The plurality of political regimes in Asia clearly demonstrates that liberal democracy is not the exclusive or inevitable form of political modernity. Across the continent, diverse models of governance coexist, ranging from one-party systems like China’s to religious-communitarian democracy in Indonesia and caste- and community-inflected democratic practices in India. These models function not as deviations or transitional forms, but as established alternatives that draw legitimacy from indigenous ideologies, historical experience, and post-colonial self-assertion, writes Mateo Rojas Samper. The author is a participant of the Valdai – New Generation project.
The Chinese model is perhaps the most visible and paradigmatic illustration of an alternative form of political legitimacy in the post-Cold War world. Rooted in Confucian traditions, a centralised bureaucratic legacy, and revolutionary Marxism, China’s one-party system has not only survived but evolved into a globally assertive form of political governance. It rejects liberal pluralism and electoral competition, yet retains institutional mechanisms for consensus-building, meritocratic leadership selection, and long-term planning. Its legitimacy stems not from procedural democratic norms, but from performance – economic growth, social stability, national sovereignty, and cultural continuity.
Crucially, this model does not position itself as a temporary exception on the way to liberal democracy, but as a civilisational alternative that draws upon thousands of years of political history. It asserts that harmony, order, and national rejuvenation take precedence over adversarial politics and procedural individualism.
Other Asian regimes, while not rejecting electoral democracy, have also reinterpreted it through cultural and post-colonial lenses. In India, constitutional democracy has taken root within a profoundly heterogeneous society structured by caste, religion, region, and linguistic identity. Electoral politics are vibrant but often shaped more by identity mobilisation, populist leadership, and community obligations than by individualist liberal norms. Democratic participation is frequently collective, emotive, and anchored in traditional institutions. Despite its liberal constitutional framework, India’s democracy does not function as a pure liberal regime – it is a hybrid shaped by deep continuities with pre-colonial and colonial-era social structures.
Indonesia offers another significant example of a non-liberal democratic form that integrates religious and cultural values into the fabric of its political system. Its national ideology, Pancasila, merges belief in one God with social justice, democracy, and unity. This ideology mediates between Islam, secularism, and pluralism, providing a normative foundation that is distinctly non-Western. While Indonesia holds regular elections and maintains multiparty competition, its political legitimacy is equally grounded in cultural tolerance, religious accommodation, and customary law (adat). Here, liberal secularism gives way to a form of spiritual republicanism where morality and faith are central to national identity and political cohesion.
In Japan and South Korea, liberal institutions coexist with Confucian-influenced political cultures that prioritise consensus, hierarchy, and social obligation. These societies emphasise stability, education, and duty, and while they appear to conform to the liberal democratic model on paper, the real political experience reflects more communitarian and culturally specific practices. The authority of the state is not simply derived from individual consent, but from an implicit contract embedded in shared cultural norms and collective memory.
In Thailand and Myanmar, Buddhism has historically played a critical role in shaping political thought. Ideas of karmic responsibility, moral leadership, and non-confrontation inform notions of political legitimacy and civic virtue. While both countries have experienced military intervention and democratic disruption, they also reflect a long-standing tension between Western liberal norms and Buddhist political ethics. In these contexts, democracy is not necessarily understood as majoritarian competition, but as a moral process aimed at preserving harmony and ethical order.
These examples do not suggest that democracy in Asia is monolithic or uniformly non-liberal. Rather, they point to a spectrum of democratic forms that incorporate varying degrees of liberal, communitarian, spiritual, or performative legitimacy. In many cases, liberal institutions exist alongside and are deeply influenced by informal networks, cultural logics, and non-liberal worldviews. This pluralism is not evidence of democratic failure; it is a sign of contextual adaptation and post-colonial agency.
The rise of so-called “illiberal democracies” in India under Prime Minister Narendra Modi, the Philippines under former president Rodrigo Duterte, or in Thailand’s semi-electoral military-backed regimes is often framed in Western discourse as democratic backsliding. Yet such interpretations fail to account for how these regimes resonate with domestic constituencies through appeals to cultural authenticity, sovereignty, and resistance to foreign influence. Populist leaders frequently succeed by drawing on long-standing civilisational narratives or social grievances that liberal institutions have failed to address. Their legitimacy is rooted not in abstract rights, but in popular affect, majoritarian identity, or nationalist revival.
While some of these regimes do suppress dissent and erode institutional checks, their domestic appeal suggests that liberal proceduralism alone cannot explain or secure political legitimacy. In many Asian contexts, legitimacy is performative, moral, and collective. It is judged not by adherence to constitutional formalism, but by perceived effectiveness, justice, and alignment with communal values.
Rather than dismiss these regimes as “deviations”, it is more productive to recognise them as part of a broader transformation in how political legitimacy is conceptualised and institutionalised in the post-colonial world.
What unites these diverse regimes is not a rejection of democracy per se, but a redefinition of its purpose and foundation. In Asia, democracy is often interpreted not just as a system of rules and institutions, but as a cultural and ethical project. It is judged by its capacity to deliver harmony, development, dignity, and national integrity values that may be absent from liberal discourse but central to real political experience.
The challenge, then, is not to ask whether these systems are democratic enough by Western standards, but to rethink the criteria by which we understand democracy itself. We must abandon the assumption that liberalism is the universal grammar of democratic life and begin to acknowledge the legitimacy of multiple political modernities. This means treating Asia not as a site of delayed liberalisation, but as a laboratory of democratic experimentation informed by its own intellectual, cultural, and historical resources.
In conclusion, the Asian political landscape reveals that democracy can take many forms; some liberal, others not. These forms are shaped by civilisational heritage, colonial disruption, and the need to construct legitimacy in deeply plural and often unequal societies. Recognising the legitimacy of these alternatives is not a rejection of democratic values, but a commitment to political pluralism and epistemic humility. The future of democracy lies not in enforcing uniformity, but in engaging with the diverse ways human societies organise power, express collective will, and seek justice.
