On Sunday February 20, Morocco experienced its first encounter with the wave of democratic change that has been sweeping across the Arab world. In each of several major cities, tens of thousands of Moroccans demonstrated for the same kinds of demands that we have seen elsewhere: to replace arbitrary and absolute uses of power with real, open democracy, to end the corruption and clientalism that stifles economic life, and to assert the rights of citizens to be treated with dignity and respect and to have a decent life for themselves and their families. Like these other demonstrations, those in Morocco also give us a glimpse of a new kind of movement -- one that brings together disaffected youth, impoverished working people, Islamists, traditional political dissidents, human rights groups, and others, in a kind of "leaderless" movement without a fixed ideological agenda. Unlike some other movements, the Moroccan demonstrations were predominately oriented toward reform, not overthrow; they did not attack the person of the King or the institution of the monarchy, and - what is most likely to keep them on that path - they were not met with brutal repression.

It would be possible for the regime to ignore what this means - there, after all, is no occupation of a central square to contend with. It would be better, however, for everyone to heed what it means - there is, clearly, a widespread, persistent discontent, affecting a broad swath of the populace. We have only seen the beginning of a process through which that discontent will manifest itself and find its political expression. How things develop from here is not known or predictable, and will depend on how the different forces react and interact going forward, but, in the present context, it is unlikely that expressions of that discontent will simply disappear. 

The welcome lack of bloody conflict has produced a curious uncertainty on both sides, a kind of double-double-bind situation that seems good for everyone: for the movement, the lack of fierce confrontation and overly radical demands helps legitimize the protest, and may make more people comfortable with and in it; but it may also be perceived as a sign of weakness. For the regime, the avoidance of brutal repression redounds to its credit, but it may also embolden the movement and help it grow. Neither side should underestimate the complexity of the pas de deux in which they are now engaged. For the regime, especially, to react with complacency and condescension - treating this movement as something that can either be ignored or absorbed in the usual ways, would be a very risky bet.

Much more productive, and much smarter, would be to heed the message of this movement - which, right now, is nothing else than to recapture the spirit of the new reign of Mohammed VI that the country had twelve years ago, to restart a hopeful process that so many feel has been rudely interrupted and replaced with disappointing new versions of business-as-usual. We started with the Justice and Reconciliation Authority (IER) and a promise of a new era of justice and accountability, and have arrived instead, post-16 May, with new waves of mass arrests, anti-"Islamist" fear-mongering, torture, and rendition [sous-traitance]. We started with a new era of freedom of the press, and have arrived at a state of censorship and legal harassment that has closed much of the independent press, and silenced or driven into exile many of its strongest voices. We began with a promise of economic transparency, and have ended in a state of economic predation, conducted by lobbies and vested interests in the name of the monarchy. We began with alternance, welcoming opposition parties and political dissidents into a new era of open democracy, and have passed through technocratic fixes to arrive at a return to "political normalcy," only to be undermined by ad-hoc commissions. The latest "new" political stratagem is a frankly royalist party, which may accrue more power to the monarchy in the short term, but, by bringing it further down into the arena of day-to-day political infighting, undermines the legitimacy it was recently accorded by all actors.

In short, many feel that the hopes and promises - the very spirit -- of the new reign have been abandoned. This is because they were not subject to a participatory process of constitutionalization and institutionalization, which is the only way that would have become permanent and irreversible. They were instead, once again, left discretionary. The monarchy has not submitted to a new, viable contract with the people. What the movement of February 20 is telling us is that these hopes and promises -- these rights -- can't be discretionary anymore. We have to return to them, and quickly begin a process that people can see is making them fixed and irrevocable. We have, that is, to revive and recast the spirit of the new reign with new urgency -- because there are new actors on the political stage who won't go away. Our nation has been put on notice: Change must and will come, and it will not be top-down anymore.  The commander [commandant de bord] now has a co-pilot, the Moroccan people, who will not fall asleep at the wheel.

How do you effectively advise senior-level policymakers when a political crisis emerges? Stanford students taking the course U.S. Policy Towards Northeast Asia (IPS 244), sponsored by the Walter H. Shorenstein Asia-Pacific Research Center (Shorenstein APARC), are learning and putting into practice these very skills. Over the ten weeks of the 2011 winter quarter, students will learn about contemporary U.S. policy towards Japan, China, and Korea, and about how to write and present policy-style memoranda to top-level government decision makers. They will also take part in an in-class simulation of a Six-Party meeting to negotiate North Korea's nuclear program.

Students cover a great deal of content in a short amount of time. "Ten weeks goes by pretty quickly," says course leader Michael H. Armacost, the Shorenstein Fellow at FSI and a former U.S. Ambassador to Japan and the Philippines. The real-world approach to the course is similar to what you would find in a professional international relations school, he explains. In previous years, Armacost has taught the course both alone and as part of a team with other former U.S. senior-level policy officials. The current course has been offered in the Ford Dorsey Program in International Policy Studies (IPS) for the last three years. It is co-taught with Daniel C. Sneider, the associate director for research at Shorenstein APARC and a former long-time foreign correspondent in Asia; David Straub, the associate director of the Stanford Korean Studies Program and a former U.S. senior foreign service officer; and Thomas Fingar, the Oksenberg/Rohlen Distinguished Fellow at FSI and a former Chairman of the National Intelligence Council.

In addition to providing a strong understanding of the U.S. foreign policymaking process, each week of the course is dedicated to a different aspect of the relationship of the United States with the countries of Northeast Asia, including Taiwan and the Russian Federation. Students will closely examine the history and dynamics between the great powers of the region; U.S. security relations with Japan and China; East Asian regionalism; democratization in South Korea; the North Korean nuclear crisis; and economics and human rights in China.

Although the case studies that the policy-writing exercises are based upon are hypothetical, they are closely tied to real-world issues and events. A previous year's case study dealt with tensions between China and Japan over rival claims to the Senkaku/Diaoyu Islands, anticipating the September 2010 conflict between Japan and China in the waters around these islands. The simulation exercise, another highlight of the course when students have the opportunity to collaborate with one another, is also closely tied to current regional events.

In addition to the rich content of the course and the expertise of its instructors, the diverse background of the students lends itself to the overall learning experience. Some of the students are pursuing a master's degree through IPS or the Center for East Asian Studies, while others come from the Graduate School of Business and various other Stanford units. Each year, there are always a few undergraduate students, who Armacost describes as "very strong," as well as early-career foreign affairs and military officials from Northeast Asia.

Interest in the course remains strong each year, and Shorenstein APARC will continue to offer it in order to provide solid, real-world policy training for the next generation of scholars and government officials.

On February 8, the Program on Human Rights' at the Center on Democracy, Development and the Rule of Law welcomed Madeleine Rees to speak as part of the Sanela Diana Jenkins Human Rights Series. A former UN High Commissioner on Human Rights in Bosnia, Rees now serves as the Secretary General of the Women's International League for Peace and Freedom (WILPF) based in Geneva.

Recounting her experience in the Balkans, Rees described the failure of international organizations to properly consider the role of gender in their work. Specifically, she highlighted the UN and other organizations' inability to control rampant human trafficking in the Balkans. According to Rees, human trafficking continues to undermine women's sense of security and societal rehabilitation efforts. To remedy social insecurity in post-conflict areas, Rees suggested that international projects must comprehensively and collaboratively address the problems in these societies, especially the conditions that the most vulnerable women face.

In this same vein, Rees declared a need for greater collaboration among women's rights NGO's, human rights institutions, universities and activists. She discussed the need to break down the barriers that exist between these stakeholders. She also emphasized the role of universities like Stanford to disseminate information and conduct research that helps organizations like WILPF to succeed. Noting the daunting challenges ahead, Rees concluded by reaffirming her commitment to the fight for human rights, saying, "The good thing about being a naïve idealist is that we don't give up."

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.    

Two decades after the fall of Soviet-bloc dictatorships, popular movements for democracy are erupting in the last regional bastion of authoritarianism: the Arab world.

So far, only Tunisia's dictator, Zine el-Abidine Ben Ali, has been toppled, while Egypt's President Hosni Mubarak - who has ruled that ancient land longer than many pharaohs - announced Tuesday that he will step down in September. But other Arab autocrats are bound to go. From Algeria to Syria to Jordan, people are fed up with stagnation and injustice, and are mobilizing for democratic change.

So, what happens when the autocrat is gone? Will the end of despotism give way to chaos - as happened when Mobutu Sese Seko was toppled in 1997 after more than 30 years in power in Zaire? Will the military or some civilian strongman fill the void with a new autocracy - as occurred after the overthrow of Arab monarchs in Egypt and Iraq in the 1950s, and as has been the norm in most of the world until recently? Or can some of the Arab nations produce real democracy - as we saw in most of Eastern Europe and about half the states of sub-Saharan Africa? Regime transitions are uncertain affairs. But since the mid-1970s, more than 60 countries have found their way to democracy. Some have done so in circumstances of rapid upheaval that offer lessons for reformers in Tunisia, Egypt and other Arab countries today.

Unite the democratic opposition.

When a dictatorship is on the ropes, one thing that can rescue it is a divided opposition. That is why autocrats so frequently foster those divisions, secretly funding a proliferation of opposition parties. Even extremely corrupt rulers may generate significant electoral support - not the thumping majorities they claim, but enough to steal an election - when the opposition is splintered.

In the Philippines in 1986, Nicaragua in 1990 and Ukraine in 2004, the opposition united around the candidacies of Corazon Aquino, Violeta Chamorro and Viktor Yushchenko, respectively. Broad fronts such as these - as well as the Concertacion movement that swept Christian Democrat Patricio Aylwin to power in Chile in 1989 after the departure of Gen. Augusto Pinochet - often span deep personal and ideological differences. But the time for democratic forces to debate those matters is later, once the old order is defeated and democratic institutions have been established.

Egypt is fortunate - it has an obvious alternative leader, Mohamed ElBaradei, whom disparate opposition elements seem to be rallying around. Whether the next presidential election is held on schedule in September or moved up, ElBaradei, or anyone like him leading a broad opposition front, will probably win a resounding victory over anyone connected to Mubarak's National Democratic Party.

Make sure the old order really is gone.

The exit of a long-ruling strongman, such as Ben Ali, does not necessarily mean the end of a regime. Fallen dictators often leave behind robust political and security machines. No autocrat in modern times met a more immediate fate than Romania's Nicolae Ceausescu, who was executed by a firing squad of his own soldiers in 1989 just three days after a popular revolution forced him to flee the capital. Yet his successor, Ion Iliescu, was a corrupt former communist who obstructed political reform. Most of the former Soviet states, such as Georgia and Kazakhstan, had similar experiences.

Countries are much more likely to get to democracy quickly if they identify and embrace political leaders who are untainted by the old order and are ready to roll it back.

But also come to an understanding with the old order.

Victorious democrats won't be able to completely excise the pillars of the authoritarian order. Instead, for their country to turn toward democracy, those pillars must be neutralized or co-opted. This old order may descend into violence when, as in Iraq, broad classes of elites are stigmatized and ousted from their positions. In a successful bargain, most old-regime elites retain their freedom, assets and often their jobs but accept the new rules of the democratic game.

Unless the military collapses in defeat, as it did in Greece in 1974 and in Argentina after the Falklands War, it must be persuaded to at least tolerate a new democratic order. In the short run, that means guaranteeing the military significant autonomy, as well as immunity from prosecution for its crimes. Over time, civilian democratic control of the military can be extended incrementally, as was done masterfully in Brazil in the 1980s and in Chile during the 1990s. But if the professional military feels threatened and demeaned from the start, the transition is in trouble.

The same principle applies to surviving elements of the state security apparatus, the bureaucracy and the ruling party. In South Africa, for example, old-regime elements received amnesty for their human rights abuses in exchange for fully disclosing what they had done. In this and other successful transitions, top officials were replaced, but most state bureaucrats kept their jobs.

Rewrite the rules.

A new democratic government needs a new constitution, but it can't be drawn up too hastily. Meanwhile, some key provisions can be altered expeditiously, either by legislation, interim executive fiat or national consensus.

In Spain, the path to democratization was opened by the Law for Political Reform, adopted by the parliament within a year of dictator Francisco Franco's death in 1975. Poland adopted a package of amendments in 1992, only after it had elected a new parliament and a new president, Lech Walesa; a new constitution followed in 1997. South Africa enacted an interim constitution to govern the country while it undertook an ambitious constitution-writing process with wide popular consultation - which is the ideal arrangement.

An urgent priority, though, is to rewrite the rules so that free and fair elections are possible. This must happen before democratic elections can be held in Egypt and Tunisia. In transitions toward democracy, there is a strong case for including as many political players as possible. This requires some form of proportional representation to ensure that emerging small parties can have a stake in the new order, while minimizing the organizational advantage of the former ruling party. In the 2005 elections in Iraq, proportional representation ensured a seat at the table for smaller minority and liberal parties that could never have won a plurality in individual districts.

Isolate the extremes.

That said, not everyone can or should be brought into the new democratic order. Prosecuting particularly venal members of a former ruling family, such as those tied to the Philippines' Ferdinand Marcos, Indonesia's fallen strongman Suharto or now Tunisia's Ben Ali, can be part of a larger reconciliation strategy. But the circle of punishment must be drawn narrowly. It may even help the transition to drive a wedge between a few old-regime cronies and the bulk of the establishment, many of whom may harbor grievances against "the family."

A transitional government should aim for inclusion, and should test the democratic commitment of dubious players rather than inadvertently induce them to become violent opponents. However, groups that refuse to renounce violence as a means of obtaining power, or that reject the legitimacy of democracy, have no place in the new order. That provision was part of the wisdom of the postwar German constitution.

Transitions are full of opportunists, charlatans and erstwhile autocrats who enter the new political field with no commitment to democracy. Every democratic transition that has endured - from Spain and Portugal to Chile, South Africa and now hopefully Indonesia - has tread this path.

Fragile democracies become stable when people who once had no use for democracy embrace it as the only game in town.