Tibet be given more political autonomy, as violations
of Chinese sovereignty and attempts to provoke political instability and
undermine China’s territorial integrity. The preoccupation with central
control also ref lects the authoritarian and unitary nature of the PRC
political system. This manifests itself in a disconnect between formal
institutional authority—which is significantly in Tibetan hands—and
actual power—which lies with Han-dominated, centrally controlled
institutions. Although the problem characterizes political institutions
across China, it is especially sharp in the TAR.
Despite the relatively large proportion of Tibetans in the territorial
administration, they tend to be concentrated at lower and middle posi-
tions, where they mainly have had symbolic roles or acted as interme-
diaries between the party-state and ordinary Tibetans. Few hold senior
posts (Shakya 1999; Norbu 2001). Moreover, the most Tibetanized
institutions have been the ones with the most formal authority and
prestige, but little actual power. Despite having formal authority to
implement state laws in light of local conditions and enact certain regu-
lations, to make local laws, and to select and appoint the TAR govern-
ment, the territorial People’s Congress and its Standing Committee
have mostly had administrative roles in practice and mainly served to
legitimate state policy (Barnett 1999).
The two most powerful institutions in the TAR are also the most
Han-dominated and centralized: the CCP and the PLA. The de facto
senior decisionmaker in the TAR is the regional CCP party secretary,
who, as we have seen, has never been a Tibetan. The party itself is
more domineering and centralized than elsewhere in China due to the
heightened political sensitivity of state policy in the TAR. The CCP
National Forum on Work in Tibet, the main policy organ on Tibetan
issues, is Beijing-based and composed of senior central CCP leaders
(Shakya 1997). The CCP makes all significant state and party appoint-
ments and manages the indirect elections by which TAR representa-
tives are chosen in the people’s congress system to ensure the outcomes
will not threaten the interests of central authorities.6 The PLA has also
had a particularly domineering role in the TAR due to its preeminence
in state-building, in quelling resistance, and in security infrastructure
and installations in strategic border areas (Norbu 2001; Shakya 1999).
The intensity of police surveillance and control has often been higher
than elsewhere in China (Shakya 2008).
PRC authorities have sometimes claimed that they give TAR
Tibetans special treatment, individually and collectively, due to the
distinctive characteristics of the territory (Sautman 2002; Sautman and
Lo 1995). According to a 2004 PRC government White Paper, TAR
authorities have more scope for policy asymmetry related to “long-
term household land use and independent management” and “long-
term private ownership of livestock and independent management” in
agricultural and pastoral areas. It claimed that Tibetan citizens were
given special treatment as individuals in the form of “preferential taxa-
tion policy at a rate three percentage points lower than in any other
part of China,” “preferential interest rate [sic] on loans two percent-
age points lower than in any other place in China, as well as a low
rate on insurance premiums.” The government also claimed to exempt
Tibetan farmers and herders from taxes and administrative charges and
to give them free medical care, as well as free board and lodging for
their children attending school (PRC, State Council 2004). In terms
of collective autonomy, the PRC authorities have also claimed that the
TAR People’s Congress has been given more scope to modify state
laws according to local conditions than other provinces, municipali-
ties directly under the central government, and autonomous regions
(China Internet Information Centre n.d.). PRC authorities claim that
the TAR People’s Congress and people’s congresses at the lower levels
in the TAR have authority to adopt special rules, regulations, and laws
in such areas as marriage, traditional festivals, hours of work, economic
development, natural resources, and environmental protection (PRC,
State Council 2004; He 2005).
These claims have not been independently verified and have been
treated skeptically by outside analysts. He (2005: 70–71) suggests that
in the TAR, as in the rest of China, “most local laws passed by local
people’s parliaments are . . . formalistic in that they only repeat national
laws . . . [and] cannot override the authority of national law which ema-
nates from the center.” According to the NGO Human Rights in
China, the constraints on adapting national laws to local conditions in
the TAR have been greatest with respect to politically sensitive mat-
ters such as civil and political rights and cultural protection, includ-
ing religious matters (Human Rights in China 2007). In these areas,
Tibetans in the TAR have often in practice had fewer rights and less
not more de facto self-rule than other parts of the state (see Gladney
2004; Norbu 2001; Shakya 1999). By contrast, in less politically sensi-
tive socioeconomic areas, they may sometimes have had more protec-
tion for their way of life in comparison with Tibetans in neighboring
provinces (Shakya 1997).
There is little information available about the extent to which
Tibetan TAR representatives or cadres have tried to challenge the pref-
erences of central authorities. In the late 1980s, some Tibetan members
of the territorial CPPCC reportedly criticized the PRC handling of
Tibetan demonstrators and the failure of PRC authorities to recog-
nize the Dalai Lama. However, Shakya (1997) suggests this was a rare
departure from the territorial CPPCC’s normal function as an insti-
tution to contain dissent and disseminate party-state policy. It is also
unclear whether the introduction of direct village-level elections in
the TAR in the early 1990s has given greater weight to local Tibetan
preferences in policymaking and implementation, though it is doubtful
that this has occurred much in politically sensitive policy areas given
the personal costs to those who challenge the authorities. There is little
independent information available about these elections anywhere in
China, let alone the highly politicized TAR. Research does suggest
that in parts of China where there is less unrest, the competitiveness of
these elections, their free and fair nature, and voter participation rates
have been highly variable at best. This has been due to differences in
the speed and style of implementation by officials as well as differ-
ing economic and political circumstances (see Kennedy 2002; Zhong
2004; Tan 2004; Hu 2005).
The stress on state sovereignty in the TAR has not only limited
the political autonomy of the territorial community, but the protec-
tion and development of the Tibetan language, a situation worsened
by state development policies and, as is detailed later, the increasing
impact of market forces. Despite the policies formally protecting the
use of Tibetan in public spheres, spoken Mandarin and written Modern
Standard Chinese, the state language, have higher prestige in that they
are the languages of social mobility. As Han Chinese-controlled, cen-
tralized institutions dominate, much government business still occurs in
the state language. Many ethnic Tibetan cadres are illiterate in Tibetan.
Tibetans with the educational qualifications necessary for senior posi-
tions as teachers and officials are often the most assimilated, having
been educated from an early age predominantly in Chinese, often in
“inland” schools in Han areas (Teufel Dreyer 2003).7 The higher one
advances beyond Grade 3, the more likely classes are taught in Chinese,
especially in cities. University entrance exams and instruction are pri-
marily in the state language, except for classes on Tibetan language and
literature. Some Tibetan parents seek to have their children educated in
Chinese or at least bilingually to increase the opportunities available to
these children (Kormondy 2002; Johnson 2000; Sautman 2003).
The state’s stress on sovereignty has also helped undermine aspects
of religious freedom, despite the religious revival that has occurred in
Tibetan areas since the early 1980s (Goldstein 1998). This apparent
contradiction stems from the political role of Tibetan Buddhism. The
Dalai Lama is both a political and religious leader, and religious figures,
institutions, and claims have been key elements in Tibetan mobiliza-
tion against Chinese policies. Tibetan Buddhist monks and nuns make
up the majority of Tibetan political prisoners (Amnesty International
2000–2005). Chinese policies repressing some religious institutions
and practices are also inf luenced by the anti-religion bias of Marxism
and the materialist view that religious beliefs and institutions inhibit
modernization. For all of these reasons, the PRC authorities tend to see
religion as the element of Tibetan culture most threatening to sover-
eignty, political stability, and development. At the same time, religious
institutions and practices are too important to Tibetan life to suppress
entirely without risking further political instability.
So, while there has been considerable religious freedom since 1980,
from the demonstrations in the late 1980s forward the government
introduced restrictions. Many Tibetans who openly practice Buddhism
have been excluded from cadre selection and promotion (Shakya 1999;
U.S. State Department 2004). Human Rights Watch has reported that
those Tibetans who resist patriotic re-education campaigns, demon-
strate support for independence, or express identification with the
Dalai Lama have been treated especially harshly by authorities, includ-
ing being subject to arbitrary detentions, unfair trials, and long jail
terms. In 2003, “officials and neighborhood committee leaders told
Tibetan government workers in Lhasa that they were in danger of
losing their pensions and even their jobs if they traveled to Mount
Kalish, a sacred site in western Tibet” (Human Rights Watch 2003).
There have been aggressive efforts to delegitimize the Dalai Lama by
forcing individuals to denounce him and by prohibiting his photos
and worship. Authorities have tried to reduce the political inf luence
of monasteries by demanding a high level of patriotism from monastic
personnel, ridding the monasteries of political dissidents and limiting
their size and activities, and prohibiting the founding of new religious
institutions (Goldstein et al. 2006; Goldstein 1998). Central authori-
ties have also insisted on approving the selection of reincarnations of
important lamas, including the Panchen and Karmapa Lamas (PRC,
State Council 2004). Moreover, hard-line moral education discourses
emphasizing Marxist-Leninist content have continued in public edu-
cation campaigns and schools in the TAR since the 1990s, even while
similar programs have declined in Han areas of China (Bass 2005).
The attempt to make Tibetans into what the state sees as patriotic
Tibetan Buddhists and PRC citizens has generated conf lict with those
with conf licting understandings of Tibetan identity, an example of
the dialectical politics of identity discussed by Tully. There have been
periods of significant open protests. Restrictions on religious institu-
tions and practices remain a major underlying reason for the resentment
of ordinary Tibetans (Goldstein et al. 2006). The especially intense
protests in spring 2008 suggest that the discontent had become more
widespread and that it focused not only on religious restrictions and the
barring of the Dalai Lama from returning to Tibet, but a generalized
anger with human rights violations and restrictive state policies. The
protests began in Lhasa, then spread in the TAR and into ethnographic
Tibet. They were notable for their sustained nature, lasting for several
months despite harsh state repression, and for their diverse participants,
including not just monks and nuns, but also students, schoolchildren,
urban workers, nomads, farmers, and intellectuals (Shakya 2008; see
also Barnett 2008). Shakya (2008: 20) argues that the comparatively
broad mobilization was the result of a tendency of PRC authorities,
since the early 1990s, to see any political criticism as a dangerous mani-
festation of a separate Tibet identity that must be suppressed: “The
Chinese government became unable to distinguish between those who
did actively oppose its policies and the rest, and so succeeded in creat-
ing a gulf between the government and the whole Tibetan popula-
tion.” The protests reportedly resulted in the detention of more than
6,000 people, more than 100 deaths and the injury of hundreds more
(Ibid.; Economy and Segal 2008).
In the post-Mao period, debate has continued within the party-state
over whether Tibetans in the TAR should be allowed more expan-
sive, distinctive autonomy to more effectively reconcile them to China
(Sautman 2002). However, since the early 1990s, those claiming sig-
nificantly broader asymmetrical autonomy would harm rather than
help PRC unity and political control appear to have dominated. In the
aftermath of the 1989 Tiananmen massacre and the collapse of Soviet
Communism, then Tibet CCP Secretary Chen Kuiyuan used debate
over the need for more generous policies toward Tibetans to deter-
mine political allegiance to the state: those who supported the rela-
tively liberal policies of the early 1980s were labeled as unpatriotic and
soft on separatism (Shakya 1997). More recently, as we have seen, the
central government has claimed that it grants the TAR more scope to
adapt state laws to local circumstances than is allowed other provincial,
municipal, or autonomous region authorities, while labeling as “split-
tist” the Dalai Lama’s demand that Tibet be given Hong Kong–style
special status.
Social Solidarity, Economic Modernization, and Development

The TAR’s economic dependence on the central government and the
top-down, externally determined character of state economic develop-
ment policies have also generated tensions.
The TAR has had some of the highest state subsidies and growth
rates in western China since the mid-1990s, averaging 12.8 percent
from 1993 to 1999 and remaining in the double digits afterward,
according to official figures. However, the underlying policies have
been largely based on externally determined priorities and solutions
designed for the Han-majority provinces. They have mainly benefit-
ted outsiders, resulting in significant Han Chinese migration into the
TAR and leaving the majority of Tibetans very poor (Teufel Dreyer
2006). State policies have focused on building fixed assets and expand-
ing administration. Comparatively little state spending has gone to
improving the quality and expanding the coverage of education and
health care in rural areas (Fischer 2005), with consequences discussed
later. Policies ref lect the priorities of central agencies and senior poli-
cymakers, of wealthy, mainly Han-dominated public authorities, and
of Han Chinese entrepreneurs from rich coastal provinces and major
western cities. The construction companies undertaking infrastructure
projects are mostly from other parts of China. They repatriate most
profits and hire mostly non-Tibetan workers, who send their earn-
ings home (Bass 2005; Teufel Dreyer 2006). With the completion of
the Golmud to Lhasa railway in 2006, the state has also had greater
capacity to tighten its military and political control in the TAR, while
Han migration into the territory is expected to increase as a direct and
indirect result of this major infrastructure project (Norbu 2001; Shakya
1999; Hoh 2004).8 State economic development policies and spend-
ing have failed to foster self-sustaining locally integrated, internally
productive activity (Fischer 2005). Urban Tibetan administrative elites
have benefitted from state spending and development policies, as have
the few rural Tibetans who have found lower-skilled construction,
commercial, and service-sector jobs. The rural Tibetan majority and
the urban poor have gained little, being disadvantaged in labor markets
compared to Han and Muslim migrant workers, who have more edu-
cation and Chinese-language skills as well as economically beneficial
links to other parts of the state (Fischer 2004b; Teufel Dreyer 2003; see
also Winkler 2002). Complaints that employers discriminate against
Tibetans in hiring have become common (Amnesty International
2007; Sautman 1999). In addition, there has been growing concern that
infrastructure development and policies aiming to expand agriculture
and animal husbandry, threaten the sustainability of local ecosystems
and ways of life (Fischer 2005; 2004a; 2004b; see also Saichi 2004).
Recent years have seen tension in the TAR and ethnographic Tibet
over state policies aimed at relocating an estimated 250,000 farmers to
roadside houses, with what Tibetans claim has been inadequate com-
pensation, and the announcement of plans to settle 100,000 nomads
(Barnett 2008). According to state authorities, the policies are meant
to take pressure off vulnerable lands and enhance access to economic
opportunities and public services for rural families. However, they have
been criticized as coercive, destructive of ways of life, and ineffective at
reducing poverty (Human Rights Watch 2007; 2006).
Discontent over China’s economic development strategy in the TAR
is closely connected to resentment over the unequal, colonial terms by
which Tibetans are included in China as a community of social soli-
darity. The spring 2008 protests included an anti-Han Chinese riot in
Lhasa that, according to Shakya (2008: 19), was sparked by anger over
“the disparity between the migrants’ success and the status of the indig-
enous [that] is so glaringly obvious there” (see also Barnett 2008). On the
Han Chinese side, the protests caused a nationalist backlash. Some Han
Chinese bloggers reportedly criticized Tibetans for being ungrateful for
all that they had been “given” by the Chinese government and people
(e.g., boingboing.net/2008/03/16/tibet-china-blocks-y.html). Yet, given
the non-democratic nature of the PRC political system, the central
government may be in a stronger position than its democratic counter-
parts to def lect majority nationalist pressure to reduce state spending in
Tibetan areas.
Outcomes
Stability
Arguably, the post-1980 TAR has been minimally stable in the sense
that the most important patterns of political behavior needed to main-
tain the political institutions and other elements of the autonomy
arrangement have continued. State borders remain intact and the TAR
has survived on the basis of an operative political document through
central party-state leadership successions. However, this conclusion
must be accompanied by the caveat that political institutions and opera-
tive political documents mainly provided thin mostly formal admin-
istrative autonomy to the TAR. As such, they were insulated from
some of the tensions related to the periods of political unrest and state
repression that have characterized the arrangement since the late 1980s.
Moreover, maximal stability has eluded the arrangement. There are
lingering memories of the 1959 uprising and the rebellions in ethno-
graphic Tibet after 1956 as well as of the harsh state counter-insurgency
measures they triggered, not to mention the severe human rights abuses
of the Cultural Revolution. More recently, the protests of 2008 led to
the most extensive military involvement in an internal-security situa-
tion anywhere in China since the 1989 Tiananmen Square crackdown,
with the PLA supporting the mobilization of the People’s Armed Police
(IISS 2009).

The TAR authorities have little political autonomy across the four
indicators used in the present study. They have some de jure final deci-
sionmaking authority, but little in practice due to the power of central,
Han-dominated party-state institutions and leaders and the political
sensitivity of many policy matters. The territory has some de jure fiscal
autonomy, but little in practice due to the region’s underdevelopment.
State economic development policies and spending actually contribute
to economic dependence on central authorities, whatever their intent
(Fischer 2005). With the central government controlling the purse
strings and development failing to produce growth that can generate
sustainable tax revenues locally, TAR institutions have little financial
clout with which to negotiate with central authorities or set their own
priorities (Shakya 2008; Teufel Dreyer 2006; Yu 2006). In terms of
effectiveness in state decisionmaking processes, the TAR authorities
have little de jure or de facto inf luence and certainly no effective veto
over processes for amending state laws, constitutional norms, or poli-
cies that affect the status and prerogatives of the territorial authorities
or the rights of individual residents. The most powerful political insti-
tutions, the CCP and the PLA, are Han dominated. Finally, the ter-
ritorial authorities appear to have some de jure, but little de facto scope
to diverge from centrally and externally determined policy preferences,
especially in politically sensitive realms.

Compared to central Tibet under the Seventeen-Point Agreement, the
current autonomy arrangement under the TAR and PRC constitu-
tional order has provided more formal citizenship rights for the poor,
women, and some non-Tibetan ethnic minorities. However, substan-
tive socioeconomic and political exclusion continues, in some cases
exacerbated by the weakness of the political autonomy provided by the
autonomy arrangement.
The Tibetan Majority

The largest marginalized group in terms of substantive socioeconomic
and political citizenship is the poor, mostly rural ethnic Tibetan major-
ity. Formally speaking, these ordinary Tibetans have more political cit-
izenship than in pre-1959 Tibet, with its manorial and religiously based
socioeconomic and political structures. However, their actual clout in
political decisionmaking is limited both by the authoritarian and cen-
trally controlled political system and by the socioeconomic marginal-
ization of this huge group.
A 2005 UN Development Program report found that TAR scores
on the human development index (HDI) have been improving, but
remain the worst of all provincial-level jurisdictions in China by almost
all indicators.9 Mainly Tibetan Qinghai province had the second lowest
rank (UNDP 2005; see also Goldstein et al. 2006). In 1990, the TAR’s
HDI was 57 percent of Shanghai’s; by 2003 it had reached 70 percent
(UNDP 2005). This is consistent with the research of independent
scholars that suggests that the material living standards of most Tibetans
have improved markedly since 1980 compared to the 1959–1980 period
(Goldstein et al. 2003). The average Tibetan has more and more diverse
food and more access to clothing and consumer items (Teufel Dreyer
2006; see also Goldstein et al. 2006). However, life expectancy was
still 65.81 years, compared to 71 in China as a whole and 75.2 years
for urban residents across the state. Nearly 55 percent of TAR residents
older than 15 years of age were illiterate, compared to 23.45 percent
in Qinghai and 10.95 percent country-wide.10 School attendance rates
were just under 78 percent, compared with 98.7 across China. 13 per-
cent of people in the TAR have attended at least junior high, com-
pared to 67 percent in the major cities of China, Beijing, Shanghai,
and Tianjin. The numbers of health agencies, hospitals, and practicing
doctors in the TAR were the lowest in the PRC, while rates of par-
ticipation in basic pension insurance and basic medical insurance were
alarmingly low, even by Chinese standards (UNDP 2005).
Andrew Fischer perceptively underlines that the nature of socioeco-
nomic exclusion has changed since traditional times and the 1950s.
Thus, comparisons are difficult to make. In the earlier period, such
exclusion was based on patterns of land and livestock ownership and
access to higher monastic education. Today, it is mainly due to differen-
tial access to nonagricultural, off-farm employment and to higher sec-
ular education, as well as to differences in skills and education between
local Tibetans and migrant workers (Fischer 2004b). The TAR today
is characterized by an urban-rural divide that significantly coincides
with ethnicity and with patterns of political exclusion. This gap is wide
even by the standards of China, which has some of the world’s big-
gest disparities between urban and rural human development (UNDP
2005; Khan and Riskin 2005). TAR urban dwellers are, on average,
wealthier and have more political clout than their rural counterparts.
Due to in-migration, more than 50 percent of urban TAR residents are
now Han Chinese, meaning they are also more likely to be better off
materially, although Tibetans working in the state sector also are com-
paratively well off (Sautman 2002). By contrast, rural Tibetans without
access to off-farm income and poor urban Tibetans have been excluded
from the benefits of growth and from the educational opportunities as
well as the political and economic power associated with cities (Fischer
2004a; 2004b).
The weaknesses of the special status arrangement have tended to
reinforce the socio-economic marginalization of the Tibetan major-
ity. Material exclusion and limits on political autonomy and cultural
protection have tended to be mutually reinforcing. For instance, poor
educational attainment, especially in rural areas, is a major reason
for continuing poverty. Improvements in education levels have been
negatively affected by slow progress in bringing Tibetan language
instruction and cultural content into the school systems despite for-
mal policies providing for the use of Tibetan in public realms such as
schools. There has also been insufficient attention to improving rural
education and health care in state development policies. Dropout rates
tend to be high not only because the quality of education is generally
poor, but because Tibetan families need children to provide household
labor. In any case, graduates often cannot find paid off-farm work,
given their lack of competitiveness in an economy that tends to ref lect
externally driven preferences. All of these factors have undermined
support for state schooling in communities where it is a relative new
idea, distant from traditional monastic education and divorced from
local ways of life. In the 1990s, state policies also kept agriculture com-
modity prices low and forced schools to charge fees, which many rural
families could not afford. The fees now appear to have been dropped
(Postiglione et al. 2005). Ironically, the preferential treatment given
most Tibetans under the one child policy has also contributed to rural
poverty because it has encouraged relatively high fertility rates. Larger
families increase pressure on agricultural and pasture lands and aug-
ment the need for off-farm income (see Goldstein et al. 2006; 2002).
Despite an autonomy arrangement that formally recognizes and val-
ues Tibetan culture, the PRC authorities have sometimes blamed the
poverty of Tibetans on their culture (see Kapstein 1998). The view
ref lects a Marxist understanding of ethnic groups as hierarchically
ordered along a continuum of development defined in historical mate-
rialist terms. Critics have instead pointed to the ways modernization
itself and related state policies have contributed to producing under-
development in the TAR (Fischer 2005). One PRC sociologist has
argued that Tibetans do want to modernize and improve their material
living standards, but are distrustful of the motives and outcomes of
PRC policies when local concerns, views, feelings, and aesthetics are
not adequately considered (Yu 2006). Indeed, the individual and col-
lective cost to Tibetans of such material advancement as has occurred
since 1980 has often been the loss or weakening of valued ways of life
and local control (Shakya 1999).
The tendency of the central authorities to associate aspects of Tibetan
culture with threats to state sovereignty and security has also had nega-
tive effects on the livelihoods of some. The state has often distrusted
central Tibetans who strongly identify with the Tibetan language, edu-
cation, religion, or other elements of local culture and has subjected
them to political persecution and sometimes loss of livelihood, includ-
ing the denial of state employment or promotion as cadres (Bass 2005).
The resulting socioeconomic exclusion for some also diminishes the
quality of Tibetan self-rule by barring such individuals from decision-
making roles in political and administrative bodies.
Gender
As in traditional times, Tibetan women experience greater socioeco-
nomic exclusion than men (see International Committee of Lawyers for
Tibet 1995; Tibetan Women’s Association 2006). A key reason is their
poor educational attainment, which limits their participation in the paid
labor market. The 2005 UNDP report found that nearly 63 percent of
women were illiterate, compared to just under 46 percent of men. The
gender illiteracy gap has narrowed in recent years, but remains 7 per-
centage points greater than in China as a whole (UNDP 2005).
As in Catalonia and Corsica, central government policies along with
social change have helped increase women’s formal roles in political
decisionmaking and administration in the TAR, compared to their
nearly complete exclusion prior to 1959. Women now work as public
sector administrators and hold public office. However, participation
rates remain substantially behind those of men. According to official
figures, in 1996, 20 percent of TAR People’s Congress deputies were
women, a rate similar to the National People’s Congress at that time
(PRC 2004). As in China as a whole, the introduction of direct elec-
tions at the village level in the TAR actually reduced the number of
women public office-holders. The TAR was among the jurisdictions
where central authorities introduced gender quotas to offset the drop.
The quotas required that village committees have at least one woman
member (Cheng 2004). On the administrative side, by 2000, slightly
more than 30 percent of all TAR cadres were women, although these
figures were not broken down by ethnicity. There were also some
Tibetan female judges, procurators, police officers, and lawyers (PRC
2004; “Tibetan women enjoy higher status, political rights,” People’s
Daily Online, October 27, 2001; “Tibetan women urged to improve
education,” People’s Daily Online, August 16, 2001). Access to state
employment advances the economic inclusion of women, given that
public sector jobs tend to be comparatively well paid. It was unclear
whether the greater presence of women in these positions has resulted
in policies and practices that better ref lect the experiences and needs of
women, especially of poor ethnically Tibetan women.
The central government’s role in fostering gender equality should
be commended. Nevertheless, there is no reason to think that Tibetans
would be unable to advance gender equality on their own. The Tibetan
diaspora has also made significant progress in gender equality in recent
years. In response to public pressure, the Tibetan government in exile
has moved to grant women equal political participation rights with
men and to increase the representation of women in the diaspora par-
liament and administration. Women are represented in the professions,
and literacy rates have reportedly reached 97 percent for both girls and
boys (Sangay 2003; Thonsur 2003).
Internal Ethnic Minorities

Most non-Tibetans in the TAR have been materially better off than
most ethnic Tibetans. The former included Han Chinese cadres, man-
agers, traders, and laborers, Hui from northwest China, Kazaks from
Xinjiang, and other business people and workers attracted to the ter-
ritory by the economic opportunities accompanying growth in recent
years. On the other hand, some indigenous non-Tibetans remained
poor. Perhaps the worst off were the Menba (Monpa) and Luoba
(Lhoba). With populations of 8,923 ad 2,965 respectively, they are the
smallest of the officially recognized minority nationalities in China and
live in isolated areas in the southeastern TAR and in Yunnan. In 1998,
the government identified 58 percent of the members of these groups
as “absolute poor,” with 65 percent primary school enrolments and
89 percent illiteracy (Asian Development Bank 2003). However, their
conditions may be comparable to Tibetans living in the same area,11
with whom they are culturally similar. There is no evidence to sug-
gest their marginalization is due to their “minority within a minority”
position within the TAR. Notably, despite their very small numbers,
the Menba and Luoba have the right to formal representation in the
people’s congress system in the TAR, as do the members of some other
non-Tibetan groups (PRC 2004). At least in formal terms, this is an
improvement over traditional times, but whether it enhances their sub-
stantive citizenship is unclear. The Tibetan government in exile has also
taken steps to include non-ethnic Tibetans in political decisionmaking,
including by appointing members of the Tibetan Muslim diaspora to
administrative positions (Chauhan 2000; Butt 1994; Government of
Tibet in Exile 1995a; 2000).
Conclusions
The period of the Seventeen-Point Agreement was the high-water

mark of central Tibet’s political autonomy in the PRC, with the state
instrumentally allowing generous special status concessions to facilitate
short-term state-building and longer-term socialist nation-building.
However, for many reasons—not least a major rebellion against “dem-
ocratic” and socialist reforms in Tibetan Kham and Amdo—these
unprecedented concessions did not avert the 1959 uprising nor the sub-
sequent withdrawal of the Agreement. Under the TAR from the late
1980s, the state has emphasized state sovereignty and security and cen-
tral control as well as economic development. Tibetans have enjoyed
considerably less political autonomy than in the 1950s, including much
less special status, and uneven and incomplete protection for their reli-
gion, language, and other elements of culture. While the autonomy
arrangement is arguably minimally stable and there has been no real
threat to PRC territorial integrity or political and military control,
political unrest has been to varying degrees an ongoing challenge since
the late 1980s. Despite improvements in material standards compared
with the 1959–1980 period, PRC policies have limited the ability of
TAR Tibetans individually and collectively to choose their own devel-
opment path (although there was more freedom in the early 1980s)
and to benefit from recent growth. The levels of socioeconomic mar-
ginalization remain high by Chinese standards, especially for the rural
Tibetan majority and Tibetan urban poor, Tibetan women, and some
indigenous non-Tibetans. State policies marginalize and persecute
Tibetans who identify strongly with Tibetan language, religion, and
other elements of culture. Yet, compared to the pre-1959 period, there
have been gains in formal political participation rights for women,
ordinary Tibetans, and some non-Tibetan minorities.
With the exception of the Cultural Revolution years, PRC authori-
ties have always given or claimed to give central Tibet a distinctive sta-
tus in response to its political, socioeconomic and cultural, geographic,
and other specificities, however reluctantly or without substance this
special status has been in practice (see Teufel Dreyer 2006). The Dalai
Lama and the Tibet government in exile have also demanded that
Tibetans be given greater autonomy, which, if granted, would make
their status distinctive amongst China’s minority nationalities. More
than half a century after the PLA first invaded central Tibet, special
status remains an important modality for legitimating state rule and
for expanding citizenship for a mobilized and unassimilated minority
territorial community, even if it is a modality currently more honored
in the breach.
The lack of freedom of expression and democracy in the TAR and
China as a whole make it impossible to know what proportion of
central Tibetans support the current autonomy arrangement and how
they would like to see it changed. However, the geographic breadth
and diversity of groups involved in the 2008 protests suggest that there
is significant discontent, for the costs of openly expressing political
dissent is high in Tibetan areas of China. Yet, a move towards sub-
stantially more political autonomy for the TAR seems unlikely in the
current circumstances. The comparison with Hong Kong is stark.
There is no independence movement in the former British territory,
nor in the Hong Kong diaspora. Moreover, there is less perceived cul-
tural distance between Hong Kong’s ethnic Chinese majority and the
Han Chinese of the Chinese mainland compared to between central
Tibetans and Han. Hong Kong, unlike Tibet, is perceived as being eco-
nomically useful to rather than a net drain on the central treasury. Yet,
even in Hong Kong, the PRC central government has made patrio-
tism, defined in an authoritarian manner and premised on individual-
istic conceptions of the nation-state, a condition for expanding political
autonomy through democratization. For the TAR, it may take a transi-
tion from authoritarian rule in China as a whole or, at least, a period of
significant constitutional shift akin to the early years of the PRC or the
early post-Mao period, before the central authorities are again willing
to give the TAR more political autonomy, including greater scope for
adopting distinctive policies that better address the multiple citizenship
deficits in the territory.
CH A P T E R EIGH T
Conclusions
Collectively, the case studies suggest a number of findings, which

require further study to determine whether they can be generalized
to other instances of special status arrangements. Overall, the experi-
ences of central Tibet, Hong Kong, Corsica, and Catalonia, as well as
China, France, and Spain, point to the growing importance of asym-
metry in emergent patterns of territorial governance and of asymmetri-
cal autonomy arrangements as modalities of the contemporary state.
These arrangements have proved both instrumentally and normatively
important in attempts to build and hold together states with minority
territorial communities and for achieving other state goals. The cases
also affirm the centrality of constitutional ruptures or shifts as contexts
in which state decisionmakers sometimes overcome the biases against
asymmetrical territorial governance and the recognition of territori-
alized cultural identity claims associated with the modern territorial
state and citizenship model. The cases further suggest that special status
arrangements do not end political conf lict over asymmetry and auton-
omy. Rather, they show how de jure formally asymmetrical autonomy
was difficult to implement and sustain. Finally, the cases point to the
achievements and the limits of special status arrangements in terms
of the order and justice criteria studied, that is, stability and inclusive
citizenship. The arrangements made substantial contributions to state
stability, understood in minimal terms, but more variable and limited
contributions to the citizenship of the minority territorial communi-
ties. Although, with exceptions, they largely did not cause the citizen-
ship exclusions experienced by internal minorities, neither did they
substantially contribute to expanding the citizenship of these groups.
However, on the whole, this failure had more to do with the citizenship
limits of the wider political economic and gender orders in which the
arrangements were embedded than with the arrangements themselves.
With the exception of Hong Kong, state-wide institutions, norms, and
political struggles played important roles in protecting formal equality
rights for internal minorities in the territories studied.
There were also significant differences in the origins, nature, politi-
cal tensions, and outcomes of the four arrangements. The following
paragraphs offer some comparative observations on the contextual fac-
tors that help account for this variation. They also provide more details
of the study’s wider conclusions.
The study found that regime type was a major factor accounting
for differences across the cases: in comparison with the democratiz-
ing/democratic context arrangements for Catalonia and Corsica, the
authoritarian context of the special status arrangements in central Tibet
and Hong Kong did weaken the political autonomy of the minority
territorial communities and some dimensions of inclusive citizenship
for vulnerable internal minorities. Authoritarian contexts were also
associated with weakened stability, understood in maximal terms. In
some respects, authoritarian and democratizing/democratic context
special status arrangements might be considered distinctive subtypes
of asymmetrical minority territorial autonomy. Yet, this would also be
an oversimplification. The order and justice outcomes of the special
status arrangements were also significantly affected by other factors:
the state’s position on the unitary-federal continuum, the political and
economic weight of the minority territory in the state and its level of
wealth and development, and the nature of the wider political econ-
omy and gender orders in which the special status arrangement was
embedded, including its position in processes of economic globaliza-
tion, amongst other factors. The impulse of state-wide authorities and
actors to recentralize and standardize existed across the cases, but there
were more institutionalized checks on this happening arbitrarily in the
democratization/democratic context cases. In addition, democratic and
liberal institutions and processes did contribute to building special sta-
tus arrangements that more closely approached Tully’s ideal of open-
endedness. However, the liberal-democratic context arrangements,
like their communist authoritarian counterparts, had a mixed record
with respect to advancing the citizenship of the poor and women. The
authoritarian context arrangements were better able to sustain stron-
ger asymmetries overall, being less subject to institutionalized formal
equality norms.
Conclusions 205
Origins
These findings add weight to the arguments of Kymlicka that the poli-
cies states use to respond to substate nationalism in Western democra-
cies are different from those in most other political contexts. To recall,
the former “accept the principle that their substate national groups will
endure into the indefinite future, and that their sense of nationhood
and nationalist aspirations must be accommodated in some way or
other, typically through some form of territorial autonomy” (Kymlicka
2007: 35). In other polities, minority groups are often considered “fifth
columns” and threats to state security that justify limits on democratic
politics and liberal rights (Ibid.; 2002). These observations help make
sense of why authoritarian state elites in China and early post-Franco
Spain made special status concessions in the context of highly dis-
ruptive regime changes. The political pressures associated with these
constitutional disjunctures facilitated changes in state decisionmaker
preferences for centralized, standardized territorial governance based
on “one nation, one state, one citizenship.” In democratic contexts,
minority self-government claims resonate with ideas of rule by the
people and freedom, so are more difficult to ignore and paint as mere
threats to the state and nation.
Yet, the cases also suggest that the origins of special status arrange-
ments were somewhat similar in all the cases, regardless of regime
type. First, they point to the instrumental character of special status arrange-
ments in both authoritarian and democratic/democratizing contexts,
even if state elites may have also sometimes believed in their intrin-
sic normative value. In all cases, state leaders agreed to special status
concessions because they were means to other ends important to the
state. In France and Spain, some state elites may have agreed to the
arrangements due to their potential to advance democratic justice in
a multinational state. However, the normative commitments of state
elites cannot be separated from their political interests. What is cer-
tain is that post-Franco Spanish state elites needed to build political
alliances with territorial political parties and political elites, especially
in populous and wealthy Catalonia, and to quell Basque nationalist
mobilization, if they were to democratize Spain and remain in power.
Special status concessions helped them do so. In France in the early
1980s, the creation of the “political region” was, amongst other aims, a
means of consolidating the local and regional power bases of the newly
elected Socialists. With this policy, the French government hoped a
special statute for Corsica would revitalize the island’s democracy
and economy, while reducing ethnonationalist violence, a mix of
instrumental and normative aims. In 1950/51, PRC leaders used spe-
cial status concessions to smooth their state-building in central Tibet
and prepare the way for reforms. Years later, early post-Mao leaders,
particularly Hu Yaobang, appeared to have been partly motivated by
the intrinsic normative value of self-rule when they allowed central
Tibetans a period of relative personal freedom and somewhat stronger
political autonomy under the TAR in the early 1980s after the tragedy
of the Cultural Revolution. By contrast, the instrumental purposes of
the “one country, two systems” policy stand out, for it was a means
to incorporate Hong Kong into China and to end British rule while
advancing economic modernization and potentially resolving the “one
China” question with respect to Taiwan.
Constitutional ruptures and shifts were not the only facilitating
conditions common to the special status concessions across the cases.
Another was the presence of moderate minority territorial community elites.
These were territorial elites with whom state actors shared some com-
mon interests or commitments and whose support could potentially
help ensure the arrangement would contribute to reconciling the
territorial population to its inclusion in the state rather than fueling
centripetal politics. This facilitating factor is closely related to the inter-
culturality of minority territorial populations and their multiple class,
ideological, political, and cultural identifications, some of which can
enhance mutual trust between states and minorities or foster relations
of interdependence between state and territorial elites. With respect to
Hong Kong, state concessions under “one country, two systems” were
perceived by state leaders to be less dangerous because of the attach-
ments of Hong Kong elites to Han Chinese civilization, alongside their
Cantonese identifications and distinct history and way of life. State and
Hong Kong business elites also had a shared material interest in China’s
post-Mao development strategy, partly ref lected in their strengthening
clientelist ties. Although identifying with Corsica, traditional Corsican
elites expressed commitments to Republican values and often had a
material interest in the existing status of Corsica within France and in
maintaining close ties to the state. Catalan nationalists sought auton-
omy, not independence. The dominant nationalist group shared the
Center-Right ideology of Francoist state elites and the goal of democ-
ratizing Spain. In central Tibet, some Tibetan elites were attracted to
the egalitarian ideals of the Chinese communists and were more open
to the modernization of Tibet, a cleavage essential to Mao’s united
front strategy.
Conclusions 207
In each case, the decision of state elites to grant special status may
have been facilitated by what Keating termed a usable past, meaning, as
we have seen, historical examples of the state accommodating (semi-)
sovereign power centers and minority territorial communities, which
could be used to legitimate special status concessions in the present.
To recall, Ryan (1990) has argued that state actors will be more likely
to make multicultural accommodations for minorities when they per-
ceive the geopolitical environment as relatively unthreatening to their
sovereignty and security, a condition more likely to pertain in liberal
democracies in the West. The case studies broadly affirm this view.
In all the arrangements studied, the decision to grant special status
occurred in a context where key outside governments and international orga-
nizations did not support the independence of the minority territorial commu-
nity, but rather that it be granted autonomy. These conditions appear to have
made concessions seem less risky for state elites. At the same time, in
the two cases outside the liberal democratic West, PRC state elites still
saw their geopolitical environment as threatening and, related to this,
perceived some Tibetan nationalists and Hong Kong pro-democracy
groups as fifth columns, backed by outside forces bent on destabilizing
China. This was one reason that the concessions made to these territo-
ries, including formal provisions and informal practices, restricted the
political autonomy of the territories.
In three out of four cases, decisions to grant special status appear to
have been facilitated when the territory was perceived to be politically and/
or economically valuable to the state. For PRC state elites, central Tibet was
important as a strategic borderland. It was also symbolically valuable
because taking it appeared to lend legitimacy to the claim of the Chinese
communists to sovereignty over all the lands that had been claimed by
the Qing. Post-Mao leaders saw Hong Kong as symbolically valuable
for similar reasons. In addition, taking back the territory was impor-
tant because Hong Kong symbolized China’s humiliation by European
imperialists and was crucial for reunification with Taiwan, not to men-
tion for China’s economic modernization. For their part, Spanish elites
could not ignore the electoral weight of Catalonia nor its economic clout.
Corsica seems an exception to the pattern that special status concessions
were more likely when central government elites perceived the minor-
ity territory to have political and/or economic value to the state. The
island’s very marginality—politically, economically, geographically, and
culturally—appears to have made it easier for French state elites to justify
allowing Corsican authorities to deviate from standard institutions and
policies, much as it had with respect to the French overseas territories.
Nature
The study began by defining special status arrangements as forms of

minority territorial autonomy characterized by some degree of de jure
asymmetry, that is, as grants of formally distinctive autonomy along
claimed territorialized identity lines. However, seeing special status
arrangements as a subtype of minority territory autonomy arrange-
ments does not fully capture the interconnectedness of asymmetry and
autonomy as features of the phenomenon, nor the f luidity of the inter-
play between them.
Asymmetry and autonomy were interconnected features partly
because asymmetry has two functions for mobilized minority terri-
torial communities. It can be both symbolically important in and of
itself and instrumental, that is, a means of achieving a desired degree of
autonomy. The former is perhaps the most obvious dimension. Here,
distinctive forms of autonomy serve the symbolic purpose of provid-
ing institutional recognition for the distinctive identity claimed for
the minority territorial community. Thus, Catalan nationalists have
demanded distinctive forms of self-government, including legal rec-
ognition as a nation, as recognition of their “hecho differential,” as have
their Corsican counterparts. Here, asymmetry becomes an end in itself,
although recognition as a “nation” in a statute of autonomy or constitu-
tion may simultaneously serve instrumental purposes if it can be used
as a resource for claiming new entitlements. However, in all of the ter-
ritories studied, the demand for special status was also instrumental in
that it was a by-product of the struggle for adequate political autonomy
and for the protection of territorial values and interests. It was a means
to achieve these ends. For instance, the marked regime asymmetry that
characterized the Hong Kong special status arrangement was not so
much symbolic in importance as recognition of Hong Kong’s differ-
ence, though it had this role to some degree. Rather, it was mainly a
consequence of the need for the territory to have significant autonomy
in order to protect the continuity of British-era institutions so as to
reassure Hong Kong people and investors nervous about Chinese rule.
Special status and autonomy may also be interconnected because
of the nature of identity politics in special status territories. Even in
functional areas where their authority was not formally asymmetrical,
territorial political elites sometimes gave state actions distinctive sig-
nificance or used their standard authority in distinctive ways, impelled
by nationalist or regionalist aims and politics. For instance, there was
clear evidence of the latter in the ways that Catalan authorities under
Conclusions 209
CiU-led governments aggressively developed linguistic normaliza-
tion policies and external affairs activities. One expects that further
investigation of the other cases would reveal similar examples. As
such, de facto asymmetry may be as important as de jure asymmetry
to the actual functioning and stability of special status arrangements,
particularly where strong de jure asymmetry is controversial and dif-
ficult to maintain.
A later section will discuss comparative findings related to the degree
of political autonomy permitted under the four special status arrange-
ments. For now, note that the degree of de jure political and functional
autonomy of the arrangements correlated with not only state regime
type, understood as a continuum, but also with where the state and
state-territorial relationship fell on the unitary-federal state continuum.
The cases suggest the hypothesis that the more federal and democratic
the context of the arrangement, the greater its de jure functional and
political autonomy. The Catalonia Autonomous Community (AC),
located in federalizing Spain and within a democratizing and then a
democratic state, had comparatively high de jure political and func-
tional autonomy. The TAR, located within an authoritarian, unitary
state and with a strongly unitary relationship with the central govern-
ment, had low de jure political and functional autonomy. The HKSAR
was located within the same authoritarian, unitary state as the TAR,
but had a somewhat federalized relationship with the central gov-
ernment, some liberal institutions, and limited competitive elections
without being democratic. The special status arrangement permitted
comparatively high de jure functional autonomy, but low de jure politi-
cal autonomy. During the 1950s, Tibet had relatively high de jure func-
tional and political autonomy under the Seventeen-Point Agreement.
While the PRC state was authoritarian, its relationship with central
Tibetan authorities was not fully unitary in that the former had a for-
mal veto over elements of China’s policies in central Tibet. Finally, the
Corsica special status arrangement was a mixed case. It had relatively
low, expanding to moderate de jure functional and political autonomy,
ref lecting the unitary character of France, but also its democratic polit-
ical system.
Tensions
Regime type was an important reason for variation in the nature of the
political tensions related to asymmetry and autonomy across the cases.
However, there were other factors at work, too: the directionality of
the arrangement, that is, whether it was integrative (associated with
bringing a previously separate minority territorial community into the
state) or devolutionary (associated with accommodating a minority ter-
ritorial community already part of the state); its temporality (whether
it was formally temporary or permanent); its type of autonomy and
asymmetry; state-territorial disparities of wealth and development; and
immigration.
Regime type
In the democratizing/democratic context arrangements, a major source
of tensions were the conf licts between asymmetry and formal equality
norms, embedded in constitutions, laws, and political culture and mobi-
lized in the partisan electoral competition central to liberal-democratic
political systems. Institutionalized equality norms limited the degree
of formal political and functional as well as institutional and symbolic
asymmetry permitted in both the Corsican and Catalan arrangements.
These pressures also led state actors to extend concessions made to the
minority territorial communities to other territorial authorities, mak-
ing the special status arrangements an engine of wider decentralization.
These tensions also help explain why the French government agreed
to a special statute for Corsica as part of state-wide decentralization
and why Spanish state elites agreed to give Catalonia special status
while establishing ACs across the country. Norms protecting formal
individual equality—in this case, the equal rights of all citizens to be
educated in and speak the state language—combined with norms pro-
tecting national unity and indivisibility, made it harder for territorial
authorities to protect and advance the use of the territorial language.
At the same time, the resulting conf licts were not merely between
the native speakers of the territorial language and native speakers of
the national language. Rather, they manifested the complex intercul-
turality of territorial residents, their simultaneous identifications with
state, territorial, and other communities, and, in linguistic terms, their
increasing bilingual and even multilingual lives. Market forces often
further undermined the ability of territorial authorities to expand use
of the territorial language given that such forces tended to further
reinforce the power of the state language, albeit to differing degrees.
Catalan was in a much stronger position to resist than Corsican because
of its relatively high prestige—learning it was more likely to increase
an individual’s life chances.
Conclusions 211
As we have seen, in Catalonia, the democratization process itself
created tensions with respect to asymmetry and autonomy. Although
some of these tensions might be found in all cases of special status
arrangements established during democratization, others grew out of
the specific characteristics of the Spanish transition. An example of the
former was that the introduction of competitive multiparty elections
across the state increased demands for territorial and individual equal-
ity, leading to the establishment of ACs across the state. Further, with
democratization came the establishment of a European-style welfare
system based on individual and territorial equality as well as country-
wide social solidarity. This development encouraged the standardiza-
tion of social policies across Spain and fiscal centralization. A more
distinctive feature of Spanish democratization was Spain’s accession
to the EU, which had an ambiguous effect on Catalonia’s autonomy,
including a reduction in its policy choices in several functional areas
within its competence. The Corsican arrangement has also experienced
tensions related to European integration, particularly over pressure to
cut tax concessions and subsidies for the island.
In Hong Kong and central Tibet, China’s authoritarian political sys-
tem also had a significant effect on the nature of tensions over asym-
metry and autonomy. If many of the limits on special status in the
democratic/democratizing context cases were justified in terms of
citizen and territorial equality, in the authoritarian context cases most
were justified in terms of the need to protect state sovereignty, security,
and patriotism. Given the relative weakness of institutionalized formal
equality norms and the absence of competitive party electoral competi-
tion in China, equality norms were not a major source of conf lict with
respect to the arrangements. The arrangements for central Tibet and
Hong Kong did not originate in a context of state-wide devolution, nor
trigger widespread snowballing calls for similar autonomy by the elites
of other territorial authorities. To discredit the Dalai Lama’s demand for
Hong Kong–style special status for Tibet, the central government was
able to represent the Hong Kong special status arrangement in nation-
alistic terms as an exceptional status necessary to end imperialism.
This is not to say that equality norms of a sort have had no role in
conf licts respecting the status of central Tibet and Hong Kong. In 1950s
Tibet in particular, the communist goal of equality conf lict: Mao had to
reign in cadres keen to end the inequalities associated with traditional
Tibetan institutions protected by the Seventeen-Point Agreement, as
immediate reforms would have undermined the goal of getting moder-
ate Tibetan elites to accept change willingly and bring the masses along.
To the extent that formal equality norms are weakly institutionalized
in authoritarian regimes, authoritarian governments may actually find
it easier to establish and maintain special status arrangements than their
democratic/democratizing counterparts. Also, authoritarian govern-
ments may find special status arrangements attractive precisely because
they allow for autonomy concessions to be limited to particular parts of
the state, leaving the rest more centralized and unitary in structure. He
(2007) has made this argument with respect to highly centralized states
as a whole (see also Conversi 2007).
Directionality
Beyond regime type, directionality also inf luenced the nature of the
conf licts over asymmetry and autonomy that characterized the arrange-
ments. The two cases of integrative special status—central Tibet in the
1950s and Hong Kong—had tensions characteristic of the state-building
process of which the special status concessions were a part. As the terri-
tory has just been incorporated into the state, by definition, we might
expect that there would typically be greater perceived and actual politi-
cal, socioeconomic, and cultural difference between the state and the
special status territory in such integrative contexts compared to their
devolutionary counterparts. The territorial political and economic
regimes in central Tibet and Hong Kong were indeed very different
from those of the PRC, which led to tensions. Moreover, the two simul-
taneous processes underway—state-building, which involved assertions
of state authority, and autonomy-making, which involved keeping the
state at bay—were contradictory, all the more so because of the regime
asymmetry mentioned earlier. The two cases of devolutionary special sta-
tus, Catalonia and Corsica, experienced conf licts between autonomy
processes and those associated with maintaining state authority. They
also experienced conf licts rooted in perceived cultural difference, but
both were comparatively mild. After all, both Corsica and Catalonia
had already been part of France and Spain for two centuries or more,
the states and territories had the same regime type and less perceived
cultural distance separated the state and territorial societies than was the
case with either the central Tibet or Hong Kong arrangements.
Temporality
Whether the special status arrangements were temporary or permanent
also affected the nature of the tensions that emerged. In 1950s central
Conclusions 213
Tibet, the temporary nature of the arrangement contributed to its ille-
gitimacy over time amongst Tibetan elites and its ultimate collapse, par-
ticularly as central Tibetan elites learned of the devastating effects of
“democratic” and socialist reforms in Kham and Amdo, reforms they
feared they would eventually have to accept. In Hong Kong, the tem-
porary nature of the “one country, two systems” arrangement had not at
the time of writing created significant overt tensions. However, it will
likely do so as the 2047 end date approaches, especially if Hong Kong
people are denied a democratic role in decisionmaking about their politi-
cal future. These specific types of tensions were absent from the per-
manent arrangements, Corsica and Catalonia. Norms related to regime
type may account for the difference. It would be politically difficult for
state-wide governments in democratizing or democratic states to put a
time limit on a special status arrangement without the democratically
expressed agreement of the minority territorial community concerned.
At the same time, while the Corsica and Catalonia arrangements
were permanent, they were not static. The institutions of special status
were periodically revised as circumstances changed. The revision pro-
cess was itself tension-ridden, although considerably more institution-
alized and democratic than the parallel processes in central Tibet and
Hong Kong. We will return to this issue later.
Type of Asymmetry and Autonomy

The types of asymmetry and autonomy associated with each arrange-
ment had a bearing on political tensions, too. Struggles over main-
taining or expanding the political autonomy of the territory, including
its final decisionmaking authority, fiscal autonomy, effectiveness in
state decisionmaking processes, and scope for policy asymmetry, were
especially contentious across the cases. The conf lict was greater when
increased political autonomy would result in sharper regime asymme-
try. An example of the latter was the ongoing conf lict over the democ-
ratization of Hong Kong. However, even without regime asymmetry,
demands for greater political autonomy were f lashpoints. During nego-
tiation of the 2006 autonomy statute for Catalonia, there were major
conf licts over territorial demands for greater autonomy for territorial
courts, more de jure fiscal autonomy, and a state-territorial bilateral
commission to strengthen Catalonia’s effectiveness in state decision-
making. The Corsican arrangement has seen nearly three decades of
contestation over efforts to give the Corsican Assembly some legislative
and regulatory authority in its areas of functional competence.
Symbolic asymmetry was also a political f lashpoint in each case,
especially when it appeared to challenge the “one state–one nation”
underpinnings of the modern territorial state model. Demands from
Catalonia and Corsica politicians that the territories be recognized as
a “nation” or “people” in their autonomy laws were examples, as was
the Dalai Lama’s demand that Tibet be recognized as a self-governing
democratic community “associated” with China in his “middle way”
proposal. On the whole, horizontal, or functional, asymmetry on its
own was less controversial than either political or symbolic asym-
metry, but was difficult to separate analytically or politically from
them. The extensive and highly asymmetrical functional autonomy of
the HKSAR, for instance, was less threatening to central authorities
because it was accompanied by comparatively weak political autonomy.
Finally, as already discussed, regime asymmetry directly or indirectly
produced the most destabilizing conf licts of all.
Disparities of Wealth and Development

Disparities in wealth and development between the state and territory
were also sources of tension with respect to asymmetry and autonomy.
For one, these disparities underlay conf licts over competing communi-
ties of social solidarity. In relatively wealthy Catalonia, there has been
ongoing conf lict over how to balance the commitment of territorial
taxpayers to Catalonia and to Spain as communities of social solidarity.
This has been exacerbated by the demands placed on public protec-
tion schemes by poorer immigrants in recent years and broader pres-
sures on state authorities to reduce spending to meet the criteria for the
Eurozone. The tensions between special status territories and states as
communities of social solidarity had not surfaced as explicitly in Hong
Kong, the wealthiest part of China. This will likely change as the 2047
end date of the arrangement nears and the territory’s status has to be
renegotiated. In contrast with Catalonia and Hong Kong, both Corsica
and the TAR were dependent on state revenue and received very high
per capita levels of state transfers, so that tensions between the state
and minority territorial community as communities of social solidar-
ity played out differently. In both, there was potential for a state-level
nationalist backlash against territorial autonomy demands and anti-state
mobilization, resulting in popular pressure on the state to reduce state
revenue transfers to the territories in question. In both central Tibet
and Corsica, also, continuing disparities in wealth and development
within the territory and between territory and state fueled tensions
Conclusions 215
because of the view of substate nationalists and other members of the
minority territorial communities that state economic policies had con-
tributed to this inequality by failing to promote locally integrated and
productive economic development that benefitted the majority of ter-
ritorial residents.
Immigration
In all cases, the in-migration of workers from abroad or elsewhere
in the state was a source of political tension, although in ways that
ref lected the distinctive political economy contexts and the particu-
larities of the intersection of class, ethnicity, and residency status in
each territory. In Corsica and Catalonia, the local economy depended
on growing numbers of permanently settled non-Europeans, whose
presence complicated efforts to protect territorial languages and to
reinforce the social cohesion needed to advance internally inclusive
citizenship through high-cost social protection programs. In post-Mao
Tibet, market reforms, an expansion of tourism, and infrastructure
development was shifting power to cities and to externally oriented
economic activity dominated by mostly Han Chinese migrants, exter-
nal capitalists, and cadres. Unassimilated rural Tibetans, the majority in
the TAR, as well as poor urban Tibetans have been socioeconomically
and politically marginalized through these processes. The resentments
and resulting political tensions were evident in some of the spring 2008
protests, which were a major indictment of PRC policies in the terri-
tory and in ethnographic Tibet, too. In Hong Kong, most people are
themselves descendants of mainland Chinese migrants. Yet, the newer
arrivals, especially poorer individuals, have been represented by gov-
ernment and the media as culturally inferior and threats to Hong Kong
economistic values and so a drain on taxpayers. These representations
helped make the Hong Kong public more accepting of the interference
of HKSAR and state institutions in the autonomy of Hong Kong Court
of Final Appeal in the context of the right-of-abode case.
Outcomes
Stability
By and large the special status arrangements advanced the building and
maintenance of the states concerned, although none of the arrangements,
with the exception of the Catalan AC, were more than minimally sta-
ble. As Hechter (2007: 126) put it, “nationalist sentiment . . . [can] be
bought off.” It can also be intimidated by state repression. However,
neither cooptation nor fear work forever, nor with everyone.
In the integrative cases—Hong Kong and 1950s central Tibet—the
special status arrangements aided the extension of the institutions of
state power and authority into the newly acquired territories. The
newly established frontiers of the state subsequently remained intact. If
the Seventeen-Point Agreement did not prevent revolt against Chinese
rule in central Tibet, it did delay it until the state could quell it rela-
tively easily. Nevertheless, the Seventeen-Point Agreement was the
only arrangement studied that actually collapsed and violently so. Its
successor, the TAR, endured in the post-1980 period. This durabil-
ity appears to have been a consequence of policies offering at vari-
ous times and to differently situated Tibetans, weak collective political
autonomy and some additional individual citizenship rights, improved
living standards and household economic freedom compared to the
1959–1980 period, some opportunities for upward mobility as political
representatives and cadres, and repression, including extended periods
of martial law and crackdowns on public protest and forms of reli-
gious expression deemed by the state to be politically threatening. The
Hong Kong arrangement has been durable to date. It has helped secure
and legitimate PRC rule in the territory as a consequence of policies
offering to differently situated intercultural Hong Kong residents, vari-
ously, limited political and extensive functional autonomy, civil rights
and freedoms, clientelist patronage, economic stability and prosper-
ity, affirmation of nationalist and anticolonial identities, and threats of
repression. The Catalan and Corsican arrangements were also durable.
The former aided Spanish democratization and has increased the legiti-
macy of and sense of attachment to Spain for most Catalans. Support
for independence has increased in recent years, but remains a minor-
ity preference. The Corsican arrangement has not ended nationalist
violence, but has seen nationalist politicians participate in democratic
elections, becoming the second force in the territorial assembly. There
were signs during the Matignon Process of the late 1990s that Corsican
politics has the potential to become more pluralistic.
The arrangements for post-1980 central Tibet, Hong Kong, Catalonia,
and Corsica were minimally stable, marked by continuity in the most
important patterns of political behavior needed to maintain the politi-
cal institutions of the state and special status arrangement. Yet, only
the Catalonia arrangement had achieved maximal stability, being free
Conclusions 217
from mass violence and other extra-institutional mobilization and state
repression or their threat except indirectly from the Basque Country. By
contrast, the TAR and Corsica both experienced challenges to maximal
stability, the degree varying over time. At the same time, the democratic
context of the Corsican arrangement had two institutional features
largely absent in central Tibet and which contributed to stability: the
first was meaningful legal and political cultural barriers to state repres-
sion; the second was democratic elections, which, as we have seen, have
encouraged some nationalists to use the ballot box instead of the bomb.
As such, there had been no mass extra-institutional mobilization on the
island, although violence linked with nationalism remained a serious
problem. Maximal stability had eluded the HKSAR, too, particularly as
the memory of the harsh 1989 state crackdown on Tiananmen Square
demonstrators still inf luenced politics in the territory, a reminder of the
latent threat of state expression.
As chapter three discussed, critics have suggested that minority terri-
torial autonomy arrangements such as the ones studied here cannot con-
tribute meaningfully to state stability because they do not end demands
for autonomy or special status on the part of the minority territorial
communities. Such a view implies that special status arrangements are
able permanently to settle conf licts over the citizenship of minority
territorial communities within a state. The four cases examined suggest
this is unrealistic. They provide evidence for Tully’s view, discussed
earlier, that the f luidity and intercultural multiplicity of individual
and collective identities means arrangements need to be continuously
renegotiated in as open-ended and democratic a manner as possible.
They also provide evidence for Campbell’s view, also raised earlier,
that the exclusion inherent in territorialized political institutions means
that citizenship conf licts can never be permanently solved. What was
notable about the renegotiation process in the cases concerned was that
ongoing demands for more autonomy and asymmetry were not mainly
territorial political elites grabbing power for its own sake. Rather, the
cases suggest that ongoing demands for more autonomy and special
status are often defensive reactions to perceived intrusive, centralizing,
standardizing, assimilationist, and sometimes repressive state policies,
or their threat. Or they were reactions to the failure of states to imple-
ment promised autonomy concessions. The demands for democratiza-
tion in Hong Kong and for greater self-rule and cultural protection
in central Tibet were cases in point. In Catalonia during negotiations
for the new autonomy statute, politicians from virtually all political
parties—including the non-nationalist ones—saw the Catalan demands
for stronger political autonomy as a defensive response to years of cen-
tral government incursions on Catalan authority. In Corsica, popu-
lar mobilization in defense of the island’s special status was often a
response to the actual or threatened withdrawal of state subsidies and
special tax treatment.
Ongoing demands for more autonomy and special status might be a
characteristic of special status arrangements for yet another reason—the
need for territorial politicians to compete for the support of intercul-
tural individuals, not all of whom could be mobilized with claims and
policies focused on the defense of ethnic or other cultural identities.
This dynamic is perhaps likely to be strongest in democratizing/demo-
cratic context arrangements. As such, the strengthened fiscal autonomy
that Catalan politicians sought during negotiations for the new stat-
ute was partly motivated by a need for resources to spend on under-
funded social and education programs, which would attract voters of
diverse ethnic, class, and other identifications. A similar dynamic may
have helped motivate some Corsican politicians to support expanded
roles for the territorial authority under the proposed single territorial
authority reform, although the change was ultimately defeated in the
2003 referendum.
For Hong Kong and Catalonia territorial elites in particular, eco-
nomic globalization also impelled some of their demands for more
state-like autonomy in order to increase the effectiveness of territorial
authorities in external economic decisionmaking processes, strengthen
territorial economic competitiveness, and expand the benefits accruing
to the territory from migration f lows. These demands were not a drive
for independence. In the 2006 autonomy statute, Catalan territorial
authorities sought and won expanded de jure competencies in external
affairs, especially related to the EU, and in immigration policy admin-
istration as well as greater fiscal autonomy, to allow for more spending
on programs that are underfunded due partly to significant immigration
and to improve economic competitiveness. The Hong Kong Special
Administrative Region had from its inception state-like competencies,
such as extensive de jure autonomy in external economic affairs, its
own currency, and significant de jure immigration autonomy. These
provisions ref lected the commercial importance of Hong Kong and the
desire of business elites and both the PRC and British governments to
preserve economic arrangements that had contributed to the territory’s
economic prosperity prior to 1997.
It must be underlined that none of the special status arrange-
ments threatened the territorial integrity of the state. Except for an
Conclusions 219
indeterminate number of Tibetan nationalists and a small minority of
Corsican and even fewer Catalan nationalists, the struggle for greater
self-rule was an attempt to remake rather than gain independence from
the state. This is not to say that strong independence movements could
not emerge in future. Nor is it to deny that the special status arrange-
ments did sometimes challenge deeply held values and powerful vested
interests associated with established territorial patterns of political rule
and citizenship in France, Spain, and China. However, the politics of
special status arrangements, including the demands for greater auton-
omy and asymmetrical self-rule associated with them, may appear more
threatening than they really are because, as Keating has stated (1999a),
there are no models of the asymmetrical state, just numerous experi-
ences of it. Models are being created, including through the processes
studied in this book. A preoccupation with territorial integrity draws
attention away from the centripetal forces that held the four special sta-
tus territories to the states, namely the material benefits of membership
in the state (e.g., public social protection programs and other revenue
transfers, as well as trade, investment and job opportunities), civic and
other political values shared with state communities (e.g., Republican
values, democracy, freedom, human rights, inclusive socioeconomic
citizenship, anticolonialism), shared civilizational identifications (e.g.,
to European, French, Spanish, and Chinese history and culture), and
other forms of interculturality (e.g., ethnic, racial, gender, class, and
other cross-cutting identifications that linked residents of the minority
territorial community with others in the state).

Political Autonomy
This book used political autonomy as an indicator of the strength of the
inclusive citizenship the territorial identity community had within the
state. The outcomes were mixed. None of the arrangements, including
the two in democratic/democratizing contexts, was strong across all of
the four indicators of political autonomy examined: de facto and de
jure final decisionmaking authority; de jure and de facto fiscal auton-
omy; de jure and de facto effectiveness in state decisionmaking pro-
cesses; and de jure and de facto scope for policy asymmetry. Regime
type helps account for variation across the cases, but does not provide a
full explanation. Catalonia had the strongest de jure and de facto politi-
cal autonomy overall, a function of its democratic/democratizing con-
text, but also Spain’s federalizing state type, the territory’s political and
financial weight within the state, and other factors. Hong Kong also had
relatively strong de facto political autonomy, remarkably so in the PRC
context. The weaknesses that existed stemmed mainly from China’s
authoritarian political regime and its unitary state type, even though
the China-HKSAR relationship had some mildly federal characteris-
tics. The analysis that follows is based on an assessment of the relative
strength of the political autonomy indicators across the four cases.
Final Decisionmaking Authority

The de jure authority and the de facto political ability of the territory
authority to make final decisions was affected by regime type, but also
state type (on the federal-unitary continuum), the political and eco-
nomic weight of the territory in the state, the strategic political calcula-
tions of central state elites, and market forces.
Overall, the lack or relative weakness of democracy and constitution-
alism in China, Hong Kong, and central Tibet meant that there were
some political checks on, but weak legal and constitutional barriers to
the central government limiting the final decisionmaking authority of
the territorial authorities. In 1950s central Tibet, the Tibetan govern-
ment continued to have de jure final decisionmaking authority, albeit
as a local government. In practice, the PRC authorities could override
the decisions of the Tibetan government. De facto final authority rested
with Mao, who allowed the Tibetan authorities considerable autonomy
in practice as part of his united front strategy. Under the TAR, the de
jure formal decisionmaking authority of central Tibetan administrators
was weaker, despite constitutional and legal provisions allowing TAR
political institutions some authority to “amend or rectify” PRC laws
in response to local conditions. The limited available evidence suggests
that central CCP organs had final decisionmaking authority in prac-
tice and that the scope of TAR decisionmakers to adapt laws to local
conditions was slight in practice, particularly as so many policies were
politically sensitive in the context of state-Tibetan relations. In the
HKSAR, where constitutionalist norms and institutions were a legacy
of British rule, the final decisionmaking authority of the HKSAR was
also highly constrained by the authority of central party-state institu-
tions to appoint the HKSAR Chief Executive and interpret the Basic
Law and by the dominance of business and other pro-China elites in
territorial political institutions. At the same time, the de facto final
decisionmaking authority of the HKSAR government was greater than
the nature of the formal institutional arrangement and its authoritarian
context would suggest. The central authorities sometimes permitted
Conclusions 221
HKSAR authorities de facto decisionmaking autonomy, such as with
respect to the national security bill, in order to maintain political and
economic stability in a territory where people were used to civil rights
and freedoms and many desired democracy.
By contrast with their authoritarian context counterparts, the ter-
ritorial authorities in Catalonia and Corsica largely had more robust de
jure final decisionmaking authority in their areas of competence, due
to democratic political systems, the rule of law, and other elements of
constitutionalism, including independent courts. At the same, where
the state fell on the unitary-to-federal continuum also had an impact.
The government and parliament in Catalonia had strong de jure final
decisionmaking authority due to their being accountable to territo-
rial voters and to the parliament’s relatively strong and constitutionally
and legally secured legislative powers. Under the 2006 statute, Catalan
courts also lessened their dependence on the Spanish judicial authori-
ties, further deepening territorial political autonomy. However, this
was reduced by the many areas of functional authority shared with
the central government. A key factor inf luencing the de facto final
decisionmaking authority of Catalan authorities was the f luctuating
electoral clout of Catalan deputies in the Spanish Congress, a point dis-
cussed later. Further research is needed to assess how much bargaining
and reciprocity as informal features of central-territorial authority rela-
tions in the four cases studied, enhanced the de facto autonomy of the
territorial authorities. Zheng (2007) argues that even in authoritarian
China’s Han heartland, these dynamics and ties have sometimes mod-
erated the actual political ability of central authorities to act unilaterally
and coercively vis-à-vis lower level authorities. Given the importance
of central government alliances with like-minded territorial elites
in Hong Kong, the moderating effect of this informal feature of the
special status arrangement on the weak de jure final decisionmaking
authority of territorial authorities may be significant.
Finally, market processes, in conjunction with centralist state poli-
cies, also appeared to limit the de facto final decisionmaking authority
of territorial authorities in some functional areas. We have already dis-
cussed their negative effect with respect to efforts to strengthen the use
of territorial languages in Catalonia, Corsica, and the TAR.
Fiscal Autonomy
There was huge variation amongst the cases in the relative strengths of
their de jure and de facto fiscal autonomy, that is, respectively, the level
of devolved authority to collect and maintain taxes and set tax levels
and the strength of the territorial tax base. The variation ref lected for-
mal state type and also whether the relationship between the state and
territorial authorities had federal features, as well as the relative wealth
and level of development of the territory. At the two extremes were
Hong Kong and the TAR. The first had strong de jure and compara-
tively strong de facto fiscal autonomy, the second low de jure and low
de facto fiscal autonomy, its economic weakness making it dependent
on revenue transferred from the state. In between were Corsica and
Catalonia. In comparative terms, Corsica had moderately low de jure
fiscal autonomy, having narrowed the gap between transferred com-
petencies and revenues and devolved tax-raising authority that had
more significantly hampered the political autonomy of the territorial
authority in the early years. Its de facto fiscal autonomy remained weak
given its relatively weak economy and dependence on state revenues.
Catalonia had also increased its share of tax revenue and authority over
the years to comparatively high levels, although its de jure fiscal auton-
omy still lagged behind the foral Autonomous Communities. Amongst
the cases studied, Catalonia’s de facto fiscal autonomy was compara-
tively high due to its relative wealth.
External Effectiveness
The de jure and de facto effectiveness of territorial authorities in state
decisionmaking processes was also highly variable. Regime type helped
explain the variation, but there were other factors. In the democratic/
democratizing cases, the relative electoral weight of the territories
inf luenced their de facto inf luence in state decisionmaking processes.
Notably, the inf luence of Catalan nationalist deputies in the Spanish
Congress at times of minority central governments gave the territory,
periodically, significant clout. This contrasts markedly with Corsica,
which had many fewer seats in both French houses of parliament and
no king-maker role. Both the TAR and HKSAR had formal repre-
sentation in the National People’s Congress of China, but this body
mainly served to legitimate state policies rather than make law.
Catalonia’s experience underlines that de facto ongoing inf lu-
ence in state decisionmaking processes requires that territorial rep-
resentatives be given an institutionalized role and decisive inf luence
when territorial competencies and interests are at stake. The new
Generalitat-State Bilateral Commissions provided for in the 2006
autonomy statute may improve the effectiveness of Catalan authori-
ties in this regard. At the same time the experience of Hong Kong
suggests that an institutionalized role for territorial representatives
Conclusions 223
in state decisionmaking bodies will not necessarily enhance the
protection of the autonomy of territory authorities. The failures of
the Committee for the Basic Law to protect judicial autonomy in
Hong Kong were a case in point. With respect to France, because
the state remained highly unitary, the Corsican authority had no de
jure autonomous legislative or regulatory authority, if by the early
2000s, it had mild de jure scope for asymmetry in that it could in
limited ways adapt regulations in its areas of functional competence.
In addition, while the French parliament could legally revise the
Corsican autonomy statute on its own, during the Matignon Process
in the late 1990s, state authorities consulted with the Corsican
Assembly and a broader range of civil society groups than had previ-
ously been the case. By 2003, island voters were asked their views
on other amendments to Corsica’s autonomy arrangement through a
referendum the result of which was not legally binding, but proved
politically decisive. By comparison, the role of Catalan authorities in
amending the territorial autonomy statute was highly institutional-
ized. By law, although either the Catalan authorities or the Spanish
parliament could initiate amendments to the statute, the changes had
to be approved by a two-thirds majority of the Catalan parliament
and by the Spanish parliament before being approved by the majority
of Catalonia electors in a referendum.
Scope for Asymmetry

The final critical indicator of political autonomy was the scope the
territorial authorities had to diverge from standard policies used else-
where in the state. In each of the special status arrangements studied,
territorial authorities were permitted some de jure and de facto policy
asymmetry, but to starkly different degrees. The Catalonia AC had
fairly strong de jure and de facto scope for policy asymmetry, though
less so in areas of competence shared with the state. The Hong Kong
arrangement had strong de jure and de facto scope for policy asymme-
try, though the latter was weaker in areas deemed politically sensitive by
the central government, such as democratization. The Seventeen-Point
Agreement in 1950s central Tibet allowed the territory high de jure
scope for policy asymmetry within its traditional spheres. However, this
scope was more limited in practice where these spheres were affected
by state-led modernization measures or state-building processes. If the
territorial authorities of the post-1980 TAR had some de jure scope for
policy asymmetry, most independent analysts suggest this scope was
very limited in practice, particularly in politically sensitive areas such
as religion, migration, and development policies. Overall, the Corsica
territorial authority had low to moderate de jure and de facto scope for
policy asymmetry by the mid-2000s.

In all of the cases, there were constraints on the citizenship of inter-
nal minorities. These internal inequalities largely predated the special
status arrangements and ref lected the political economy, gender, and
other social orders in which the arrangements were embedded. In this
sense, generally speaking, the cases provide evidence for the assertion
that minority autonomy arrangements are not inherently harmful to
internal minorities. However, the study also found that the institu-
tions, processes, and identity politics associated with the arrangements
sometimes did reinforce some inequalities. It also identified some of the
difficulties involved in trying simultaneously to promote the collective
citizenship of territorial identity communities and improve inclusive-
ness for vulnerable internal minorities. Overall, the cases suggest that a
liberal-democratic political system may be a necessary, but insufficient
condition for creating a form of special status that enhances internal
citizenship, particularly with respect to socioeconomic inequality. Yet,
this does not mean the authoritarian context arrangements fared better
with respect to addressing poverty. They did not.
The cases provide many examples of the ongoing, multifaceted dia-
logic contestation over the terms and boundaries of citizenship that
Tully and Gladney identified as characteristic of identity politics in
the modern territorial state. The cases illustrate the unfolding of these
political dynamics in special status arrangements along two axes, state-
territorial and intraterritorial, and suggest some of the ways and reasons
that the two axes are intertwined. They also point to some of the unjust
outcomes of the politics of special status.
To recall, we have borrowed Tully’s term “open-endedness” to refer
the extent to which it was possible within this politics, for the contend-
ing parties freely to contest and change the understanding of commu-
nity identity and values and the purposes of self-rule. The cases provide
evidence to support Tully’s view that open-endedness is essential as a
first step if inclusive citizenship for internal minorities is to be strength-
ened. Regime type appears to be the key factor accounting for the
differences in the open-endedness amongst the cases, although not in
a straightforward way. Other factors also mattered, including particu-
larly the social character of territorial elites, including their class and
Conclusions 225
ideological identifications, and whether state norms protecting inclu-
sive citizenship helped compensate for internal citizenship deficits in
the territorial realm.
The arrangements in democratic/democratizing contexts were the
most open-ended. The authoritarian context arrangements were less
open-ended overall. The arrangement for central Tibet in the 1950s
had the expressed purpose of institutionalizing traditional socioeco-
nomic and political institutions and norms that marginalized many
ordinary Tibetans, although this was part of a united front strategy that
aimed to improve the lives of poorer Tibetans over the longer term. It is
unclear how much ordinary Tibetans were able to or did challenge the
exclusionary socioeconomic terms of the Seventeen-Point Agreement,
given Mao’s attempts to curb the reformist enthusiasm of his own cad-
res. The evidence suggests that some ordinary Tibetans were at least as
concerned about challenging PRC rule as they were internal exclusion,
and there was little political space in which to do either. That space was
further reduced under the TAR, especially from the later 1980s. This
was the case both for the poor, mostly rural Tibetan majority, still the
most vulnerable internal minority in central Tibet despite its numerical
dominance, and for those who openly challenged PRC policies or were
excluded by the state for their strong attachments to Tibetan Buddhism
and other aspects of territorial culture. For these internal minorities,
there was little scope for them, in practice, openly to challenge the
terms of the special status arrangement that harmed their citizenship.
This is despite the TAR offering ordinary Tibetans formal political
participation rights and access to state employment that was relatively
rare or unavailable in the pre-1959 period.
The Hong Kong special status arrangement was also not open-ended
because it institutionalized elements of laissez-faire capitalist norms
and the values associated with the economistic and ethno-patriotic
ethos attributed to Hong Kong Chinese residents by dominant dis-
courses. The institutions of the special status arrangement were struc-
tured, through formal and informal means, so as to block changes
that were perceived as threatening to the socioeconomically unequal,
undemocratic, and racialized existing order. However, while there are
echoes of the TAR here, vulnerable groups in the HKSAR—the poor,
women, immigrants, non-Han Chinese residents, and pro-democracy
and human rights activists—had more political space than their central
Tibet counterparts in which to challenge exclusionary citizenship. If
Hong Kong remained undemocratic and China remained authoritar-
ian, the special status arrangement did provide meaningful, if imperfect
legal protection for freedom of speech and assembly and other civil
rights and liberties as well as multiparty competitive elections for half
the Legislative Council.
The democratizing/democratic regime context of the arrange-
ments for Catalonia and Corsica made them more open-ended, but
only within the limits imposed by the wider political economic and
social orders. This affected the quality of democracy in practice. In
both cases, liberal-democratic institutions and practices created politi-
cal space in which the intercultural members of the minority territorial
community, diversely situated in multiple fields of power related to
ethnicity, language, class, religion, immigration status, gender and so
on, could challenge the dominant collective understanding of core val-
ues and the purposes of self-rule. The Catalonia arrangement has been
more open-ended in practice too. This was exemplified by the alter-
nance in government in Catalonia in 2003, when a governing coalition
of Catalan socialists with left-wing Catalan nationalists opened up the
possibility of searching for better ways to articulate the struggle for
stronger political autonomy for Catalonia with the struggle to build a
more socioeconomically and culturally inclusive Catalan society. The
relative open-endedness of the Catalan arrangement was supported
by dominant representations of Catalan identity that had strong civic
elements, a competitive political party system, and a pluralistic politi-
cal culture, all of which were weaker in Corsica. There, a culture of
impunity, a political party system significantly inf luenced by clientelist
politics and radical nationalism, a weak human rights culture, as well as
more exclusionary ethnic understandings of Corsican identity reduced
pluralism and weakened the quality of democracy. At the same time,
there were Corsicans who were using the political space available to
challenge the exclusionary status quo, with some success since the late
1990s.
Indeed, Catalonia’s experience also points to the limits of liberal-
democratic institutions with respect to internally inclusive citizenship.
Despite their formal equality in terms of political participation rights,
evidence suggests that native Castilian-speakers were more likely than
native Catalan-speakers to abstain in territorial elections. Moreover,
despite Catalonia’s relative wealth, its levels of public social protec-
tion coverage were relatively weak in the Spanish context, not directly
because of the special status arrangements or Catalan nationalism, but
significantly because of the Center-Right ideology of successive CiU-
led nationalist governments and the territory’s lack of fiscal autonomy,
as well as other factors. If a liberal-democratic context has proven an
Conclusions 227
insufficient condition for producing strongly inclusive socioeconomic
and de facto political citizenship in special status arrangements in prac-
tice, the authoritarian contexts studied fared no better. Moreover, in
Hong Kong, the poor record of most pro-democracy political parties
with respect to issues of socioeconomic inclusion suggests that democ-
ratization of the territorial political system would not on its own pro-
duce policies that seriously addressed inequality as a citizenship issue. In
the TAR, most central Tibetans were still amongst the poorest people
in China, despite some gains since 1980.
To varying degrees, representations of minority territorial identity
relied on the othering of immigrant and migrant outsiders or inter-
nal ethnic minorities, although it should be noted that this othering is
found in communities without minority identity claims, too. In each
case, also, the presence of some migrants and immigrants complicated
the goal of advancing collective citizenship for the minority territorial
community. This was particularly so with respect to the protection
of territorial languages, which to varying degrees faced simultaneous
challenges from state language laws and practices and market forces.
In addition to their often precarious socioeconomic status, immigrant,
migrant, and internal ethnic minorities sometimes also experienced
formal political exclusion. In terms of their voting rights in territo-
rial elections, variation across the cases ref lected regime type and the
position of the territory and of internal minorities in the global and
state economy. In both Catalonia and Corsica, state-level norms based
on individual equality and a civic version of modern territorial state
nationality determined formal voting rights. Immigrants who were
non-nationals could not vote in territorial elections, but all Spanish
nationals residing in the territory could do so, regardless of ethnicity.
By contrast, Hong Kong had its own distinctive territorial citizenship
regime that ref lected the PRC ethno-nationalist conception of nation-
ality as well as Hong Kong’s history of allowing the political participa-
tion of resident capitalists and transnational managers of diverse ethnic
backgrounds and national statuses. In the complex pattern of exclu-
sion based on class, ethnicity, and nationality that resulted, foreign
migrant workers as well as PRC nationals without permanent HKSAR
residency were denied political participation rights, while permanent
residents, even those who were not PRC nationals, were given voting
rights, but not the right to hold all public offices. In the TAR, Han
Chinese and some other non-Tibetan groups had a small number of
seats set aside for them in territorial political bodies, while the majority
of seats were granted to ethnic Tibetans. Yet, real political power lay
with the Chinese Communist Party, military, and other central state
institutions, which were dominated by Han Chinese.
“Multi-leveled citizenship” helped advance some dimensions of
equality for women in the four special status arrangements. Linklater
(1998: esp. Chapter 6) conceives of multi-leveled citizenship in terms
of the ability of territorial residents to make rights claims simultane-
ously in multiple political communities, such that citizenship deficits
and excesses in one can be offset by the other (see also Henders 2004c).
In central Tibet, Corsica, and Catalonia, state-level laws and policies—
the result of political struggles by feminists and their allies—offered
important protection for the formal political equality of women. In
these cases, state-level laws and policies enabled more women to hold
seats in the territorial legislature or its equivalent (although still not at
parity levels). By contrast in Hong Kong, the evoking of international-
level equality norms by Hong Kong women played a greater role in
impelling advances in the status of women in the 1990s. This was in the
context of the impending establishment of the HKSAR, including the
requirement, under the Sino-British Joint Declaration, that key inter-
national human rights treaties, which included norms protecting formal
gender equality, be brought into Hong Kong law, although there were
other factors. The continuing socioeconomic vulnerability of women
at rates above men in all four societies, despite important advances in
women’s labor market status in each, appeared to have more to do with
lingering patriarchal social relations at multiple levels than with the
institutions of special status per se, although more investigation of the
gender dimensions of these arrangements and their associated national-
ist and regionalist politics is needed.
Special status arrangements are increasingly important modalities

of the contemporary state because of their potential to contribute to
developing forms of territorial governance that better articulate dif-
ference and universality in ways that enhance both order and justice.
Collectively, the experiences with special status studied here point to
the positive contributions, both instrumental and normative, that asym-
metrical territorial governance strategies have made to the building of
the PRC and the holding together of the PRC, France, and Spain. They
have also contributed significantly to other state goals—decoloniza-
tion, economic development, and democratization stand out amongst
them. However, the cases also point to the conf lict-producing effects
of special status arrangements on the political dynamics of states. They
also point to the perpetually unfinished nature of the arrangements
Conclusions 229
as citizenship projects, whether as means of providing minority ter-
ritorial communities with meaningful political autonomy or as means
of protecting the more vulnerable members of those communities.
Even in the authoritarian contexts studied, the special status arrange-
ments did advance the citizenship of minority territorial communities,
if sometimes extremely weakly and ambiguously and always incom-
pletely. In this respect, the citizenship deficits for Tibetans in the TAR
have been particularly great. Across the cases, it was also striking how
limited the arrangements were in their ability on their own to reduce
state-territorial and intraterritorial inequalities and exclusion rooted
in deeper social orders, including their political economy and gender
dimensions. However, the relative open-endedness of the democratiz-
ing/democratic context arrangements, and to a lesser extent the Hong
Kong arrangement, too, at least allowed some political space in which
the minority territorial communities and the vulnerable groups and
individuals within them could contest their exclusion.
This book provides a number of starting points for further compara-
tive and single case study research on special status arrangements. This
research will be crucial for our understanding of the asymmetrical state
and its strengths and limitations as a means of simultaneously advanc-
ing stability and inclusive citizenship in diverse and evolving societies
and polities.
NOT E S
Two Territoriality, Asymmetry, and Autonomy:

Key Concepts, Historical and Contemporary Perspectives
1. On concepts of citizenship that recognize the simultaneous membership of individuals in
multiple political communities see Henders (2007).
2. For taxonomies of strategies for managing minority claims see Brubaker (1996); Safran (1994);
Elazar (1994); McGarry and O’Leary (1993); Coakley (1993); McRae (1990); Horowitz (1986).
On varieties of territorial autonomy, see Safran (2000); Sharpe (1993; 1988); Smith, B.C.
(1985); Hicks (1978); Eleazu (1977).
3. Elsewhere, I have used the term “cantonization” (Henders 1997), borrowing from McGarry
and O’Leary (1993: 30–31) who define it as “devolution organised on an ethno-territorial
basis.” See also Sharpe (1979); Coakley (1993); Rokkan and Urwin (1982).
4. As chapter three explains, the understanding of citizenship used in the present study goes
beyond Kymlicka’s focus on “special legal or constitutional measures” as defining “group-
differentiated rights.”
Three The Origins, Nature, Political Dynamics, and

Outcomes of Special Status Arrangements
1. For examples of post-structural and feminist formulations of links between identity claims
and political community see, respectively, Campbell (1998) and Anthias and Yuval-Davis
(1989).
2. For reasons of space, it is beyond the purview of the present study to examine two other
dimensions of citizenship politics associated with special status arrangements and their
interdependence with other communities. First, it largely does not look at the effects on
citizenship of processes beyond the state that have the potential to harm minority ter-
ritorial communities and their internal minorities (Young 2001; see also Henders 2004c).
Except for a discussion of competing communities of social solidarity, it also largely does
not examine the effects of decisionmaking processes within the special status arrangement
on political communities elsewhere, whether in the state or beyond (see Young 2001;
2000).
232 Notes
Four Catalonia as an Autonomous Community
1. The Spanish electoral system benefits large statewide parties and small parties with strong
regional support over small parties with support more evenly distributed across Spain. One
result is that small regional parties such as the CiU often have had significant power in the
Cortes (Keating 1993; Penniman and Mujal-León 1985).
2. Robert Agranoff, communication with the author, February 27, 2009.
3. The Canaries AC, located off the African coast, had its own tax status by virtue of its geo-
graphic specificity. It kept all harbor and petroleum taxes and was exempt from EU Value
Added Tax (Agranoff 2005).
4. Note that differences in social policy coverage across Spain are relatively small and levels of
coverage are universally weak by European standards (Adelantado et al. 2002a).
5. High levels of social capital are thought to facilitate higher levels of coordinated action and
cooperation for mutual benefit (Mota 2002).
6. The GDI does not ref lect differences in the recognition and valuing of non-paid or
underpaid employment or social reproductive work (Peinado and Céspedes 2004).
Five Corsica after the 1982/1983 Special Statute

1. This term includes the framework laws of March 2 and July 30, 1982 and their elaborations
in the laws of January 7 and July 22, 1983.
2. Metropolitan France includes Corsica, but excludes the overseas territories and overseas
departments.
3. In INSEE Corse and FASILD (2004), the term “immigrée” refers to residents born outside
France who were not French nationals at birth. Individuals who subsequently acquired
French nationality were included, but not individuals born in France of immigrant parents,
as these individuals would have acquired French nationality at birth.
4. Individuals who returned to France after the Algerian war of independence.
5. Methods included enforced bloc voting by extended clan families, the stuffing and stealing
of ballot boxes, the misuse of absentee ballots, and the reactivation of the votes of deceased
individuals (Lenclud 1988; Olivesi 1987; Dressler-Holohan 1985).
6. Barbouzes refers to those who attacked nationalist targets, allegedly with state complicity
(Boisvert 1988).
7. The other attacks were linked with ordinary criminality and personal vendettas.
8. For a general argument that peripherality facilitates concessions, see Gurr (1993a).
9. Defferre had hoped to allow the Corsican Assembly to make suggestions directly to parlia-
ment and wield a suspensive veto over government decrees potentially inconsistent with
the special statute pending a Council of State ruling. There had also been discussion of
requiring the government or parliament to consult with the Corsican Assembly on any bill,
measure, or project concerning Corsica (Boisvert 1988).
10. The Senate, chosen by an electoral college dominated by commune-level representatives,
was a major focus of opposition to decentralization because of fear that elected regional
authorities would undermine the power of communal and departmental authorities.
11. The regional electoral system, based on a 1985 law, used departmental districts and pro-
portional representation based on a single nontransferable vote. It provided for a 5 percent
threshold. Under this system, unstable majorities were a problem both within and outside
Corsica, leading parliament to revise the system in 1992.
12. The executive had new authority over state offices for agriculture and rural develop-
ment, hydrological facilities, and transport, plus a new office for the environment (Olivesi,
Notes 233
Orsoni, and Pastorel 1994; Olivesi and Pastorel 1993). The Joxe law did not repeat the
provision of the special statute authorizing the Corsican Assembly to make suggestions
to the prime minister concerning state public services, nor the requirement—annulled by
the Constitutional Council in May 1991—that the prime minister respond within a fixed
period (Ibid.).
13. These included a threshold of five percent and the awarding of a three-seat prime to the
electoral list with an absolute majority of the popular vote in the first round. In a second
round, the prime was awarded to the list with the most votes, with the rest awarded by a
highest averages method. Candidates from defeated lists could join surviving lists (Olivesi
1991; Olivesi, Orsini, and Pastorel 1994; Romi 1991).
14. See also “Transcription simplifiée de la Loi du 22 Janvier 2002,” published by the Préfecture
of Corsica, <www.corse.pref.gouv.fr>, viewed January 22, 2004.
15. They included a 15-year economic investment program and exemptions from French inheri-
tance laws. Scheduled to end in 2016, the latter permitted estates to remain undivided indef-
initely, contributing to the desertion of villages, with property left in a state of disrepair.
16. A 1996 poll found 86 percent of Corsican respondents opposed independence, but 49
expressed some nationalist sympathy (“Referendum on Corsican independence suggested”
Reuters, October 13, 1996).
Six Hong Kong as a Special Administrative Region

1. The Hong Kong members must be “Chinese citizens who are permanent residents of the
Hong Kong Special Administrative Region with no right of abode in any foreign country”
and are jointly nominated by the Chief Executive, Legislative Council President, and Chief
Justice of the Hong Kong Court of Final Appeal (BL Appendix: Proposal by the Drafting
Committee for the Basic Law of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region on the
Establishment of the Committee for the Basic Law of the Hong Kong Special Administrative
Region under the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress).
2. For more information on the PRC people’s congress system see chapter seven n.6.
Seven Central Tibet from the

Sino-Tibetan Seventeen-Point Agreement to the
Tibet Autonomous Region
1. The approximately 20,000 PLA troops who attacked Tibet were battle-hardened, expe-
rienced, relatively well-equipped and commanded, and backed by an army of 5 million.
Tibet had 3,500 troops in eastern Tibet and army of some 13,000 that was poorly equipped,
trained, and disciplined (Goldstein 1989). Van Walt van Praag (1987) provides other troop
estimates.
2. Tibetan elites were well aware the Agreement would given them much less self-rule than
they had had under the Qing, when at most Tibet had been a loose protectorate of China
(Goldstein 2007).
3. The united front strategy aimed to create the broadest base of legitimacy for the new party-
state by building a broad alliance of supporters by setting fairly minimal goals and defining
the enemy as narrowly as possible (see Teiwes 1997).
4. For a contrasting view, see Dreyfus (1994).
5. Mishra (2003) does not indicate whether Nepalese also left.
234 Notes
6. As in the rest of China, the TAR People’s Congress is not directly elected through universal
adult suffrage, but chosen by lower-level prefectural and county people’s congresses. The
TAR People’s Congress, in turn, elects members to the NPC (Art. 97, 112, 113, 114).
7. The implications of this are unclear, as one researcher suggests that students educated in
“inland” schools often become the most Tibetan nationalist (Shakya 2008).
8. Golmud was once sparsely populated by Tibetan herders. Since the arrival of the railway
40 years ago and with oil and mineral development, it has become a city of 200,000 mostly
Han residents. Only 5 percent are Tibetan (Hoh 2004; Rupert Wingfield-Hayes, “China’s
ambitious railway,” BBC News (online), August 1, 2001).
9. The report is based on official PRC statistics and the analysis of PRC experts. Its human
development index used three indicators: life expectancy at birth; educational attainment
based on adult literacy and school enrollment rates; and standard of living based on real
GDP per capita and expressed in terms of purchasing power parity (UNDP 2005).
10. On the complexity of education statistics in China, see Fischer (2005). He also underlines
the appallingly low education levels in Tibet, but suggests the illiteracy rate was closer to
47.3 percent in 2000 for those over 15 years of age. He also argues that slow improvements
in literacy since then have mostly been in urban areas and amongst primary school-aged
children, so have not addressed the immediate need of adult rural Tibetans to compete in
the labor market against much better educated non-Tibetans.
11. My thanks to Andrew Fischer for this point.
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I N DE X
Académie de Corse, 107 see also special status arrangements;

Aceh, 1 individual types of asymmetry
Açores, 109 Australia, 132, 184
Agranoff, Robert, 13, 47 authoritarianism
Aguado, José Mena, 72, 73 assumptions about, 3
Ajaccio, 96, 111 decisionmaking and, 126, 196, 220
Alava, 51 sovereignty and control, 161, 188,
Algerian immigrants, 118 202, 209, 211, 225
Alsace-Lorraine, 99 special status concessions and, 26, 43,
Amdo 205, 212
Chinese communist reforms in, stability, 204
177–8, 201, 213 transitions from, 49, 50, 55, 57
Chinese military action in, 168, Autonomous Communities of Spain (ACs)
179, 180 central government and, 73
exclusion from special status competencies, 61–2, 67
region, 175 creation, 53, 64–5, 210, 211
relations with central Tibet, 166 foral, 62, 68, 222
revolts against Chinese, 169, 201 internal minorities, 78, 83, 84
Andalucia, 53, 54, 58, 61, 73 state constitution and, 58–60, 86
Andreani, Jean-Louis, 109 uniformism, 53, 54, 211
Anglo-Chinese wars, 127 Avà Basta, 111, 120, 122
“anti-state institutions,” 7, 8, 11, 32 Avalokitesvara, 166
Aragon, 54
Arel, Dominique, 38 Baden-Wurttemberg, 68
Arunachal Pradesh, 165 Balearic Islands, 54, 84
Asian financial crisis, 128, 148, 153, 155 Banting, Keith, 22, 78
Asian tiger economies, 128 Barcelona, 55, 56, 77
asymmetry Basic Law (BL) of the Hong Kong SAR
functions, 208 Chinese reunification through, 134
in pre-modern times, 6 creation, 127
scholarship on, 5, 6 interpretation of, 145, 151, 160,
types, 13–15, 204, 209, 210, 213–14 220, 223
264 Index
Basic Law (BL) of the Hong Kong CARCE (Conferencia para Asuntos
SAR—Continued Relacionados con la Comunidad
promise of democratization, 143 Europea), 62
provisions, 137–41, 144, 150–1 Castile, 64
Basque Autonomous Community, 53, Castilian language
59, 61, 62, 68 areas of Spain, 54
Basque Country in Catalonia, 48, 52, 64, 71, 75, 78,
Catalonia and, 216–17 79–80, 226
historical factors, 7 immigrants and, 83
nationalist movement, 50, 53, 56, 57, international reach, 66, 69
63, 205 official status, 59, 65–6
regions, 51 Spanish identity and, 73
social equality, 78, 84 Catalan Autonomous Community
special status, 49, 51, 77 asymmetry and autonomy, 53, 54,
tax status, 62, 68 63–71, 209, 213, 218, 219–20
Basque Nationalist Party, 53, 73 borders, 54
Basque region of France, 97, 99 competencies, 15, 59–62, 67–8, 70,
Bastia, 111 71, 74–6
Beijing, 130, 142, 197 context of autonomy agreement,
Belgium, 22, 70 42, 44
Bhutan, 165, 169, 184 creation, 55–7
Bill of Rights Ordinance electoral turnout, 79–80
(Hong Kong), 157 ethnolinguistic diversity, 54–5, 65
BL, see Basic Law (BL) of the Hong fiscal deficit, 68, 69, 74, 75, 79, 82
Kong SAR internal minorities, 48, 55, 65, 77–85,
Blackwood, Robert J., 108 86, 226, 228
Bonnet, Bernard, 113 nature of special status, 16–17, 43,
British India, 166 57–63
Brittany, 97, 98 origins of special status, 55–7
Brown, David, 32 outcomes of special status, 71–85
social program revenue transfers,
Campbell, David, 40, 217 22, 67
Canada, 1, 23, 132, 184 stability, 72–3, 216–17
Canary Islands, 61, 84, 109, 232n3 tax status, 62, 68, 75, 78–9, 222
Cantabria, 64 tensions related to special status,
Cantonese language, 44, 130–1, 141, 63–71
146, 155, 206 see also Catalonia; Generalitat
Cap Corse, 93 (Catalonia)
capitalism Catalan Autonomy Statute, 53, 57, 65,
cultural identity and, 26, 27 71–6, 86, 213, 217, 218
equality and, 18, 50, 83 Catalan language
and the nation-state, 6, 19, 26 ban on use, 51
territorial autonomy and, 28 globalization and, 69
see also globalization hostility towards, 67
Index 265
identity and, 49, 52, 62 civil war experiences, 169, 171
non-native competence, 55, 63, 65, 80 durability of HKSAR, 151
official status, 59, 61, 63, 65–6, 69, egalitarian promises, 176
70–1, 75, 86 final authority, 181, 196, 220, 227–8
prestige, 52, 80, 210 Hong Kong branch, 145
varieties, 54, 59 Panchen Lama and, 175
Catalan Republican Left (ERC), 53, 71, people’s congress vetting process, 144
79, 83, 85 plan for Tibetan integration, 173, 177
Catalonia, 49–87 Tibetan women’s organization and, 181
civil law, 51–2, 59 Tibet branch, 183, 188, 196
conceptualizations of, 86–7, 226 understanding of nation, 142, 172
education, 75, 80, 82, 83 Chinese language, 141, 187, 191, 194
European integration, 50, 63, 65, 69 see also Cantonese; Mandarin Chinese
globalization and, 28, 50, 63, 65, 69 (putonghua); Modern Standard
historical background, 7, 50–5 Chinese
immigration, 74, 77, 81–3 Chinese Nationalists, 170, 171, 174
nationalism, 8, 49, 62–3, 71–4, 78, 206 Chinese People’s Political Consultative
political elites, 74, 205 Congress (CPPCC), 140, 151,
political parties, 53 187, 190
population and wealth, 52, 54–5, 207 Chirac, Jacques, 112
recognition as nation, 74, 76, 208, 214 CIA (Central Intelligence Agency), 179
socioeconomic inequality, 78–9 citizenship
see also Catalan Autonomous asymmetrical, 22, 24
Community exclusionary, 35–6
CCP, see Chinese Communist inclusive, 38–41, 48
Party (CCP) inequalities of, 19, 31, 35
Central Asia, 165 in international law, 7
Central Europe, 49 minority territorial autonomy and,
Chan, Anson, 158 12, 40, 203
Chang, Mau-kuei, 34 multi-leveled, 228
Changan, 167 socioeconomic dimensions, 19, 28
Chen Kuiyuan, 193 territorial states and, 39–40
Chenresig, 166 universalist claims, 6, 14, 18, 19
Cheung, Sin-keung, 154 Citizens-Party of the Citizenry
China (C-PC), 66
civil war, 127 CiU (Convergència i Unió)
feudal period, 9 brand of nationalism, 54, 63, 70, 75,
imperial governance, 5, 9–11 83, 86
Republican government, 11, 167 coalition government, 53, 66, 71
see also People’s Republic of gender inequality and, 84–5
China (PRC) policies, 68, 69, 70, 77–8, 82, 209
Chinese Communist Party (CCP) voter response, 67
attitude to minorities, 171 Ciutadans-Partido de la Ciudadanía
attitude to Tibetans, 164, 176, 198 (C-PC), 66
266 Index
Cleries i Gonzàlez, Josep Lluís, 63, 74, demographic trends, 93–4, 107–8, 118
79, 82 economic underdevelopment, 92, 93,
Cold War, 43, 49, 135, 169, 170 108, 114, 115
Colonna, Yvan, 112 elections, 95, 100, 105
Commission de Développement historical factors, 7, 27, 91–6, 122
Economique de la Corse, 93 identity, 95, 110, 112, 117, 120,
Commission Nationale Consultative des 122, 226
Droits de l’Homme, 120 immigration, 93–4, 107–8
Committee of the Regions (EU), 109 internal minorities, 48, 91, 93–4,
communism 115–23
in China, 11 marginality, 91, 93, 109, 207
citizenship and, 17, 18 names, 100
egalitarian ideals, 172 nationalism, 8, 93, 94, 113, 115, 120,
marketization, 43 121–2
Soviet model, 171, 193 nature of special status, 16–17, 43,
state-building, 33, 43, 44 99–101, 114–15, 209
Conciertos Económicos, 51 origins of special status, 96–9
Conferencia para Asuntos Relacionados outcomes of special status, 112–23
con la Comunidad Europea public unrest, 108
(CARCE), 62 recognition as “people,” 103, 113, 214
Confucianism, 9–10 state stability and, 112–14, 217
Constitutional Council (France), 102–6 statut particulier, 90, 96–101, 103
Constitutional Tribunal (Spain), 60, 63, taxation, 92, 109–10, 211, 222
65–6, 73, 75 tensions related to special status,
constitutions 101–12
“hidden,” 18, 32 traditional elites, 94–5, 99, 112,
recognition of territorial identities, 117, 206
15, 210 violence, 95–6, 98, 105, 110–11, 113,
territorial veto over amendments, 47 117–18, 206
times of rupture, 31–4, 42, 203, 206 women, 95, 115–18, 119, 228
times of shift, 31–4, 42, 202–3, 206 Corsican Assembly
Consultative Commission on Human asymmetry and autonomy, 99–100,
Rights (France), 120 104, 105–6, 112, 114, 213, 218, 223
Convergència i Unió (CiU), see CiU domination by traditional elites, 102
(Convergència i Unió) external effectiveness, 223
Corse-du-Sud, 93 nationalists in, 113
Corsica, 89–123 women in, 116, 117
administration, 92–3 Corsica Nazione, 110
civil society groups, 110–11, 113, Corsican Economic Development
117–18, 120, 122, 223 Commission, 93
competencies, 101, 104, 106, 118 Corsican Economic Expansion Fund, 93
context for special status concessions Corsican language
in, 32, 42, 44 features, 91
democracy and equality, 101–2, instruction, 100, 105
110–11, 123, 206 nationalism and, 92
Index 267
prestige, 210 economic development, 12, 26–9, 207,
protection, 107–8 214–15
Corsican National Liberation Front English language
(FLNC), 96, 120 in Hong Kong, 44, 131, 141, 146
Corsican Workers Union, 113 international inf luence, 66, 69,
Corte, 113 107, 108
Council of State (France), 103 in Tibet, 168
C-PC (Ciutadas-Partido de la environmental protection, 12, 26, 44,
Ciudadanía), 66 94, 162
CPPCC (Chinese People’s Political Equal Opportunities Commission
Consultative Congress), 140, 151, (Hong Kong), 157
187, 190 ERC (Esquerra Republicana de
Cultural Revolution, 44, 182, 183, 195, Catalunya), 53, 71, 79, 83, 85
201, 206 Erignac, Claude, 96, 105, 111, 112, 113
Culture, Education and Environment Estruch Mestres, M. Teresa, 68, 74, 79, 82
Council (France), 99 ETA (Euskadi Ta Askatasuna), 53
ethnonationalism, 5, 8, 21, 67, 96, 111,
Daftary, Farimah, 114 136, 206
Dalai Lama (institution), 165, 166, 167, see also identity
169, 172–3, 174, 191 European Commission, 110
see also Thirteenth Dalai Lama; European Communities, 67, 70
Fourteenth Dalai Lama European Court of Justice, 76
Davis, Michael C., 136 European integration
Defferre, Gaston, 89–90, 232n9 Catalonia and, 50, 63, 69, 77, 211
Defferre reforms, 89–90, 97, 99, 103, 104 Corsica and, 90, 101, 104, 109,
democracy, 25–26, 41, 42–3, 96 123, 211
Democratic Pact for Catalonia fiscal effects, 108, 214
(DPC), 56 weakening of nation-states and, 8
Democratic Party (Hong Kong), 157 European Union (EU)
Deng Xiaoping, 133, 134, 144 Catalonia and, 61, 62, 69, 70–1, 74,
Denmark, 22 75, 218
de Rocca Serra, Camille, 122 Corsica and, 109–10
devolutionary special status elections, 117
arrangements, 16, 43, 210, 212 relationship with France, 106
Dharamsala, 184 standardization, 92
Diada, 56 Euskadi Ta Askatasuna (ETA), 53
directionality, 16, 43, 137, 161, 210, Euskara, 59
212, 216 Executive Council (Hong Kong), 158
DPC (Pacte Democràtic per external affairs competencies
Catalunya), 56 Catalonia, 70, 209, 218
Dressler-Holohan, Wanda, 41 central state control, 76, 174
Hong Kong, 137, 155
Eastern Europe, 49 territorial autonomy, 12
Economic and Social Council Tibetan, 185
(France), 99 external effectiveness, 47, 222–3
268 Index
Falun Gong, 151 unemployment, 92
Faroe Islands, 22 unitary nature, 98, 100, 106, 123,
federal forms of government 209, 223
autonomy arrangements and, 12, 47, women, 115–18
204, 209, 220, 221, 222 Franco, Francisco, 42, 49
China and, 125, 140, 161, 220 Franco regime, 51, 54, 55, 63, 80, 86
Soviet Union and, 171 Fraser, Nancy, 27
in Spain, 58, 59, 64, 70, 71, 98, 219 Fraser Institute, 147
First Nations, 23 Fredrickson, George M., 42
Fischer, Andrew Martin, 197 French language, 91, 100, 107, 108, 119
Flemish regionalism, 22, 28 French Revolution, 90
FLNC (Fronte di Liberazione Naziunale Fronte di Liberazione Naziunale di a
di a Corsica), 96, 120 Corsica (FLNC), 96, 120
Fonds d’Expansion Economique de la Front Nationale, 122
Corse, 93 functional asymmetry, 15, 100, 136,
Foucauldian perspectives, 33 172, 210, 214
Fourteenth Dalai Lama
attraction to egalitarian ideals, 172, 176 Galicia, 8, 49, 50, 59, 79, 84
government in exile, 184, 188, 201 Galician language, 59
“middle way” proposal, 185, 214 Gang of Four, 182, 183
peaceful resistance, 185 Gansu, 165
PRC distrust of, 190, 192 Gellner, Ernst, 8, 18–19
request for special status, 149, 184, gender
193, 201, 211, 214 identity and, 19, 24, 219
response to rebellion, 179 modern territorial state and, 6, 35
Seventeen-Point Agreement and, parity laws, 85, 111, 117
169, 180 special status arrangements and, 204,
France 224, 226
Communist Party, 89 struggle for equality, 39
constitution, 99, 100, 101–2, 106, see also women
114–15 Generalitat (Catalonia)
decentralization, 89–90, 97–9, 103, in Bilateral Commission, 75–6, 222
114, 210 competencies, 61, 69, 70, 73, 75, 83
democratic maintenance in, 42–3 establishment and revival, 51, 53, 56, 59
feudal governance, 7 Genoa, 91
fiscal policies, 108 George, Alexander L., 41–2
gender parity law, 111, 117 German language, 108
“hidden” constitution, 90 Gladney, Dru C., 187, 224
immigrants, 119, 122 globalization
legacy of revolution, 23, 27 demands for autonomy and, 218
overseas territories, 100, 104, 105, effects on autonomy, 63, 69, 108, 147,
109, 207 204, 221
regional languages, 91–2, 107 special status concessions as response
Socialist Party, 89, 90, 95, 97, 98, 103, to, 2, 28
105, 205 weakening of nation-state, 8, 22
Index 269
Goldstein, Melvyn C., 173 civil society groups, 143, 145, 150,
Golmud, 194, 234n8 154–5, 156, 157, 159–61, 161–2
Graziani Parci, Paule, 111, 120, 122 democracy, 41, 132, 143–4
Great Leap Forward, 179 economic inequality, 129, 149, 152–7
Green Initiative for Catalonia-United economic profile, 127–9, 147–8, 218
Left Alternative (ICV-EUiA), 53 intercultural identities, 129–31, 136,
group-differentiated rights 141, 142, 161
in China, 182, 185, 187 internal minorities, 48, 131, 152–61,
Communist states and, 18 162, 225, 227
defined, 13–14 languages, 130–31, 141, 146–7
in France, 27, 104 liberal-capitalist way of life, 44,
inclusive citizenship and, 39 127–32, 161, 218
in special status arrangements, 47 public protests, 140, 143–4, 145, 155
Grunfeld, A. Tom, 178 representations of, 129–30, 152,
Guangdong province, 130, 131, 141 153–4, 156, 225
Guangzhou, 130 symbolic importance, 126–7, 207, 211
Guatemala, 28 transnational outlook, 131–2, 140
Gurr, Ted Robert, 32 women, 128, 157–9, 228
see also Hong Kong Special
Hainan Island, 168 Administrative Region (HKSAR)
Hale, Charles, 28 Hong Kong elites
Han Chinese democratization and, 126, 143,
domination of party-state, 9–11, 145, 217
188, 191 institutional dominance, 220
in Hong Kong, 129, 130, 142, intercultural identities, 206
159–60, 206 pro-China stance, 132–3, 136, 144,
languages, 130–1 151, 161, 206
migration into minority nationality representations of Hong Kong
regions, 171, 193–4, 197 people, 156
Tibet and, 169, 187, 193–4, 197, 200, work on Basic Law, 127, 151
202, 215, 227–8 Hong Kong Federation of Trade
Hannum, Hurst, 37 Unions, 152
Hartzell, Caroline A., 21 Hong Kong Journalists Association, 142
Hashmi, Sohail H., 19 Hong Kong Social Security Society, 153
Haute Corse, 93 Hong Kong Special Administrative
He, Baogang, 189, 212 Region (HKSAR), 125–62
Hechter, Michael, 216 asymmetry and autonomy, 126,
Himalayas, 44 136–50, 208, 209, 220
HKSAR, see Hong Kong Special citizenship issues, 140, 151–2, 154,
Administrative Region (HKSAR) 156, 159–61, 215
Hong Kong creation, 43, 125–6
under British rule, 126–28, 129, 130, democratization, 126, 143–4, 150,
131, 132, 133–4, 155, 157 156, 158, 213
Chinese takeover, 11, 43, 44, 125, elections, 132, 139, 143, 144, 157
133–6 fiscal autonomy, 137, 149, 222
270 Index
HKSAR—Continued in the modern territorial state, 2,
human rights, 138, 142, 150, 157 24, 114
internal minorities, 126, 215 and political mobilization, 218
judicial autonomy, 144–5, 147, 160 and social boundaries, 19
nature of special status, 15, 16, 43 and territorial asymmetry, 13, 44–5,
133–41, 149 208–9
office of Chief Executive, 139, 140, Ile-de-France, 68, 93, 99
143, 151, 220 immigrants
origins of special status, 133–6 in Catalonia, 55, 65, 78, 81–3, 86
outcomes of special status, 150–61 in Corsica, 93–4, 107–8, 118–23,
specified end date, 16, 150, 213, 214 232n3
stability, 135, 150–1, 216, 217 in Hong Kong, 131, 155, 160, 225
temporary nature, 16, 150, 213, 214 social protection for, 68, 214, 215
tensions related to special status, in Tibet, 171, 193–4, 197
141–50 as vulnerable internal minorities,
see also Basic Law (BL) of the Hong 48, 227
Kong SAR; Hong Kong; imperial rule, 5, 8, 9–11
Sino-British Joint Declaration ( JD) independence movements
Horowitz, Donald L., 32 in Catalonia, 49, 53, 57, 216
Hui minority nationality, 187, 200 in Corsica, 90, 93, 95, 99, 103,
Hu Jintao, 184 113, 121
human rights international support for, 90, 169,
in Corsica, 120, 226 170, 207
denial of self-rule and, 21 in Taiwan, 144
in Hong Kong, 126, 138, 143, in Tibet, 167, 169, 170, 179, 183,
150, 228 185, 191
international agreements on, 228 vs. territorial autonomy, 12, 21, 207,
protection, 22, 157 218–19
in Tibet, 183, 191, 192, 195 India, 165, 169, 170–1, 177, 184
Human Rights in China, 190 indigenous peoples, 23, 27, 28, 32, 36
Human Rights Watch, 191 indirect rule
Hu, Yaobang, 183, 206 in European empires, 8
in imperial China, 10, 167, 169, 171
ICV-EUiA (Iniciativa per Catalunya modern versions of, 11
Verds-Esquerra Unida i Indonesia, 1, 32
Alternativa), 53 industrialization, 6
identity Iniciativa per Catalunya Verds-Esquerra
across borders, 20, 99, 131, 164, 165 Unida i Alternativa (ICV-EUiA), 53
class, 26–7 Inner Asia, 9, 10
collective, 31, 33–4 institutional asymmetry, 14, 99, 136,
and cultural policy, 12 141, 210
formation, 33, 34–7, 39, 224 integrative special status arrangements,
institutional accommodation, 16, 43, 137, 161, 210, 212, 216
40–1, 208 inter-governmental organizations, 12,
internal minorities and, 227 13, 28, 138
Index 271
internal minorities Kurds, 2
collective identity and, 24, 36 Kymlicka, Will
intraterritorial conf lict and, 37 on ambivalence to minority
protection of, 37–8 self-rule, 21
quality of citizenship, 38–9, 203–4, on democratic vs. non-democratic
224–9 contexts, 2–3, 205
specific groups examined, 48 on group-differentiated rights, 13–14
vulnerability, 23, 26, 29 on liberal multiculturalism, 22, 23–4,
International Convenant on Economic, 37–8, 78
Social and Cultural Rights
(ICESCR), 138 Ladakh, 165
International Covenant on Civil and language
Political Rights (ICCPR), 138 identity and, 12, 21, 26, 210
International Labour Organization protection for, 221, 227
(ILO), 155 rights, 22
international law, 7, 21, 35, 134 socioeconomic participation and, 26
international tribunals, 22 see also individual languages
Iraq, 2 La Rioja, 64
Italian language, 108 Latin America, 28, 32, 66, 81
Italy, 91, 99 Law on Regional Ethnic Autonomy
(LREA) in PRC, 186–7
Jacobin movement, 7–8, 23, 27 Legislative Council (Hong Kong), 132,
Japan, 9, 171, 184 139, 140, 144, 146, 158
JD, see Sino-British Joint Declaration (JD) Lehman Brothers, 145
Jiang Zemin, 125 Lenin, Vladimir Ilyich, 171
Jospin, Lionel, 105 Ley Paccionada (Spain), 51
Joxe, Pierre, 89 Lhasa
Joxe reforms, 101, 102, 103, 106, 109 Chinese takeover, 168–9
government workers in, 192
Kabeer, Naila, 24 martial law, 184
Kabyle, 121 Qing dynasty relations, 167
Karmapa Lama, 192 railway to, 194
Kazaks, 200 seat of Dalai Lama’s government,
Keating, Michael, 1, 24, 28, 207, 219 165, 166
Keynesian policy, 19 spring 2008 protests, 192, 194, 202
Kham unrest in 1952, 177, 181
Chinese communist reforms in, uprising in 1959, 164, 169, 179,
177–8, 201, 213 195, 201
Chinese military action, 168, 170, Lhasa Patriotic Women’s Association,
179, 180 181–2
exclusion from special status, 175 Lhoba, 200
relation to central Tibet, 166 liberal perspectives, 5, 17–19, 23–4, 39,
revolts against Chinese, 169, 178, 201 43, 96
Korea, 9, 170, 171 Linklater, Andrew, 228
Kosovo, 16 Linz, Juan J., 49, 163
272 Index
Lister, Ruth, 4 self-censorship in Hong Kong, 142,
Lo, Sonny Shiu-hing, 145 144, 147, 151
Louis XV, 91 under Sino-British Joint Declaration,
LREA (Law on Regional Ethnic 135, 138
Autonomy) in PRC, 186–7 Menba, 200
Luciani, Marie-Pierre, 121 Merry, Sally Engle, 35
Luoba, 200 Mesado, Àngel, 79
Lustick, Ian, 38 Mill, John Stuart, 25
Miller, David, 19
Maastricht Treaty, 70, 109 Mindanao, 1
Macau, 11, 125, 136 Ming dynasty, 10, 167
MacFarquhar, Roderick, 178 minority territorial autonomy
Madeira, 109 defined, 12–13
Madrid, 56, 64, 73, 82, 84 democracy and, 25–6
Majorcan language, 59 external effectiveness, 47
Mancomunitat, 51 internal minorities, 23–4, 26, 29, 36
Mandarin Chinese (putonghua), 130, 141, in international law, 21
142, 146, 190 redistribution-recognition dilemma, 27
Manifeste pour la vie, 110–11, 117 regime type and, 2–3
Maoudj, Danièle, 121 scholarship, 2–3
Mao Zedong tensions associated with, 5, 19–22
attitude to minorities, 171 minority territorial communities
curbs on reformist zeal, 177, citizenship and, 19, 24, 36, 38–9,
211, 225 203, 229
death, 182, 183 demands, 26
final authority, 220 identity, 33–6, 206, 210, 227
hopes of Tibetan support, 175, 178, institutional recognition, 208
179, 180, 206 internal minorities, 4, 23, 24, 26
plans for invading Tibet, 170 isolation, 26
Seventeen-Point Agreement and, 164, negotiations with state, 96
168–9 neoliberalism and, 28, 29
Maragall, Pasqual, 54, 72, 77 in nondemocratic contexts, 3, 169
Mariani, Marie-Thé, 117 role of elites, 13, 28, 33, 35, 206,
Marx, Karl, 19 208–9
Marxist perspectives, 5, 17–18, 26, as threats to state stability, 20, 205
191, 198 types of distinctiveness, 44
Matignon Process, 101, 105, 111, 118, Mitterrand, François, 97, 100
123, 216, 223 Modern Standard Chinese, 130, 141,
Mauroy, Pierre, 90 146, 155, 190–1
Mayotte, 104 modern territorial state and citizenship
media model
in autonomous regions, 20, 75 challenges to, 14, 17
portrayal of immigrants, 81, 215 China and, 8–11, 136, 167, 176
restrictions in China, 45 collective identity claims and, 31,
scrutiny of Corsican politics, 120 33–5
Index 273
emergence, 6–7, 18–19 Paccou, André, 120
features associated with, 1, 2 Pacte Democràtic per Catalunya
in France, 90, 97, 106, 107, 110, (DPC), 56
114, 119 Panchen Lama, 174, 175, 183, 192
social theory and, 17–19, 25, 27–8 Paoli, Pasquale, 101
in Spain, 58, 70, 86 Paris, 93, 99, 112
theory vs. practice, 7, 19, 32 Partido Comunista de España (PCE),
Tibet and, 165–6 57, 63
universalist ideal, 4 Partido Popular (PP), 67, 68, 69, 71, 73,
see also nation-state 74, 82, 85
Mongols, 9, 10 Partido Socialista Obrero Español
Monpa, 200 (PSOE), 56, 57, 63–4, 67, 84, 85
Montedison, 93 Partits dels Socialistes de Catalunya
Moroccan immigrants, 55, 118, 119 (PSC), 53, 68, 77, 79, 85
Mount Kalish, 192 Partitu de a Nazione Corsa (PNC), 111
multiculturalism, 22, 23–4, 27–8, 37–8, PCE (Partido Comunista de España),
78, 207 57, 63
Muslim minorities, 81, 82, 120, Pearl River Delta, 128, 130
182, 194 People’s Armed Police, 195
People’s Assembly (Mimang Tsondu), 181
National Assembly (France), 103, People’s Liberation Army (PLA), 142,
115, 116 168, 170, 174, 180, 188–9, 195, 196
National People’s Congress (NPC) of People’s Republic of China (PRC)
PRC, 127, 139–40, 143, 151, 160, anti-terrorism efforts, 184
186, 199, 222 concept of nation, 11, 142, 161,
nation-state 172, 227
as basis of identity, 6, 7, 19, 24, 33, 35 constitution, 136, 185–6
challenges to ideal of, 14, 19–23 economic liberalization, 126, 127,
ideology of the, 11, 14, 18–19 128, 133, 134, 147, 161
weakening of, 8, 22 living standards, 197
see also modern territorial state and minority nationalities, 183, 185–6,
citizenship model 200, 201
Navarre, 51, 59, 61, 62, 68, 77, 84 and the modern territorial state
neoliberal political economic order, model, 8–11, 126
27–8 political elites, 149, 152, 161, 177, 205
Nepal, 165, 169, 182, 184 political system, 134, 161, 188, 209,
New Territories, 127, 157 211, 220
New Zealand, 132, 184 restrictions on freedom, 45, 130, 161,
Nicaragua, 1 191–2, 201–2
Nice, 91 reunification goals, 134, 135,
Nord-Pas-de-Calais, 92 136, 206
Nordquist, Kjell-Åke, 38 special economic zones (SEZs),
North Africa, 48, 55, 81, 93 136, 149
special status arrangements, 1, 2, 3,
Ong, Aiwa, 134 21, 43, 125, 172
274 Index
PRC—Continued in Hong Kong, 136, 150, 161, 208,
state-building goals, 43, 44, 133, 134, 212, 213
136, 164, 169, 173 in Tibet, 164, 172, 175, 212
Tibet sovereignty claims, 11, 167, 207 regime type, 210–12
views on patriotism, 142, 161, 164, comparative study and, 3, 43–4, 204
174, 188, 202, 211 degree of autonomy and, 209,
see also Hong Kong Special 220, 227
Administrative Region (HKSAR); open-endedness and, 41, 224
Seventeen-Point Agreement; Tibet political tension and, 209–10, 213
Philippines, 1, 131 stability and, 38
PNC (Partitu de a Nazione Corsa), 111 Rocard, Michel, 89, 103
political asymmetry Roman Catholicism, 73, 81
across case studies, 219 Rothchild, Donald, 21
in Catalonia, 60, 223 Rufin, Jean-Christophe, 120
controversial nature, 214 Russia, 10, 166, 171
in Corsica, 224 Rustow, Dankwart, 25
defined, 15 Ryan, Stephen, 207
equality norms and, 210
in Hong Kong, 136, 223 Saint-Pierre-et-Miquelon, 104
in Tibet, 175, 180, 189, 223 Samuel, Geoffrey, 166
political autonomy, 46–7, 209, 213–14, Sardinia, 91
219–24 SARS outbreak, 148
Portugal, 11, 109 Sautman, Barry, 159
PP (Partido Popular), 67, 68, 69, 71, 73, Schnapper, Dominique, 22
74, 82, 85 Schultz, George, 135
Provence–Côte D’Azur–Corse, 92 Scotland, 1, 25, 28, 32
PSC (Partits dels Socialistes de Second Convention of Peking, 127
Catalunya), 53, 68, 77, 79, 85 Senate (France), 103, 115, 116
PSOE (Partido Socialista Obrero Serra i Salamè, Carles, 81
Español), 56, 57, 63–4, 67, 84, 85 Seventeen-Point Agreement
Pujol, Jordi, 53, 54, 56, 57, 61, 63, (Sino-Tibetan), 165–82
64, 77 asymmetry and autonomy, 43,
172–81, 200–1, 209, 211, 223
Qing dynasty, 9, 10, 11, 166, 167, collapse, 164, 169, 179, 216
181, 207 establishment, 163, 168
Qinghai, 165, 176, 196, 197 historical time frame, 44
Quebec, 1, 23, 28 nature of special status, 172–5
origins of special status, 169–72
Radio Lhasa, 168 outcomes of special status, 175–9
Raffarin, Jean-Pierre, 89, 106, 111 prefiguring Hong Kong
realist international theory, 20 autonomy, 136
regime asymmetry preservation of inequalities, 173, 177,
in Catalonia and Corsica, 212 181, 225
defined, 15 tensions related to special status,
destabilizing effect, 214 180–2
Index 275
Shakya, Tsering, 179, 190, 192, 194 special status arrangements
Shanghai, 127, 147, 196, 197 as “anti-state institutions,” 8
Shigatse, 175 centripetal forces and, 219
Sichuan, 165, 167, 176 from de facto asymmetry, 13
Sikkim, 165 defined, 1, 12
Simeoni, Edmond, 93 democracy and, 25–6
Single European Act, 109 growing importance, 203, 228
Sino-British Joint Declaration ( JD) inclusive citizenship and, 50
China’s international reputation, 134, instrumental character, 205–6
174–5 internal minorities and, 23–4, 26,
creation, 43, 127 29, 36
reception, 135 origins, 42–3
terms and goals, 137–41, 150–1, tensions associated with, 5, 17, 19–23
157, 228 varieties, 16–17
Socialist Party of Catalonia (PSC), 53, Sri Lanka, 2
68, 77, 79, 85 stability
Soviet bloc, 2, 20 assessing, 38, 46, 215–19
Soviet Union, 44, 169, 171, 193 asymmetrical autonomy and, 4, 17,
Spain 19–22, 203
coup attempt, 63, 72 and de facto asymmetry, 209
democratization, 42, 49–50, 52, 55, minimal vs. maximal, 38, 216–17
63, 64, 67, 211 regime type and, 204
elections, 56 state-building, 5, 7, 13, 21, 43, 223
gender equality, 84–5 state security
historical background, 50–5 asymmetry and, 19–22, 46, 205, 207
immigrants, 81–3 Chinese focus on, 141–3, 144, 164,
medieval territorial identities, 7–8, 184, 188–93, 198, 211
76–7 Corsica and, 98
national identity, 73 Stepan, Alfred, 49
official languages, 59, 65–6 Stockholm, 68
political parties, 56–7 Suárez, Adolfo, 49
post-Franco constitution, 52–3, Sudan, 1, 16
57–60, 64–5, 71, 74 symbolic asymmetry, 15, 59, 76–7, 136,
role of elites, 49–50, 52, 55, 63, 64, 208, 210, 214
205, 207 Syndicat des Travailleurs Corses, 113
stability, 72–3
taxation, 75 Taiwan
see also Autonomous Communities of Hong Kong as “model” for, 126, 133,
Spain (ACs) 148, 206, 207
Spanish Civil War, 51, 57 independence of, 144
Spanish Communist Party (PCE), 57, 63 sovereignty claims on, 11, 168
Spanish Second Republic, 51, 53 Special Economic Zones and, 136
Spanish Socialist Workers Party (PSOE), Tibetan diaspora, 184
56, 57, 63–4, 67, 84, 85 use of traditional Chinese script, 131
special economic zones (SEZs), 136, 149 Tambiah, Stanley, 166
276 Index
Tang dynasty, 167 under Seventeen-Point Agreement,
TAR, see Tibet Autonomous Region 163, 169, 173
(TAR) Tibetan elites
Tarradellas, Josep, 56 alliances with Chinese, 164, 177, 178,
temporality, 16–17, 43, 210, 212–13 194, 206
Thatcher, Margaret, 134 alliances with rebel leaders, 178
Thirteenth Dalai Lama, 165–6 Chinese campaigns against, 169
Tiananmen Square protests and socialist reforms and, 163, 170, 172,
crackdown 173, 211–12, 213
effect on PRC leadership, 150, 193 support for People’s Assembly, 181
effects in Hong Kong, 130, 132, 135, traditional role, 167–8, 183
140, 151, 217 Tibetan language, 183, 187, 190–1,
taboo subject, 144 197–8, 201
Tibet protests compared, 195 Tibetan people
Tianjin, 197 diaspora, 184, 199–200
Tibet ethnographic range, 165
1959 uprising, 164, 169, 179, 195, 201 identities, 166, 176, 178, 182, 192, 198
citizenship issues, 164, 180–2, 202, 229 under imperial China, 9, 10
civil society group, 181 living standards, 196–7, 216
cultural distinctiveness, 44 poverty, 44, 182, 193, 197
historical background, 165–8 repression by PRC, 191–2, 216
imperial China and, 9–10 responses to PRC, 176–7, 179, 198
independence claims, 167, 169, 170, Tibetan Youth Congress (TYC), 185
183, 184, 202 Tibet Autonomous Region (TAR),
integrative and temporary status, 182–202
16–17, 43 asymmetry and autonomy, 185–93,
internal minorities, 48, 181–2, 195–6, 209
196–200, 225 comparison with Hong Kong, 202
protests, 177, 181, 192, 194, 202, 215 economic circumstances, 186, 194,
regime asymmetry in, 15, 164, 172, 175 195, 222
strategic importance, 166–7, 207 establishment, 44, 164, 169
traditional government, 165–8, in ethnographic Tibet, 165
172–3, 183 Han Chinese migration into, 193–4,
women, 181, 199–200, 228 197, 215
see also Amdo; Dalai Lama; Kham; nature of special status, 185–8
Seventeen-Point Agreement; Tibet outcomes of special status, 195–200
Autonomous Region (TAR) People’s Congress, 199
Tibetan Buddhism protests and resistance, 192, 201–2
Chinese repression, 169, 182, 183, public spending, 184, 194–6
191, 225 restrictions on freedom, 184, 191–2,
Gelugpa sect, 174 201–2
patriarchal interpretations, 181 stability, 164, 180, 188, 191, 195–200,
political role, 191 217
role in society, 167, 182, 192, 198, 201 tensions related to special status,
role of Dalai Lama, 166, 184 188–95
Index 277
Tibet Government in Exile, 184, 185, Uttar Pradesh, 165
188, 200, 201 Uyghur, 169
Tilly, Charles, 7, 8, 11, 32
Tsang, Donald, 154, 156 Valencia, 54, 61
Tully, James Valencian language, 59
on “hidden constitutions,” 18, 32, 90 Vallet, Élisabeth A., 115
on “interculturality,” 34, 192, 217, 224 Van Cott, Donna Lee, 32
on open-ended arrangements, 86, Vietnam, 9, 44
204, 224 Vincensini, Noëlle, 111, 120,
on solutions to conf licts, 40–1 121, 122
Tung, Chee-hwa, 125, 133, 144, 146,
154, 155 Wales, 32
Tunisian immigrants, 118, 119, 120 War of Spanish Succession, 51
Tuscan language, 91 welfare state, 19, 22, 67, 78, 211
Weller, Marc, 16
UCD (Unión de Centro Democrático), Western Europe
56, 63 emergence of modern territorial state,
UN Development Program, 196–7 6–7, 32
UNESCO, 76 fiscal policies and devolution, 28
Unión de Centro Democrático (UCD), increasing territorial differentiation
56, 63 in, 8, 93
Union of Corsican Workers, 121 view of modernity, 27
Union pour un Mouvement Populaire, 122 welfare state programs, 67
Unità Naziunale, 121 West Lothian question, 25
United Kingdom women
election of Labour government, 32 in Catalonia, 78, 83–5
imperial expansion, 10, 166, 167 in Corsica, 115–8
People’s Republic of China and, 125, in Hong Kong, 157–9
127, 133–4 as internal minorities, 48
Scottish autonomy, 1, 25 in Tibet, 181–2, 199–200
Tibet and, 170 World War II, 99
wealth of South East, 68 WTO (World Trade Organization), 155
see also Hong Kong; Sino-British Joint Wu, Jinghua, 183
Declaration ( JD)
United Nations (UN), 134, 157, 161, Xi’an, 167
168, 170 Xinjiang, 10, 165, 169, 200
see also UN Development Program
United States Yi minority nationality, 183
alliance with Chinese Nationalists, 170 Young, Iris Marion, 27, 40, 41
Hong Kong and, 132, 135 Yuan dynasty, 167
invasion of Iraq, 2 Yugoslavia, 44
Korean War, 170 Yunnan, 165, 200
liberal theory, 23
Tibet and, 168, 170–1, 179, 184 Zapatero, José Luis Rodríguez, 72
war on terror, 184 Zheng, Yongnian, 221

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Territoriality, Asymmetry, and Autonomy

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1. Autonomy—Case studies. I. Title.

This book is part of an expanding literature analyzing the role of asym-

The Structure of the Book

Territoriality, Asymmetry, and Autonomy:

In recent years, the literature on territorial politics and decentraliza-

Territoriality refers to the organization of political space and the spatial

Special Status Arrangements and

Thus, contemporary special status arrangements echo historical prac-

Minority Territorial Autonomy

Asymmetry and Special Status Arrangements

Varieties of Special Status

Tensions Related to Autonomy and Asymmetry

According to the literature, special status arrangements raise a num-

Social Theory and Minority Autonomy

State Security, Stability, and Territorial Integrity

Economic Modernization and Development,

The Origins, Nature, Political Dynamics, and

Collective identity claims play an important role in the constitution

The Origins and Political Dynamics of

Constitutional Ruptures and Shifts

“Individualistic” Approaches to Identity

The Dual Axes of Contention

The present study uses both order and justice criteria—specifically,

Catalonia as an Autonomous Community

The building of a state composed of autonomous regions is our

By means of this Statute, Catalonia wishes to progress towards an

The post-communist transitions from authoritarian rule in post-Cold

As chapter three discussed, stateness issues tend to be highly politically

The Nature of Catalan Special Status

The institutional features of the Catalan special status arrangement

Tensions over Asymmetry and Autonomy

The Catalan special status arrangement has experienced ongoing ten-

if the federation were among the authentic and real nationalities

The formal equality norms that pushed uniformity were rooted in

Equality, Unity, and the Protection of the Catalan Language

Inclusive Citizenship for the Minority Territorial Community:

Inclusive Citizenship for Internal Minorities

The Catalan special status arrangement contributed to the successful

Corsica after the 1982/1983 Special Statute

. . . in a democratic Europe all island regions should have special

Democracy is that: to know to whom to talk. . . . A single local

The Socialists together with the Communists swept to power in the

Corsica is geographically and demographically peripheral within met-

The Nature of Corsican Special Status

Tensions over Asymmetry and Autonomy

Democracy and Equality

Equality and Indivisibility

Democracy and Violence

Democracy, Interculturality, and Special Status

Inclusive Citizenship for the Minority Territorial Community:

Inclusive Citizenship for Internal Minorities

Three decades ago, French policymakers launched the project of the

Hong Kong as a Special Administrative Region

. . . Hong Kong compatriots have become true masters of this

the agreement will provide a solid foundation for Hong Kong’s

Indeed, except for the immediate aftermath of the 1989 Tiananmen

The Nature of Hong Kong’s Special Status

Tensions over Asymmetry and Autonomy

State Sovereignty, Security, and Patriotism

Rising nationalism will lead to a dominant view that excludes

Senior administrators and elected officials have been subject to tests of