Military Dictatorships of Brazil and the Southern

Cone
World Scholar: Latin America & the Caribbean, 2011
Included Articles
Introduction
Military Dictatorships of Brazil and the Southern Cone
By David Pion-Berlin
Although the dictatorships of Brazil and the Southern Cone may seem like a distant memory, they are not
easily forgotten, especially by those who suffered under them. The widespread and systematic violations
of human rights at the hands of state security forces are a matter of public record. Many lives were
destroyed, and polities and societies fundamentally altered. Since then, armed insurgents have
disappeared from the scene, and Marxist parties garner few votes. Trade unions that were dismantled or
outlawed by the dictatorships have never fully recovered. Authoritarian regimes left their imprint on the
democratic systems that replaced them, but the carryover is not uniformly negative: those de facto
regimes also generated a fierce determination in civil and political society to move forward. The harsh
repression of the past unleashed organized efforts to bring perpetrators to justice.
The authoritarian regimes of the 1960s and 1970s were military in nature. Although the exact relationship
between the military institution and its regime component differed from country to country, it is an
undisputed fact that the military itself constituted the key pillar of support for these governments. The
centrality of the military differentiates these authoritarian regimes from other types, such as single-party
regimes (Mexico, 19282000), sultanistic or personalistic regimes (Haiti, 19571986), and civilianauthoritarian regimes (Egypt, 19802011).
Scholarship on authoritarian rule has found that the military type tends to have the shortest duration and
that the single-party type tends to be the most durable. The average lifespan of a military regime is about
nine years, as compared to twenty-six years for a single-party regime, and, in the middle, fifteen years for
a sultanistic regime. The differences throw light on the nature of the military institution. Those who govern
are confronted with the contentiousness of politics, which often creates divisions between members of the
ruling coalition. Political parties can handle those divisions through cooptation. Personal dictators forge a
very narrow but loyal coterie of followers, whose lifestyles, indeed lives, depend on allegiance to the
leader. By contrast, the military is extremely reluctant to remain in office if divisions threaten to split the
institution wide open. Nothing is more valuable to it than unity. When unity is severely threatened, officers
always have another option: to return to the barracks to resume their principal mission, national defense.
That is why, by the early 1980s, internal splits often led to the demise of military authoritarian regimes in
the Southern Cone.
The relatively shorter duration of military regimes should not, however, obscure the fact that for the victims
of military-orchestrated state terror, the end of de facto rule could not have come a moment too soon. For
the multitudes deprived of freedom, civil liberties, and political rights, and those in detention under the
most atrocious conditions, subjected routinely to torture and without any rights of due process, a week
could seem like a year, and a year a lifetime. For families who did not know the whereabouts of their loved
ones, officially classified as disappeared, the uncertainty took a heavy psychological toll. The haunting
memories of those years under dictatorship still linger for many survivors. Fortunately, some justice has

been meted out to the perpetrators of human rights crimes, but many more have remained free.
The history of military dictatorships raises certain central questions: Why did militaries seize power? What
kinds of dictatorships did they set up? How were they structured, how did they rule, and more specifically,
how did they treat their oppositions? Why and how did they leave office? And how have reborn
democracies dealt with the legacies of military rule?

The Origins of Military Dictatorship

Militaries are often driven to intervene in politics by what they perceive as threats around them. The
generals who seized power in Brazil and the Southern Cone were preoccupied with social, political, and
ideological threats of one kind or another. This was the Cold War era, when the United States was locked
in a global struggle for domination with the Soviet Union. Not surprisingly, the fight against leftist
movements was a huge motivator. Washington, wishing to enlist these regimes as allies against the Soviet
Union, actively coaxed these militaries into seizing power and thereafter propped them up so as to
establish separate theaters of operation within the larger war between East and West.
But the war analogy, used repeatedly by the militaries themselves to justify their intervention and brand of
governance, was a bit of a stretch. The bulk of those subjected to repression and abuse were unarmed, if
not politically uninvolved. Very few confrontations between the armed units of the state and those of the
opposition took place on the battlefield. Indeed, many tens of thousands who were victims of what has
become known as the "dirty wars" had no affiliations with any armed, dangerous, or illegal organizations
whatever. The exceptions to this rule were found in Argentina and Uruguay, in which guerrilla
organizations such as the Ejrcito Revolucionario del Pueblo (ERP; People's Revolutionary Army), the
Montoneros, and the Tupamaros were active. In Chile, the far-left party called the Movimiento de Izquierda
Revolucionaria (MIR; Revolutionary Left Movement) did resort to violent tactics, though it clearly did not
operate in military formation. Yet none of these groups was any match for the armed forces, which easily
and swiftly dismantled them.
Hence, in the case of each country, it is important to distinguish the military's post hoc rationalizations for
the coup d'tat from the more complex underlying causes. Yes, militaries felt threatened, but they were
also strategic, waiting for the right opportunity to intervene. They knew full well that a premature
intervention could backfire, resulting in irreparable harm to their profession. Officers wanted to be sure that
a sizable block of citizens was behind the idea of regime change. For this to occur there had to be a
substantial breakdown in the democratic order well before the military's final assault, so that citizens would
seriously question the legitimacy of the government, its institutions, and its rules of the game.
This process of deterioration would occur in stages, with the accumulation of unresolved problems and
unfulfilled demands. As the gap between demands and performance widened, social and political actors
would grow increasingly frustrated, and the system polarized. Coalitions that sustained those in power
unraveled, while new ones converged around illegal, violent solutions. Those new elements were disloyal,
in that they were willing to resort to whatever means necessary to further their interests. In such a state of
societal decay, a military overthrow of a constitutional government did not seem terribly out of place and
often met with acceptance from a significant fraction of the civilian population.

The Economic Dimension

The democratic breakdown leading to the crisis of military intervention had its economic, social, and
political dimensions. An important tradition of scholarship traces this political descent to deep structural
problems in the economy. Simply put, the economic solutions that many Latin American states had long
pinned their hopes on ran their course: they could no longer generate growth and employment. The most
prevalent model, import substitution industrialization (ISI), predicated economic success on the decreasing
reliance of developing states on wealthy states and international markets. Instead, they would develop
lines of production at home that could substitute for previously imported goods. Tariff barriers would be
erected to protect nascent local industries from outside competition. The hope was that ISI would result in
numerous higher-paying manufacturing jobs for the armies of the unemployed and set these countries on
the path toward development. It worked for a while, until inefficient local industrialists ran up against the
limits of the domestic market, and could not compete internationally. The result was economic stagnation
and wage price spirals leading to higher inflation.
When ISI flourished, populist governments were able to count on a sufficiently broad coalition of support to
sustain them and the democratic order: local industrialists and other domestic capitalists, small business,
wage earners, professionals, and civil servants. When ISI exhausted itself, that coalition disintegrated, as
wage earners were pitted against owners, and working class against middle and upper classes. A new,
narrower coalition emerged, comprising domestic and international capitalists, bankers, the middle and
upper classes, and, in the end, the armed forces. The members of this coalition were convinced that a new
economic model was needed, one that would suppress wage-earner demands and thereby create an
alluring market for competitive foreign firms. The only way to impose such a plan, in their view, was
through authoritarian means.
It is tempting to see this economically driven process as an inexorable march toward dictatorship. Yet
there was nothing inevitable about it. Decisions could have been made along the way to avert disaster, but
were not. The laws of economics may not be terribly elastic, but politics is, and policy makers in other
parts of the globe were able to make adjustments to avert military takeovers. Moreover, there is no onesize-fits-all explanation for the rise of dictatorship: in fact, Brazil, Uruguay, Chile, and Argentina each
experienced its own version of economic decline and democratic breakdown.
Brazil
Brazil's lead-up to the military takeover in 1964 in many ways set the example for some of its Southern
Cone neighbors. Economically, ISI had reached the exhaustion phase. Under President Joo Goulart
(19611964), Brazil ran serious balance-of-payments problems, and the country hemorrhaged some two
billion dollars in the first two months of 1964 alone. In the face of deteriorating real wages, labor became
more militant and organized greater strike activity between 1961 and 1964, as occurred later in Uruguay
and Argentina. The middle class resented union pressure, believing it was pushing up costs and
worsening inflation. Military officials, too, began to identify labor with economic strife and were especially
critical of the trade unions, which, they maintained, were unduly influenced by the Communist Party.
When it comes to military intervention, it takes two to tango. The Brazilian military had intervened on a
number of occasions, but had been prompted to do so by civilians. Part of the justification stemmed from
the constitution at the time, which authorized the military to perform three functions: guarantee the normal
functioning of the three branches of government, maintain law and order, and obey the executive "within
the limits of the law." These provisions gave politicians a number of openings to enlist the armed forces'

assistance, and gave the armed forces the justification to comply.

Prior to 1964 politicians' grievances were with specific presidents and their policies: they believed that with
new leadership, problems could be resolved within the democratic constitutional framework. The military
would intervene on their behalf, set the stage for new elections, and then quickly return to the barracks. By
1964 the ground had shifted, and a new view emerged, entailing doubts about the efficacy of the political
system itself. The sentiment was that the numerous political parties in congress would not or could not
coalesce to formulate policies to meet the growing needs of a burgeoning society, and neither would the
congress cooperate with the executive branch. Overlaying this was an ideological polarization, with the
rhetoric on the right and left becoming more acerbic and overheated. The political system had become too
fragmented, and Brazil was no longer governable under the aegis of the existing democratic polity. If this
were true, it would justify a military-authoritarian regime of a different nature, one prepared to stay in
power for the long haul to enact far-reaching reforms.
The military's own views of its political role had changed. With the development of Brazil's version of the
National Security Doctrine, cultivated within the Superior War College (Escola Superior de Guerra; ESG),
the armed forces were convinced that security and development were inseparable. If the nation was to
modernize and rid itself of subversion, it could do so only through careful, long-term planning within a
centralized system of power. A pluralistic system with feuding parties that were vulnerable to harmful
influences was no longer functional. It would take a strong, centralized authoritarian state to accomplish
those goals. That being said, the military was not prepared to intervene until public opinion was behind it.
Military activists would have to win over the bulk of officers who were not coup-minded. To do so, they
wanted to avoid bloodshed and division, and the only way to do that was to show that they had the public
on their side.
The sitting president made the military's job easier. Goulart committed a number of strategic blunders that
led many inside and outside the armed forces to question his credentials, let alone his commitment to the
constitution. He demanded that congress change the constitution, which he described as obsolete, and
when it refused to do so, he threatened to close it down and hold a constituent assembly. He held mass
rallies at which he railed against the power holders in Brazilian society, exhorting his followers with
revolutionary rhetoric. But the straw that broke the camel's back was his pardon of mutinous sailors who
were petitioning for better living conditions. Goulart's failure to stand firm against the sailors represented
for the military an intolerable break in the chain of command. A few days later, on March 31, 1964, they
removed him from office, and the twenty-one-year era of authoritarian rule commenced.
Uruguay
Uruguay had long been considered one of the two most stable democracies in Latin America, with a strong
two-party system. The Blanco and Colorado parties definitely had their differences, but by the end of the
nineteenth century they had devised a system called co-participation to keep the peace and share the
spoils of power. The system was revised over the decades but in one form or another worked remarkably
well, so long as the economic system that relied heavily on agricultural export revenues, along with stateled investment, generated enough resources to please contending parties. Unfortunately Uruguay's golden
economic years came to an end in the mid-1950s as export revenues declined and ISI reached its limits,
with domestic industry unable to expand further. In fact, Uruguay suffered one of the longest and steadiest
periods of economic deterioration of any country at the time.

Bold solutions were required to resolve the economic problems, but these were not forthcoming.
The fractured political system stood in the way. Uruguay's unique double simultaneous voting
system allowed separate factions within each party to run their own list of candidates. The vote
tallies for each faction were combined to determine the party's total and thus which party would
prevail. This system meant two things: First, parties tolerated a wide range of ideological currents
within them. Second, a candidate from a faction (sublema) within either party was likely to win the
presidency with just a small plurality of the national vote. For example, between 1958 and 1971 no
candidate winning the presidency came to office with more than 27 percent of the vote. With a poor
mandate and a minority of seats within the parliament, presidents were reluctant to propose decisive
reform. Moreover, within each party there was always some sublema that disagreed with the president and
prepared to join others to block legislation they did not want. The president had to contend not only with
the opposing party, but with feuding elements within his own. This two-layer problemintra- and interparty
feudingresulted in immobilization in the face of continued economic stagnation.
The economic decline set off greater confrontation between workers and owners who were now competing
for slices of a smaller economic pie; a similar situation would occur in Argentina. Whereas historically
Uruguay's labor force had been more moderate in its politics and tactics than Argentina's, owing to smaller
factories and an impressive welfare state, its strike activity increased significantly through the 1960s. The
government went to great lengths to crack down on these workers, even drafting striking bank and state
employees into the armed services.
And like its southern neighbor, Uruguay also confronted the reality of an urban-based guerrilla movement.
The Tupamaros, founded in 1963, came to prominence in 1970 with the assassination of Daniel Mitrione,
a retired U.S. police officer who had allegedly helped train the Uruguayans in the use of torture. Well
before the 1973 coup, armed clashes were occurring on a regular basis between the guerrillas and state
security forces. President Jorge Pacheco (in office 19681971) stiffened his resolve to liquidate the
Tupamaros and in the fall of 1971 announced he would turn the antiguerrilla operation over entirely to his
armed forces. He governed under the Prompt Security Measures (Medidas Prontas de Seguridad; MPS),
which enabled him to rule by emergency decree. This led to the erosion of many democratic safeguards,
including the right of habeas corpus. Pacheco's successor, President Juan Mara Bordaberry
(19711973), made the MPS permanent with the introduction of new repressive security legislation in
1972. In that same year the military officially launched its campaign against the Tupamaros, and within
four months they had completely vanquished the guerrillas.
Thus the elements of dictatorship were falling into place under democratic rule, well before the coup of
June 27, 1973. Uruguay's brand of authoritarianism might be referred to as a "creeping dictatorship."
According to Charles Gillespie (1991), a combination of ideological polarization, labor strife, escalating
violence, and military role expansion contributed to the slow rise of authoritarian rule in Uruguay. The
armed forces, under the influence of the National Security Doctrine, justified their climb to powereven
after the defeat of the Tupamarosas essential to begin the next phase of the antisubversive struggle: to
foster development in order to eliminate the underlying, socioeconomic causes of radicalism. Politicians,
meanwhile, shared a large portion of the blame, as they not only withdrew support for President
Bordaberry in the face of military challenges but actually courted colonels and generals who they
mistakenly believed might emulate the Peruvians in a progressive-styled coup. With these kinds of
maneuvers, it was just a matter of time before many would question the viability of the democratic order,
and the military's seizure of power took no one by surprise.

Chile
The Chilean military coup of September 11, 1973, by contrast, was largely unexpected. The armed forces
struck suddenly and violently that morning, bombing La Moneda (the presidential palace), capturing or
killing members of the Unidad Popular (Popular Unity, or UP) government, and leading President Salvador
Allende to take his own life. The Chilean armed forces were known as constitutionalists, willing to remain
subordinate to the elected government, notwithstanding political and ideological disagreements they may
have had with those in office. The Chilean military also had a habit of staying aloof from the political scene,
so that few Chilean civilians knew much about them. There was much less intermingling between political
party operators and soldiers there than in Uruguay. Anticommunist sentiments ran strong in the military,
but constitutional commanders kept the lid on displeasure over the Marxist government. Not until the failed
coup attempt of June 29, 1973, did suspicions arise. Still, Allende's confidence in his constitutionalist
officers remained solid, so much so that on August 23, just nineteen days before the coup, he replaced
army commander General Carlos Prats with none other than Augusto Pinochet, the future Chilean dictator.
Allende pursued a socialist agenda but did so within the framework of the constitution. Lacking the
assistance of a largely hostile congress, the president could implement some of his agenda via executive
action. He generated consumer demand and redistributed income via government spending on housing,
education and health, and expropriation of industries and banks. The economy responded favorably the
first year, but by the second, excessive demand and reductions in investment and production pushed
inflation into triple digits. The economic problems were compounded by black markets, hoarding, and
sabotage of infrastructure by right-wing groups. The government was running out of cash, its reserves
were depleted, and the congress would not pass tax increases. In response, Allende resorted to printing
money, which of course made inflation worse.
But the breakdown of Chilean democracy cannot be laid solely at the doorstep of economic policy. As
Arturo Valenzuela puts it, the breakdown must be understood "as the failure to structure a viable center in
a highly polarized society with strong centrifugal tendencies" (1978, p. 59). Moderates from the UP and the
Christian Democratic Party (CD) could not build a centrist coalition around support of continued economic
reforms using lawful, democratic means. Elements on the far right and left kept tugging at the center,
making compromise impossible. Disloyal parties on the right supported a return to the economic status
quo ante and were prepared to use violence to achieve it. Disloyal parties on the left wanted a clean break
with the capitalist system and were willing to go beyond democratic rules to get it. Progressives within the
CD were being marginalized, and they split off to form other parties. CD moderates believed Allende's
nationalization of property went too far and were alarmed at the land seizures spurred on by the radical
left. Conservative forces finally took control of the CD, refusing to negotiate in good faith with Allende.
Meanwhile far-left elements within Allende's coalition beat back efforts to negotiate with the other side and
kept testing the limits with illegal land seizures and other confrontational tactics. The result was extreme
polarization.
All of this was made worse by U.S. covert intervention. At the direction of President Richard Nixon and
National Security Advisor Henry Kissinger, a secret interagency committee orchestrated a multipronged
operation aimed at fomenting a coup, undermining the economy, manipulating the media, and funneling
money to the opposition. Despite Kissinger's contention that the U.S.-led coup plotting ended in the fall of
1970, there is enough evidence to suggest that the Central Intelligence Agency persisted in stimulating
interest in a coup d'tat among right-wing Chilean officers well into 1973. Meanwhile, the CIA planted

assets within the Chilean media to portray Allende in an unfavorable light, and the U.S. government
indirectly funded the right-wing paramilitary organization Patria y Libertad while cutting off nearly all
bilateral and multilateral economic assistance to the Chilean government.
The armed forces were the last to move. Right up to the final moment, the coup plotters faced resistance
from fellow officers, and top commanders were forced to resign. It took a lot of convincing to get Pinochet
behind the plot. When he finally came on board, coup success was assured, and the Allende government
met its demise.
Argentina
For Argentines, the sight of the military taking over the Casa Rosada (the presidential palace) on March
24, 1976, was not unfamiliar. The military had toppled governments in 1930, 1943, 1955, 1962, and 1966.
From 1955 on, coups in Argentina all constituted military solutions to the "Peronist problem." Elected
president three times, Juan Pern's (18951974) brand of politics was objectionable to the armed forces
and their political party and social class allies, who resented Pern's use of his executive powers to forge
Latin America's largest, most powerful trade union movement. He did this during the early expansive
phase of ISI, when economic expansion seemed to have unlimited potential and granting huge wage
increases to labor seemed cost free. Pern also exploited his charismatic, popular appeal to build the
movement that bore his name and that, in pursuit of its goals, often trampled on the democratic rights and
freedoms of its opponents. The military moved in, first to put an end to Pern's own presidency in 1955,
and then to prevent his movement's resurgence in 1962 and 1966.
The 1976 coup also targeted the Peronists, but the political dynamics had changed in the intervening
years, with the birth of guerrilla organizations. The ERP was an ideologically united, Trotskyist insurgency,
whereas the Montoneros were officially affiliated with the Peronist movement and advocated a form of
national anti-imperialism laden with romantic notions of socialism. The Montoneros were convinced that if
Pern could be restored to power (from his position in exile) he would follow a revolutionary course with
themselves in the vanguard. Quite naturally, the military viewed these armed guerrilla organizations with
considerable distress and even before coming to power were already pursuing a fierce counterinsurgency
offensive against the ERP in the mountainous northwest region of Tucumn province.
The exiled Pern famously said he had a left hand and a right and would use them both. He encouraged
the leftwing Montoneros' violence, forcing the military government at the time to acknowledge that only he
could contain them, and would do so only on condition of his return to Argentina. Pern won his return in
1973, and then won the presidency for the third time in a special election that fall. Once in power,
balancing left and right proved to be untenable. The Peronist radical youth and Montoneros wanted to
push the class struggle, setting the stage for socialism. The Labor aristocracy wanted no part in this, and
neither did Pern, who finally divorced himself from the Montoneros in a fiery May Day speech in 1974.
The Montoneros felt betrayed and turned against their erstwhile leader. The conflict now pitted rightwing
Peronists against leftwing Peronists. Pern's minister of social welfare, Jos Lpez Rega, organized a
paramilitary group called the AAA, which launched assassinations against leftists, while the Montoneros
and others on the left struck back. Pern died in July 1974, as the violence in his country spiraled out of
control. His third wife, Isabel, took the reins but was completely incapable of governing. Unlike her
husband, Isabel Pern lacked the political clout or skill to preserve the social pact between workers and
owners. Wage price spirals ensued, resulting in triple-digit inflation and economic collapse. As the violence
escalated, she ceded more and more authority to her military commanders, until finally they pushed her

out of office in March 1976.

The Argentine denouement can be characterized as a process of political fragmentation, polarization,
violence, and economic decline. The Peronist Party could no longer keep its coalition of supporters
together, as its left and right arms collided and the center gave way in the midst of assassinations and
widespread panic. In the context of uncontained violence and steep economic decline, a vacuum was
created which the military filled.

The Nature of Military Rule

The authoritarian regimes in the Southern Cone and Brazil during the 1960s and 1970s distinguished
themselves from their predecessors by virtue of their desire to rule for extended periods of time. Although
all understood that eventually some form of democratic rule would be restored, "eventually" could mean a
long time indeed. The average duration of these dictatorships would turn out to be fourteen years. Unlike
the military leaders of past eras, these officers were prepared to stay in power until fundamental social,
political, and economic changes were implemented. In this respect these regimes at the very least
intended to be transformational in nature. Whether or not they succeeded is a different matter entirely.
What military rulers meant by transformation had first and foremost to do with defeating the movements
and parties inspired by Marxian ideas. These military men were convinced not only that such groups
posed an existential threat to their nations, but that their defeat would be achieved only by creating a
formidable national security state. That state would be prepared to sacrifice individual security for the sake
of the collective good. It would feature a repressive apparatus that would penetrate every region, every
organization, and every sphere of political and social life. This state-led assault would in essence "cleanse"
the polity of unwanted political elements, which in turn would permit other kinds of transformations of an
economic nature to take place. In particular these military rulers wanted to replace the generous,
protective welfare economies of the past with unfettered, free-market economies that could attract foreign
investors by clamping down on unions and wage earners.
All these military regimes came to power with similar motivations, yet they did not rule in the same
manner. They differed in how they organized themselves inside the state. Military commanders had to
make important decisions early on: What will be the relationship between the military organization and the
government? Will we as soldiers oversee the day-to-day affairs of government, or will we leave that to
civilians? If the military is involved in the government, how so? Will it be rule by a junta, rule by a collegial
body of officers, or rule by one general? If civilians hold cabinet positions, how will the armed services
assure that the policies that are made reflect their interests? The four military regimes under discussion
came up with different answers.
Brazil
Military rule in Brazil was collegial in nature. Presidents were hand-picked by senior officers and ruled only
with their blessings and for a set period of time; they were the officers' delegates. Yet presidents were
given the authority to fully preside over the government so long as they operated within the guidelines set
by the generals. The governments were extensively civilianized outside of the defense-related ministries.
For example, from 1964 to 1983, seventy-six of ninety ministerial heads were civilian. But this regime was
designed to ensure that, though the military qua institution would stand apart from the government, it

would stay close by. Thus the generals placed military personnel in political offices in close proximity to the
president. Military personnel from the division of security and information, which reported to the national
security council, kept tabs on government, seeing to it that policies were in conformance with military
wishes and national security concerns. This system successfully guarded against personalismo
(personalism) through strict promotion and retirement rules, presidential rotation, and the dispersion of
authority to other institutional centers of power beyond the presidency, including the national security
council and the legislature.
Brazil's was the longest surviving dictatorship in the region, lasting twenty-one years. The first military
government of Humberto Castelo Branco (19641967) at first envisioned a shorter time horizon, with a
slow extrication from power to begin by 1966 or 1967. That outlook quickly changed, with the military
issuing a series of Institutional Acts (IAs) that in fact implied a much longer stay in office. IAs abolished
existing parties and banned key party leaders from political life for ten years, indicating that the military
itself would have to fill the leadership gap by remaining in power. These laws set the foundation for a
strong executive branch, granting it the exclusive authority to declare a state of siege (no congressional
authorization needed) and to set the national budget. Congress could no longer act as a refuge for
legislators because the IAs stripped them of parliamentary immunity, paving the way for assaults on their
political rights. The courts meanwhile were subject to greater executive oversight. All federal judges were
appointed by the president, job guarantees were eliminated, and civilians charged with national security
crimes were processed in military tribunals. However, the military did not eliminate civilian courts and
actually collaborated closely with them.
If there was one IA that stood as a reminder of the military's longer time horizons, it was IA5. Decreed in
December 1968, it restated the powers set forth in earlier IAs but without any time limits. It marked the
beginning of a new, more ominous phase of the dictatorship, eliminating habeas corpus, allowing for
arbitrary arrests, disbanding the congress and setting the stage for an extensive purge of political figures
followed by massive assaults on the human rights of ordinary citizens. With IA5 and the coming to power
of General Emlio Mdici (19691974) the following year, the regime unleashed its intelligence units and
paramilitary forces against real and imagined political opponents. The National Intelligence Service
(Servio Nacional de Informaes, or SNI) became so powerful that it was described as a state within a
state. For all intents and purposes, it had become the fourth armed service, after the army, air force, and
navy. SNI answered to no one, and its activities were never scrutinized. Its offices were situated in every
ministry or department at federal and state levels, where it was able to monitor activity, screen personnel,
and examine the security implications of any policy. Its structure was pyramidal. At its apex the director
had cabinet status. At its base it operated a sprawling network of interrogation centers.
As powerful as SNI was, it was not the only or even the main instrument of repression. Other organizations
were formed that in theory were answerable to SNI but that in practice enjoyed considerable autonomy.
For instance, the Information Operations DepartmentCenter for Internal Defense Operations
(Departamento de Operaes InternasCentro de Operaes de Defesa Interna, or DOI-CODI), formed in
January 1970, was described by the Archdiocese of So Paolo as the "most important organ for political
repression," responsible for the "greatest number of human rights violations" (1986, p. 65). Located within
the army, its plainclothes operators could and did plausibly deny they had any links to the military.
It was these operators who abducted people from their homes or plucked them off the streets, carting
them away to SNI interrogation centers where they were preventively detained for weeks without court

appearances or the benefit of defense counsel. It is there that detainees were tortured with the assistance
of doctors, as was later the case in Uruguay, who advised the abusers how to conduct such sessions
without leaving marks or traces, and how to revive victims so they could be tortured again. It is estimated
that some 50,000 Brazilians were imprisoned during the dictatorship; 20,000 of those were tortured and
10,000 exiled. Yet compared to Argentina or Chile, Brazil suffered far fewer political murders in absolute or
per capita terms. According to the Archdiocese, some 125 people were thought to be disappeared and a
total of 500 killed.
Part of the reason for the lower death figures is that the Brazilian regime was of two minds and two
factions. Most military presidents maintained some balance between hardline and softline factions within
their administrations, in an effort to accommodate both. Though the hardliners tended to dominate during
the period from 1968 to 1973, their repression set off efforts by softliners to rein in the intelligence forces,
relax political restrictions, and establish a dialogue with the opposition. This began in earnest under
President Ernesto Geisel (19741979), who proceeded cautiously. He wanted to liberalize the regime
without unduly antagonizing los duros (hardliners), who still exerted considerable sway within the military.
It was a difficult balancing act. The question repeatedly arose: how could the authoritarian regime be
decompressed without risking its dismantling?
The regime also understood the value of legitimation. This is why it permitted a revamped legislature to
function. After banishing preexisting parties, the military formed two new onesARENA, which sided with
the regime, and MDB, which represented the opposition. Although the MDB had no illusions about the
limits of its power under military tutelage, it nonetheless used the congressional arena to its advantage,
expressing outrage over press censorship, other forms of repression, and tax policies. It attacked the
government, but not the military per se, in order to thwart retaliation. These maneuvers were largely
symbolic yet valuable for Brazilians who were fearful of the regime and had no other outlets for their
grievances. Though the congress was suspended at the end of 1968 for two years, as Thomas Skidmore
notes, "the thread of congressional legitimacy had not been broken" (1988, p. 153). The congress was
never abolished, as it was in Argentina, Chile, and Uruguay. In this manner, the regime maintained a
mantle of legitimacy and a political link to regime opponents. That link in turn permitted the regime to bring
the moderate opposition on board with a strategy of gradual but sustained liberalization, which eventually
led to a return to democratic rule.
Uruguay
The Uruguayan military regime, like the Brazilian regime, operated in a collegial fashion. There was no
single caudillo, or military strong man. The retirement rules forced top generals out within two years so that
no one could remain long enough to establish a real presence. Presidents (four of them) had to retire from
the service before assuming office so that they would not enjoy the dual roles of commander and head of
state (as did General Pinochet in Chile). Power resided in the Junta de Oficiales Generales (the Junta of
General Officers, or JOG), which grew to include twenty-eight generals and which had delegated itself the
authority to deliberate on all key strategic issues. Given that many decisions required a two-thirds vote,
there had to be consensus. Although this was an unwieldy decision-making structure, it prevented powerhungry officers from dueling with each other and helped to maintain regime unity. When, on occasion, a
military leader would attempt to rise above the rest, the JOG would rein him in.
Uruguay's generals preferred to keep their distance from day-to-day governance of affairs outside of
national security. As powerful as it was, the JOG was not the government; it worked behind the scenes.

No active duty officer ever held the presidency during the authoritarian rule period. All ministries, with the
exception of interior, were headed and staffed by civilians. Officers were placed in every ministry at
second- or third-tier positions to keep tabs on the civilians. And the military did run some state enterprises.
Hence the Uruguayan dictatorship kept some separation between the military institution and the
government, all the while maintaining enough of a connection to ensure that its interests would be
protected. The exception to this rule was the judiciary, where the military ran roughshod over civilian
courts and magistrates, seizing control completely.
The military always conceived theirs as a transitory dictatorship. But rather than enable political life to
resuscitate, they suffocated it. For example, the military ousted President Juan Bordaberry in 1976 for
advocating an institutional order devoid of any political parties. The military argued this would simply
create a vacuum that the Marxists would fill. Although the military wanted the traditional parties to survive,
ironically, following the departure of Bordaberry, the generals initiated a series of Institutional Acts that
suspended all political activity and political rights for some 15,000 individualsprecisely those politicians
who could have led the traditional parties. They did this to purify the party ranks, to begin anew with a
clean slate of leaders who would aspire to the military's objectives. The problem, of course, was that, in
prohibiting political life as they did for nearly ten years, no new generation of political leaders could
emerge. Only the old standard bearers remained, waiting in the wings for their chance to reenter the
political arena.
None of the military political plans promulgated between 1974 and 1977 made much sense, nor did they
benefit from any consultation with members of society. The 1977 plan set a timetable for a plebiscite on a
new constitution followed by elections in 1981. Though it seemed to construct a road toward democracy, it
was paved with bad intentions, ratifying the original goals of the 1973 military "revolution" and assuring the
military's tutelage over whatever new political system might emerge. These plans reflected the military's
own ambivalence about how much change they could really tolerate. The repression of all those groups
who could have been included in a national dialogue about the political future suggested that the truth
was, not much.
The regime codified its repressive strategy through the use of Institutional Acts 1, 4, and 5, which,
respectively, suspended elections, banned political activity, and made human rights subordinate to the
protection of national security. The military ousted labor leaders and seized control of their unions, placing
them under the authority of the labor ministry. They intervened in universities, arresting rectors, deans,
and hundreds of faculty and students, while eviscerating the social science and humanities curricula. In
Orwellian fashion, the regime divided all public employees into three categories: A, B, and C. The first
could continue employment; the second were to be monitored carefully; and the third were fired, had their
passports confiscated, and were often imprisoned. These were people with a "record," meaning they
shared some sympathy with unions or political organizations. Not one was found guilty of having
committed any crime under Uruguay's criminal code.
Uruguay earned notoriety for having the largest per capita prison population in the world. At one point one
out of every fifty people in the country was in detention. As elsewhere in the Southern Cone, suspects
were sent to clandestine detention centers, all run by the military and police, where torture was practiced.
In fact, torture was perhaps more routinized in Uruguay than anywhere else. Yet the military took care not
to kill its prisoners, bringing them to the edge of death and back again. Such measures required the
complicity of medical doctors who would instruct the guards on how much electric voltage could be applied

short of lethality. Keeping abused prisoners alive and then eventually setting them free was a strategy
designed to send a chilling reminder to the rest of society about the fate that awaited others should they
contemplate resisting the regime.
Chile
What began in Chile as a junta-style military dictatorship turned into a more personalized dictatorship
within a short time. In the beginning, all executive power resided in the junta, with the legislative branch
shut down and political parties proscribed. The junta comprised the four commanders from the army, navy,
air force, and military police. The president of the nation would be rotated among those four, and the head
of the army, Augusto Pinochet, was slated to serve first. Pinochet did not particularly like these
arrangements and sought a greater concentration of power for himself on a permanent basis. To achieve
this goal, he pursued a five-pronged strategy. The first was to get the other commanders to agree to allow
the president to exercise sole executive power while ceding legislative control to the junta. He won their
consent by parceling out ministries among the four services. This new power arrangement was enshrined
in the June 1974 Statute of the Governing Junta, which also conferred on Pinochet the title of Supreme
Chief of the Nation, while still retaining his designation as armed forces commander.
The second strategy was to change the rules on promotions and retirements in order to carve out a more
compliant officer corps. He did this by creating a new promotion board, usurping powers for himself
previously held by a collection of senior ranking officers from all the services. In this manner, he eliminated
outside reviews or appeals, forcing out all those soldiers he did not trust. He increased the number of
rankings at the level of general. He then allowed for swifter ascension to colonel, but made it more difficult
to climb beyond brigadier general. This had the dual effect of generating more loyalty among junior officers
by permitting a fast track toward a successful career, while slowing the climb at the highest ranks, thereby
creating seniority distance between himself and other top officers. Genaro Arriagada (1988) refers to this
improvised system as "tarnished professionalism," because Pinochet introduced instability and
arbitrariness into these decisions. Nonetheless, the system worked remarkably well for Pinochet, who
faced practically no resistance from the rank and file.
The third strategy was to divide and conquer. Pinochet created dual hierarchies, one more political,
appointing officers as mayors and governors, and the other more military in character, assigning officers to
command posts in and around the cities or provinces where those mayors and governors were located.
One set of officers kept tabs on the other, and each reported back directly to the president. This was a
means of keeping potential rivals off balance. The fourth strategy was to keep the military vested in the
regime yet divorced from policy decisions. Pinochet assigned officers temporarily to government posts
without loss of pay, rank, or pension; when serving in a ministry those officers were obedient to Pinochet
rather than to the commanders serving over them in their normal military units. Their government service
was limited to staffing positions within the ministries, while the sensitive policy-making roles at the top
increasingly went to civilians. This system shielded officers politically yet kept them tied to the government.
In this manner Chile's military stayed loyal to the dictatorship but free of the divisive turf battles that would
plague the Argentine armed forces, as will be discussed in the subsequent section of this essay.
The final element in Pinochet's grand strategy was the creation of a single covert intelligence unit, the
Direccin de Inteligencia Nacional (DINA; National Intelligence Directorate). DINA replaced the separate
branch agencies, and while in theory it served the junta, in reality it answered only to Pinochet through his
hand-picked director, Manuel Contreras. The top DINA appointments went to army personnel, leaving

subordinate positions to the air force and navy. This arrangement proved useful, allowing Pinochet to
weed out supposed foes in the other branches while continuing to consolidate his hold on the army.
DINA, along with military and police units, pursued Allende's sympathizers and other "enemies" with an
unrelenting fury. In fact, the regime considered Chile to be in a state of war, thus justifying arbitrary arrests
without court orders and the full suspension of constitutional liberties and political rights. At the time, the
military did not contemplate the damage such an assertion would cause them later, when courts held them
to Geneva War Convention standards for treatment of political detainees. When placed under court
scrutiny in the 1990s and beyond, they embarrassingly stepped back from their war claims. In the few
weeks and months after the coup, thousands were herded into makeshift concentration camps such as the
National Stadium, where many were executed. Roundups and raids continued nationwide, in homes,
factories, and political offices.
The Chilean National Commission on Truth and Reconciliation, which was established in 1990 to
investigate human rights abuses under Pinochet's rule, rejected the dictatorship's claim that many
suspects died in shootouts with soldiers or in flight from the authorities. Rather, the Commission's report,
issued in 1991, found that all the victims were unarmed, confined, and defenseless. According to the
Commission, the Pinochet regime managed to kill or disappear some 2,300 citizens, but subsequent to the
report that number came to be widely considered as too low. Of those who were disappeared, most ended
up buried in unmarked graves or dumped in the Pacific Ocean. Some 45 percent of the victims were
workers, peasants, and students. Roughly half the victims were members of left-wing parties, but
significantly, some 46 percent had no active political affiliations at all, belying the military claim that it
targeted only its political enemies.
DINA also helped organize regional military-intelligence collaboration between the authoritarian regimes of
the time called Operation Condor. Condor was a secret alliance between Chile, Argentina, Brazil,
Uruguay, Paraguay, and Bolivia designed to track down and eradicate all rivals to the dictatorships, armed
and unarmed, civilian and military. Condor members pooled their data and allowed the intelligence
agencies of other members to operate inside their borders. Suspects were arrested, interrogated, tortured,
and then killed or returned to their countries of origin. Condor's victims included notable military and
political figures. In 1974, its agents assassinated former Chilean army chief, Carlos Prats (19151974),
who had been living in exile in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Despite having been removed from his command
a year before, Prats was still considered a potential rival to Pinochet, and thus had to be eliminated.
Leftwing Uruguayan Senator Zelmar Michelini (19241976) and Congressman Hector Gutirrez Ruiz
(19341976) were very well respected politicians who had to flee for their lives to Argentina after the
military closed down the parliament in 1973. Like Prats, they too met their fate in Buenos Aires. At the
orders of Uruguayan Commander in Chief, General Gregorio Alvarez, the two were abducted from their
living quarters and murdered by Condor operators in 1975. What began in Latin America became
international in 1976, when Chile and its neighbors formed hit squads to eliminate opponents living
abroad. That year Orlando Letelier, the former Chilean ambassador to the United States for the Allende
government, and his co-worker, Ronni Moffitt, lost their lives in a DINA-orchestrated car bombing in
Washington, D.C. Disturbingly, it later came to light that the U.S. government had substantial information
about the Condor network at the time of its operations, and yet did nothing to deter it.
The Pinochet regime was a "success" if that is measured by the decimation of its organized opposition and
the ability to stay in power for a long time (seventeen years) as compared to other military regimes. Some

also attribute economic success to the regime, as it eventually put Chile on a path of sound growth and
low inflation. But economic prosperity at the same time spelled the loss of wage-earning power among the
lower income groups, the weakening of unions, and the ever-widening gap between rich and poor. Given
that many other countries have been able to implement neoliberal economic programs under democratic
auspices, the Pinochet regime must be taken to task for having implemented such policies while robbing
citizens of their rights, freedoms, and lives.
Argentina
In March 1976 a military junta took power, constituting the "supreme organ of the nation." The junta would
be the unified expression of military power. Unlike in Uruguay, there would be no separation between
military and government institutions. The military itself would govern; it would superimpose its personnel,
hierarchy, and rules on the government to implement a far-reaching social, economic, and political plan
dubbed el Proceso, or "the Process." It would ensure a power-sharing arrangement between the army, air
force, and navy. No service would have an unfair advantage; each would participate fully and co-equally in
governing. The president would be chosen by and would answer to the junta, and the presidency would be
rotated between the three commanders. The first so designated was General Jorge Videla of the army.
The services negotiated a division of the cabinet, with the army grabbing the ministries of interior and
labor, the navy getting foreign relations and social welfare, and the air force heading up defense and
justice. Government posts within these ministries were occupied mainly by active duty officers, followed by
retired officers and then civilians. The junta devised a legislative advisory council, with three members
from each service that would review all laws proposed by either the junta or president. Any legislation
disputed by the president would go back to the junta for a final decision. Moreover, each branch
commander would be seconded by a secretary general, who had his own advisory cabinet that would
review proposed legislation, and then confer with the advisory cabinets from the other branches to try to
sort out their differences. Although this process had the advantage of subjecting bills to ample scrutiny, it
had the disadvantage of creating numerous friction points.
As it turned out, the branches operated less as a unified whole and more as three turf-protecting arms of
the regime. There was no system put in place to assure coordination and compromise. Thus the president
could not proceed on his own, and repeatedly contended with a military institution that did not act or speak
with one mind. Conflicts repeatedly arose over labor policy, political plans, presidential succession rules,
guidelines versus timetables for transition, the speed of transition, and so forth. Conflict over economic
policy posed an especially serious problem. The junta's civilian economic minister, Jos Alfredo Martnez
de Hoz, pushed for the adoption of a harsh neoliberal program. The generals liked the plan in the abstract,
because its call for a smaller state meant organized labor would lose power. But in practice the plan meant
shrinking ministries and privatizing state enterprises, and no service branch wanted to lose an advantage
to the others by placing its own bureaucratic fiefdom on the chopping block. Top commanders publicly
criticized aspects of the plan, impeding the economic minister's quest to radically transform the state and
economy. The economic minister believed that President Videla would afford him some autonomy from the
rest of the military so that he could devise and engineer his plan in a technocratic manner. He was wrong.
Instead he found out that the president could not shield him or his economic team from the divisive politics
of what had become a "feudal" military regime.
Turf battles notwithstanding, the military was able to pursue its national security plan with a modicum of
cooperation. The Proceso regime mounted a ferocious campaign against what it perceived as enemies of

state. It vanquished the Montoneros and ERP within the first year of rule. Its modus vivendi was not war,
but political repression against a broad swath of society. The Proceso generals suspected a "subversive
threat" nearly everywhere. A subversive was not just someone with a gun but also someone with ideas:
the generals were convinced such individuals operated insidiously within unions, universities, parties, and
professional associations. To eliminate this "threat" the armed forces carved the nation into security zones,
subzones, and areas, displacing political functionaries with military personnel. Directly under the junta
were five army corps commanders each heading up an area. Under them were infantry and cavalry
brigade commanders responsible for 35 subzones, and below them regiment and battalion leaders in
charge of 210 areas. Those regiment and battalion commanders also had direct authority over the
Clandestine Centers of Detention (CCDs), some 340 nationwide, where suspects were detained without
charge and subjected to torture on a routine basis. It was later revealed that these CCDs were located in
police stations and military installations, and some 700 officers took part in their operations.
Suspects were initially rounded up by "work teams" comprised of military personnel. Police were ordered
to cordon off a neighborhood and then turn over all authority to the work teams, which would move door to
door raiding homes, abducting people, and stealing possessions. The military made no effort to
disassociate itself from these informal groups. To the contrary, officers frequently rotated in and out of
work teams so that everyone could get their hands dirty, and also profit from the "booty of war." Making
sure that many were involved in the worst atrocities meant that everyone had some culpability and thus
that no one would be tempted to betray fellow officers at some future date by testifying against them. This
sharing of collective guilt separates the Argentine model of repression from the Chilean and Brazilian
ones.
The Argentines also learned something valuable from the Chilean military, whose coup had preceded
theirs by two and a half years. Because the executions of Chilean leftists in the weeks following the coup
were publicly exposed, the world community became aware of the extent of the atrocities. Chile instantly
became an international pariah and was repeatedly condemned in the United Nations. The Argentines
wanted to avoid a similar fate, and thus made disappearance their modus operandi. People were
apprehended, imprisoned, and never heard from againbecoming los desaparecidos, the disappeared.
The authorities consistently denied knowledge of their whereabouts. They were also duplicitous, routinely
denying in public that there was any official policy of extermination via disappearances, though admitting
that some may have met that fate because of the excesses of a handful of officers. As human rights
inquiries would later demonstrate, the excesses were the orders. According to a secret directive of the
junta in 1976, all commanders were told to do whatever was necessary to wipe out the subversive threat.
Although the entire repressive apparatus was under military auspices, local commanders, especially those
with CCDs in their purview, were given ample discretion, resulting in what Craig Arceneaux describes as
"deteriorating lines of authority and encouraging a sense of impunity (2001, p. 114)." Infamous
commanders of CCDs such as General Ramn Camps were fond of saying that they held in their own
handsthe power of life or death over their captives.
When all was said and done, some 20,000 to 30,000 Argentines were killed, or disappeared and
presumed dead, during the Proceso years. This represents the highest death toll for any of the Southern
Cone regimes, and the worst episode of state-sanctioned terror in the modern Argentine era. The military
may have won the battle against subversion, but they lost the political war. They never built alliances with
members of society, whether workers or capitalists. And their systematic acts of cruelty resulted in
unprecedented public moral repudiation and disgust. This moral revulsion redounded back into the

barracks to bruise the military's self-image and ultimately to throw the regime into disarray. How the
Proceso came unraveled is a subject explored in the section on transitions.

Transitions to Democracy
All the military dictatorships would give way to democracies in this part of Latin America. But the
transitions from authoritarian to democratic regimes differed according to how much power the outgoing
generals could exert over the process. Where the armed forces left office more confident and united, with
a strategic plan for the future, they could set the terms for the transition. By contrast, where they left office
demoralized and discredited, they had to cede greater influence over the transition to the democratic
opposition.
Brazil
The terms often used to describe the Brazilian transition to democratic rule are liberalization and abertura,
or opening. The regime did not set a clear trajectory toward democracy, let alone offer goals and
timetables. Rather it was more preoccupied with legitimizing itself. After all, the regime could claim some
success on the economic front, having engineered what became known as the Brazilian miracle, with
sustained rates of growth of 8 to 10 percent during the late 1960s through the mid-1970s. The military
believed that civil society, already benefiting from a growing economy, would look favorably upon the
regime's overtures, that success could translate into greater popularity for the regime and its leaders.
The regime also made overtures to society to counter the growing autonomy of the security agencies. As
stated earlier, many military leaders feared that the intelligence agencies had become a state within the
state, with no accountability or oversight. Hardliners had penetrated every rank, and for them continued
repression was a livelihood, if not a career. To counter this, President Geisel relaxed press restrictions and
established connections with the Catholic Church and leaders in civil society. A freer press could
investigate and expose human rights abuses within the security community, chastening those agencies
into greater compliance with the government. Reaching out to civil society was a means of building a civilmilitary coalition of support in favor of continued liberalization.
But Geisel played both sides of the fence. To keep the military in line behind his program, he made
concessions to the hard right in the form of key appointments and promotions. Refusing to nullify IA5, he
lauded the work of the security agencies and said democracy was a distant goal. Repression actually
increased in 19751976 even as the president was pursuing a policy of abertura. Alfred Stepan's (1988)
thesis on this contradiction is that part of the security community was still out of control, and to sabotage
the abertura they increased repression as a demonstration that the left still posed a significant threat.
Geisel and his softline advisor, General Golbery do Cuoto e Silva, pursued divide-and-rule tactics, using
the SNI itself in an effort to bridle the other security/intelligence agencies. By 1978 the situation had
changed, and Geisel seemed to be a more consistent proponent of liberalization, repealing IA5 and
reintroducing habeas corpus for political prisoners.
Geisel's successor, General Joo Baptista Figueiredo (19791985), pursued the abertura while appointing
and promoting hardliners as a way of keeping them co-opted into the process. At his inauguration in March
1979, he pledged to make his country a democracy. In that year he decreed a wide-ranging amnesty that
freed both the political left and the military from prosecution, allowing many refugees to return to Brazil.

Figueiredo was generally seen as a weak figure who presided over an economic downturn. Yet the
liberalization process never really escaped his control and advanced according to the military's own
timetable. Craig Arceneaux (2001) argues that this was possible because the political parties were playing
by the rules the regime had devised. They accepted the prohibition on radical parties and military tutelage
in certain policy areas. Thus the terms of transition had been largely set by the military itself. And when the
military finally turned the gavel over to the elected president, Tancredo Neves, in 1985, many feared the
armed forces would continue to exert a disturbingly heavy influence on democracy's course.
Uruguay
The military's failure to develop linkages with important social, economic, or political groups proved to be
its undoing. Lines of communication with even the most economically powerful interests were severed,
and hence the regime could never cultivate a support base for itself. When the armed forces most needed
public affirmationin 1980, when its new constitution went before the electorate for approvalthat
affirmation was not forthcoming.
The military leaders wanted a gradual transition toward democracy, but one they could control.
Unfortunately for them, their strategy was flawed. They arranged to have the vote on a new constitution
before lifting the ban on political party activity. This meant that at the time of the plebiscite, there were no
new political leaders, no reactivation of political life, and thus no one for the military to cultivate. To wit, the
constitution had undesirable elements that the voters disliked: a permanent executive role for the National
Security Council or Cosena de Seguridad Nacional; a Political Control Commission with powers to dismiss
any civilian official and sanction party leaders; and a prohibition on all leftist parties. Expressing selfconfidence on the eve of the plebisciteperhaps after having seen Pinochet's victory in a similar
referendumthe military was shocked when their constitution went down to crushing defeat, 57.2 to 42.8
percent.
This represented the beginning of the end for the dictatorship. It took another five years to complete the
transition to democracy, which progressed in fits and starts. The armed forces had been defeated at the
polls but were not a vanquished institution like their Argentine counterparts. They had presided over
moderate economic growth and were able to maintain sufficient unity in the ranks. Still, the balance of
power had now shifted, and the military was unable to control the transition; it was forced to negotiate its
terms with the democratic opposition.
The first military-political party talks at the Parque Hotel in 1983 broke off with no agreement. The political
parties argued that the military held to nonnegotiable and unacceptable positions, including retaining the
NSC, allowing the president to declare a state of subversion, and holding suspects for fifteen days without
charges. Once the parties walked out, the military responded by temporarily banning all public political
activity, which only served to spur mass protests and labor strikes. This looked like continuismo (more of
the same), but the military had no real plan for what to do next, and the ultimate transfer of power to a
democratic government was still on the table. Talks resumed at the Club Naval in 1984. The military
refused to sit down with the Blanco party and its radical leader, Wilson Fereira. Because the Colorado
Party would not alone lend enough legitimacy to the negotiations, a deal was struck to include the left-wing
Frente Amplio party in the talks. This time, the negotiations resulted in an agreement: Institutional Act 1
suspending elections would be repealed; the NSC would be an advisory body only; future constitutional
reforms would be written by a constituent assembly; and civilians could be tried in military courts only
during a state of insurrection.

What was left unsaid was almost as important as what was said: The military would not be officially
immunized from prosecution, but neither would it be subjected to human rights trials; and Wilson Ferreira
would be barred from running for president. With those unofficial understandings in mind, the path was
cleared for competitive elections, which took place in the fall of 1984.
Argentina
The Argentine military regime of 1976 to 1983 collapsed under the weight of its own divisiveness and
incompetence. In the end, the messianic images and promises that accompanied the military intervention
failed to deliver any credible results. The junta's policy failuresjudged unsatisfactory even within the
biased set of indicators chosen by the regime itselfand its loss of faith in its programmatic objectives
thus weakened the ruling coalition's confidence in its own power, promoted divisions within its ranks, and
dissuaded officers from engaging in future governance.
Fissures that had been barely visible during the first phase of the Proceso surfaced as the regime neared
its end. Each new cleavage cast a new, disturbing light on an organization torn by conflict and self-doubt,
and contributed to its own loss of power. Fault lines seemed to run in several directions. The politically
conservative, economically liberal officers behind General Leopoldo Galtieri feuded with the politically
moderate, economically nationalist supporters of General and then President Roberto Viola. The struggle
culminated when the Galtieri forces ousted Viola in a palace coup on December 11, 1981. The changing of
the guard did nothing to reunite the armed forces, and in fact only exposed the bitter internal power
struggle that had been going on for months prior to the coup.
Galtieri's decision in April 1982 to go to war against the British over control of the Malvinas Islands (which
the British call the Falklands) was a desperate act designed to reunify a badly split institution. That
endeavor, too, failed, driving the final nail into the coffin of an inept military regime. Even at war, unity
continued to elude the military. There was no unified planning or command. Each branch operated unto its
own, as if it were fighting a separate war. No effort was made to share in the collection, analysis, or
dissemination of intelligence. Each component circulated and recirculated its own data, which was often
poor in quality not to mention incompatible with information picked up by other services. After Argentina's
predictable defeat at the hands of the British, in June 1982, the air force and navy refused to join the
postwar government of General Reynaldo Bignone. Once abandoned, Bignone could do little more than
schedule elections according to a timetable proposed by the democratic, multiparty coalition.
The generals made futile attempts to negotiate the terms of the transition with the democratic opposition,
but the balance of power had clearly shifted away from them. A self-amnesty was issued but soon
thereafter ruled unconstitutional by the courts. The new government of Ral Alfonsn (19831989) was
able to make a clean break with the Proceso, embarking on an unprecedented human rights program. The
Malvinas defeat and the breakup of the junta constituted a critical juncture in Argentine history when the
old order gave way completely to the new order. The military was no longer able to exert its harmful
influences on the polity, and since then has remained firmly under civilian control.
Chile
Well into the 1980s the Pinochet regime exuded a confidence not shared by the other tyrannies in the
region. Yet like the others, this regime did not envisage itself remaining in power indefinitely. There would
be a return to democracy, but the transition would be a military-orchestrated one. In fact, the regime's

intent was to shape the future democracy itself in ways that would protect military prerogatives indefinitely.
The strategy was to formulate the legal architectureembedded in a new constitutionthat would give
rise to a controlled transition and a "protected democracy," one in which the full weight of military authority
would be felt. The 1980 constitutionstill in force, though amendedstipulated at the time that the
president could not remove his top military commanders until their completion of term. This provision
constituted a serious erosion of civilian control. In addition, the military would guarantee the internal order
of the country, which meant it would encroach on roles normally performed by the police. The militarydominated National Security Council could be used to notify other branches about threats to security.
Furthermore, the constitution allowed for the appointment of nine nonelected senators, who could be
designated by the president, the supreme court, and the military itself.
The constitution also set the phases and timetable for transition. A plebiscite was to be held in 1988 on
whether or not the military regime should remain in power. If Pinochet won that vote, he would enjoy
another eight years in office. If not, then elections would be held in 1989, though Pinochet would remain as
army commander for eight more years. The main issue for the opposition was how to react to these terms.
Should they fight outside of Pinochet's system, or within it? There was a genuine concern that if they
agreed to his rules of the game, they would be shackling themselves to a democracy in name only, one
eviscerated by military veto power. In the end, the opposition, minus the communists, risked following the
path laid out by Pinochet, joining together to form a group called the Command for a "No" Vote.
The next challenge was to convince enough citizens that the plebiscite was for real and that they need not
fear voting. Many Chileans were rightfully skeptical after the 1980 plebiscite on the constitution, which was
conducted without electoral roles, had no independent oversight to guarantee the authenticity of the
process, and allowed the opposition practically no time to mount an effective campaign. This time, the
organizers for the "no" vote persuaded voters it would be different. The Constitutional Tribunal formed an
independent electoral commission that carefully prepared voter registration lists; poll watchers were
assigned to each polling place; and a parallel vote count was conducted as a hedge against fraud. The
"no" vote won 54.7 percent to 43 percent, with 2.3 percent representing nullified or blank ballots. Pinochet
was furious and initially refused to accept the results. But the other junta generals reminded him he had
sworn to uphold his own constitution, and so he agreed to let the results stand.
The "no" victory gave the opposition enough leverage to demand some constitutional reforms prior to the
1989 presidential election. As a result of negotiations, the constitution was made easier to amend, the ban
on Marxist parties was lifted, the National Security Council's (Consejo de Seguidad Nacional) powers were
downgraded to advisory status and a civilian seat added, and the number of elected senators to congress
was increased from twenty-six to thirty-eight to dilute the impact of the designated senators. Nonetheless,
this still left substantial constitutional limitations in place, leading many to question whether Chile's
democracy would ever be consolidated. But for the moment at least, all the pieces had fallen into place.
On December 14, 1989, Christian Democratic candidate Patricio Aylwin, representing a coalition of centerleft parties, handily defeated Pinochet's candidate, Hernn Buchi. The Chilean democracy was reborn.

Democracy and Coping with the Human Rights Legacy

From a moral point of view, it seemed clear to many in Brazil, Uruguay, Chile, and Argentina that justice
could be served only by prosecuting and convicting all those military and police personnel who had

participated in unspeakable acts of cruelty toward their opponents. Indeed there were cries for vengeance
in all of the countries soon after the democracies had been restored. Arguably, all the Southern Cone
democratic governments that assumed power after the transition were justified in investigating and
prosecuting military human rights violators. Although the scope and severity of crimes varied, each of the
four military regimes easily qualified as consistent, gross violators of human rights. What seemed crystal
clear from a moral point of view, however, was anything but clear from a political point of view. The
political leaders had to weigh a number of issues, including the balance of power between the military and
civilians at the time of transfer, the preferences of their parties and constituents, the future electoral
consequences of their actions, the strength of the human rights movements in their respective countries,
and the depth and breadth of the crimes themselves.
As a result of these considerations, each of the human rights strategies pursued by the four countries,
which differed in terms of their magnitude, timing, and impact, fell short of a morally acceptable standard.
At the outset, the Argentine government of Ral Alfonsn (19831989) went farthest, authorizing an official
inquiry and launching judicial proceedings against alleged perpetrators soon after assuming power. This
was possible owing to the thorough collapse of the Proceso regime, leaving the military demoralized,
discredited, and unable to throw its weight around. In addition, President Alfonsn, as a lawyer having
courageously defended families of the disappeared during the dictatorship, was personally committed to it.
The courts successfully handed down long prison sentences for five of the ex-comandantes of the military
junta, though these rulings were undone by pardons issued several years later by President Carlos
Menem. In Chile, President Patricio Aylwin (19901994) called for an inquest, which resulted in an
extensive 1991 report on the disappeared. Yet no trials were held. Aylwin was quite cognizant of
Pinochet's warnings not to place any of his men "in the dock." Given how formidable the military appeared
after the transition, it is surprising that the president was able to do anything in defense of human rights.
Then again, Aylwin represented a center-left coalition that clamored for a human rights response.
In Uruguay and Brazil, things were different. Uruguayan president Julio Mara Sanguinetti (19851990) not
only refused to consider investigations or trials, but submitted a bill in 1986 that pardoned all military and
police rights violators; the bill passed. Sanguinetti's moves were surprising as well in that he seemingly
had more room for maneuver than Aylwin because the transition had been negotiated rather than imposed
by the outgoing regime. But apparently Sanguinetti, who was involved in the Club Naval talks, made a
back room deal with the military not to hold trials if he were elected president, and he made good on that
pledge. Still, his blanket pardon seemed to go much further than required. One explanation is that
Sanguinetti represented a conservative party (Colorados) and constituency for whom the human rights
issue did not have great urgency. In Brazil, the military's self-amnesty stood as a roadblock against any
prosecution. Having watched the trials unfold in Argentina, the Brazilian generals were especially worried
that a future democratic government might annul the amnesty and haul officers into court on human rights
charges. To date, that has not happened.
Since the early years of the post-transitional democracies, an interesting phenomenon has occurred.
There has been a second wave of human rights inquiries and trials in three of the four countries. The
passage of time has undoubtedly facilitated this human rights resurgence. A new generation of officers
has risen through the ranks with no connections to the dictatorships or dirty wars. As their professional
ascent has occurred under democratic rule, they prefer to disassociate themselves from disreputable
figures of the past and hence have not stood in the way of judicial proceedings. In addition, a turn to the
political left has brought progressive leaders to power: in Chile, the Socialist Party members Ricardo

Lagos in 2000 followed by Michelle Bachelet in 2006; in Argentina, the left-wing Peronist Nestor Kirchner
in 2003; and in Uruguay, members of the left-wing Frente Amplio Tabar Vsquez in 2005 and Jos
Mujica in 2010. A strong human rights policy resonates with the supporters of these administrations.
Nestor Kirchner took the lead in urging the Argentine congress and high court to reverse the pardons of
the past, allowing cases to be reopened. By October 2010, 748 ex-officers faced charges, and 81 were
convicted. Among those sentenced was former military president General Reynaldo Bignone, who
received a twenty-five-year sentence for kidnapping and torture.
Chile's judiciary was resuscitated after the historic arrest and trial of Pinochet in London in 199899. At the
request of Spanish judge Baltazar Garzn, Scotland Yard arrested Pinochet in a London hospital where he
had gone to receive back surgery. Garzn wanted Pinochet extradited to Spain to stand trial on grounds
that he had committed crimes against humanity. Such crimes are so heinous that according to the
principle of universal jurisdictionone that Garzn embracedany country could bring a perpetrator to
justice, even for crimes committed in a foreign land. The British magistrates agreed, stripping Pinochet of
his diplomatic immunity and setting the stage for his extradition. But over the next year Pinochet's defense
lawyers engaged in legal maneuvers which finally succeeded in sending him back to Chile in March 2000.
Pinochet's return seemed to shock the Chilean courts into a heightened determination to deliver justice for
human rights victims. From that moment forward, the Courts handed down hundreds of indictments,
resulting in the conviction by June 2010 of 292 military personnel and civilian collaborators on grounds of
enforced disappearances, extralegal executions, and torture. The Chilean Supreme Court ruled that the
military's 1978 self-amnesty cannot apply to crimes against humanity. As a result, in July 2010 the
conviction of former DINA head Manuel Contreras and his associate, Pedro Espinoza, to twenty years in
prison each for the 1974 car bombing of General Carlos Prats, was upheld.
In Uruguay a renewed sense of urgency to indict the rapidly aging commanders was prompted by the
stunning progress being made in Chile and Argentina, and by the election of Vasquez, succeeded by
Mujica, himself a former Tupamaro guerrilla who had spent more than a decade in prison. In October 2009
Gregorio Alvarez, former commander in chief of the army, was sentenced to twenty-five years in prison for
thirty-seven homicides. Former president Juan Bordaberry was convicted and sentenced to thirty years on
February 10, 2010, for violating the constitution. Finally, despite the coming to power of Worker Party
candidate Luiz Incio Lula da Silva in 2002, no human rights trials or inquiries have been conducted in
Brazil. Lula signed an order to form a truth commission, but when the heads of all branches of the military,
along with the minister of defense, threatened to resign, he backed down. It remains to be seen whether
President Dilma Rousseff, who succeeded Lula in 2011, will be able to stand up to the military and finally
deliver a modicum of justice for the victims and their families.

New and Old Patterns

The systematic violation of human rights by military dictatorships in Brazil, Uruguay, Chile, and Argentina
left scars, but time has helped these societies to heal. Many lives were senselessly lost or ruined on behalf
of extreme, ideological causes of a political and economic nature. Even Chile and Brazil, the so-called
economic success stories, could probably have delivered substantial growth and employment without
resort to political repression. Much of what these four regimes did was based on an overreaction to the
crises of the time. Moving from one extreme to another as a means to resolve problems was in fact a

familiar pattern in Latin American history. The political pendulum still swings in this part of the world, but
since the late twentieth century its oscillations have narrowed to more reasonable alternatives.
Frustrations are dealt with at the ballot box, not at the barracks. Hopefully, this pattern will hold.

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Source Citation
Pion-Berlin, David. "Military Dictatorships of Brazil and the Southern Cone." World
Scholar: Latin America & the Caribbean. Gale, Cengage Learning, 2011. World
Scholar: Latin America & the Caribbean. Web. 25 Sep. 2012.
Document URL
http://worldscholar.tu.galegroup.com/tinyurl/3RPz2
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