Documento(s) 5 de 13

Silvia Lara and Eugenia Molina

In Costa Rica in the early 1980s, popular organization and the struggle for housing indicated growing social discontent, which culminated in a call for a profound transformation of Costa Rican society. Even though the housing problem was by no means new to the country, the systematic organization of parts of the population into Committees for the Struggle for Housing was a novel phenomenon, which started in the late 1970s. The shortage of adequate housing in Costa Rica was one aspect of a dramatic deterioration in living conditions experienced by broad sectors of the population. The aggravation of unemployment, underemployment and low wages, coupled with excessive increases in rent, a deterioration of purchasing power, and the high costs of land and construction, all made it impossible for families to obtain adequate shelter. Aggravating the problem were inadequate state intervention and support payments to families with scarce resources.

The housing committees emerged as an innovative tool of grassroots organization and community-based struggle. These organizations emerged spontaneously and maintained simple, informal, non-bureaucratic forms of organization in which all family members participated regardless of experience. Members often came from the poorest sectors of the population and represented territorial rather than trade-union interests. It was not long before these organizations began to dominate the public scene with their activist methods involving protests, land invasions and the mobilization of grassroots communities.

This chapter summarizes our study of the limitations and potential of the housing committees as well as the role of democracy and participation in their development. The first section looks at their relation to existing institutional and policy frameworks, the state, and political parties. The second part analyzes their organizational practices with respect to

democracy and participation. Finally, we look at the work of their leadership and its impact on the committees.¹

We conclude that, for the housing committees, effectiveness in obtaining housing stands above any specific consideration for developing participatory and democratic practices. The specific ways of being effective are, of course, strongly determined by the conditions and opportunities offered by the social system and the political conjuncture. Even though the struggle has successfully focused on winning better living conditions for the poor, community members have, through these struggles, pressed the system for a greater and more extensive democracy.

Studying the Struggle for Housing

The housing committees played a pivotal role in popular organization and the articulation of popular demands in Costa Rica during the 1980s. Their emergence converged with ongoing debates about the changing nature of social movements in Latin America and elsewhere. These debates were motivated by the rise of a broad range of new actors — youth, women, settlers and indigenous people — who became protagonists in Latin American social struggles and collective protests during the 1980s. Some believed that these social movements already were, or would inevitably become, alternative social actors and political forces in the region.² The local character of the new movements was interpreted as an indicator of their participatory nature, grassroots origins, and democratic character. Consequently, it was assumed that these movements constituted the embryo of more democratic social practices at the local community level. Great emphasis was placed on their non-institutional nature as well as their autonomy from traditional political actors. With this analysis came a new conception of social change, in which traditional institutional politics was displaced by greater interest in values, cultural production and civil society. The terms of debate couldn’t have been more different from older notions of the assault on state power, the vanguard, political parties, or the centrality of the working class and peasantry. The new social movements were quickly interpreted as being an essential ingredient of any strategy for change, since by their nature they opened new spaces, helped forge new identities and solidarities, and introduced innovative social and democratic relations, which were seen as gradually paving the way for the transformation of daily human relations, leading to a qualitatively more open and democratic society for all.

Although many theorists would join Norberto Bobbio in assuming that direct democracy is ‘materially impossible . . . especially given the growing complexity of modern industrial societies’,³ it is possible that the

neighborhood and the local community — the communities built by the Committees for the Struggle for Housing — offer a place where extensive and intensive democratic organization is possible. They might be places where face-to-face interaction that is both humane and manageable is possible thanks to the straightforwardness of local customs and a common experience of shared poverty.

To analyze these and related issues, this study focused on different levels and forms of participation, leadership, division of labor and decision-making, and on how these forms either weakened or enhanced popular democracy and participation in communities. Special attention was paid to the efforts and roles of leaders and their influence over their communities’ organizational practices and modes of protest. We looked at length at relations between the housing committees and external agents, such as political parties, the state and the housing fronts. Four communities were selected for inclusion in the study.⁴

La Guarari

The origins of this community, named in honor of an Indian chief, go back to 1982 when a group of 300 families formed a united front and were soon joined by an equal number in their fight for adequate housing. They obtained land in 1985 and in the next six years built streets, sidewalks, sewers, street lighting, and 295 houses. Three hundred families still live in shacks. The community is directed by the COPAN (Coordinadora Patriótica Nacional) housing front.

Carmen Lyra

Named after a renowned Costa Rican storyteller of the 1930s and 1940s (a Communist Party member and defender of the poor), the community was initially organized by only 10 families, although today it comprises 564 families. It acquired land at the end of 1987, and between 1988 and 1990 built the 564 houses and the surrounding infrastructure. During their struggle, community members maintained close ties with ANAVI (Asociación Nacional de Vivienda), a housing front associated with the Communist-led Vanguardia Popular.

Oscar Felipe

Named after the son of Costa Rica’s ex-President, Oscar Arias Sanchez, its roots go back to 1986, when a group of 14 families invaded a piece of state-owned property. A year-and-a-half later, half of the 200 families living on this land were transferred by the government to an empty lot, which they

named ‘Oscar Felipe’. Before long, this community consisted of 321 families. Between 1988 and 1990 the community worked industriously to construct the infrastructure and the houses which compose the settlement. They did not maintain regular links with any housing front, but instead established direct contact with state officials and the social democratic party, Partido de Liberación Nacional, in power between 1982 and 1990.

EI Nazareno

Since the land invasion that led to the creation of this community occurred during Holy Week, the community is named after one of the principal biblical characters in Easter festivities. The land invasion was carried out by a group of 100 families in March 1986. Between April 1987 and mid-1990, the community devoted itself to the construction of adequate housing. During an earlier phase, the organization of the community was linked to the FCV (Frente Costarricense de la Vivienda), one of the housing fronts, but relations were severed soon thereafter.

Institutional Politics: Relations with the State and Political Parties

Part of the framework that led to the formation of the housing movement was the initial belief that the demand for housing should not be channeled through political parties and/or more permanent and established community organizations such as the ADCs (Community Development Associations). Many settlers associated political parties with corruption, opportunism and personal interests, while the ADCs were regarded as organizations deeply penetrated by partisan interests, and which had shown little responsiveness to community needs. Nevertheless, given the enthusiasm, explosiveness and reach of the organization and struggle for housing, political parties could not afford to be left at the margins. The social effervescence of this new movement offered fertile ground for political parties to widen their social base, even if it meant they would have to intervene surreptitiously through the so-called ‘housing fronts’, which were to playa key role in the subsequent development of the housing movement.

In November 1980, the small Trotskyist OST (Partido de Organización Socialista de los Trabajadores) created a coalition called the National Patriotic Co-ordination (COPAN — Coordinadora Patriótica Nacional). The fundamental purpose of COPAN was to form an organization composed of a politicized mass membership, which would be directed in a

co-ordinated manner and playa decisive role in a broader strategy of societal transformations. In June 1981, only seven months after COPAN’s emergence onto the scene, the Democratic Front for Housing (FDV — Frente Democrático de la Vivienda) was created. The FDV was closely linked to the social democratic PLN (Partido de Liberación Nacional), one of the two major parties in the country. The objective of its leaders was to prevent growing popular discontent over the shortage of adequate housing being channeled through an organization (such as COPAN) whose ultimate goal was a complete transformation of Costa Rican society. Therefore the primary objective of the FDV was to maintain a certain degree of stability in Costa Rica’s political system, by ensuring that solutions were found within the existing political framework. (In 1983 many of the FDV’s top leaders resigned as a result of partisan differences. In 1984, these dissenters formed the Costa Rican Front for Housing, the FCV, which remained linked to the PLN but to another grouping as well.)

Although its political and consciousness-raising activities had until then focused mainly on peasant and labor organizations, the small communist Vanguardia Popular tried to create its own housing front as a way of extending its efforts to include settlers and local communities. The initiative nevertheless failed, due to the growing fragmentation suffered by the party during those years. Such was the case at least until 1986, when one of the party’s factions created the National Association for Housing (ANAVI — Asociación Nacional para la Vivienda). Among ANAVI’s principal objectives was the continuity of popular organization around the issue of housing, making the struggle for housing a political and educational experience for those involved, and developing ways of working with grassroots organizations which wouldn’t reproduce the clientelistic relations that characterized other housing fronts. These fronts came to local communities and appeared before the housing committees without revealing their partisan links, pretending to be there as a result of their leaders’ own personal interests.

Undeniably, the housing committees were the principal protagonists in the organization and struggle for housing, with FDV and COPAN playing particularly important roles. They not only became important meeting places and forums for the co-ordination of the housing struggle, but in the process also reached beyond the confines of local activity and the organizational atomization so commonly regarded as one of the principal limitations of trade unions, peasant or other communal organizations. A great mass of people organized under these umbrellas. Their numbers and the belligerence of their fight turned the movement into a powerful political force, capable of exerting tremendous pressure on the state to respond to the housing needs of impoverished sectors of the population.

Nevertheless, it is important to bear in mind that a committee linked to one of these fronts did not necessarily adhere to their party line or political project. One reason, of course, was that the link to the parties was unknown to the majority of the committees. The top leaders of the fronts simply served as intermediaries between the state and the committees in negotiations.

The housing fronts were not the only ones to intervene. The land invasions also attracted the attention of high-level party leaders, public officials in search of popular support, non-governmental organizations, charities, religious sects and academics. The organization and struggle for housing constituted a truly new phenomenon and novel working laboratory, as did the communities born out of the land invasions.

In addition to maintaining close (albeit sometimes hidden) ties with established political parties through the housing fronts and partisan leaders, the housing committees believed that the solution to their housing problems also depended on developing a close working relationship with the state itself. Although at first (between 1980 and 1986) the state was incapable of meeting the housing demands of thousands of organized families, it coped by tolerating the land invasions that were taking place. In fact, the 1982–86 PLN government ceded vast expanses of state property so that families which could not be allocated elsewhere in the short term could settle and build shacks, without the state having to resort to dislodging them. In 1986, however, state housing policies and the organization and struggle for housing took a dramatic turn as the Oscar Arias government (1986–90) came to power. During his electoral campaign, Arias had promised to construct 80,000 houses during his four-year administration, a promise which, along with his theme of peace, was a major reason for his electoral triumph.

Following the electoral victory, three factors shaped the development of the housing movement. The first was a formal agreement between the new government and the housing fronts (COPAN, FDV and FCV) a few days before the official transfer of power. In this agreement, the fronts agreed to oppose further land invasions as well as to obtain their committees’ collaboration with state institutions. This would come in return for the development of a massive housing construction plan for the benefit of their members. The agreement meant the end of the FDV, whose leaders felt that their objectives had been fulfilled, and a complete transformation of COPAN from an organization of political struggle for popular demands into a kind of private construction enterprise which collaborated directly with government in the development of public housing projects.

A second factor was the change in housing policy and forms of institutional organization, which opened the door to construction projects

aimed at satisfying the housing needs of low-income Costa Ricans and, at least to some extent, modified the profitability criteria and expected rates of return on investments that had caused a housing deficit among the poor in the first place. One component of institutional change was the creation of the Special Housing Commission (CEV — Comisión Especial de Vivienda). As part of its institutional policy, the CEV took government officials away from their desk-bound routines and assigned them daily duties in the community. It was not long before these officials began to play an active leadership role and in some cases even replaced the local directorship in the housing committees.

The third determining factor was the adaptation and transformation of the housing committees from pressure organizations and sources of conflict into state-collaborating organizations in the construction of public housing.

When the housing committees turned to political parties and the state in search of effectiveness, angry local disputes occurred between persons guided by partisan interests and those primarily guided by the interests of the community. Recognizing such problems, the housing committees set out to maintain organizational independence from both political parties and governmental institutions. But at the same time as they maintained their organizational independence, they established close ties with political parties, officials, and governmental institutions. A great part of their success in obtaining housing was traceable to these ties, proving that engagement in institutional/traditional politics continued to be a basic strategy and a fundamental area of work in the struggle to improve living conditions.

Certainly state intervention as well as that of political parties through the housing fronts was oriented by its own interests and purposes. Even so, it is worth noting that the relations which were established were by no means unidirectional. The housing committees developed a great sense of creativity and practicability as they learned to take advantage of the relationships they formed. They learned to change their political banner depending on who visited them and to negotiate with whomever had more to offer. On the other side of the coin, some of these committees were fighting precisely for the institutionalization of their demands and needs and their integration into the status quo. In this sense, it is not accurate simply to speak of a strategy aimed at controlling them. Tapping their ingenuity and pragmatism, these organizations searched for relations that would permit them to meet their immediate interests while retaining their own decision-making power.

Retaining their decision-making power, however, was not always easy. The government of Oscar Arias imposed a series of conditions under

which the committees were expected to operate. By promising to address their demands but at the same time threatening not to help those groups that did not accept their conditions, the government succeeded in prohibiting public protests and land invasions. Given their urgent need for housing and the long, previously fruitless struggle of the families involved, many of the housing committees had no choice but to accept the requirements, ways of operating and types of solutions offered to them by the state, thereby changing from protest organizations into supporters of state action.

This give and take between the community organizations, the housing fronts and the state — or, in particular, the capacity of the communities to retain their decision-making power — wasn’t easy. Threatened and afraid to lose their support, the communities sometimes had to accept decisions that came from the outside. Nevertheless, the relationship of the three was relatively democratic. Following a similar line of thinking, Norberto Bobbio claims that,

Insofar as we can speak of a democratization process today, it is possible to say that this process does not consist so much . . . in a transition from representative democracy to direct democracy, but rather in a transition from political democracy, in the strictest sense, towards social democracy; that is, in an extension of ascending power which, until recently, had almost exclusively occupied the space of the great political society . . . towards the space of civil society and its diverse articulations, ranging from school to the work place.6

From Bobbio’s perspective, it is possible to speak of a transition from the democratization of the state to the democratization of society as a whole.

Anatomy of a Community

When, in July 1983, ten families met in the small town of Turrialba to form a committee to obtain housing, they began a seven-year struggle. This story of the Carmen Lyra community is an example of the long struggle necessary when there are scarce resources. It has much in common with other stories: land invasions, evictions, public protests, highs and lows in popular participation, prolonged and frustrating negotiations with the state, as well as intense and exhausting efforts by families to construct their own homes. Notwithstanding these common features, the struggle waged by the Carmen Lyra community proved to be particularly harsh and difficult. The presence of a community leader who was also a left-wing activist; the absence of contacts with influential state institutions, government officials and the major political parties; together with the belligerence and

confrontationalism that characterized this community’s relationship with the state — these factors put the Carmen Lyra Housing Committee’s needs at the very bottom of the government’s list of priorities. But in the end even they were successful.

The original ten families began to hold meetings in the open air, in the park across from the church, and the group grew steadily. A board of directors was created and assigned the task of overseeing all petitions made to governmental institutions as well as publicizing the composition and demands of the housing committee. These tasks were undertaken mainly by a man who organized and led the group, a well-known leader of the communist Vanguardia Popular. In the group’s weekly meetings, he would inform members of any progress made during the previous week.

The number of families participating in each meeting varied dramatically — some meetings would attract more than 100 families, while at others only 20 would turn up. The levels of participation depended largely on how the families perceived the administrative and institutional gains made by the committee. Since the majority of families did not know one another and committee meetings provided the only venue for interaction, the four or five organizers constituted the only source of permanence for the organization at this time.

In 1986, after three years of meeting in the park, a change occurred in the working dynamics of the committee. President Oscar Arias’s electoral promise to build 80,000 houses during his administration caused the number of participating families to swell. By the end of that year, close to 600 families took part in the meetings. By March of the following year, after a year of unsuccessful negotiations with the government — and fearing they would be excluded from the government’s plans to construct the new homes — the committee decided to change its form of struggle and invade a parcel of unused government land. Committee leaders we interviewed proudly described the transition:

We left at three in the afternoon and arrived at three-thirty, ready for the march. But instead of six hundred families, at this point we were as many as a thousand. As a result, the march was incredible. Turrialba had never seen anything like it. People walked with pieces of cardboard, sheets of metal and megaphones in hand; men and women swung knives in the air. As the public saw us go by, everyone applauded.

The group arrived at the plot of land outside of town, climbed over the hill, quickly cleared the debris, and started putting together their shacks with cartons and pieces of metal. It wasn’t long before the police threatened to evict them. To resist, they seized the municipal government

building and took the alderman hostage. This, however, did not stop them from being evicted. One of the leaders recalls the eviction:

Over 500 troops arrived, armed with tear gas and M-16s. At one o’clock in the morning, we received news that the eviction was already planned and that the police feared we were armed. As a result, they were ready for a major shoot-out and had prepared for an insurrectional-type operation. When they actually arrived at four in the morning, our initial suspicions were confirmed: first they sent in troops wearing gas masks, who threw tear-gas bombs; these were immediately followed by an armed unit.

After they were evicted from this lot, they decided to take the city park, where they erected shacks using cartons and plastic. They quickly improvised a common kitchen. Once again, they were thrown out by the police and had no choice but to take refuge in the church across the road. An intervention by the communist congressman in the General Assembly enabled them to leave the church without being arrested as well as to rescue those who had been captured during the eviction. Fifteen days later, after the government had failed to meet their demands, they again took to the park. They were evicted by police yet again, and once more took refuge in the church. After two days, however, they were forced to leave the church — this time because the local priest refused to continue giving them refuge.

In August 1987, after waiting four months, the families had still not received a positive response from the government. And so the leaders decided it was time to exert more pressure, and called a meeting in the park. To the surprise of the organizers, this time only a few families showed up, a sign that the experience of the invasion, the seizure of the park, and the evictions had been too much for the families. In the process many had lost hope. In spite of this, they were still encouraged by the solidarity demonstrated towards the housing committee by the people of Turrialba and its social organizations. The leader of the committee sent a communiqué to the Minister of Housing and to President Arias, threatening to paralyze the town if the government failed to meet the committee’s demands. The government eventually decided to negotiate, and, after a series of disagreements, agreed to purchase the plot of land and to initiate the design of a new community. Thanks to the success of these negotiations, the committee was once again able to secure broad participation by families in the town. In December, however, the government still hadn’t purchased the land; in response, the committee decided to reoccupy the plot demarcated for their use. Finally, the government was forced to buy the land.

Between 1988 and 1990, the 564 families which now composed the core membership of the committee devoted themselves to the construction of

their houses, while a private construction company was hired to build the infrastructure of streets, sidewalks, street lights, drainage and sewerage. Whole families spent their Saturdays and Sundays completing their houses; during the weekends the site resembled an ant-hill as over 400 workers labored from sunrise to sunset digging holes, mixing cement, and putting up walls. However, by its last year, participation in construction started to decrease and only a small group worked in an organized manner, with the rest devoting themselves mainly to their own houses.

The construction process took much longer than expected. Construction was often paralyzed by ongoing conflicts between the committee and government institutions over control of the project and decision-making, as well as by constant delays originating in the institutions which provided funds to purchase building materials. The families occupied their houses in October 1990.

The Struggle for Housing and the Articulation of a Democratic Norm

Within the struggle for housing, the nature and degree of participation varied widely, depending on specific circumstances — the political contacts of a particular community, the approach taken by the leadership, and particularly the distribution of work and tasks within the committee, which depended primarily on the stage of the struggle.

Generally, there were three distinct phases of struggle, although they did not necessarily occur in this order. The first entailed petitioning and negotiating with government institutions; the second involved the occupation of land — be it as a result of a land invasion or negotiation — and the formation of a community; and the third revolved around the construction of the houses and the surrounding infrastructure. While relations with state institutions are necessary during the last two phases, the first is a phase where dealing with the state is the only organizational task.

In the four communities studied, the phases of work were as follows:

Guarari Institutional dealings. Occupation of negotiated territory and establishment of community life. Construction of housing.

Carmen Lyra Institutional dealings. Failed invasion. Institutional dealings. Occupation of negotiated territory. Institutional dealings. Construction of housing. Transfer of families to new community.

Oscar Felipe Land invasion and establishment of community life. Institutional dealings. Occupation of negotiated territory and establishment of community life. Institutional dealings. Construction of housing.

EI Nazareno Land invasion and establishment of community life. Institutional dealings. Construction of housing.

During each of these phases, the tasks undertaken and the levels and forms of participation and organizing work differed.

When each group went through its phase of institutional dealing and negotiations, its energies were almost exclusively devoted to visiting officials in the appropriate public institutions, focusing particularly on the government’s response to the community petition. The immediate objective was to convince them to speed up the required paperwork and to ensure that the community was working towards meeting any prerequisites. During this phase, the community needed to establish political contacts with high-level government officials in order to press effectively for their demands at a later date.

To conduct these institutional dealings, it was important to have a person who was familiar with public institutions, their institutional dynamics, and functionaries, as well as having contacts who could facilitate access to those who administered the paper trail. It was best if such a person was politically connected or at least knew how to reach those politicians in a position to intervene on behalf of the organization. Because these were communities where people had little or no previous organizing experience, it was often difficult to find a person with these attributes. Usually the group’s leader was backed by one or two assistants who gradually developed the required leadership skills through on-the-job learning. In the meantime, the other members of the organization simply waited to see what the leader accomplished.

At this time, participation was limited to attending the meetings called by the leader to report on the progress of the organization’s petitions, as well as to maintain a sense of unity and permanence. At these meetings, participation was passive and principally limited to listening to the leader’s report. If they lasted too long, attendance was lower at future meetings. To address the problem of declining attendance, the leader of the Oscar Felipe community organized raffles in which domestic appliances could be won by attenders; this was so effective that it became impossible to fit everyone into the building where meetings were normally held.

In other cases, meetings were more like a circus, with two hundred or more people gathered, most standing up in the open air with children of all ages running around and playing through the crowds. To some extent, the informal nature of these meetings created a less rigid and more spontaneous atmosphere, which was conducive to broad participation. At the same time, the dispersed and sometimes unfocused crowd made it difficult for people to concentrate on what was being said. Furthermore, the fear of speaking up in such a large gathering tended to inhibit active participation. Invariably, participants later referred to these meetings as ‘long and boring,’ which they attended only because they were formally

required to do so. For them, participation made more sense when they knew beforehand what topics would be discussed and what decisions made, such as preparations for a land invasion or a public march, the initiation of construction projects, the size of lots to be distributed or the type and cost of houses to be built on them.

When a committee was created not through a land invasion but through institutional dealings — as was the case with Carmen Lyra and Guarari — participation in the initial phase was even more difficult since people did not share a common group experience and barely knew each other. This made it hard to create the trust needed for participation. Work in the organization was very irregular; people came but then left when they could get no concrete results to keep them there permanently. At some meetings one group took part, at the next another; the leader soon became the only source of permanence.

In contrast, participation was essential during a land invasion because the success of the action depended on everyone’s involvement; the same holds true during an eviction threat since effective resistance requires the force of numbers and group cohesion. Under these circumstances, participation acquired a clear meaning for people. When marches or protests were staged, everyone’s participation was a decisive factor in demonstrating the force the organization represented; numbers were one of the key sources of power that these organizations held.

When a property was invaded the organizational dynamic was entirely different. During this phase, tasks became diversified, which, in turn, required different forms of organizing as well as other levels and forms of participation. It was necessary to clean, prepare and demarcate the property, start up vegetable gardens, find sources of water and electrical connections, create sanitary conditions and address general health problems, provide transport services and schooling for children, and prepare for the possibility of a last-minute eviction. It was clear to everyone that broad participation was crucial to these tasks, that their successful completion would have concrete and immediate benefits to all those involved, and that the leaders could not accomplish this alone. Normally, the leader organized commissions (work groups) which became accountable for specific tasks, thereby contributing to a broader participation and delegation of responsibilities. This was one of the most participatory moments in the life of the organization.

However, once assured of their permanence on the land, once the shacks had been built and service and access problems had been at least partially resolved, the organization entered another phase. During this second phase, institutional dealings with government were resumed and

participation declined, although this changed sometimes when a protest or march was organized as a pressure tactic.

Participation revived when the organization reached the phase of building community houses, and a wide range of construction tasks needed to be completed. Once the houses were finished, however, even if communal tasks remained incomplete, people were much less willing to participate in common efforts, preferring instead to devote themselves to putting the finishing touches to their own homes.

Exactly what type of participation are we talking about? We indicated earlier that in periodic general meetings, participation meant attendance and not necessarily playing an active role. When people participated in communal tasks, including those related to house construction, a type of boss-worker relationship often developed between leaders organizing the work and the grassroots members. Each family was required to donate a certain number of hours of collective labor, with this input strictly monitored through registry sheets kept by the leaders. Those who did not put in the required hours had no right to benefit from the products of community labor. If a household head was unable to work, a son, daughter or another relative had to put in the time. If this was not possible, then the family paid someone to do the work. Although people were aware that the houses and infrastructure would not be constructed unless they all participated and contributed through their work, the truth was that if they did not have to participate, they did not do so. Leaders needed to resort to strict control measures, coercion, pressure, and various incentives to ensure participation, especially when it came to communal tasks.

In the community of EI Nazareno, to give an incentive to become involved in the work commissions formed after the invasion, whoever participated had the right to choose the site of their own lots, while others were arbitrarily assigned lots by government officials in charge of the project. Many people participated. In Carmen Lyra, because of a conflict with community leaders, an official from the state institution in charge of the project — the Comisión Especial de Vivienda — erroneously informed families that they were not obligated to help with construction work as they had done in the past since the hired construction company was expected to do all the work. Even though the official was removed from her position and the misinformation was quickly corrected, doubts as to the real need to participate were never completely dispelled. People slowly began abandoning their jobs until, in the last few months, only a small group of people showed up for work. Nevertheless, in each of the four communities, approximately 10 per cent of all families were always willing to participate and collaborate, regardless of the material benefits, since they were

motivated by their desire to fulfil their personal commitments to the community.

However, for the majority of families in the communities participation meant a third work shift. In contrast with other social sectors, these families had to build their own houses, sidewalks, drains, streets, schools, and churches in addition to completing a 10–12 hour regular work shift and their regular domestic responsibilities. For them, work in the community was simply a survival strategy, and the less time and effort the better.

After five or more years participating in a committee, one or two years of devoting weekends and free time or even sacrificing full-time paid employment for the benefit of the community and house construction, these families had neither the desire nor the energy to continue participating in the organization. The fatigue caused by continuous work for the organization was tremendous and signified a heavy burden and sacrifice for the families.

In spite of these limitations, in contrast to traditional organizations, the experience of participation in grassroots and local organizations such as the housing committees was direct and intense. Self-sufficiency in order to meet needs implied broad participation in communal tasks and house construction. This allowed members to feel a greater sense of identification with both the organization and fellow members, thereby enabling the establishment of solidarity, neighborliness and a sense of collaboration.

It was clear that for these organizations, participation was not conceived as a politically formative or (re-)educational experience. ‘Raising people’s political consciousness’ or changing the system was not of interest to them, although it was of interest to the housing fronts who may have worked with them. In fact, our interviews indicated that participants (other than the odd militant in a left-wing party) did not see any correlation between the real problems they faced and the prevailing social order. Rather, poverty was seen as a phenomenon which was as natural as rain or sun — nothing could be done to change it or avoid it — and social differences were seen as a product of the natural order of things in dichotomous opposites: good/bad, above/below, poor/rich. Their struggle, therefore, was not against the status quo but rather against exclusion; they demanded to be included in the status quo by pressuring government institutions. Participation, rather than being an objective, was a necessity which became a decisive factor under specific circumstances.

Democratic and Participatory Practices: Objectives and Successes

One-third of household heads in Carmen Lyra and as many as two-thirds in the EI Nazareno and Oscar Felipe communities were single women. In Oscar Felipe, we found that 75 per cent of households earned barely the minimum legal monthly wage; in EI Nazareno it was 62 per cent, and in Carmen Lyra 31 per cent.7 In other words, those who formed the housing committees were persons of modest means whose priorities were work, food, and a roof over their heads. These women and men had resorted to collective action because they had been unsuccessful in finding individual solutions to their housing needs. But as soon as they were able to find a solution to their problems, they did not hesitate to relegate collective action to a secondary place in their list of priorities. For these people, the organization and struggle for housing was fundamentally a personal survival strategy and not an activity with greater democracy and participation as an end in itself; the means utilized to obtain housing were not as important as the achievement of the goal itself.

One might assume that although democracy and participation were not the goals of the housing committees, in practice they would naturally develop democratic and participatory forms of organization. Yet, by observing their organizational practices, we concluded that because the committees were not formed or operated with democratic or participatory principles in mind, their working methods and leadership did not necessarily conform to such values. At the same time, it is important to remember that appreciation of democratic and participatory values in these organizations in the form of conscious or explicit discourse does not necessarily translate into democratic, participatory practices. The study illustrated that the two communities (Guarari and Carmen Lyra) which had leaders who favored democratic and participatory values ended up reproducing organizational practices similar to those of the other communities, where such a discourse was absent.

As we will see, the objectives of the organization and the context in which such communities struggled for their interests determined the organizational forms and practices they chose. In the housing committees, ‘effectiveness’ was the fundamental objective and ultimately the one which shaped their organizational form. Since effectiveness was strongly determined by the conditions imposed by the socio-political context, this criterion of effectiveness often frustrated the potential of democratic and participatory practices in these communities.

One reason that democracy and participation didn’t naturally develop is that such concerns didn’t necessarily guarantee them greater chances of

success. On the contrary, some organizations with authoritarian and centralist practices were more successful, in particular because of the role of the state in developing housing strategies. Simply put, the most effective way of acquiring a house was, as always, through patronage, contacts, and friendships with influential public officials and political party leaders. The same rules applied when it came to postponing an evacuation order, installing electricity and running water in an illegally-occupied lot, and negotiating lot boundaries or the size of the houses to be built. Of the communities studied, all but Carmen Lyra could trace their achievements to some friendship or political contact. Having such contacts was important in the selection of leaders.

Given the role of government officials and politicians, their support for particular housing organizations served as an important instrument of struggle. The names that the communities chose for themselves is a reflection of this strategy. So we find communities like Oscar Felipe, which have adopted the names of public officials and politicians, as well as those appealing to religious beliefs, as in the case of El Nazareno. The effectiveness of this tactic is clearly seen in Oscar Felipe. On the day the families were transferred to the land where they would build their houses,

the community was visited by the Minister of Housing, an entourage of politicians from the incumbent PLN, and a cluster of public officials who committed themselves to helping their cause. Three days later, the community was visited by President Oscar Arias, who donated large sums of money to the community. The government also donated food to assist families during the first two weeks of settlement, and the presidential palace contributed 25 tents and construction materials.

The limitations placed on the communities by government patronage were also apparent. When the Oscar Felipe community established ties with a group of militants from a communist party which had been supporting the community in improving its internal organization, the organization’s political patrons ‘recommended’ to its leader (who interpreted the recommendation as a threat) that all ties be severed with the group in question. The relation between the state and the Oscar Felipe community stands in sharp contrast to the lack of attention received by the Guarari and Carmen Lyra communities. Guarari’s origins are traceable to the housing committees created in 1982 by the leftist COPAN. In spite of the force of their mobilization efforts, including the marches and mass protests between 1980 and 1986, this community was systematically ignored by the government. In addition to their political orientation — or rather because of it — COPAN leaders who were in charge of the administration of the committee lacked the requisite political contacts with government officials or party leaders. Only when COPAN decided to use pacifist methods, such

as the hunger strikes organized by its local leaders in 1984, did the government agree to negotiate with them, although it later reneged on promises made during negotiations. In the meantime, despite the activism and combativeness of those families involved in its committees, upon seeing the lack of results many shifted loyalty to committees offering greater opportunities.

In order to prevent what seemed to be the end of COPAN, its top officials seized the opportunities opened by the 1986 electoral campaign to negotiate with Arias and the PLN. In return for promising electoral support for Arias, COPAN demanded that the Arias government meet their housing demands once in power. Immediately after the Arias government took office, COPAN declared itself ‘non-communist’ and devoted itself to nurturing the corresponding political contacts. That strategy proved fruitful and members were incorporated into the government’s plan to build 80,000 houses; COPAN received vast sums of money to administer house construction projects as assigned by the government.

The case of Carmen Lyra is similar, albeit with a different ending. The community was headed by a well-known communist leader from the Vanguardia Popular who had few political contacts with state officials or influential politicians and consequently lacked the necessary mark of approval. This community’s ties with the communist-affiliated ANAVI was not of much help in establishing or nurturing political contacts. When, after three years of futile efforts, the Carmen Lyra housing committee finally invaded a plot of state property, they were violently carried away by police. The scenario repeated itself when, on two occasions, they occupied a city park. To leave the church where they had taken refuge after one of these instances, the communist deputy from the Vanguardia Popular had to bargain for the suspension of the imprisonment orders made against the members of the organization. The Minister of Housing ardently opposed negotiating with this organization, which in his view was a ‘rebellious group.’ Even the priest at this church denied assistance, branding them ‘communists’ who were of ‘no help to the church.’ Finally, however, the struggle gained momentum as its cause reached beyond the demands of the housing committees and became the struggle of all the people in the area, at which point the government finally decided to meet the demands of the committee. This was one of the few cases where a committee’s achievements were not the direct result of political contacts or patronage (following or interspersed with collective action and mobilization), but rather exclusively of collective action and struggle. Whatever their importance, political contacts alone were not enough. In EI Nazareno and Oscar Felipe, regardless of political ties and contacts, the community had

to rely on other forms of struggle, including land invasions, protests and street blockades, as means of exerting pressure.

Democracy and the Satisfaction of Needs

In the communities we studied we found a combination of two phenomena: first, the reproduction of representative democracy in the form of delegated power; second, the exercise of direct democracy, expressed through the right to revoke the powers of those leaders to whom decision-making had been delegated. Within the housing committees, reproduction of Costa Rican representative democracy allows participation in the selection of leaders. But it also means in practice that leaders gradually gain autonomy from the collective will; administration and decision-making are concentrated in the hands of a few. At the same time, however, grassroots members have maintained great sanctioning powers. Just as they have the power to elect their leaders, they also have the power to replace them. Impeachment of leaders has occurred because the organization saw no concrete results for a long time and saw the leader as ineffective; when the leader was suspected (or known to be) involved in some form of corruption; when the membership feels the leader has appropriated too many rights or abused power (although both practices are partly tolerated and considered part of the privileges of the job); and, finally, when the leader is not representing or adequately defining group interests and letting external interests (e.g. those of political parties, leaders from outside the community, or public institutions and officials) take precedence.

In short, people trustfully delegate power to the leader, but if their interests in obtaining housing are threatened, they may resort to direct democracy. This control over leaders is possible in small organizations where there is physical proximity, little bureaucracy, and a simple organizational structure. The simplicity of the organizations allows members to act spontaneously if they feel their interests to be threatened. In the Oscar Felipe community, when the leader refused to resign after having been accused of stealing money, people organized a ‘silent march’ in front of his home for several days, sometimes even throwing rocks at his house, until he resigned. Nevertheless, the removal of a particular leader, even when done democratically, causes tremendous conflict in these communities. Loyalties are divided and feelings are deeply hurt. By and large, these leaders retire completely from the work of the organization, as was the case in EI Nazareno, where the leader set up his house at the margins of the settlement, removed from other houses, and who, today, has no contact with the community.

While the election and impeachment of representatives are seen as sacred democratic rights, many leaders stay on for years. In Carmen Lyra, the leader who initiated the organization was still in power after seven years. In EI Nazareno, the Housing Minister chose someone he trusted to initiate, organize and lead the community’s building project. This person, however, was soon endorsed by the majority of the community and was officially designated leader since she had successfully advanced the projects. Meanwhile, leaders officially elected to the job months earlier failed to win the support of the members, were bypassed in the management of the community and relegated to playing a secondary role during construction.

The upshot is organizations in which much of the work and decision-making power is delegated to a few. Joint or majority decision-making is mainly exercised through the election of leaders or in the adoption of key decisions such as land invasions or organizing a march or a blockade. These are decisions the leader cannot assume unilaterally as they require the consensus and participation of the majority to be carried out successfully. Still, given the local and grassroots nature of the housing committees, the exercise of direct democracy is also possible and is manifested in sanctioning powers over elected leaders who have failed to represent the majority’s interests. In this sense, democracy in these organizations is closely associated with the satisfaction of common needs and the concrete benefits to be derived from it. According to this definition, acting democratically means being true to the interests of the community at large.

Of the communities we studied, only Guarari was an exception to these norms. This community is completely under the control of COPAN’s leadership. These leaders assume all decision-making responsibilities, including the designation of grassroots leaders. The great power and control they exercise as a result of their close links with the state has impeded the community from adopting more democratic forms of organization. This explains why, when one speaks with community members, the words ‘democracy’ and ‘participation’ are recurrent, and the main reason why an opposition group within the community formed an alternative organization called ‘La Nueva Guarari.’

Democracy, Participation and Leadership

The work and leadership methods, the decision-making processes, and the particular shape and forms that participation and democracy take make us think of these organizations as ‘collective spaces for the supply of services.’ The services consist in managing and obtaining housing; leaders grant the service and families consume them, and when a leader does not perform

adequately, another is found. Petitioning for housing requires a great deal of know-how and personal skill. The leader must know or learn which institutions to apply to, the requirements of each, who its officials are, who makes the decisions, how they are made, how the institutions operate, the most effective forms of pressure to utilize with each, who the best contacts are in each, and how to negotiate with government officials and politicians. This set of abilities can turn into a profession in and of itself, in the service of the community. After serving her own community, one of the leaders from El Nazareno was sought by another housing organization as a consultant on institutional negotiations.

Under these circumstances, the opinions of the leaders often become directives and playa decisive role in defining issues and shaping the orientation of the organization. Whether or not this role means that the leader will accept responsibility for developing democratic and participatory practices depends on the specific community and organization. We found that a leader’s actions and options are conditioned by the aspirations and expectations of the group as well as by the broader socio-political context. We repeatedly saw that the attitudes, ideals and aspirations of members playas important a role as the individuality and convictions of the leader. Even though the leaders may put a personal stamp on the organization, they can not impose their personal preferences over those of the group and people they represent. In order to maintain their leadership role, leaders must, at least to some extent, respond to the conceptions and expectations of the community they represent.

A power struggle between two leaders in El Nazareno, and the debate that ensued over the role and appropriate forms of leadership, is a useful way to illustrate the problems and dilemmas that confront leaders who try to promote democracy and participation. In 1987, almost a year after the invasion, it became clear that an eviction order would be suspended. The community’s permanent occupation of the land was assured and Elias Munoz, the organization’s elected president, proceeded to co-ordinate the work of the community by delegating as many of the tasks as possible and encouraging broad participation in community activities. In addition to the traditional work groups (a general assembly, board of directors, and treasury board), he nominated 15 working committees to organize and carry out specific tasks ranging from cleaning and maintenance to youth activities and sports events. At the time, each committee had between 10 and 15 members: in all, about 150 people were actively participating in the management and work of the organization. Each committee had a co-ordinator.

Several months later, Elias decided to grant greater power to committee co-ordinators and proposed that the board of directors be replaced by a

central committee composed of the co-ordinators of each of the 15 work committees and led by a general co-ordinator. This immediately ignited a clash between a member of the board of directors, Carlos Corrales, and Elias, the intended general co-ordinator. For Elias, this initiative was part of his philosophy of delegating responsibilities and integrating a larger group of people in the decision-making process. His notion of the role of a leader was that the leader should become a co-ordinator of activities and orient others in doing their jobs. Carlos, on the contrary, believed that the role of the leader was to centralize control in one or a few leaders so that the organization could become a consolidated, effective, and belligerent fighting group. In spite of his efforts to democratize the leadership and encourage greater participation, Elias was never able to abandon his fear of losing his own power. For this reason, he had insisted that all committee co-ordinators ultimately answer to the general co-ordinator (himself); he always remained concerned that the membership ‘might organize a coup d’état’ to oust the leader, as he told us in an interview in 1990. In the end, the same democratic and participatory practices he promoted cost him his position as leader.

It is undeniable that behind closed doors the two leaders waged a secret war for control over the organization. Elias attempted to surround himself with those co-ordinators he had promoted in the hope that they would help him consolidate his central power in the organization. However, it is also true that as long as he was leader, he did delegate part of the work and even ceded some of his powers. The delegation of duties and decisions was, in particular, handed over to those responsible for the working committees. Work was also carried out in a more democratic manner, which contributed to a great sense of communal participation, the extent of which was felt in the community long afterwards. Thus, whereas in the other three communities one finds only one or two leaders, in EI Nazareno it is possible to identify seven or eight leaders formed through the experiences provided by Elias. Nevertheless, for Elias, democracy and participation were not very positive experiences; when he recalls the episode he warns that ‘if you create horns, they’ll pluck your eyes out.’ Perhaps the most interesting thing about the whole experience is that, today, the members of the community interpret Elias’s efforts as passivity and lacking a leader’s involvement in matters of importance in the community. It is also worth exploring Carlos Corrales’ position regarding the need for a more centralized organization. This other leader strongly associates institutional strength with centralization rather than with democracy and participation. His arguments were based on the fact that, in the case of EI Nazareno, the organization drew together many people who did not really know one another before joining the organization. According to Carlos, strong,

centralized leadership was required to give the organization some cohesion. The same thing seems to have happened in the other communities with respect to the construction of housing. There were so many people working and trying to accomplish a very complex set of tasks that, unless decisions were centralized, nothing could get done.

Elias’s conceptions about the appropriate role and forms of leadership are not common among other community leaders in the housing committees. Just as democratic and participatory practices are not an objective for the organization as a whole, neither are they for its leaders. In these organizations, being a leader means exercising power, having the prestige and the opportunity to satisfy personal goals that one could never expect to realize otherwise. The power of being indispensable, having the support and friendship of public officials and political leaders, being a recipient of favors from political parties and the source of admiration for the community are these leaders’ personal aspirations. For example, Oscar Aguilar, the leader of the Carmen Lyra community, was elected as a local representative to the municipal government of Turrialba and had a world of opportunities opened to him as a result, and recognition of his efforts as ‘the’ leader of this housing organization. (For a candidate representing a party as tiny as the communist Vanguardia

Popular, this represented a major political breakthrough and a level of recognition and support whether he was re-elected or not.) In spite of the ideals or good intentions of a leader, they are almost always captive to their own need and desire for power and prestige.

The power struggles and conflicts that erupt in the organizations are the cause of a growing loss of legitimacy and credibility among leaders who are perceived as pursuing personal interests as opposed to those of the community. Members of all the communities referred to these conflicts as one of the principal factors discouraging greater participation. Does it make a difference if we are dealing with leaders with leftist orientations? In Carmen Lyra and Guarari, where both leaders are known leftists, there were few differences in the democratic or participatory practices used within the organization. In spite of COPAN’s rhetoric emphasizing new forms of organization and community relations, in practice this has not translated into working methods or leadership practices which might achieve such an objective. Actually, it is possible to claim that out of the four communities studied it was in Guarari where we observed the most centralized, vertical and undemocratic forms of work and leadership. These habits, furthermore, had caused a divisive split within the community and violent conflicts against COPAN’s top leaders. For COPAN, the traditional notion persisted of needing a vanguard to think on behalf of the

membership. Centralization is regarded as a principle method of maintaining cohesion and organizational strength.

In Carmen Lyra, from the time the committee was formed in 1982 to this day, the community has had only one leader, Oscar Aguilar, who, as noted, is a member of the communist Vanguardia Popular and its housing front, ANAVI. While ANA VI has developed forms of struggle other than the clientelistic behavior pervasive in government and in the relations between politicians and other housing fronts, it hasn’t created alternative mechanisms to make their organization notably different. The organizational dynamic involved in satisfying immediate needs and providing concrete results by the most effective means available overshadowed all efforts at internal restructuring. Moreover, the personal aspirations of the leader, who at one point even toyed with the idea of running as a deputy in the Legislative Assembly, got in the way.

The main difference we detected between those housing committees with leftist connections and those without them was that the former had more independent relations vis-à-vis the national and local state and mainstream political parties. In Oscar Felipe and El Nazareno, the organization was more vulnerable to the influence and control of government and politicians, while Guarari and Carmen Lyra were able to develop more autonomous relations with the state through their leaders, and therefore maintain community interests at the forefront. For instance, the two latter communities settled themselves on lands which offered much better living conditions than those made available to Oscar Felipe and El Nazareno. COPAN managed to maintain direct control over the Guarari housing project by having government funds geared towards the development of the housing project allocated directly to them. Guarari and Carmen Lyra negotiated with government to have power to administer the socio-economic surveys of their members and to decide on the classification of beneficiaries and the assignment of lots. In El Nazareno and Oscar Felipe, on the other hand, these tasks were exclusively left in the hands of a government official permanently stationed in the community, who, on occasion, substituted and displaced the organization’s system of local administration.

Final Reflections

The achievement of the housing committees has been significant. The pressure exerted by the collective struggle forced the Costa Rican government to formulate and implement housing policies which, for the first time, took into consideration the needs and economic possibilities of low-income families. As part of its new policies, the state modified the

profitability criteria and guidelines for the recovery of financial resources which had prevented state institutions from investing in poor sectors in the past and helps to account for the dramatic housing deficit among poor Costa Ricans. This achievement is even more significant once we take into consideration that state investment in housing for low-income families took place during a period of budgetary restraint and cuts in public spending resulting from the structural adjustment programme implemented in Costa Rica from 1985.

Likewise, the electoral victory which resulted from Arias’s promise to construct 80,000 houses in response to popular demand cleared a path which other politicians would follow in the future — that is, ‘the option for the poor.’ Nowadays it is difficult to find a politician who does not advocate social justice, speak of the struggle against poverty, or make promises which soon become popular demands. On the other hand, although clientelistic political relations with state officials and political leaders are crucial in shaping the organizational and fighting practices of the housing committees, clientelism also presupposes the existence of general access to state institutions and political organisms, and, even more importantly, to public funds by organizers, thereby contributing to the democratization of public expenditures. Through their clientelistic relations and the contacts and friendships of their leaders, the housing organizations shortened the distance from traditional politics without having to abandon their position in civil society.

This compression of political distance may very well be an expression of the democratization of politics, even if, paradoxically, it usually remained within a clientelist framework. The leader of one community — who at 35 years old could barely read or write — described how her friendship with a deputy, who had lent her a desk, typewriter, paper supplies and his office phone in the Legislative Assembly, enabled her to get the work done for her housing committee. Nevertheless, it is obvious that popular discontent did not lead to a questioning of the established social, political or economic order. Not only was the system capable of confronting the crisis and containing the conflict but, without much resistance, it converted the crisis into the process of neo-liberal change and structural adjustment policies that had such terrible consequences for the living conditions of the popular sectors. As of 1986, the belligerence of the housing committees was turned into support for and co-ordination with state action.

The revolutionary fervor generated in Central America by the triumph of the Sandinistas and advancements in the revolutionary processes in El Salvador and Guatemala during the late 1970s and early 1980s created both hope and expectation among progressive sectors in the region that profound social changes would take place in Central America. Today, more

than ten years later, the situation is quite different. The revolutionary path seems exhausted and at a dead end, something recognized by most of the region’s revolutionary fronts, which have turned to political negotiation as a means of achieving change.

In this context, the struggle for improved living conditions makes all the more sense. In so far as the housing organizations represent a fight by the majority for more dignified conditions, these committees are both democratic organizations and bearers of participatory and democratic values. The process of the housing struggle leaves us with a series of experiences which we must not forget: the palpable importance of self-worth, pride, confidence in one’s own abilities, and consciousness of the power of collective action as a tool for influencing policy. The struggle was a success because of the creation of a shared common history, the formation of leaders within popular sectors with limited resources, and possibilities for political activism and the application of such techniques in fighting other causes. The lessons still shape the possibility of reproducing the valuable experience of team-work and of undertaking tasks that enrich the quality of life in the community, including organizing day care services, youth groups, cultural and sports events.

Given that we are dealing with a contradictory process, full of tensions between the individual and the collective will, it is difficult to say what implications these experiences will have in the long term. The balance of attention often tends to tip in favor of individual needs and actions, and only when there is no other way forward do people seem to rely on collective action. And even within the collective experience, so many problems remain: distrust and skepticism expressed towards the organization, problems of money, corruption, abuse of personal interests and privileges, power clashes and arbitrary decision-making. Some community members even argued that it would be best if the government assumed control over the organization. The possibility of expanding on these experiences depends on their continuity. Their longevity, unfortunately, is threatened by the fact that these organizations are often dissolved once they reach their housing objectives. Although the memory of the experience remains, the practice gained from it fades with time. Undoubtedly, though, the struggle for housing constitutes an important collective experience, which will remain in the memories of those who participated in the process as a means of learning and expanding on the democratic possibilities available in Costa Rican society.

Notes

1. Two levels of analysis were used in the study. At the micro-level, the study looked at the internal organization of the Committees for the Struggle for Housing, with special emphasis on different forms and levels of participation, of democratic practices and management models. At another level, the study explored the national and socio-political context in which the struggle for housing evolved. For the latter level, the investigation concentrated on identifying those factors that determined the organizational practices of the housing committees as well as the impact of the housing struggle on the political system.

CEPAS would like to express its gratitude to the communities that participated in the study and that by doing so have helped to forge a better understanding of the needs, aspirations and challenges facing their communities.

We would also like to thank Marisol Granados for her collaboration during the field work, as well as Michael Kaufman and Sheila Knight-Lira from the Centre for Research on Latin America and the Caribbean (CERLAC) for the ongoing support they provided through their co-ordination efforts.

Naturally, we also extend our thanks to the International Development Research Council (IDRC) in Ottawa, Canada. This research would not have been possible without their financial support and encouragement.

2. See Rafael Guido and Oscar Fernández, ‘El Juicio al Sujeto: Un Análisis de los Movimientos Sociales en América Latina,’ in Cuadernos de Ciencias Sociales, No. 25, (Mexico: FLACSO, 1989); Ruth Cardoso, ‘Popular Movements in the Context of the Consolidation of Democracy,’ Working Paper No. 20, University of Notre Dame, March 1989; Tilman Evers, Identidad el Lado Oculto de los Nuevos Movimientos Sociales (Brazil: Materiales para el Debate Contemporáneo, 1984), and Eduardo Canel’s chapter in this volume.

3. Norberto Bobbio, El Futuro de fa Democracia (Mexico: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1986), p. 33.

4. The bulk of field research in these communities (including preparatory work) took place between March 1990 and June 1991, although follow-up workshops were held at later dates. From an initial list of ten possible communities, these four were selected on the basis of several criteria: to include communities which emerged out of collective struggle and which demonstrated high levels of organization; communities which were in the intermediate or final phase of construction of their permanent housing and infrastructure; one community which had ties with COPAN and another with ANAVI — both leftist housing fronts which, according to their leaders, advocate democratic and participatory practices as one of their main organizational objectives; two communities which did not have permanent links with a housing front. In addition to observation, we conducted 68 partly structured interviews around these issues, surveying current and former leaders as well as grassroots members in four communities which emerged from collective struggle, and held ongoing discussions with various community members.

5. The formation of COPAN signalled a change in OST tactics from developing a political party to building a mass organization. The goal wasn’t electoral, but to struggle day to day with the people. As part of this change, the OST was dissolved.

6. Bobbio, El Futuro de la Democracia, p. 42.

7. It was not possible to obtain data for La Guarari since COPAN, and not the state, controls this information and guards it jealously as a result of the conflicts that have erupted in the community in relation to the assignment of completed houses.

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