Hugo Chávez has been widely discussed—and debated. Unlike most other Latin American countries, Venezuela did not fall prey to military authoritarianism in the heady decades of the 1960s and 1970s. A two-party democracy held sway, but was marred by cronyism and corruption. The prevailing calm ended in 1989, with riots sparked by an economic austerity program. There was a loss of 200 lives, and a loss, too, of credibility for the political regime. Officers led by then–Lieutenant Colonel Hugo Chávez attempted a coup d'état, but were foiled and arrested. An unrepentant Chávez emerged from prison with enough of a name for himself to run for president—on a campaign to end corruption, but pledging, too, to press for the election of a constituent assembly to write a new constitution for the country. His victory in the December 1998 elections was more than a triumph for him; it was a stinging indictment of Venezuela's democracy. Established political leaders and institutions had lost such a degree of legitimacy that an outsider, and, indeed, one who had attempted to use violence to seize control of the state, was elected.

Chávez suggested that a new beginning was necessary for Venezuela and, invoking the country's hero from independence, Simón Bolívar, coined the term “the Bolivarian Revolution,” which he would champion, and which he said would bring to Venezuela “socialism of the twenty-first century.” Chávez was a loquacious orator, and he offered heaping criticism of Venezuela's established political and economic institutions—and actors. He also criticized the United States, reviving the discourse of “el imperialismo yanqui.” With his combative tone, he was inspiring to millions of poor—and even middle-class—Venezuelans, and also to many outside the country.

Intellectuals, including those in the United States and Europe, were quick to classify Chávez as being on the “left.” His ascendancy to the presidency of Venezuela was held to be part of a widespread “leftward” shift in Latin American politics, as reflected in the electoral victories of Evo Morales in Bolivia, Luiz Inácio “Lula” da Silva in Brazil, Rafael Correa in Ecuador, Daniel Ortega in Nicaragua, and Michelle Bachelet in Chile. Numerous analyses focused on Latin America's increasingly radical orientation in economic and social policy, as well as in international affairs. Books emerged with such titles as The New Latin American Left: Utopia Reborn (by Patrick Barret, Daniel Chavez and Cezar Rodriguez-Garavito, 2008). Chávez was the most visible leader—and for many the most inspiring—of this reported swing to the left. A biography written by Bart Jones was published with the title Hugo: The Hugo Chávez Story from Mud Hut to Perpetual Revolution, 2008. He was the protagonist in films, too, such as Chávez: The Revolution Will Not Be Televised. Many scholars at prominent academic institutions both within Latin America and outside the region publicly embraced the purported swing to the left in Latin America, and of Chávez in particular, as a route to progressive change.

With the passage of just a few years, perceptions have changed. Some held to be on the left, such as Lula and Bachelet, appeared more pragmatic than anything else. Recent elections in Latin America have gone the way of “centrists.” And, just as importantly, there has been a reassessment of those held to be firmly on the left—especially of Chávez. There are two important questions: 1) What kind of political regime has emerged in Venezuela? 2) And what are the initial results of the efforts at social and economic transformation in Venezuela?

The question concerning how Venezuela fares socially and economically has yet to be answered with a rigorous, impartial, and empirically driven analysis. Macro-economic data are worrisome. The all-important oil industry—state run—has seen a decline in output from 3.5 million barrels a day before Chávez to 2.6 million barrels today. Venezuela and earthquake-devastated Haiti were the only two countries in Latin America to see their economies contract in 2010. Perhaps, as Chávez contends, the poor majority of Venezuela nonetheless has materially benefited from his tenure, but there is no reliable data to buttress the claims. Research is needed.

On the other hand, the question as to what kind of political regime has emerged in Venezuela—and how—has been carefully, exhaustively, and persuasively answered by Allan R. Brewer-Carías. It is fitting that his empirical study is so different from earlier books that verged on hagiography. Brewer-Carías, a law professor and former senator in Venezuela, has followed closely the evolution of the Chávez regime, writing and publishing extensively on legal minutiae. Indeed, the book is a summation of his writing about the novel era of Chávez.

The author details how Chávez has dismantled democracy by legal subterfuge under the cover of socialist rhetoric. His book is comprised of 15 chapters, an introduction, and a closing essay entitled, “Final Reflections.” The text is descriptive, with a matter-of-fact tone. The chapters are organized in chronological fashion, covering the tumultuous period between 1999 and 2009. It is a mere decade, but as Brewer-Carías shows, so much happened in Venezuela, all driven by “politics.” He is clear that the saga is far from over; still, he asserts, sufficient nefarious legal wrangling has taken place to dismantle Venezuela's democracy.

Brewer-Carías's bald thesis is that Venezuela's constitution—the political rules—have been systematically refashioned to ensconce Chávez in power. Democracy has been used to dismantle democracy, and to install authoritarianism in its place in a new guise, one that has a protective shield—the law. The first step to subvert democracy came in 1999, with the forced convening of a constituent assembly—not established in the reigning constitution as a valid means of constitutional reform—through a referendum to place the “will of the people” over the constitution itself. A newly elected Constituent Assembly imposed itself over the legislative and judicial branches, being subservient itself only to the president of the republic—Chávez. A new constitution emerged, one that greatly undermined democratic principles, above all the separation of state powers. Instead, power became increasingly concentrated in the presidency.

As the nature of the Chávez regime unfolded, the opposition was frustrated. Nearly all opposition groups boycotted the August 2005 elections, giving Chávez a political windfall—near complete control over the legislature. He won reelection in December 2006. The next month, taking advantage of his own reelection, and, especially, of his dominance of the National Assembly, Chávez asked legislators for “special constitutional powers via an enabling law” to rule by decree on a broad range of issues. Authority was quickly granted, and he used it to do such things—previously not legally possible—as to nationalize the telecommunication industry. In August 2007, he proposed additional legal changes, including measures to reorganize the government and “redefine” private property. Laws increasingly were passed for specific political purposes. For example, in early 2009, a series of new laws included a bill to strip the opposition mayor of Caracas of much of his authority and resources. And for himself and his allies, Chávez pushed through a constitutional amendment ending term limits for all elected officials. Legal authority is potent—and he knows it. He has been extraordinarily skillful in using “the law” to entrench himself in power. Yet, as Brewer-Carías convincingly demonstrates, Venezuela is no longer a democracy. And instead of “socialism of the twenty-first century,” Venezuelans got a nineteenth-century dictator with a red beret.

Brewer-Carías does not situate his discussion of Venezuela in a theoretical framework. He does not even draw fragmentary parallels to other cases. His book is a case study, albeit a very good one. The theoretical implications of Chávez's regime, though, are clear. A country's constitution cannot be taken as a “given,” as simply providing a neutral arena in which political actors seek to maximize their self-interest. A cunning political actor may begin by refashioning the arena for personal gain, hiding the bid with some kind of high-minded rhetoric. The arena—the “rules of the game” for the conduct of politics—is itself “the stuff” of politics. Brewer-Carías's sober legal account of Chávez's tenure reminds us of the importance of constitutional law, now out of fashion as a subject for students of politics. We would do well to revisit the scholarship of Carl Friedrich, whose monumental book, Constitutional Government and Politics, was first published in 1937 (with a revised edition published in 1946).