El Dedazo
Mexico was both an atypical Latin American country but, in other ways, fairly typical. Since the conclusion of the Mexican Revolution - a devastating war from 1913 to 1920 that broke her demographically and economically for years to come - it had not fallen victim to military coups or countercoups, and its government since 1929 had been ostensibly "revolutionary," rooted in socialist developmentalism. In practice, however, the veneer of democracy and principled, socialist-coded progressivism was just that, a veneer. The Institutional Revolutionary Party, or PRI, had ruled without interruption or even any particularly organized opposition since 1929, a farce of a managed democracy in which aging party hacks - known colloquially as the
dinosaurios, or dinosaurs - picked candidates for their loyalty and coziness with various factions. The PRI balanced genuine economic nationalism like the formation of the state oil entity of Pemex in 1937 with generally hewing to the American line in the Cold War's "Dirty War," and built their legitimacy with the Mexican public on a massive rise in the standard of living and some of the fastest economic growth in the world from the early 1940s to the mid-1970s while still retreating into a thuggish illiberalism, most typified by the brutal violence of the Tlatelolco massacre of 1968 that badly damaged the regime's reputation domestically and internationally. The PRI was referred to one time as a "perfect dictatorship," and that was perhaps true - it was a dictatorship not of a man nor a junta of military officials, but rather a dictatorship of a party, in which term limits and separation of powers were honored, but every election and transition of power was a foregone conclusion and the decisions and influence of the party superstructure sluiced through every component of society.
[1]
Mexican officials of the PRI took great pride in the fact that officials served single, non-renewable six-year terms after which they were expected to retire quietly, and indeed held this up as evidence of the regime's non-authoritarianism; in December of 1982, it would be Jose Lopez Portillo whose term was coming to an end, and his successor needed to be chosen. Whatever merits there may have been to the six-year term in promoting a lack of personalism (even if it tangentially helped keep power in the hands of the
dinosaurios of the party machinery and state bureaucracy), there was nothing democratic in the tradition of the incumbent President personally designating his successor, a process known as
el dedazo, roughly translated as "pointing the finger." Upon taking office in 1976, Mexico had been mired in an economic crisis stemming from the quadrupling of the national external debt under his predecessor (and childhood friend) Luis Echeverria, under whom Lopez Portillo had served as finance minister. To his credit, Lopez Portillo had made attempts to significantly invest in the discovery of new oilfields across Mexico to better manage the country's economy and build out infrastructure, and had also built on small measures under Echeverria to open up the system and liberalize political opposition; however, his administration was also one of extreme corruption and the appointment of family members and friends to various crucial roles. The steady decline in oil prices beginning in August 1980 had badly damaged the country's finances as it had become even more dependent on revenues from Pemex, and by late 1981, when it was time to nominate a successor, Mexico's economy was suffering severe capital flight, brain drain, and rapid hyperinflation from the devaluation of the peso and a partial sovereign default at the start of the year.
The expected successor of Lopez Portillo for many years had been Jorge Diaz Serrano, the chief of Pemex and a long time PRI functionary who had been responsible for many of the investments in oil development and was generally regarded as one of the government's most competent administrators. However, the response to the decline in oil prices had been mismanaged, and he was quietly shunted off as ambassador to the Soviet Union in late 1981, to his deathbed in 2011 resentful at his scapegoating. Considering Lopez Portillo's deep, unyielding unpopularity and questions of corruption around his selections, that left in the fall of 1981 two viable options for him: his economic director, Miguel de la Madrid, and the Chairman of the PRI, Javier Garcia Paniagua. They were men of sharp contrasts; de la Madrid was a Harvard-educated economist, part of a young group of rising PRI reformists who were committed wholly to the system but saw severe flaws in it and viewed economic reforms first as the key to solving the spiraling crisis that had first begun in 1976 and accelerated in 1980-81. Garcia Paniagua, on the other hand, was a
dinosaurio's dream, a decently accomplished former agricultural minister handed the party Presidency earlier in the year and widely viewed as being more in line with traditionally populist and distributionist PRI economic thinking, similar to Lopez Portillo himself. Though only forty-seven, he was a thorough party hack and apparatchik, exactly the kind of figure that the
dinosaurios were bound to love.
A number of factors coalesced to influence Lopez Portillo's selection of Garcia Paniagua.
[2] The first was that de la Madrid's "outsider-insider" status as a technocrat rather than a party figure worked against him and made him the clear second-runner of the two from the start. The second was that, post-Panama, the tide of anti-Americanism that had risen across Latin America cut against the "
Hijo de Harvard" and his Amerophile economic and diplomatic philosophy, whereas Garcia Paniagua, though no Russophile, was more amenable to the trend of the Echeverria and Lopez Portillo years to continue to position Mexico as a leader of the Third World and Non-Aligned Movement. Miguel de la Madrid took his snub well, having not been expected to be chosen anyways, and his service in government ended not long thereafter.
Garcia Paniagua was forced to confront in the June 1982 Mexican elections, however, a much more fractious society than the one Lopez Portillo had faced in 1976. The economic crisis had passed its peak by that point but inflation stood at over 40%, protests and demonstrations were common, and tens of thousands of doctors, lawyers, accountants, bankers, and other professionals had decamped for greener pastures in the United States over the previous six years, a remarkable migration of brain drain. Farmers, one of the main pillars of PRI support, were demanding further land reforms; employees of the state threatened a general strike a week before the polls if they did not receive wage hikes to keep pace with skyrocketing inflation, mostly just to prove that they could. It seemed, for the first time, that the PRI needed Mexico more than Mexico needed the PRI.
The 1982 elections also featured what was, by Mexican standards, a genuinely competitive landscape. Pablo Emilio Madero, the candidate of the conservative National Action Party, once a controlled opposition that existed at the grace and pleasure of
El Pri, would win thirty percent of the vote, an unprecedented performance by an opposition candidate, especially six years after the now-politically radioactive Lopez Portillo had been elected unopposed. The reforms of 1977 allowed left-wing partisans to organize, and the United Socialist Party of Mexico (PSUM), a communist-inspired outfit, held a massive rally on the Zocalo a few days before voting that was attended by as many as eighty thousand people in the heart of the capital. As oil prices rose and plateaued in the second half of 1982, the Mexican economy temporarily stabilized despite its chronic structural problems, offering Garcia Paniagua some relief ahead of his inauguration on December 1, but the forces that were bubbling up across Latin America - of frustrated middle and working class people rejecting the paternalist authoritarianism of the past, of economic crises, and of political violence - were coming for the
Ditadura Perfecta, and 1982 had revealed the PRI creakier than ever, and in failing to earn 70% of the vote, Garcia Paniagua was immediately considered one of the politically weakest Presidents in Mexican history...
[1] Readers of Cinco de Mayo know that I find PRI-era Mexico endlessly fascinating; it's a really interesting blend of revolutionary nationalism and a vanguard one-party state, mixed in with the type of more banal corruption that unfortunately plagues a number of countries in Latin America and Asia. That is was a bunch of saggy old hacks running the show and not a junta is what I find so interesting and what sets its apart from military regimes elsewhere, and also draws some interesting parallels to the pre-1965 American South if you squint hard enough
[2] If you're not familiar with Mexican history, we've just rewritten the last forty years of Mexican political history here. No Miguel de la Madrid means the
cientificos don't burrow their way into the PRI machinery, which means Carlos Salinas and Manuel Bartlett aren't running his campaign and administration, which means no disputed election of 1988, no NAFTA and thus no Chiapas Uprising or "tequila crisis" and that Luis Donaldo Colosio isn't shot in Tijuana in March 1994. This is not necessarily a good change; de la Madrid sucked as a President and Salinas, IMO, was a ruthless snake, but they did identify a number of problems in Mexico that were already coming to a head in the 1980-82 range and, whatever your thoughts on it, NAFTA has genuinely helped increase Mexico's standard of living and manufacturing prowess significantly in the years since. (And in a world where the PRC doesn't pursue Dengism and collapses instead of the USSR, as in this one, you're unlikely to see as much offshoring to Asia and so Latin America eventually is likely to benefit from that, too).