On February 1, James Cavallaro, Clinical Professor of Law at Harvard and Executive Director of Harvard Law School's Program on Human Rights, spoke at the fifth installment of the Sanela Diana Jenkins Speaker Series hosted by the Center on Democracy, Development and the Rule of Law's Program on Human Rights.

While much of Cavallaro's research has focused on the Inter-American Court of Human Rights, his talk focused on his experience working on human rights issues in Brazil. Recounting stories from when he helped establish offices for Human Rights Watch in Brazil, Cavallaro raised the question of why human rights has not caught nearly as much traction in Brazil as in its South American neighbors.

To explain this "Brazilian exceptionalism" with regard to human rights, Cavallaro highlighted the persistently high crime rates that continue to plague Brazilian society. According to Cavallaro, Brazilian police are the worst human rights violators and have been known to torture suspects, employing apparatuses like the Parrot's Perch, and to use firearms and force indiscriminately. However, these violations of human rights agreements are tolerated in Brazil because the general population considers a hard stance on crime necessary to maintain order and to keep crime rates from rising to the levels seen during the early 1990s. Cavallaro noted that when people are forced to weigh their personal security against the rights' of others, people's self-interest almost always take precedence.

However, Cavallaro said that human rights in Brazil could be at a crossroads of sorts. He pointed out that how police forces handle security issues when Brazil hosts both the 2014 World Cup and 2016 Summer Olympic games could potentially mark the course for future human rights advancement or prolonged stagnancy in Brazil. He suggested that these events, during which Brazil's economic development and national pride will be on display, could serve to professionalize the police force and redefine the boundaries of appropriate action. Unfortunately, he said, the likelihood of such a shift in norms is unlikely to develop in the few years before these events.    

In today's networked information economy, Yochai Benkler suggests, the most important inputs into the core economic activities of the most advanced economies are, for the first time, widely distributed in the population. Examples of decentralized or peer production are increasingly common, with Wikipedia just one among the list of notable examples. In contrast to the old model, in which all parties needed large-scale capital investment to influence the public space, Benkler suggests that today's networked public sphere has fewer barriers to entry. The groups that have traditionally influenced the public sphere include commercial interests (representing the power of money), government (which influences through funding, access, and threats, representing the power of power), parties, citizens, and a final group of civil society actors (i.e. professional values, journalism and universities). In Benkler's view, these categories of power have been destabilized by the spread of new means of social sharing and exchange. Today, authority, quality and accreditation are separate to capital due the addition of many new groups and platforms, including examples such as the following:

• Pro Publica, American Independent Media
• New highly visible blogs
• Sunlight Foundation
• Wikileaks
• Large-scale participatory platforms for politically active participants
• Citizen journalism, camera phones, and footage

Benkler notes that many critiques have arisen to the argument that the Internet democratizes. For example, some claim that new parties can talk on the Internet, but no one will necessarily hear them. Not only is very little attention actually paid to politics online, but links between sources are also very concentrated. Additionally, there is the question of whether the blogosphere simply offers a new version of elitism, in which the top bloggers come from similar backgrounds to those who formerly dominated the public sphere.

However, Benkler argues that the Internet does make the public sphere more democratic after all. The structured web offers more visibility to more people, in accreditation and filtration clusters. Speakers on the periphery can be identified by major sites and broadcast iteratively to higher-level visibility. On Daily Kos, for example, people are able to bring posts of interest forward onto the home page. All of this occurs with relatively little financing.

In their 2010 paper, Benkler and Shaw explored patterns among the top 155 political blogs, applying link analysis and other methods to explore differences between bloggers on the political left and on the political right. They found that the left adopts enhanced platforms much more quickly and has more flexible content boundaries--a measure of how easy it is for bloggers on the periphery to have their content taken up. While the right has more sole-author blogs, the left has more user blogs available and more large-scale collaboration (exemplified by blogs with more than 20 writers). The authors found that there was no single effect of "Liberation Technology" in this case, in that the left and right showed divergent practices. While Benkler concedes that a link analysis is only so useful without full content analysis, he also notes that the results are consistent with social cognition literature on the differences between people on the left and the right. Another explanation, however, comes from the theory that there was more need for the left to embrace the blogosphere in 2002; when technology first became available, the right dominated the government, news, and already had a platform for discussion in churches. Seeking a new forum for discussion and debate, the left seized on the blogosphere as a solution.

After nearly 30 years on the throne, Egypt's modern-day pharaoh, Hosni Mubarak, will soon follow in the footsteps of Tunisia's dictator, Ben Ali. The only question is not whether he will leave the presidency of Egypt, or even when, but how. In the face of persistent and growing mass protests-and a newfound sense of civic empowerment on the part of Egypt's long demoralized youthful masses-it is difficult to imagine Mubarak surviving in office for more than another week to ten days. The only question is whether he will see the inevitable and do one last service to his country-leave office gracefully-or whether he will have to be pushed out by the military or a deepening climate of chaos on the streets.

Egypt is very far from being "ready" institutionally or civically for democracy, but it is perched at an interesting point that could make a transition to democracy feasible. 

First, the naming of a Vice-President, after the office sat vacant throughout Mubarak's presidency, leaves open the possibility of an orderly transitional succession. Should the savvy former intelligence chief, Omar Suleiman, read his country's mood shrewdly and decide to preside over a free and fair contest for the presidential election six months hence, he could go down as a hero in Egyptian history, negating the central role he played in a now widely reviled regime. Parallels to the now valued transitional role played by Indonesia's Vice President, Habibie, after the fall of Suharto in 1998 come to mind. However, as the public mood shifts toward demand for a thorough house-cleaning, it is possible that nothing less than a broad-based interim government will satisfy popular demands for change.

Second, in contrast to Tunisia, there is an obvious democratic alternative to Mubarak (or Suleiman, or any other regime stalwart): the Nobel-prize-winning former IAEA head, Mohamed ElBaradei.  As a political novice who has lived outside Egypt for most of the last few decades, ElBaradei is far from an ideal founding president of a new democracy (but then, few countries in a situation of regime turmoil, or even after a carefully planned transition, wind up with a leader of the vision and political skill of Nelson Mandela). Yet ElBaradei has a number of assets, including a keen understanding of the international environment, wide international contacts, experience in running a large organization, a personal history that is untainted by association with the repression and corruption of the Mubarak era, and the apparent ability to unite disparate elements of the opposition, religious and secular, behind his candidacy.

Beyond ElBaradei, the emergence of a broad opposition effort (including ElBaradei and former opposition presidential candidate Ayman Nour) to negotiate the terms of a transition and a new national unity government also augur hopefully for the near-term future.

If a reasonably free and fair contest for the presidency could be organized on schedule in September 2011, there is little doubt that the long-ruling NDP would be dealt a crushing defeat.  To ensure that, however, would not only require institutional changes to allow a fully open and free presidential contest, but also to ensure a fresh registration of voters and neutral administration of the electoral process. These changes would need to be implemented fairly quickly to enable a credible and reasonably fair process as soon as September. The first such change will need to be a constitutional amendment to remove the condition that requires a party to have 5 percent of the seats in parliament in order to field a presidential candidate. 

If the September election timetable can be adhered to, the democratic election of a new president of Egypt would be the beginning, not the end, of a democratic transition in Egypt.  The parliament will need to be completely reelected, as the elections of late 2010 were even more farcical and outrageously rigged than previous ones. As a result, the ruling NDP won 81 percent of the seats, and no opposition party won more than a small sliver of seats in an election that at least three-quarters of eligible voters (and probably many more) boycotted. 

A new democratically elected president would thus need to preside over a far-reaching transitional process, which would require the rewriting of the constitution; the reform and renewal of the electoral system, the judiciary, and other government institutions, especially the police; and the training and empowerment of democratic political parties, mass media, and civil society organizations, which have been heavily constrained during the Mubarak era. Egyptians might want to consider the next presidential term as a deliberately transitional and power-sharing government, under a relatively spare interim constitution, while a democratic process of dialogue and deliberation drafted a new permanent constitution. South Africa could serve as a model here; a newly elected democratic parliament could also serve as a Constituent Assembly to draft a new constitution with wide popular participation and consultation.

Forging the rules and institutional arrangements of a transitional period will not be easy. Political stability will require a broadly inclusive process of negotiations that brings all key political stakeholders to the table, and that forges a political pact that ensures the loyalty of the army and security apparatus while gradually renewing its officer ranks and establishing civilian democratic control. No doubt there will be calls for retrospective justice to investigate the many abuses of human rights during the Mubarak era, but the historical experience of other transitions suggest that this task should be addressed with caution and deliberation, in a way that does not drive the surviving elements of the old regime into a posture of resistance and sabotage.

The challenge for the U.S. is to align itself squarely behind Egypt's aspirations for democracy without being so public, clumsy and abrupt in abandoning Mubarak that we provoke an anti-American backlash from among other regional allies. But if we have to choose between rulers and their people, it is time we started choosing the people. We need to quickly develop a strategy and commit new resources to assist Egyptian political parties, non-governmental organizations, civic education groups, and independent media to help them prepare the country for a period of protracted and unprecedented democratic change.

Egypt is entering the end of an era. The exit from power of Hosni Mubarak under pressure of volcanic popular protests will have wide repercussions throughout the Arab world. It will accelerate the momentum of democratic change in the region, and open the possibility of electoral democracy emerging in the Arab world's largest and most influential country. If Mubarak can be induced to exit peacefully and soon, and the way can be paved to a free and credible presidential election in September, the authoritarian exceptionalism of the Arab world may begin drawing to an end.

WASHINGTON - Hours before the judge in the latest Mikhail Khodorkovsky trial announced yet another guilty verdict last week, Russia's most prominent political prisoner was already being attacked in cyberspace.

No, Khodorkovsky's Web site, the main source of news about the trial for many Russians, was not being censored. Rather, it had been targeted by so-called denial-of-service attacks, with most of the site's visitors receiving a "page cannot be found" message in their browsers.

Such attacks are an increasingly popular tool for punishing one's opponents, as evidenced by the recent online campaign against American corporations like Amazon and PayPal for mistreating WikiLeaks. It's nearly impossible to trace the perpetrators; many denial-of-service attacks go underreported, as it's often hard to distinguish them from cases where a Web site has been overwhelmed by a huge number of hits. Although most of the sites eventually get back online, denial-of-service attacks rarely generate as much outrage as formal government attempts to filter information on the Internet.

In the past, repressive regimes have relied on Internet firewalls to block dissidents from spreading forbidden ideas; China has been particularly creative, while countries like Tunisia and Saudi Arabia are never far behind. But the pro-Kremlin cyberattackers who hit Kodorkovsky's Web site may reveal more about the future of Internet control than Beijing's practice of adapting traditional censorship to new technology.

Under the Russian model - what I refer to as "social control" - no formal, direct censorship is necessary. Armies of pro-government netizens - which often include freelancing amateurs and computer-savvy members of pro-Kremlin youth movements - take matters into their own hands and attack Web sites they don't like, making them inaccessible even to users in countries that practice no Internet censorship at all.

Cyberattacks are just one of the growing number of ways in which the Kremlin harnesses its supporters to influence Web content. Most of the country's prime Internet resources are owned by Kremlin-friendly oligarchs and government-controlled companies. These sites rarely hesitate to suspend users or delete blog posts if they cross the line set by the government.

The Kremlin is also aggressively exploiting the Internet to spread propaganda and bolster government popularity, sometimes with comical zeal. Just last summer Vladimir Putin ordered the installation of Web cameras - broadcasting over the Internet in real-time - to monitor progress on new housing projects for victims of the devastating forest fires. This made for great PR - but few journalists inquired whether the victims had computers to witness this noble exercise in transparency (they didn't). Russia's security services and police also profit from digital surveillance, using social networking sites to gather intelligence and gauge the popular mood.

The Kremlin in fact practices very little formal Internet censorship, preferring social control to technological constraints. There is a certain logic to this. Outright censorship hurts its image abroad: Cyberattacks are too ambiguous to make it into most foreign journalists' reports about Russia's worsening media climate. By allowing Kremlin-friendly companies and vigilantes to police the digital commons, the government doesn't have to fret over every critical blog post.

One reason so many foreign observers overlook the Kremlin's harnessing of denial-of-service attacks is that they are used to more blatant measures of Internet control. China's draconian efforts to filter the Internet - characterized by Wired magazine in a 1997 article as the "Great Firewall of China" - harken back to the strict censorship of the airways by Communist governments during the Cold War. Back then it was possible to keep out or at least cut down on the influence of foreign ideas by jamming Western broadcasts. The Internet, however, has proven to be far too amorphous to dominate. So its better to co-opt it as much as possible by enabling private companies and pro-government bloggers to engage in "comment warfare" with the Politburo's foes.

Meanwhile, China itself is quietly adopting many measures practiced in Russia. The Web site of the Norwegian Nobel Committee came under repeated cyberattacks after it gave the 2010 award to the jailed Chinese dissident Liu Xiaobo. Many Chinese government officials are now asked to attend media training sessions and use their skills to help shape online public opinion rather than censor it.

In assessing the U.S. government's Internet freedom policy - announced a year ago by Hillary Clinton - one sees few signs that U.S. diplomats are aware of growing efforts by authoritarian governments to harness social forces to control the Internet. So far, most of Washington's efforts have been aimed at limiting the damage caused by technological control. But even here Washington has a spotty record: Just a few weeks ago the State Department gave an innovation award to Cisco, a company that played a key role in helping China build its firewall.

The eventual disappearance of Internet filtering in much of the world would count as a rather ambiguous achievement if it's replaced by an outburst of cyberattacks, an increase in the state's surveillance power, and an outpouring of insidious government propaganda. Policymakers need to stop viewing Internet control as just an outgrowth of the Cold War-era radio jamming and start paying attention to non-technological threats to online freedom.

Addressing the social dimension of Internet control would require political rather than technological solutions, but this is no good reason to cling to the outdated metaphor of the "Great Firewall."

Evgeny Morozov is a visiting scholar at Stanford University and the author of "The Net Delusion: The Dark Side of Internet Freedom."

The first decade of the 21st century has seen a dramatic reversal of fortune in the relative prestige of different political and economic models. Ten years ago, on the eve of the puncturing of the dotcom bubble, the US held the high ground. Its democracy was widely emulated, if not always loved; its technology was sweeping the world; and lightly regulated "Anglo-Saxon" capitalism was seen as the wave of the future. The United States managed to fritter away that moral capital in remarkably short order: the Iraq war and the close association it created between military invasion and democracy promotion tarnished the latter, while the Wall Street financial crisis laid waste to the idea that markets could be trusted to regulate themselves.

China, by contrast, is on a roll. President Hu Jintao's rare state visit to Washington this week comes at a time when many Chinese see their weathering of the financial crisis as a vindication of their own system, and the beginning of an era in which US-style liberal ideas will no longer be dominant. State-owned enterprises are back in vogue, and were the chosen mechanism through which Beijing administered its massive stimulus. The automatic admiration for all things American that many Chinese once felt has given way to a much more nuanced and critical view of US weaknesses - verging, for some, on contempt. It is thus not surprising that polls suggest far more Chinese think their country is going in the right direction than their American counterparts.

But what is the Chinese model? Many observers casually put it in an "authoritarian capitalist" box, along with Russia, Iran and Singapore. But China's model is sui generis; its ­specific mode of governance is difficult to describe, much less emulate, which is why it is not up for export.

The most important strength of the Chinese political system is its ability to make large, complex decisions quickly, and to make them relatively well, at least in economic policy. This is most evident in the area of infrastructure, where China has put into place airports, dams, high-speed rail, water and electricity systems to feed its growing industrial base. Contrast this with India, where every new investment is subject to blockage by trade unions, lobby groups, peasant associations and courts. India is a law-governed democracy, in which ordinary people can object to government plans; China's rulers can move more than a million people out of the Three Gorges Dam flood plain with little recourse on their part.

Nonetheless, the quality of Chinese government is higher than in Russia, Iran, or the other authoritarian regimes with which it is often lumped - precisely because Chinese rulers feel some degree of accountability towards their population. That accountability is not, of course, procedural; the authority of the Chinese Communist party is limited neither by a rule of law nor by democratic elections. But while its leaders limit public criticism, they do try to stay on top of popular discontents, and shift policy in response. They are most attentive to the urban middle class and powerful business interests that generate employment, but they respond to outrage over egregious cases of corruption or incompetence among lower-level party cadres too.

Indeed, the Chinese government often overreacts to what it believes to be public opinion precisely because, as one diplomat resident in Beijing remarked, there are no institutionalised ways of gauging it, such as elections or free media. Instead of calibrating a sensible working relationship with Japan, for example, China escalated a conflict over the detention of a fishing boat captain last year - seemingly in anticipation of popular anti-Japanese sentiment.

Americans have long hoped China might undergo a democratic transition as it got wealthier, and before it became powerful enough to become a strategic and political threat. This seems unlikely, however. The government knows how to cater to the interests of Chinese elites and the emerging middle classes, and builds on their fear of populism. This is why there is little support for genuine multi-party democracy. The elites worry about the example of democracy in Thailand - where the election of a populist premier led to violent conflict between his supporters and the establishment - as a warning of what could happen to them.

Ironically for a country that still claims to be communist, China has grown far more unequal of late. Many peasants and workers share little in the country's growth, while others are ruthlessly exploited. Corruption is pervasive, which exacerbates existing inequalities. At a local level there are countless instances in which government colludes with developers to take land away from hapless peasants. This has contributed to a pent-up anger that explodes in many thousands of acts of social protest, often violent, each year.

The Communist party seems to think it can deal with the problem of inequality through improved responsiveness on the part of its own hier­archy to popular pressures. China's great historical achievement during the past two millennia has been to create high-quality centralised government, which it does much better than most of its authoritarian peers. Today, it is shifting social spending to the neglected interior, to boost consumption and to stave off a social explosion. I doubt whether its approach will work: any top-down system of accountability faces unsolvable problems of monitoring and responding to what is happening on the ground. Effective accountability can only come about through a bottom-up process, or what we know as democracy. This is not, in my view, likely to emerge soon. However, down the road, in the face of a major economic downturn, or leaders who are less competent or more corrupt, the system's fragile legitimacy could be openly challenged. Democracy's strengths are often most evident in times of adversity.

However, if the democratic, market-oriented model is to prevail, Americans need to own up to their own mistakes and misconceptions. Washington's foreign policy during the past decade was too militarised and unilateral, succeeding only in generating a self-defeating anti-Americanism. In economic policy, Reaganism long outlived its initial successes, producing only budget deficits, thoughtless tax-cutting and inadequate financial regulation.

These problems are to some extent being acknowledged and addressed. But there is a deeper problem with the American model that is nowhere close to being solved. China adapts quickly, making difficult decisions and implementing them effectively. Americans pride themselves on constitutional checks and balances, based on a political culture that distrusts centralised government. This system has ensured individual liberty and a vibrant private sector, but it has now become polarised and ideologically rigid. At present it shows little appetite for dealing with the long-term fiscal challenges the US faces. Democracy in America may have an inherent legitimacy that the Chinese system lacks, but it will not be much of a model to anyone if the government is divided against itself and cannot govern. During the 1989 Tiananmen protests, student demonstrators erected a model of the Statue of Liberty to symbolise their aspirations. Whether anyone in China would do the same at some future date will depend on how Americans address their problems in the present.

The writer is a fellow at the Freeman Spogli Institute for International Studies at Stanford University. His latest book, The Origins of Political Order, will be published in the spring.

On January 18, the Honorable Bob Rae, Liberal Member of Parliament for Toronto Centre and the foreign affairs critic for the Liberal Party of Canada was the featured speaker at a special CDDRL seminar. Rae addressed the Stanford community on the topic of his latest book Exporting Democracy, published in November 2010 by McClelland & Stewart. CDDRL Deputy Director, Kathryn Stoner, welcomed Rae to Stanford and Ben Rowswell, Visiting Scholar and Canadian "diplomat in residence," introduced the distinguished Rae stressing the timeliness of this topic.

This occasion marked the debut of Rae's book to a US audience and drew a sizable crowd interested in learning more about the MP's views on the role of Western powers in statebuilding and democracy promotion efforts abroad. Based on his personal experience engaging in diplomatic missions in Iraq, Afghanistan, Sri Lanka, and across the Middle East, Rae was confronted with the limits of power and democratic ideals in foreign lands.

 His discussion focused on the theoretical and practical analysis of the role of democracy in statebuilding that is the foundation of his argument in Exporting Democracy. Drawing  on the writing of 18th century philosophers, Thomas Paine and Edmund Burke, Rae examined the tensions between natural law and justice versus customs and tradition that continue to dominate the debate in modern day statecraft.

 Rae's experience observing democracy promotion abroad allowed him to recognize the importance of upholding democratic values, while also respecting the idea that democracy cannot be viewed as the "gold standard" for all. "From a Western perspective the debate suffers from the notion that the idea of democracy has emerged as perfectly natural and an automatic assumption of our daily lives. In reality it has generally been accompanied by periods of great conflict and can take hundreds of years to bear fruit as evidenced by the American and Canadian experience."

Rae emphasized that the best way Western countries can promote democracy is by helping other countries develop their own solutions to their own problems. 

Rae's sensitivity to the consequences of Western interventions, his belief in the principles of human rights, and his testimony to the importance of humility and pragmatism in our efforts of statebuilding abroad, offered the Stanford community a new perspective on the effectiveness of the global democracy movement.