Europe, the USA and Political Islam: Strategies for Engagement

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Europe, the USA and Political Islam

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Europe, the USA and Political Islam Strategies for Engagement Edited by

Michelle Pace Senior Lecturer, Department of Political Science and International Studies, University of Birmingham, UK

Editorial matter, selection and introduction © Michelle Pace 2011 All remaining chapters © respective authors 2011 All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No portion of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, Saffron House, 6-10 Kirby Street, London EC1N 8TS. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The authors have asserted their rights to be identified as the authors of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published 2011 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN Palgrave Macmillan in the UK is an imprint of Macmillan Publishers Limited, registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS. Palgrave Macmillan in the US is a division of St Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010. Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies and has companies and representatives throughout the world. Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States, the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries. ISBN 978–0–230–25205–9 hardback This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully managed and sustained forest sources. Logging, pulping and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Antony Rowe, Chippenham and Eastbourne

Contents

Notes on Contributors

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1 The EU, US and Political Islam: An Introduction to Strategies for Engagement Michelle Pace

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2 EU Democracy Promotion Rethought: The Case of Egypt Aletta Norval and Amr Abdulrahman

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3 EU, Political Islam and Polarization of Turkish Society Emel Akçalı

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4 Democratization in Iran: A Role for the EU? Shabnam J. Holliday

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5 Challenging Preconceptions: Women and Islamic Resistance Maria Holt

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6 Democracy Promotion in the Context of an Occupied Nation? The Case of Palestine Michelle Pace

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7 The Islamism Debate Revisited: In Search of ‘Islamist Democrats’ Abdelwahab El-Affendi

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8 The Politics of ‘Religious Tolerance’ in Post-Communist Albania: Ideology, Security and Euro-Atlantic Integration Odeta Barbullushi

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9 America’s Freedom Dilemma for the Middle East: Interests or Democracy? Oz Hassan

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10 Conclusion Shabnam J. Holliday

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Index

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Notes on Contributors Amr Abdulrahman is a PhD candidate in the Department of Government, University of Essex, UK. He is a co-editor of the Arab journal Al-Bousla: Sawt Democrati Jazri (The Compass – a Radical Democratic Voice, http//:bosla.org). His research focuses on the critical approaches to the study of democratization and human rights promotion in the Middle East. He is currently writing his PhD thesis, ‘The Universal Human Rights Discourse and the Making of Political Claims in Egypt’, under the supervision of Dr Aletta J. Norval. He has published a number of journal articles in Arabic and two articles in English, ‘Egypt’s NonIslamic Opposition in 2006: a Crisis of the Opposition Parties or a Crises of Liberal Democracy’, in Chaimaa Hassabo and Enrique Klause (eds), Chroniques Egyptiennes de 2006 (2007), and ‘The Youth Participation in the Anti-Mubarak Protests: Between the Real and the Symbolic’, in Lina Atallah (ed) The AUC’s Economic and Business History Chronicle (2007). Emel Akçalı received her PhD in Political Geography at Paris IV-Sorbonne University, France. She is currently an Assistant Professor at the International Relations and European Studies Department of the Central European University in Budapest. She has written on geopolitical representations, ethno-territorial conflicts and the critical mechanisms leading to their resolution, the development of non-Western and alter-globalist geopolitical discourses, the (trans-)formation of national identities in the age of globalization and the EU’s promotion of democracy at its peripheries. Her publications include a study of the geopolitics of the Cyprus conflict, Chypre, un enjeu géopolitique actuel (L’Harmattan) and articles in Antipode, the Annals of American Geographers, Geopolitics and the Cyprus Review. Odeta Barbullushi received her PhD in Russian and East European Studies from the University of Birmingham, UK. Her research examines the relationship between democratization, national identity and foreign policy in post-communist Albania. She is currently writing on the limitations of the EU democracy promotion efforts in the Western Balkans in general and Albania in particular. Her wider interests include nationalism and liberalism in the Balkans and the Mediterranean, poststructuralism, the construction of political identities and the vi


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transformation of space and social change in post-communist countries. She is Head of Department of Political Sciences and International Relations at the European University of Tirana. Abdelwahab El-Affendi (FRSA) is a reader in Politics at the Centre for the Study of Democracy, University of Westminster, UK, and coordinator of the Centre’s Democracy and Islam Programme. He is also currently an ESRC/AHRC Fellow in the RCUK Global Uncertainties Programme (http://www.rcuk.ac.uk/research/ccprog/security.htm). He was member of the core team of authors of the Arab Human Development Report (2004), and member of the steering committee of the ‘Contextualizing Islam in Britain Project’, and co-author of the report Contextualizing Islam in Britain (2009). His books include Who Needs an Islamic State? (1991, 2nd edition 2008), Turabi’s Revolution: Islam and Power in Sudan (1991), Rethinking Islam and Modernity (2001), For a State of Peace: Conflict and the Future of Democracy in Sudan (2002) and The Conquest of Muslim Hearts and Minds: Perspectives on U.S. Reform and Public Diplomacy Strategies (2005). He has also contributed to a number of books and leading journals. He has worked as a pilot, a magazine editor, and diplomat. He was the 2006 recipient of the Muslim News Allama Iqbal Award for Creativity in Islamic Thought and is a Fellow of the Royal Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Science and Manufacture (RSA). Abdelwahab El-Affendi is also member of the Advisory Board of Prince Al-Waleed bin Talal Centre for the Study of Islam in the Contemporary World (University of Edinburgh), and member of the Board of Directors of InterAfrica Group (Addis Ababa) and the International Foundation for Islamic Dialogue (London). Oz Hassan is a research fellow in the Department of Politics and International Studies at the University of Warwick, UK. He is currently part of the European Union funded FP7 programme EU-GRASP and is authoring his forthcoming monograph, in the Routledge Studies in US Foreign Policy Series, entitled Constructing America’s Freedom Agenda for the Middle East: Between Democracy and Domination. He is also a co-founding editor of the British International Studies Association (BISA) magazine International Studies Today and has been a special edition guest editor for the International Journal of Human Rights. Dr Hassan has also recently finished a British Research Council Fellowship in the John W. Kluge Center, at the United States Library of Congress, Washington DC, and has published multiple articles and

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reports on American and European counter-terrorism strategies and efforts to promote democracy. Shabnam J. Holliday is a lecturer in International Relations at the University of Plymouth, UK. She received her PhD from the Institute of Arab and Islamic Studies, University of Exeter. She is the author of Defining Iran: Politics of Resistance (forthcoming) and her articles include ‘The Politicisation of Culture and the Contestation of Iranian National Identity in Khatami’s Iran’, in Studies in Ethnicity and Nationalism (2007) and ‘Khatami’s Islamist-Iranian Discourse of National Identity: A Discourse of Resistance’, in the British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies (2010). Her current research examines the relationship between political identity and democracy and the role of political identity in international relations in the Middle East, and in Iran in particular. She is currently working on two interrelated research projects. The first is the relationship between Iran’s construction of political Islam and democracy and the role of anti-imperialism in democratization in Iran. The second builds on her doctoral research by looking at how discourses of national identity during Ahmadinezhad’s presidency relate to earlier discourses. Maria Holt is a senior lecturer in the Department of Politics & International Relations, University of Westminster, UK. Her main areas of research are Muslim Arab women and violent conflict, Palestinian refugee women in Lebanon, and debates around democracy and Islam. She is currently working on a book entitled Women and Islamic Resistance in the Arab World. Aletta Norval is Reader in Political Theory and Director of the Doctoral Programme in Ideology and Discourse Analysis in the Department of Government, University of Essex, UK. She is also Co-Director of the Centre for Theoretical Studies in the Humanities and Social Sciences. Her publications include Aversive Democracy. Inheritance and Originality in the Democratic Tradition (Cambridge University Press, 2007), and Deconstructing Apartheid Discourse (Verso, 1998). She is co-editor of South Africa in Transition: New Theoretical Perspectives (Macmillan, 1998) and Discourse Theory and Political Analysis: Identities, Hegemonies and Social Change (Manchester University Press, 2000). She has written widely on democratic theory, post-structuralism and contemporary political theory, South African politics, theories of ethnicity, feminist theory and the construction of political identities. She is currently working on a book on Rancière and Cavell.


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Michelle Pace is Senior Lecturer at the Department of Political Science and International Studies, University of Birmingham, UK. From April 2007 until March 2009 she was Principal Investigator (PI) on a two-year British Academy large research project on Arab Mediterranean perceptions on democratization, and since February 2008 she has been PI on a three-year ESRC First Grant Scheme large research project on Paradoxes and Contradictions in EU Democracy Promotion Efforts in the Middle East (www.eumena.bham.ac.uk). She is the founder and convenor of the BISA working group on International Mediterranean Studies as well as the research group on EU democracy promotion efforts in the Middle East. Her publications include The Politics of Regional Identity: Meddling with the Mediterranean (Routledge, 2006); Conceptualizing Cultural and Social Dialogue in the Euro-Mediterranean Area: A European Perspective (co-editor, Routledge, 2007); The European Union’s Democratization Agenda in the Mediterranean: A Critical Inside-Out Approach (editor, Routledge, 2009); ‘The Construction of EU Normative Power’, in Journal of Common Market Studies (2007); ‘Norm Shifting from EMP to ENP: The EU as a Norm Entrepreneur in the South?’, in Cambridge Review of International Affairs (2007), and ‘Paradoxes and Contradictions in EU Democracy Promotion in the Mediterranean: The Limits on EU Normative Power’, in Democratization (2009).

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1 The EU, US and Political Islam: An Introduction to Strategies for Engagement Michelle Pace

Background Much attention has been paid to whether Islamist movements are truly committed to democracy. Moreover, there has been an increasing focus on so-called ‘moderate’ Islamists with whom the West can engage. Although there is a lot of debate about the need to bring Islamists into a dialogue about democracy, democracy promotion and political reform, very few efforts have been devoted to ideas about what this would mean in practical terms: Who are the most appropriate actors on both sides to take part in any engagement strategy? What issues should be prioritized in discussions? And indeed, what can European Union (EU)/American policymakers do if Islamists themselves are unwilling to engage? This book is a study of the attempts by Western governments and external actors, in particular the United States (US) and the EU, to develop meaningful political relations with, or in the term currently in use, ‘to engage with’ Islamist movements in the Middle East and the Balkans. Theoretical and overview chapters are balanced by case studies of Egypt, Palestine, Lebanon, Albania, Turkey, Iran, Iraq and Afghanistan. The chapters draw on extensive research on Islamist parties and movements and Western policy towards them, over the past decade or more. The contributors to this edited volume examine the ‘nuts and bolts’ of engaging with Islamists. These include the constraints on such engagement, such as the lack of agreement between the West and Islamists on political agendas, strategies of authoritarian regimes to exclude Islamists from the political process and Islamists’ suspicions of real American and European motives behind their democracy promotion agendas. Where efforts at engaging with Islamists exist, the uncoordinated, incompatible 1

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The EU, US and Political Islam: An Introduction to Strategies for Engagement

and divergent policies of American and European governments are also taken into account. Islamists today are major political forces in their respective Middle Eastern societies and although US and European policymakers do not generally acknowledge these forces, they recognize that engagement is important. Do the people of the Middle East themselves believe that the US and the EU can play a positive role in dealing with Islamists? Do Americans and Europeans see shared opportunities to engage with Islamists and in which issue areas? What types of practical programmes can take advantage of these opportunities? How would engagement affect Islamists’ attitudes towards the US and Europe, and towards political reform in the region? Many of these debates about religious parties or movements and the political realm usually focus on democratization in the Arab world but exclude fascinating examples such as Albania, Turkey and Iran, which also have to grapple with the role of religion in politics. Disagreements between modernists and traditionalists are also present in such cases. Moreover, the reality in the contemporary Islamic world, the wider Middle East and the Balkans shows that any attempt at pushing for political reform requires a recognition that all actors in play need to be engaged with. Islamist movements are part and parcel of this reality and therefore have to be talked to, listened to, questioned and so forth. The engagement with political Islam in debates about democracy promotion cannot be complete without consideration of the Islamic Republic of Iran and its relationship with external actors like the EU. The West is clearly engaged, to a considerable extent, with Iran on the nuclear issue but apparently has no role in the ongoing political debates within the country itself. This case thus requires an awareness of the key issues of concern to the West, such as security. This volume also explores a related issue: how the EU’s democratization process has created polarization within its target countries, as the case of Turkey exemplifies. Furthermore, it is important to distinguish between Islamist groups and the efforts and aspirations of individuals involved in such groups. Some of these individuals are women and their activities call into question assumptions about the monolithically male character of Islamism. Context is also very important in discussions about the potential of engaging Islamists in the democracy debate. The case of Palestine is an exceptional one in this regard, in that the Palestinians inhabit occupied territory and most policymakers work on the basis that this ‘state’ is an illusion or a pseudo-state. From the external actors’ point of view, EU/US democracy promotion efforts in the region in recent years have been vague at best and

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counter-productive at worst, to the extent that Islamists are no longer interested in engaging with outsiders for fear of losing support and legitimacy within their own political constituencies. This being the case, should the EU and other Western policymakers start being more hardheaded about what issues they engage on? It is all well and good to talk about how to encourage democracy in the Middle East region and neighbouring countries, but any engagement strategy would also have to grapple with the difficult questions around the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, authoritarianism, corrupt practices, political reform and terrorism – all problems that affect the probability of regimes in the Middle East becoming more ‘democratic’. And what does this mean for policy – should Western governments reach out to all manner of Islamist groups, or are there still red lines for engagement? Will recent shifts at the rhetorical level lead to anything substantive? These are the main issues that this book addresses.

Introduction This edited volume brings together a number of scholars from the wider Middle East, the Balkans, Western Asia and Europe to elucidate precisely what democracy means for the people in these regions. All contributors take issue with the proposal that the EU and the US must engage with Islamist movements if they wish to play a role in these contexts. In the first conceptual chapter, Aletta J. Norval and Amr Abdulrahman elaborate on the ethos of democracy and contesting conceptions of democracy, which they see as problematic areas in the democracy debate. They argue that democracy simply cannot be reduced to a question of procedures and institutions. Instead, the focus should and must be on the practice of the articulation of claims as well as on the constitution of forms of democratic subjectivity in the articulation and contestation of claims. They develop an argument for the consideration of the needs fostered by such expectations which sustain and embed the normative force of democratic practices. Norval and Abdulrahman argue that democracy has to be liberalized and liberalism has to be democratized. What must be the focus of international actors like the EU and the US is the right of people to contest the conditions under which they are governed. People, they argue, know what they want and it is therefore their political practices that need to be sustained. Norval and Abdulrahman further elucidate that the EU’s and the US’s agendas are not liberal democracy. They therefore insist on the need for political imagination because alternatives are possible. The EU and the US need

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to recognize, moreover, that there are consequences to their external actions. The authors also argue that one does not set out to promote an ethos: one can support an ethos as it develops in a particular context. What is needed is a focus on what spaces within societies are available through which possibilities for critical engagement and the development of a critical imagination emerge. This conceptual chapter is further enriched through a case study focus on Egypt. The authors highlight how the EU’s relations with supposedly democratic voices in this case are marked by a striking imbalance: a strong relation with the Egyptian secular forces as opposed to minimal if any contact with the major albeit outlawed opposition group in Egypt, the Muslim Brotherhood. The declared reasons for this strategy refer to preconceived notions of the Brotherhood’s stance concerning issues such as women and minority rights, even though the Brotherhood announced its intention to abide by democratic principles. In the other case study chapters that follow, the various contributors challenge similar pre-held conceptions about Islam and democracy (Abdelwahab El-Effendi), the role of women in Islam (Maria Holt) and problems with the American (Oz Hassan) and EU models of promoting democracy outside their own borders (Emel Akçalı, Shabnam J. Holliday and Michelle Pace) by shedding light on diverse cases including Turkey (Emel Akçalı), Albania (Odeta Barbullushi), Iran (Shabnam J. Holliday), Lebanon (Maria Holt) and Palestine (Michelle Pace). In her chapter Emel Akçalı critically scrutinizes the EU’s democratization process in Turkey. In so doing, she interrogates whether the EU’s democratization process, at least in the way that it has been conducted so far, has created the basis for a genuine pluralism and a well-functioning democracy to flourish or whether it has rather been further complicating the already complex Turkish internal dynamics, leading to polarization within the society. She emphasizes how the political Islamist party in Turkey has had an instrumental understanding of democracy and has not worked for a genuine democracy to flourish. Akçalı also underlines that the EU gave its full support to this political power at the beginning since such power is perceived as conforming to the neo-liberal understanding that prevails in the EU. The chapter also critically investigates whether the political polarization that exists in Turkey today is indeed between the ‘statist-Westernizing’ elite and the people or whether it is actually among the people. Additionally, she critically assesses the EU’s project in Turkey and puts forward suggestions for more productive democratization efforts. Finally, she concludes by shedding light on the broader implications of the Turkish case for the EU

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democratization efforts and its efforts at engaging with political Islam. The main suggestion of Akçalı’s chapter is that in the democracy promotion field, the EU does not really care whether a political power is Islamist or not, but does care when it is neo-liberal, at least in its actors’ perceptions. Shabnam J. Holliday first provides two examples of how democracy is defined in Iran and shows how these ideas of democracy – Islamic democracy and secular democracy – have come from within the Islamic Republic of Iran. It is also shown that anti-imperialism is embedded in the meanings attached to democracy in Iran. She then examines the relationship between the EU, Iran and democratization during Ahmadinezhad’s presidency through an analysis of the Peace and Democracy Discourse articulated during Ahmadinezhad’s first term and the dynamics surrounding the tenth presidential election in June 2009. It is argued that the domestic politics and the call for democratic practices are intrinsically linked with external factors, as demonstrated in the international community’s approach to Iran regarding the nuclear issue and awareness among members of the democracy movement of Western interference in Iran’s domestic affairs historically. Furthermore, the issue of human rights is a key factor in this relationship. By looking at the EU’s response to the human rights issue alongside their response to Iran’s nuclear issue, she illustrates that the EU’s position toward Iran is contradictory. Finally, the chapter concludes that if external actors wish to enable the democracy movement, they need to be aware of the resistance in Iran to the West and what the democracy movement actually demands. Maria Holt argues that European policymakers and publics could benefit from a closer understanding of the dilemmas being experienced by Arab women caught up in violent conflict. Focusing on two case studies, she further contends that like some men in their societies, many Palestinian and Lebanese women express pride in their respective resistance movements: some also voice anxiety about the growing militarization or Islamization of society, the distorted nature of their struggle with Israel, the evident bias of the West, and the continuing negative impact of violence on themselves and their families. This chapter draws upon theoretical perspectives on women and conflict, and Islamist movements in the Middle East, and is augmented by fieldwork conducted by the author in the two areas. Sticking to the case of Palestine, Michelle Pace examines perceptions of the EU’s role and impact on democracy building in the case of an occupied nation. The chapter builds on extensive fieldwork carried

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out by the author in Palestine during September 2007 among various academics, representatives of NGOs, political party activists and parliamentarians (including Islamists) and journalists. Underlying this focus is the assumption that perceptions of what the EU does in the Middle East are very much driven by how actors in the region perceive what the EU represents as an international actor, particularly in contrast to the United States. Since the 2006 elections in Palestine the EU has lost the credibility and legitimacy it had built in the region up to then. Although some subjects still welcome some engagement by the EU in democracy building, most actors in Palestine reflect increasing mistrust in the EU’s real intentions in the Middle East by the general populations. There is, for instance, deep suspicion in Palestine as to whom the EU targets for receipt of its funding for ‘democracy building’. Some Palestinian NGO representatives, in particular, are perceived as either pursuing the US and the EU’s agendas or as using the funding to retain their own power positions in their respective societies and thus for their self-enrichment. The key finding of this chapter highlights a general agreement amongst most subjects that the EU would do better to focus on the Palestinian people’s real basic needs and political rights. After the negative legacy of the George W. Bush administration in the Middle East, the EU is once again left with a golden opportunity to make an impact, by listening more to the people on the ground in Palestine and the Middle East more generally. Such talks should include Islamists. Turning to the search for ‘Islamist Democrats’, Abdelwahab El-Effendi argues that incumbent regimes in the Middle East have proved unable and unwilling to move forward in the political reform direction in a satisfactory way. Quite the reverse, in fact; regimes have been punishing successful political entrepreneurs, whether Islamist or liberal, and continue to stifle civil society. Moreover, the inability of Islamists to act blocks the path of reform and provides authoritarian regimes with sufficient excuses not to discharge their duties in promoting positive change. The solution, for El-Effendi, is for Islamists to adopt a more flexible stance so as to build broader democratic coalitions that could push reform forward (that is, ‘Islamist democrats’). Furthermore, the EU and other international actors need on their part to be more flexible and imaginative in their approach, embracing and encouraging these new democrats wherever they emerge, and must stop backing dictators. Odeta Barbullushi investigates the politics of religious tolerance in the context of Albania. She suggests that the meanings attached to ‘religious tolerance’, as well as its functions, can be best grasped by a contextual reading of the security discourse of the main political elites in Albania’s

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post-communist period. She further argues that the identity narrative of ‘religious tolerance’ has played the role of a myth, which forges the sense of coherence, unity and continuity after moments of ‘structural dislocation’. Alongside post-structuralist theorists of discourse analysis, Barbullushi understands the concept of ‘myth’ as an identity which is sedimented to an extent that it becomes a political imaginary and incorporates a large number of social and political demands. Like the liberal discourse ‘politics of no adversaries’, the myth of ‘religious tolerance’ denies the possibility of conflict or difference. Yet, religious conflict is simulated to provide both the necessary conditions as well as the consequences of the liberal discourse of reconciliation. This chapter is an attempt to forestall the possibility of such simulation, by way of revealing the specific conditions of formation and inherent contradictions in the ‘religious tolerance’ discourse. Barbullushi focuses on the subtle ways in which EU integration influences inter-societal dynamics. In this respect, the chapter both shares the same ethical concern as Emel Akçalı’s and departs from it (and Holliday’s too), by criticizing the divide between the domestic/external nexus. Thus the logic of the EU’s dominant discourse of democracy and statehood necessitates the construction of internal threats and internal enemies to the ‘no adversaries paradise’. Finally, but not least, the last case study chapter sheds light on how, since the aftermath of September 11 2001, the United States has increasingly began to question its diplomatic engagement with authoritarian regimes in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region. Oz Hassan argues that, as a result, President George W. Bush began institutionalizing a freedom agenda, based on a self confessed ‘hopeful ideology called freedom’, which has been inherited and pursued by the Obama administration. This chapter seeks to evaluate this continuity to reveal how the US has pursued a democratization strategy for the Middle East, but also to critique this policy to reveal why the policy has not worked and how an alternative strategy should be pursued. He further argues that rather than engage with ‘Islamist groups’, the Bush administration sought to marginalize them by institutionalizing the Freedom Agenda, with its policy emphasis on the modernization thesis. Hassan reads this strategy as a social engineering project aimed at generating more liberal, secular, middle class sectors of MENA societies, which were in turn assumed to turn out to be more pro-American and amenable to the pursuit of American interests than their Islamic alternatives. He concludes that the Freedom Agenda was thus just as imperialist as the policies that preceded it.

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Notably this chapter reveals how the US is caught between a dilemma of promoting democracy and pursuing other key national interests in the region. The result of this is a confused set of policies that attempt to balance America’s long-term economic and security concerns with the desire to spread a form of democracy that reinforces American domination of the region. Notably this relies on a bizarre and often inconsistent understanding of essentially contested concepts such as freedom and democracy, which reveals a policy that does not promote democracy in and of itself, but rather political reforms in the region that will suit American interests. This has forced both (the Bush and Obama) administrations to carefully design their policies to legitimize some regional actors, whilst excluding others, which ultimately undermines alternative voices coming from the region. From this framework it is apparent that much of the American rhetoric about a radical new approach to US-MENA relations is a façade. This is all the more concerning given the US’s increasing desire to involve the EU in its strategy. Thus, all the contributors to this edited volume share the belief that the conceptual puzzles of democracy need to be opened up for continuous debate. They highlight how this debate is a lively and ongoing one, more so in the Middle East, Western Asia and the Balkans perhaps than in Europe and the US. Furthermore, they emphasize that in Europe, as well as in the US, there is a disposition among policymakers not to question the model of democracy that has worked to bring peaceful relations in these continents. Rather, this unquestioned model is taken as the model to export to other regions, including the Middle East and the Balkans. Moreover, Western democracy promotion efforts are often framed in procedural ways, with a key focus on elections and institutions. The chapters thus question the legitimacy of democracy as a concept as well as the West’s promotion of a particular form of democracy and label the EU and the US as problematic external actors. They further highlight the geopolitical aspect of democracy promotion, with the West instrumentalizing democracy promotion to secure and guarantee its own security. The volume concludes that perhaps the issue is one of the global hierarchies of power which undermine any realities on the ground. In the concluding chapter, Shabnam J. Holliday argues that if it is democracy that the EU and US want to achieve through their engagement in the cases examined here, then the analyses presented in this volume shed an important light on the need for both these external actors to make a conceptual shift in how they understand democracy outside their borders.

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Democracy in an Islamic context is an evolving concept. This volume highlights some of the ongoing debates about the reinterpretation of Islamic Democracy in the context of modern and postmodern realities. It is very important to distinguish between Islamic groups since there are many diverse voices in political Islam. The issue of contestation also needs to be questioned. At the time of writing, there have been some announcements from EU member state governments as well as the US with regard to plans for direct or indirect talks with Islamist movements such as Hizbullah and Hamas, which have not renounced violence and maintain an armed wing alongside the political one. The idea of engaging even with ‘moderate’ elements of the Taliban has been discussed by both the government of Afghanistan and of the United States. These are interesting developments in the EU/US-Middle East political realm but the contributors to this volume advise caution, as the suggestion of dialogue with Islamist movements appears speculative at best.

2 EU Democracy Promotion Rethought: The Case of Egypt Aletta Norval and Amr Abdulrahman

Introduction The European Union’s (EU) policy of promoting democratic reforms in the Middle East is the subject of a growing theoretical and political interest.1 The dominant interpretation of this policy tends to portray the EU as a normative power with the objective of socializing the region around a set of global processes and universal principles, including trade and economic liberalization, the rule of law and peaceful resolution of armed conflicts. On this view, active promotion of these policies and principles will secure European interests of combating Islamic radicalization and controlling illegal migration, as well as satisfying the desire of southern Mediterranean countries for greater integration into the global economy. As is the case with other contributions in this volume, in this chapter we argue that while this self-proclaimed vision may help to open up new channels for public debate in the region, in the long run it may also serve to curb the cultivation of a democratic ethos. Portraying the EU as a naturally democratic actor means that the intense internal debate about EU policies at home is often obscured and the transplantation of such policies abroad is represented as a normal, positive development. This vision also risks a reduction of democracy to a set of constitutional and institutional arrangements with consensus building as its end-point. In line with the theme of this book, we argue in this chapter that a careful reading of the EU’s official stance demonstrates that the EU institutions tend to neglect, or at best lack responsiveness to the vast majority of the democratic struggles that question the efficiency and justice of the EU-supported policies in the fields of economic liberalization and conflict resolution. Public protests against the liberalization of public services in Egypt and Morocco, and 10

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widespread opposition to a number of peace initiatives in the context of the Palestinian/Israeli conflict are illustrative examples. In these cases, the EU ends up feeding into the same discourse as that of the entrenched authoritarian regimes that portray these movements as ‘symptoms of anti-modernization sentiments’. Given this, we argue that there is a need to embark on a radical aspect change,2 one that problematizes the EU vision of itself as an external normative actor. A number of critical voices propose that we rather think of the EU in the region as an internal actor that is caught in different webs of power struggles that continuously shape and deform its policies and programmes. Seen from this perspective, the issue is no longer one of whether the EU is doing enough to promote democracy, but whether it is acting in line with a democratic ethos or not. We argue that only by opening itself up to the democratic ethos of questioning and debating can the EU contribute to the democratization of the region. We will illustrate this argument by focusing on the European strategy of promoting democracy in Egypt. Our findings are based on a textual analysis of the documents that regulate the bilateral relations with Egypt and an investigation of the democracy promotion programmes that are conducted by the European Commission (EC). Finally, we will conclude by mapping out some policy implications that the proposed aspect change may bring about. Before turning to the Egyptian case, we will outline the understanding of democracy promotion as it is present in the discourse of the EU.

Liberal democracy in context: practices of governance It is ironic that – at the very moment the theory and practices of contemporary representative democratic institutions are lamented to be inadequate, causing widespread disaffection as well as apathy; at the very moment that political theorists are imaginatively exploring alternative ways to supplement existing representative institutions – the EU is still so ready, with what amounts to an almost missionary zeal, to argue for the export and promotion of the very institutional forms that are subject to extensive criticism and questioning as to their adequacy from a democratic point of view. Contemporary democratic theory is replete with attempts to supplement the existing institutions of representative democracy. These include citizens’ juries and consultative forums of various sorts aiming to include ‘mini-publics’. The main reasons for seeking to develop such alternatives are the perceived lack of legitimacy of electoral

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EU Democracy Promotion Rethought: The Case of Egypt

institutions; the distance of these institutions from the voters they are supposed to represent; the consequent loss of interest in the normal, ongoing, regular practice of elections; and the inability of these institutions to represent the concerns of younger voters and issues considered to be marginal to the electoral process. In short, there is a lot of talk of a crisis of these representative institutions. In this context the EC’s unquestioningly optimistic portrayal of the need to promote democracy in the accession process as well as in its external relations appears curious and calls for further exploration. This tension is amplified in the different attempts to promote liberal democracy across the globe. Before illustrating this point with reference to Egypt, let us turn for a moment to the EU document ‘Furthering Human Rights and Democracy across the Globe’. Through the European Instrument for Democracy and Human Rights (EIDHR), operating with an annual budget of some 140 million euros,3 the EU seeks to enhance ‘respect for human rights, and fundamental freedoms and the protection of human rights defenders worldwide’ (European Commission, 2007, p. 17). It also seeks to: Pay particular attention to activities relating to the EU guidelines on human rights issues and strengthening of civil society. It will seek to promote fundamental rights in countries and regions where they are most at risk . . . support the international framework for the protection of human rights, the rule of law and justice, and the promotion of democracy. Confidence in democratic electoral processes will continue to be built through further development of electoral observation. (Ferrero-Waldner in European Commission, 2007, p. 3) The reasons for the promotion of human rights (HR) and democracy are clearly spelt out: Human security, democracy and prosperity can only be achieved in societies where fundamental human rights are respected. Humanity will not enjoy security without development; it will not enjoy development without security; it will not enjoy either without respect for human rights. (Ferrero-Waldner in European Commission, 2007, p. 3) Human rights, it is argued, are important because they ‘reinforce human dignity and allow individuals to reach their full potential’; ‘respect


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for human rights creates peaceful and stable societies’; ‘states with respect for human rights make more reliable international partners’; and there can be ‘no peace without human rights, no development without human rights – and vice versa’ (European Commission, 2007, p. 5). The range of activities funded by the EIDHR (2002–6) includes projects that fall into the following categories: ‘promoting justice and the rule of law’; ‘fostering a culture of human rights’, including HR education and awareness raising, torture prevention and rehabilitation of victims, marginalized or vulnerable groups; ‘promoting the democratic process’, including good governance, strengthening of civil society, freedom of expression, freedom of association and developing democratic electoral processes; ‘advancing equality, tolerance and peace’; and finally, ‘conflict prevention’ (European Commission, 2007, p. 6). We will not discuss here the wide range of tools the EU uses to achieve these objectives. However, it is noteworthy that ‘organisations of civil society’ are singled out as playing a crucial role in ‘monitoring human rights and democratic reform processes in all parts of the world’ and are therefore ‘actively involved in the implementation of EU human rights and democracy policy’ (European Commission, 2007, p. 15). The EU views these organizations as particularly well placed to ‘defend fundamental freedoms, which form the basis of all democratic processes’. Work with these organizations also offers the advantage of ‘independence of action, allowing for the delivery of assistance without the need for government consent’. Crucially, this also offers ‘more flexibility and capacity to respond to changing circumstances’ and to ‘support innovation’ (European Commission, 2007, p. 19). Two initial comments on this project are necessary. The first concerns the need to promote democracy elsewhere and the role of the EU in this process and the second, the particular conception of democracy that is being promoted. Regarding the former, Pace notes that ‘by including democracy promotion in its external relations policies towards the [Middle East and North Africa] MENA, there is an implicit understanding in the EU that political change in the MENA is somehow external to this region’ (Pace, 2010, p. 4). Quite apart from the fact that the EU explicitly acknowledges its instrumental reasons for promoting democracy – including the view that it makes for more peaceful neighbours – there is a more important issue at stake here. As Pace observes, this presumption starts from the prejudice that democracy is absent in the region, and then proceeds to promote not only democracy, but a particular conception of democracy. Before turning to the latter, it is worthwhile to pause for a moment to consider the imperative of the promotion of

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democracy as such. This promotion follows in the wake of a long history of other projects promoted by European states. These states have a history of ‘promoting’ and exporting their conceptions of state formation, constitutional arrangements, as well as ‘free trade’. We follow Tully and Foucault in thinking of these processes in terms of practices of governance, extended around the world by formal and informal imperial means (Tully, 2008b, pp. 196–7), proceeding through an assumption of ‘imperial right’ (Tully, 2008b, p. 210). The EU project of democratization could be read in a similar light as a mission to foster and install practices of governance in the style of an ‘imperial right’. The EU appears as the embodiment of these values on the international scene. It tends to socialize its neighbours with the imperatives of human rights and rule of law. According to this vision, while influencing the practices of governance in the neighbour countries, the EU is essentially a monolithic external actor with essentially different socio-political characters. It should be noted that we use the term ‘governance’ in a sense that goes beyond its conventional meanings. Following Foucault, Tully characterizes practices of governance as ‘forms of reason and organisation through which individuals and groups coordinate their various activities’ (Tully, 2008a, p. 25). On this account, relations of power – ‘by which some individuals or groups govern the conduct of other individuals or groups, directly or indirectly, by myriad inequalities, privileges, technologies and strategies’ – are also relations of governance. Such practices are always accompanied by practices of freedom through which the rules of the game can be modified and contested by those subject to them. Tully situates his reading in a historical context, noting the broad seventeenth-century use of the terms ‘governance’ and ‘government’ – referring to multiple and overlapping ways of governing individuals and groups – as well as the subsequent narrowing of these terms to refer to formal public practices of governance of the representative democratic, constitutional nation-state (Tully, 2008a, p. 21). Political philosophy has excluded and ignored all those wider relations of governance through which individuals and groups are subjected and constituted as actors and political agents. Our suggestion is that approaching the democracy promotion agenda through this lens enables us to see how the myriad of practices deployed to foster a concern with human rights and democracy are always practices that already govern, direct, limit and seek to shape relations among individuals, groups and subjects. In this regard, EU democracy promotion can be situated in a network of transnational governance practices understood in the previous sense. Of course, these practices of governance are always open to contestation, although this


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is not to deny that some of them may be much more difficult to contest successfully.4 Hence, this analysis points to a critical engagement with the possibilities of challenging and contesting the democracy promotion agenda as it stands, so as to truly democratize it all the way down. (We return to this conception of radical democracy below.) There is no one settled historical resolution to this tension that lies at the heart of the concept of democracy. There are only historicized arrangements that depend on existing power relations in a specific historical moment. That is why William Connolly considered democratic politics as ‘a site of tension or productive ambiguity between governance and the disturbance of naturalized identities. It thrives only while this tension is kept alive’ (Connolly, 1993, p. 208). This brings us to the second point concerning the EU’s democratization agenda. It is widely recognized that the first aspect of democratic practice, that is the one of governance, trumps the practices of freedom in the democracy promotion programmes. Even proponents of the EU’s democracy promotion agenda abroad admit the fact that European donors fund more work on human rights than on the political elements of democracy promotion. According to Richard Youngs: European donors target governance for their greatest support. The EC defines its approach to governance as being about ‘increasing participation’ in development policies as an alternative to a direct focus on systemic political change. The goals are ‘sound management of public affairs’ and local ownership, and assistance is provided only where state authorities have asked for help. The largest chunk of governance aid goes to the African Peer Review Mechanism secretariat. (Youngs, 2008, p. 166) Youngs and others tend to explain this imbalance by reference to the lack of consensus among EU member states on the democracy promotion agenda.5 While this explanation is partially true, it never questions the model of democracy that is being promoted as a possible source of this policy deficit. In contrast, we argue that the model of democracy that is being promoted by the EU has a tendency to subsume what Youngs called ‘the political elements of democracy’ under the imperatives of the governance practice. As already noted, the EU’s agenda proposes a particular form of democracy, that is a liberal, representative form of democracy, which is associated with a vibrant civil society in conjunction with all the features ‘normally’ associated with democracy and its promotion: regular,

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free and fair elections; freedom of speech; respect for human rights; and the rule of law, to name only the most prominent of these features. These features, although they accord with what most commentators today would agree are the key features of any democratic order, are nevertheless historically specific. It has long been recognized, particularly by radical democrats, that liberal democracy is but one form or embodiment of democratic practices, and one that is not without its tensions. However, this is not a view held by all theorists of democracy. On the contrary, dominant theorists of deliberative democracy, such as Habermas, reject both the idea that there is a tension between liberalism and democracy, and that we should think of liberal democracy in terms of a historical articulation between two distinctive traditions.6 In contrast to this view, theorists like Macpherson, Bellamy, Mouffe and Laclau have long argued that we need to be aware of the historical tensions between the traditions of liberalism (rights) and democracy (popular sovereignty) since a lack of awareness of these tensions might also blind us to the extent to which, in contemporary liberal democracies, the liberal tradition has tended to trump democracy. (This remains the case in deliberative conceptions of democracy.) Hence, both theoretically and politically these theorists have argued that it is necessary to challenge this uneven relation and to democratize liberalism (even as we also need to liberalize democracy). To be blind to the irresolvable tension between these historico-political traditions is to risk uncritically accepting our contemporary practices as the only form they may legitimately take. This was already recognized by C.B. Macpherson well before the genealogical turn in political theory. In The Life and Times of Liberal Democracy, he argued that historical comparison was crucial to sensitize us to the particularity and historical specificity of what we hold to be universal and unchangeable. As he puts it, ‘The simple reason is that using successive models [of democracy] reduces the risk of myopia in looking ahead. It is all too easy, in using a single model, to block off future paths; all too easy to fall into thinking that liberal democracy, now that we have attained it, by whatever stages, is fixed in its present mould’ (Macpherson, 1977, p. 7). This, indeed, remains the task for us today, for without this historical sensibility we are unable to critically engage with what appears to be an unchallengeable good: the promotion of liberal democracy as if it is democracy tout court. Hence, what is presented as the normal, fully developed and only conceivable, true and legitimate form of democracy is in fact a historically specific articulation between liberalism and democracy. Not only does the EU promote a specific conception of democracy as if it is a universal,


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the particular foci of the EU’s project further narrow down even this restrictive conception of democracy to a concern with elections, on the one hand, and human rights on the other. In so doing, it risks a ‘race to the bottom’, reducing democracy promotion to the monitoring of elections and the need to institute human rights legislation. There clearly is nothing wrong with arguing for and putting into place the mechanisms for free and fair elections. Neither would anyone want to oppose the emphasis on human rights and their protection. However, there is a problem if in the process democracy is reduced to a concern only with periodic elections and with human rights legislation. Both these features of the promotion strategy emphasize procedures and legislation, erasing the deeply political character of democracy in the process. Treating democracy as a matter merely of formal rules and procedures – we have democracy (and the same goes for human rights) where the correct procedures are in place, inscribed in the constitution – entirely neglects the fact that democracy, at root, consists of an ethos of questioning. The expression ‘the dead letter of the law’ here is a stark reminder of the risks of an overly proceduralized conception of democracy, of thinking of democracy on the model of lawmaking rather than as a matter of political activity. As in the case of the term ‘government’, it is useful to remind ourselves that a similar trajectory is traceable with respect to democracy. The term ‘democracy’, Tully argues, ‘which formerly stood for any ad hoc assembly of people in negotiation, came to be associated with “representative democracy” in the late eighteenth century by “ingrafting” . . . representation upon democracy’ (2008a, pp. 155–6, emphasis added). The process of transforming ‘democracy’ into ‘representative democracy’ historically displayed features not dissimilar to what we are witnessing today. Prior to the eighteenth century, ‘democracy’ as a term was used routinely ‘as a term of abuse to refer to the “people” assembling together and demanding a direct voice in the specific manner in which they were governed’; democracy was condemned as ‘popular, contentious’ and as ill-suited to modern conditions (Tully, 2008b, p. 55).7 This Macpherson characterized as a particularly liberal fear of the masses. Hence, if anything, rather than democracy being associated inherently with the ‘West’ there are leading trends in European and Western thought against democracy (Tully, 2008b, p. 117). A similar situation is at play today, when we are witnessing the unwillingness of European states and the USA to acknowledge the outcomes of democratic elections in Gaza and elsewhere. This, Pace argues in her chapter in this volume, has caused the EU to lose credibility and legitimacy in Palestine.

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To conclude this part, the EU’s approach to promoting democracy has been marked by two dimensions: a reproduction of Europe’s image as a normative power that promotes democratic values by virtue of what Tully called ‘imperial right’ and, at the same time, a tendency to subsume democracy under the imperative of installing stable and functioning governments. As a result, EU policies seeking to promote democracy tend to converge with a number of authoritarian regimes’ agendas of ‘catching up’ with a liberalized global economy and inscribing order in their polarized polities. A not dissimilar process is at work in Turkey where, as Akçalı argues in this volume, EU support for antiestablishment forces has had the paradoxical effect of furthering levels of polarization rather than simply encouraging pluralization. We will illustrate the effect of these two dimensions in practice by engaging in more detail with a specific case: that is, the case of Egypt.

The European conception of democracy promotion in practice: insights from Egypt Since the declaration of the G8’s initiative of the Broader Middle East and North Africa in 2004, democracy promotion has become a crucial theme in European foreign policy towards the Southern Mediterranean, including Egypt.8 Democracy promotion efforts cut across the different tracks that regulate the EU’s relations with Egypt. Egypt ratified its Association Agreement with the EU in 2004. This agreement sets out the legal framework of relations between the two countries. It is rather general and spells out the principles of future cooperation. It includes the famous clause No. 2 that none of the actions between the two entities should go against the principles of democracy and human rights. This clause exists in similar agreements that the EU has with other entities and is widely known as ‘the essential clause’. The Association Agreement was followed by adopting a joint Action Plan in the framework of the new European Neighbourhood Policy (ENP) in 2007. The ENP is an attempt to incarnate the successful enlargement experience to bring about political and economic reforms in neighbouring countries using accession to the EU as an incentive. Obviously, joining the EU is not possible in the case of Egypt, but more free trade with Europe or freedoms of movement are amongst encouraging incentives for these southern neighbours (Emerson and Youngs, 2009). Unlike the Association Agreement, the Action Plan is more detailed and it determines areas of action and specific objectives. The first chapter of the plan spells out in detail the objectives in the field of democratic reforms and human


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rights promotion. The follow-up on these objectives takes place through joint sub-committees that observe the developments in each of these sectors as well as an association council that is held annually at ministerial level. The EC produces quarterly and annual reports that investigate whether Egypt is acting in line with its commitments stipulated in the Action Plan. These are key reports as they encapsulate the EC’s view on developments in the country. In light of the reports’ findings and the dialogue in the subcommittees, the EC drew up its Strategy Paper. This includes the EU’s own vision of the required action to help Egypt fulfil its commitments in the Action Plan. The Strategy Paper informs the Indicative Programme, which in turn specifies in more detail the areas of European actions and allocates the budget for the programming phase for next 5 years’ time that gets revised and updated in the middle period. The final track of promoting democracy in Egypt is the EIDHR. This is a relatively independent instrument. An annual ad hoc assessment of the context in the country defines the EIDHR themes for the year. The first dimension of the democratic practice has been dominant while pursuing democracy promotion in the region. The different international initiatives of political reforms subsumed the calls for democratic reforms under the imperatives of human development and governance reform. As noted earlier, here democracy is represented as a set of arrangements that will foster public participation in the reform process, the objectives of which are defined in advance as ‘catching up with globalization’.9 In other words, democracy is understood as a means to an end, with consensus building as its ultimate objective. Interconnected to this vision, the EU appears as the embodiment of these values on the international scene. It attempts to socialize the region with the imperatives of human rights and rule of law (Van Houtum and Pijpers, 2008).10 For example, ratifying a set of founding human rights declarations is a precondition of moving from one stage of the relation into another. As such, the EU’s self-interest is hooked up into a universal human rights discourse – a clear corollary with Tully’s notion of ‘imperial right’. Nevertheless, as we have already pointed out, the internal tensions in the practices of governance between the logic of conformity and that of aversion cannot be fully settled. A careful revision of EU projects in the country demonstrates that other views on democracy have never been absent from these founding documents. The dominance of one aspect of democratic practice does not mean that the other aspects are completely ruled out. A careful look at the indicative programmes,

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different programmes and EIDHR projects demonstrates an understanding of democracy that is not reduced to its institutional and procedural aspects. Some of these programmes focus on combating the culture of police officers’ impunity in a context marked with four decades of entrenched authoritarianism. For example, the EU (in the context of the EIDHR’s macro projects 2007–2010) supports a project for the ‘Management and Rehabilitation of Victims of Torture in Egypt’ conducted by the El-Nadim Centre for the Rehabilitation of Victims of Violence. The project includes a wide range of contestational practices that are not revealed by its name, such as the challenging of official reports about deaths in detention centres, the public defaming of police officers accused of practicing torture, and using institutions like the office of the Prosecutor General to contest governmental reports on the status of prisons and detention centres.11 Moreover, the El-Nadim Centre itself was not officially registered as an NGO with the Ministry for Social Solidarity. The Centre tried to evade the legal constraints imposed on registered NGOs by establishing itself as a Public Clinic. It is significant that the unclear legal position of the Centre did not stop the EC from supporting it. Other organizations, such as the Cairo Institute for Human Rights Studies, that are in a similar legal position to El-Nadim, managed to obtain EU funding. The Cairo Institute is also a member of the Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Network (EMHRN)12 but it is registered as a local branch of an international organisation, not as a local NGO. Having said this, it is clear that the contentious conception of democracy is far from being dominant. We will examine this point in further detail in the following part.

The impact of the model’s internal contradictions The above-explained conception of democracy deployed in the Egyptian context imposes strict limitations on EU calls for democratic reforms. These limitations are clear on two levels of EU action: the policy or strategy level and the level of programmes or projects. Due to the dominance of this conception, EU institutions are isolated from the sites of democratic practice, and unable to react to most of the authoritarian measures that it criticizes. Even attempts to support rising democratic struggles are usually subverted into programmes aiming at modernizing governance techniques in accordance with the regime’s priorities. We shall move to a concrete discussion of this rather abstract judgment. As for the policy level, the EU’s communication with different groups on the Egyptian political spectrum is marked by a striking imbalance. While the EC and the member states engage in continuous dialogue


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with marginal liberal or secular forces, the EU famously refrains from any direct contact with Islamist movements, especially the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood. The latter is the major, yet outlawed, opposition group in the country. Although the group managed to achieve remarkable electoral success by winning 20 per cent of the People’s Assembly seats (the lower chamber) in the ballot of 2005, EU contact with the group is still limited to its parliamentary bloc. Ironically, it is common knowledge that the group’s parliamentary bloc is not the most influential wing inside a strictly centralized group where decision-making power is concentrated in a number of limited key bodies, such as the Guidance Bureau and the Political Bureau. Moreover, EC visits to the Muslim Brotherhood parliamentarians’ offices are rather rare and they usually end up with the two sides engaging in formal or general talks (Kausch, 2009, p. 10).13 The declared reasons for this policy concern the Muslim Brotherhood’s stance on the ArabIsraeli conflict as well as its ambiguous line on women and minorities rights (Brown et al., 2006). So far, the group refuses to endorse the 1979 peace treaty between Egypt and Israel that led to the establishment of full diplomatic relations between the two countries. It also maintains strong connections with Hamas in the occupied territories (see also the chapters by Pace, Hassan and El-Affendi in this volume). Indeed, Hamas was founded, and is still widely perceived, as a local branch of the International Organization of the Muslim Brotherhood. The Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt adopts the hard line of Hamas not only concerning negotiations with Israel, but also concerning internal reconciliation with the Palestinian Authority in Ramallah and the moderate movement Fatah, both headed by Mahmoud Abbas. The similarity of the political stances was clear during the last Israeli incursion into Gaza during December 2008/January 2009. The Muslim Brotherhood adopted a rather harsh line accusing Mubarak’s regime, along with other Arab regimes, of colluding with the Israeli campaign. The Egyptian government’s policy of tightening the security measures at the crossing of Rafah, the only non-Israeli borderline between Gaza and the world, with a declared objective of controlling arms smuggling, is a typical target of the group’s furious criticism.14 Meanwhile, the group’s platform, which it declared on 25 August 2007, includes worrying signals. According to the platform, the right to run for the presidential elections is exclusively limited to Muslim males. Women and Copts were ruled out as ineligible.15 In addition, the platform suggested the establishment of a Supreme Religious Scholars Council to ensure the compatibility of the Parliament’s legislations with the principles of the Sharia.

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However, while it is true that the group’s view is still ambiguous on many questions, it has repeatedly denounced violence and announced its intention to abide by democratic principles. Kausch argues that there is a kind of consensus among European officials that an ambiguous stance on democracy cannot be a valid reason to reduce contacts with the major opposition group in the country. However, this internal consensus has not yet managed to change the reluctant position of some member states (Kausch, 2009, p. 11).16 Moreover, the EU’s reaction to the continuous crackdowns on the group is similarly confused. The trial of 50 key leaders of the group before an exceptional Military Tribunal in 2007 is a striking example.17 The case ended with sentences of between 3 and 10 years of imprisonment without the possibility of challenging the ruling before the higher courts. Although the EC took note of the case in its quarterly and annual reports, it did not take concrete action to condemn the procedure. The negative impact of the EU’s strategy concerning the Islamists becomes clearer if we compare the EU’s reactions to the crackdown on the Muslim Brotherhood with its reaction to similar violations against liberal forces or Civil Society activists. This is particularly clear in the case of Dr Ayman Nour, a leader of a liberal party and a former candidate in the presidential elections of 2005. The latter was sentenced for 5 years after being charged for ‘falsifying the approving signatures needed to license the party’. The pressure exercised by the European Parliament and a number of liberal and Christian democratic European parties led to an early release of Nour in 2009, followed by an official reception for him at the European Parliament!18 The above-mentioned confusion is not limited to the case of Islamist forces. Indeed, the EU is similarly isolated from a wide range of democratic struggles that erupt outside the formal political spectrum or the NGOs’ milieu. The wave of public sector workers’ strikes and the various parallel social protests that reached their peak throughout the years 2007–2008 are the most striking examples. These waves of protests erupted as a response to the new phase of economic liberalization that started in 2004, the date of appointment of the government of Dr Nazif in office. These protests, which varied from general strikes to silent sit-ins in front of governmental agencies, have put economic liberalization measures as well as the long-established ways of claimmaking into question. In the case of the public sector, the corporatist style of Trade Unionism, inherited from the Nasser era, has been widely discredited. Calls for independent and democratic Trade Unions have been brought back to the forefront after more than five decades


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of crushing the independent Egyptian labour movement. An ethos of questioning, contesting and negotiating is struggling with the clientalistic politics that dominate the workplace (Beinin, 2007).19 In a number of rural areas, especially during the strikes of the Al-Mahalla Spinning and Weaving Mill in 2007, women have actively participated in these wide protests challenging conventional rules about women’s public activism (Beinin, 2007; Beinin and Hamalawy, 2007; see also the discussion of women’s struggles in Lebanon and the Palestinian territories in the chapter by Holt in this volume). As such, the spaces of struggle against the new economic policies have become the sites of cultivating democratic subjectivities and a democratic ethos. Even so, EU official reports tend either to neglect these protests or to render them symptomatic of the regime’s authoritarian character. In both cases, these struggles are usually represented as signs of a dangerous tendency towards more polarization in an already disordered polity. They are never thought of as struggles that aim to question policies and as a popular wish to cultivate alternatives. The last ENP progress report for 2008 is an interesting example. The report adopts a technical/factual language while reporting the Al-Mahalla strike and the violent confrontation that accompanied it. Strangely enough, the report does not include a word about the demands of the strikers. It holds the Egyptian government responsible for the situation for not guaranteeing the right to strike in line with the ILO’s recommendation (ENP Annual Progress Report, 2008, p. 8). While it is definitely true that the current legislative framework imposes strict limitations on the right to strike, these limitations were not the causes of the strike itself. The strike erupted to address specific grievances related to wages and additional payment systems in the public sector in a context marked by rapid transition towards a market economy. The EU’s stance on these demands is not known. In this regard, while the EC and the member states may adopt social programmes that tend to alleviate the negative impacts of the new economic policies, the logic of the policies themselves has never been questioned. Consequently, in a number of instances the EU ends up acting against the calls coming from sectors of Egyptian civil society, its major partner in the field of democracy promotion. The ongoing debate concerning the new legislation on health insurance can serve as an illustrative case. The governmental plan to embark on partial liberalization of health insurance is supported and funded by the EC. The EC pledged an amount of 88 million euros in the context of the Health Sector Policy

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Support Programme (HSPSP). Strengthening fiscal measures, comprehensiveness, transparency, sustainability and effectiveness of the health sector and the restructuring of a financially sound sector-wide health insurance system are among the priorities of the programme.20 Such a step has led to widespread opposition among various actors including a number of the EU’s civil society beneficiaries.21 These groups have embarked on different measures of public contestation to bloc the new legislation proposal, including obtaining a ruling from the Administrative Court that deemed the governmental decision to transform the National Authority for Health Insurance into a holding company unlawful.22 The EU has never embarked on any kind of consultation with these bodies. Nor has it tried to integrate their demands into its joint project with the government. Other cases like EU-Egyptian cooperation in the fields of immigration policies and liberalization of trade can stand as additional illustrative examples. Moreover, the EU’s reaction to the crackdowns on a number of protest leaders, who are not affiliated with the government-leaning trade unions, has been similar to its reaction to the crackdowns on the Muslim Brotherhood: reluctant, sceptical or almost absent. Ironically enough, the EU has repeatedly denounced the extension of the state of emergency, yet it did not react to the use of Emergency Law against three leaders of the Al-Mahala Mill’s second strike in 2008.23 This is not to mention less visible forms of intimidation that are practiced against leaders of strikes in their workplaces. In practice, these self-imposed limitations lead EU policies of democracy promotion to converge with the government’s vision on democratization; one that subsumes it under the imperatives of ‘modernization’. It is not far from the truth to argue that the history of Egypt during the last century is marked by the modern state apparatus’ quest to widen the domain of modern practices of governance to include a wide range of actors and institutions that were not initially included. Implicit in this process is a vision of an organic society that is able to assimilate and find a place for every newcomer, ranging from productive women that contribute to the development of the whole society, to active workers and a disciplined working force, and above all the ‘modern citizen’ who identifies with the nation state and who is endowed with a set of rights of citizenship (Ali, 2002; Beinin and Lockman, 1998; Mitchelles, 2002). However, these rights are exercised against communal authorities that are still entrenched in their old positions, escaping the logic of law. As such, citizenship rights have taken the form of empowering of the citizen by the state, not


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empowering the citizen against the state. Parallel to this move was the exclusion of any element of antagonism outside the organic unity of the nation. Any form of modern radicalization that might distort this gradual development was equally ruled out (Beinin and Lockman, 1998). In this regard, the current official Egyptian conception of democratization has developed through the same lens. The last constitutional amendments conducted in 2007 under the auspices of ‘modernizing the constitution’ as well as the recent communications of the ruling National Democratic Party demonstrate that democratic transition is understood as a gradual inclusion of a wide range of actors into the domain of the state’s modernizing actions with the objective of maintaining the stability of the society and its own smooth development into a higher stage. This process necessitates jeopardizing the communal authorities and the displacement of elements of antagonism to the margins of society. According to the same logic, politics is subverted into a kind of technocratic administration of interests in an originally harmonious society. Being democratic, or democratic subjectivity, is defined in contrast to fanaticism or irresponsible populism; it is about rationalizing or even controlling the public debate. As such, the EU’s conception, with its focus on the primacy of the market economy, good governance and the rule of law, fits perfectly into this logic. Throughout the negotiation of the Indicative Programmes and in the work of the sub-committees, the bulk of the democracy promotion budget gets pumped into quasi-governmental bodies. The vast majority of the democratization budget in the course of the European Neighbourhood and Partnership Instrument (ENPI), which is the major financial instrument of the Indicative Programme, tends to support the institution-building process, especially the judiciary or the local municipalities and the promotion of citizenship rights. The indicative programme of 2002/2006 dispensed an amount of 5 million euros to four major projects in the area of Democratization and Good Governance conducted with quasi-governmental bodies, including the Ombudsman Office of the National Council of Women, the Ombudsman Office of the National Council for Human Rights, the General Federation of NGOs and the Human Rights Capacity Building Project (BENAA)project in partnership with both the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) and the Egyptian Police Academy.24 According to the Indicative programme for (2007/2010), the funding of the ‘Egyptian government’s efforts in the area of democracy, human rights and justice’ will rise to 40 million euros as from the beginning of 2010. The

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new projects will be divided into two major clusters, reforming the administration of justice (13 million euros) and promoting a culture of human rights (17 million euros).25 The rest of the budget will be allocated in accordance with a number of thematic lines that are not determined yet. The objectives and partners of these projects illustrate the aboveexplained logic of deploying rights as an instrument of nation building and modernization. The objectives of these projects include: supporting the Egyptian efforts aiming at further consolidating governance in the broad sense; supporting the development and implementation of institutions, policies and strategies in line with the relevant Human Rights international instruments and standards; enhancing human rights knowledge among judges, prosecutors and other stakeholders involved in human rights issues in Egypt; increasing access of Egyptian citizens to the NCHR and the NCW Ombudsman offices; increasing competencies of Ombudsmen offices in dealing with complaints on human rights; and increasing the capacities of Egyptian NGOs and their umbrella organizations.26 Obviously, none of these projects corresponds to the widespread democratic struggles in the country that we have highlighted above. Even the complaints offices at the National Council for Human Rights are designed as mechanisms for spreading awareness of the language of human rights, which is now the language of the state apparatus, and for socializing other state apparatus bodies with the new lingua franca of rights. It is widely admitted that the recommendations of the Ombudsman office are non-binding.27 The government bodies respond to these inquiries, initiating internal investigations in a number of cases and embarking on disciplinary measures against police officers in a number of others. However, it is still early to judge whether the unit will be taken up as an effective instrument of public contestation or not.28 As for the projects’ beneficiaries, the bulk of the EU’s democracy promotion budget is dispensed by the three quasi-official National Commissions – National Council for Women, National Council for Childhood and Motherhood and National Council for Human Rights. While endorsing the importance of engaging governmental officials in a dialogue on human rights, there is very little evidence that this process is a democratizing one per se. Meanwhile, the money allocations take place under the conditions of engaging civil society in the implementing phase. However, the organizations working in these projects usually embody the same technocratic logic of modernization. The General


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Federation of NGOs is a case in point. The Federation was established in accordance with the Law 32/1964 to serve as a collective body that would engage a large number of community based organizations into a socialist-leaning developmental process (Abdelrahman, 2004). As such, the federation, as well as the vast majority of its member organizations, has embodied from the moment of its foundation the same modernization logic of the post-colonial state. Its officials perceive their role as complementary to state policies of nation building. Indeed, the Federation is widely considered another state organ, rather than being a representative body of the NGOs. In light of these observations, the all too easy celebration of ‘civil society’ as a terrain of progressive politics that has accompanied the fall of the Berlin wall and the revolutions in its wake needs to be questioned. There is nothing inherent in civil society, or in the organizations of civil society, that attaches it to a democratizing project. We would do well here to take on board the cautionary note sounded by Partha Chatterjee (Chatterjee, 2004). Analysing the terrain of post-colonial politics, he suggests that the actors of civil society are often part of the elites of those societies, representing the high ground of modernity, and that they tend to remain split from the ‘unorganized subaltern domain’ (Chatterjee, 2004, p. 39). Chatterjee also notes that activities in this terrain – what he calls ‘political society’ – cause much discomfort for progressive elites, given that they are based upon ‘loose and often transient mobilizations, building on communication structures that would not ordinarily be recognized as political (for instance, religious assemblies or cultural festivals’) (Chatterjee, 2004, p. 47). This is also the terrain of micro-practices of governance in which not only state agencies but also increasingly non-governmental organizations are involved in the management of ‘welfare functions’ previously provided exclusively by the state. This terrain – non-political from the point of view of a narrow conception of democracy – is becoming a key site of contestation and negotiation. These reflections clearly problematize the easy assumption informing EU policy that the terrain of civil society is removed from that of the state and hence in a position to challenge the state. Whilst this is to some extent a matter of empirical investigation – one would not in a priori fashion either celebrate the emancipatory potential of civil society, just as one would not want to condemn all civil society actors as being merely complicit with their modernizing states – the general insight here is correct, and important to take on board.

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EU policies of democracy promotion and the aversive conception of democracy: towards a democratization of the EU’s policies in Egypt The limitations of the current model of democracy promotion indicate that there is a need for a ‘radical aspect change’ concerning both issues this chapter addresses: the conception of democracy that is promoted by the EU and the EU’s role in this process. Such a shift also requires a more extensive conception of the grammar of democracy. Historically, this possibility can be situated in the lineage of radical conceptions of democracy that are opposed to a reduction of democracy to a specific set of procedures. One such conception of democracy treats it as practical and processual but not procedural (Owen, 2006, p. 137).29 Democracy is constituted in and through practices; it is always incomplete, in process.30 Although more or less institutionalized forms of rule may develop from it, rule-formation is not conceived of as the telos of democracy. Conceiving of democracy in this way, attention needs to be given to practices of contestation, claim-making and negotiation that are not reducible to, nor occur in the sites associated with traditional representative democratic institutions.31 Although struggles in and over the latter are crucial, democracy cannot be limited to these struggles, and exists even in the absence of such institutions. Not to recognize this is to deny the existence of most of what one may want to count as democratic struggles in our contemporary world. Crucial to these practices of contestation – embodied in the variety of forms that claim to assert control over the way one is governed – is an ethos of questioning, responding, negotiating, challenging and disruption (Norval, 2007, pp. 7–8).32 This ethos focuses on the activities of citizen-subjects, who are not satisfied to let others speak for them, that question the ordering of prevailing institutions and practices of governance. Democratic activity, in this reading, does not presuppose the existence of elaborate systems of rules and law embedded in particular institutional forms. To put it differently, people are not democrats by virtue of the existence of institutions, laws and rights, but they become so in exercising their capacities for questioning, affirming, negotiating and contesting the regimes and micro-practices of governance that shape and limit their lives. This, of course, is also the case for human rights.33 Consequently, we should go beyond the captivating image of the EU as a monolithic actor in an external relation to the region. We have tried to illustrate how EU institutions are caught up among different


29

webs of power struggles, transnational networks of actors and competing discourses that continuously shape and deform their policies and programmes: for example, the Egyptian state’s quest for modernization, civil society networks, market economy imperatives and regional, military conflicts. This necessitates two movements: the first is to turn the demands for the deepening of democracy back on the EU itself. As we suggested earlier, the question will no longer be whether the EU is doing enough to promote democracy in the region; rather, it is whether the EU is open and responsive to these democratic struggles. The second would be to rethink the manner in which the EU may support existing democratic practices elsewhere. In other words, the best way to support the development of the rising democratic practices in Egypt and the region is by learning how to live with these practices, which means to start thinking about how to democratize EU institutions and policies as actors that contribute to the every day practices of governance in the Egyptian reality. Usually, the calls for such an aspect change are criticized for their lack of concrete policy recommendations. In the following part, we will therefore map out a few policy implications that such a change may bring about.

Democratizing the EU First, it has become of salient importance that the EU widens the scope of its dialogue with civil society and other political actors to include its sponsored and funded social policies in Egypt. As we have tried to explain, the EU’s endeavour to support democratic struggles will be undermined as long as the EU conditions this support upon the acceptance of economic liberalization measures. The case of the public debate over the health sector reform is but one possible starting point. In this regard, the EU may opt not to increase its democracy promotion budget. Indeed, democratizing its economic and social policies does not require any increase in costs. Second, this leads to a focus on another crucial point that is entirely neglected by EU officials, namely, the possible contribution of the stubborn opponents of EU institutions inside Europe in supporting democracy in Egypt. If EU officials are to embark on a radical aspect change – considering the EU not necessarily as a democratic actor – they may endorse the very fact that the project of the EU itself is contested at home. This endorsement may change the whole profile of the EU’s policies towards a more democratic character. For example, the EU

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may invite trade union activists or other political forces that are critical towards EU economic regulations. A number of those actors are already affiliated in networks with other Egyptian NGOs and trade unionists. The Euro-Mediterranean Civil Platform is one famous example with which the EC is already attaining contacts.34 The EC may play a role in establishing links between Egyptian civil society activists who are lobbying against the EU’s supported economic policies and European activists who are active in the same fields in Europe. Indeed, this will be a practical contribution to weaken the tight legislative and security grip on Egyptian NGO activities by opening new channels of actions for them. Meanwhile, this practice may help in changing the technocratic and quasi-colonial character of the EU’s policies. By appearing to the local audience as a contested project, it may help to cultivate the democratic subjectivity underlying its democracy promotion activities and institutions.

From promoting democracy to supporting democratic struggles First, as for the programmes of democracy promotion themselves, the EU may opt for widening the scope of the already existing programmes that focus on the disruptive side of democratic practice: for example, supporting organizations that are active in challenging the constitutionality of legislations or those who fight against the culture of impunity among police officers by providing legal assistance to the victims of torture. In this regard, it is of great importance to revisit the outcomes of the capacity building programmes that are conducted with the government or quasi-governmental institutions. Questions about how these programmes are perceived and the paths that the participants follow in their public life after finishing these programmes should be tackled. Second, as Akçalı also argues with regard to Turkey in this volume, the support for contestational practices should not be selective. A radical, aversive conception of democracy does not and cannot seek to prejudge either the sites where democracy may erupt or the actors who may engage in such activities.35 This ‘common sense’ notion seems to be somehow problematic in the Egyptian context due to controversies of the Islamic opposition that we have tried to explain above. The EU will not concede its own principles by defending the right to fair trials for ‘non-democratic’ actors. That being said, the endorsement of the previous point leads in many cases to an exaggerated focus on the dialogue with Islamist forces as a


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way to support democratization in the region. While there is nothing in principle against these recommendations, it should be taken into consideration that backing the practices of contestation and disruptions will definitely go, in a number of cases, against the ideological preferences of the Islamic movement. The question of women’s position is not the only famous example. Indeed, the most striking forms of violations against freedom of expression have taken place against a considerable number of academics, artists and, most recently, bloggers who tended to problematize well-established interpretations of Islamic theology.36 In most of these cases, public defamation or even judicial charges of blasphemy have followed legal complaints by groups of lawyers capitalizing on the right to use public prosecution for the public interest- what is known in the Egyptian legislation as the principle of Hisbah (El Burai, 2004). Most of these complaints called for confiscating books or any other artistic material and/or sacking governmental officials from public posts. The repertoire of accusations included offence against public moralities or acting against article No.2 of the constitution that stipulates ‘the principles of the Sharia as the major source of legislation’. It is noteworthy that Muslim Brotherhood activists and parliamentarians were instrumental in a number of these cases.37 Pace argues in this respect that: [I]f the EU is to consider alternatives to its model of democracy which are more in line with the reality on the ground in the Middle East, it needs to recognize that because most Middle East countries are main Muslim societies, no state in the region can have any legitimacy in the eyes of its citizens without observing the main teachings of Sharia . . . . The EU needs to recognize that Islam is the main frame of reference in predominantly Muslim countries. (Pace, 2009, p. 12, our emphasis) Such recognition, however, should not come at the expense of support for rising, albeit weak and dispersed, democratic struggles that contest the authority of this very frame of reference, or at the dominant interpretation of it. Indeed, we believe the EU should not sacrifice the objectives of supporting democratic struggles for securing a popularity of its policies in the immediate future.

Conclusion In conclusion, one way to summarize what we have tried to argue is to suggest that practices of governance and practices of freedom always

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go hand in hand. The democratic practices of freedom – of following deliberately, of questioning, contestation and even disruption – do not follow from laws and institutions, but always precede them, are in principle available everywhere, are not limited to specific actors and sites, and may sometimes, but not as a matter of course, be sedimented into rules, which are in turn, and always, open to further contestation, deformation and challenge. It is obvious that replacing the hegemonic conception of democracy with a more radical, aversive one is not a voluntary European act. Opening itself up to calls for revising its economic policies or the European approach to the Arab-Israeli conflict are rather strategic decisions that depend for their actualization on a change in power relations, across both Europe and the Middle East. Since this development is not foreseen in the near future, the EU should curb its ‘colonial tendency’ and learn to live with the objective limitations in its role of promoting democracy in the region. However, this is not a call for cynicism. It is rather a call to change the terrain of action towards a wider opening to growing democratic struggles. It is only by opening up to the fact that Europe is a contested project and representing this fact outside Europe that Europe can live up to its own principles.

Notes 1. We would like to thank the following people for stimulating discussions around the issues raised in this chapter: Michelle Pace, Haya AlFarra, Sila Nazli Cesur, Erdem Damar, Leonidas Karakatsanis and Todd Landman. 2. For a discussion of aspect change in a political context, see Norval (2007, pp. 105–40). 3. In the Mediterranean and Middle East (including Algeria, Egypt, Gaza/West Bank, Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, Morocco, Syria and Tunisia) expenditure has grown from 750,000 euros in 2002 to 5,845,000 in 2006 (European Commission, 2007, p. 17). 4. Here one needs to take note of the ‘irresolution thesis’, which suggests that there are conditions under which it is possible to modify but not to transform the inequality of relation in which one acts, characterizing accurately much of the relations between subaltern states and non-state actors in the current informal imperial order (see Tully, 2008b, p. 208). 5. Youngs mentions that most European member states have sought to resist what they see as the contamination of human rights work by democracy promotion (2008, p. 165). 6. For Habermas, they are co-constitutive and not in tension. For a critical discussion, see Honig (2007). 7. We should be clear here. Representative democracy and its institutional forms do, in many ways, present significant advantages over direct forms


8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

13.

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of democracy, not least in the mechanisms it has developed to protect minorities and to attenuate blunt majoritarianism. However, it remains a particular form of embodiment of the constituent power of the people, and should not be used either to de-legitimize other such forms, or be presented as a universal panacea for all ills. The initiative was adopted at the G8 summit, Sea Island, Georgia 2004 (cf. Middle East Economic Survey (2004) XLVII (24)). The initiative came to complement the Bush administration’s vision that the 11 September attacks were grounded in a wider context of frustration due to the absence of economic development and political freedom. According to this underlying logic, the atmosphere contributed to divert this growing frustration into an aggression against the West. In this regard, the declared objective of the initiative was to ‘bring the United States, Europe, and the Middle East together around a set of commitments to help transform the region politically and economically’. The initiative included a number of steps that tended to coordinate the different policies of promoting democracy among the signing parties. Given the focus and the scope of the chapter, we will not discuss these coordinating mechanisms in details. For further detail see Ottaway and Choucair-Vizoso, 2008. The ideal articulation of this view can be found in the introduction of the ‘iconic’ Arab Human Development Report for 2002. The findings of the report, commissioned by the UNDP and edited by exclusively Arab experts, were considered a departure point of the new democracy promotion strategies in the region. (See also Arab Human Development Report, 2002, pp. 20–1.) The following paragraph from the European Commission Communication on the European Neighbourhood Policy is illustrative of this self-proclaimed view: ‘The Union is founded on the values of respect for human dignity, liberty, democracy, equality, the rule of law and respect for human rights. These values are common to the Member States in a society of pluralism, tolerance, justice, solidarity and non-discrimination. The Union’s aim is to promote peace, its values and the well-being of its peoples. In its relations with the wider world, it aims at upholding and promoting these values’ (European Commission, 2004, p. 12). See, EuropeAid/122581/C/ACT/TPS. This 3-year project (25 May 2007–25 May 2010) forms part of a directory on the thematic programmes in Egypt prepared by the European Commission Delegation. The project at stake is ‘Human rights advocacy and protection for Arab region’ (Reference: EuropAid/126352/C/ACTMulti), which runs from 16/09/2009 to 15/09/012 as part of a directory on the thematic programmes in Egypt prepared by the European Commission Delegation. Kausch conducted a number of interviews with European Commission and member states officials in Cairo. She focused on the technical or the operational aspects of the dialogue with the Islamists in the country, most notably the Muslim Brotherhood. She observes that ‘With a few exceptions, most European capitals do not give any explicit written directives to their embassies as to which groups they are allowed to meet and under which conditions. In most cases this decision is left to the Ambassador and/or the personal discretion of the political embassy staff. Likewise, most

34

14.

15.

16.

17.

18.

19.

20.

21.

22.

EU Democracy Promotion Rethought: The Case of Egypt dialogue staff at the foreign ministries in Europe do not have clearly outlined mandates or directives, leaving most activities to the “common sense” and priorities of the diplomats in charge’ (2009, p. 10). Mohamed Mahdi Akef, the group’s Supreme Guide, issued a statement on 4 January 2009 saying that ‘the attitudes of the Arab regimes are marked by a shameful silence and passivity, if not support and conniving with the enemy’. He said the Arab and Muslim rulers ‘are only begging for a resolution from the Security Council which is fully controlled by the US President.’ The statement can be found at http://www.ikhwanweb.com/article.php?id= 18989&ref=search.php, date accessed 21 December 2009. Birnamij Hizb Al Ikhwan Al Muslimin, Al Isdar Al Awal (2007) (The Program of the Muslim Brotherhood Party, the first issuance, pp. 10–15) http://www. islamonline.net/arabic/Daawa/2007/08/ikhwan.pd, date accessed 21 January 2010. Kausch mentions Germany as one of the major states that are reluctant to engage in a direct dialogue with the Islamists. She cites an anonymous diplomat as saying that ‘After creating a special division for dialogue with the Islamic world in Berlin in 2002, the German Foreign Office gave directions to the embassies not to enter into direct contact with Islamists under any circumstance. In the following years, German diplomats say, reports from the Embassies made clear to those in charge in Berlin that differentiated, reliable reporting about the political situation in the region was impossible without the option of entering into direct contact with all the important social and political actors. In consequence, the directive was loosened, allowing direct contact in principle but “without shouting it from the rooftops” ’ (2009, p. 11). For more information about the case see Egypt – Amnesty International Report 2008, http://www.amnesty.org/en/region/egypt/report-2008, date accessed 21 January 2010. Al Masry Al Youm, 15 April 2009. The piece of news can be found at http://www.almasry-alyoum.com/article2.aspx?ArticleID=207189, date accessed 21 December 2009. Joel Beinin highlights this deep politicization of the movement while reporting on the Al-Mahalla Al-Kubra Spinning and Weaving Strike in September 2007. For further details see http://www.merip.org/mero/mero092907.html, date accessed 21 December 2009. For detailed information about the programme see http://www.delegy.ec. europa.eu/en/eu_funded_programmes/Health.asp, date accessed 21 January 2010. A number of NGOs working in the field of Economic and Social Rights as well as minor political parties declared the foundation of ‘the Egyptian Committee for Defending the Right to Health’ in March 2007. The Committee’s mission is to network among the different legal and political efforts that attempt to block the privatization of the aspects of the health insurance service. It is ironic that the Association for Health and Environmental Development, which is a beneficiary of the EU funding under budgetary line (MED/2003/5722), is a founding and active member of the campaign. Administrative Court ruling concerning cases N. 21550, 21665, 2212, 25752 and 25857 issued on 4 September 2008. The ruling overturns the PM decision N. 367/2007 that establishes ‘the Holding Company of Health Care’.


35

23. A statement No. 34 issued by the NGOs Front for Defending the Egyptian Demonstration on 12/05/2008 condemned the renewal of the administrative detention of Kamal Al-Fayoumy, Karim AL-Bihiry and Tarik Abdelhamid. ‘Administrative Detention’ refers to the authority given to the Minster of Interior under the prerogatives of the Emergency Law to decide on the continuation of the detention without consulting the General Prosecution. Unlike the clauses regulating the provisional detention in the Law on Criminal Procedures, the emergency law does not stipulate a maximum period. For further details, see the part on Administrative Detention at the Amnesty Egypt Annual Report on http://thereport.amnesty.org/en/regions/ middle-east-north-africa/egypt, date accessed 21 December 2009. 24. BENAA stands for construction in Arabic. For detailed information about the package of projects see http://www.delegy.ec.europa.eu/en/eu_funded_ programmes/Human_rights.asp, date accessed 21 December 2009. 25. For detailed information about the package of projects see http://www. delegy.ec .europa .eu /en /eu _funded _programmes/Human _rights .asp, date accessed 21 December 2009 and for more information about the new indicative programs see http://www.delegy.ec.europa.eu/en/eu_funded_ programmes/ENPI.asp, date accessed 21 December 2009. 26. Specific list of objectives can be found at http://www.delegy.ec.europa.eu/ en/eu_funded_programmes/Human_rights.asp, date accessed 21 December 2009. 27. Information about the mandate and composition of the Ombudsman unit can be found at the web site of the Egyptian National Council for Human Rights. Eventually, the unit defines its role in the introduction of its mandate as ‘reaching peaceful settlements (solutions) in order to elevate the problems and unjust that citizens may face on a daily basis regarding their basic human rights’. For more details, see http://www.nchr.org.eg/index.php/en/ 2009-10-28-11-31-44/54-2009-07-07-08-08-04, date accessed 21 December 2009. 28. The NCHR annual report keeps a record of both the complaints received and correspondences with the corresponding governmental bodies that investigate them. For example, the fifth annual report covering the year 2008 reports that the unit received 9516 complaints and that it received 4332 responses from the concerned governmental bodies. In addition, the report mentioned a number of cases that led to disciplinary measures against police officers. To check a full record of these cases see (National Council for Human rights, 2009, pp. 86–90). 29. There is, of course, a wide variety of candidates for a more radical form of democracy. The conception advocated here draws on and develops an agonistic vein of thinking in this tradition, and seeks to develop an account of democracy that fleshes out Wittgensteinian insights. 30. The incompleteness of democracy is not here understood in the Habermasian sense of the unfinished project of modernity. Rather, we draw on Derrida’s account of democracy-to-come. (See Norval, 2007, pp. 145–52.) 31. For an analysis of the politics of claim-making in a post-transitional context, see (Norval, 2009b). 32. Aversiveness here refers to the questioning of conformism. Politically it draws attention to those aspects of a democratic grammar that highlight our democratic responsibilities, the need to give attention to the exercise of

36

33. 34.

35. 36.

37.

EU Democracy Promotion Rethought: The Case of Egypt our political voice and to the claims to community that it inevitably invokes or contests. For a discussion of human rights that places claim-making at its centre, see (Ingram, 2008). The forum is a network of NGOs, Trade Union activists and other human rights associations that focus on the socio-economic repercussions of the Euro-Mediterranean partnership. For more information about the platform mission and objectives see http://90plan.ovh.net/∼euromedp/spip/index. php?&lang=en, date accessed 21 December 2009. This argument was first developed by Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe in their seminal text Hegemony and Socialist Strategy (1985). Just to mention the most recent example, in March 2008, Egyptian blogger Karim Amer was sentenced to 4 years’ imprisonment for the ‘crime’ of publishing on the internet material critical of Islam and President Mubarak. Amer was a student at the theological University of Al-Azhar. His blog was considered to contain blasphemous material that defames Islam. For further details about this case see Amnesty’s Egypt annual report on http://www. amnesty.org/en/region/egypt/report-2008, date accessed 21 December 2009. For example, in January 2001, Mr. Ali Abu shady, the chairperson of the Cultural Palaces Authority, was sacked from his post for publishing material that contradicts the Egyptian public moralities and values. The decision followed a parliamentary question by a Muslim Brotherhood MP and adopted by the Muslim Brotherhood bloc at that time. The parliamentary debate was accompanied by a fervent attack against the Minister of Culture and his ‘westernizing policies’. More details on the case can be found at http://www.aljazeera.net/News/archive/archive?ArchiveId=2020, date accessed 21 December 2009.

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European Commission (2008) European Neighbourhood Policy Annual Progress Report 2008, www.delegy.ec.europa.eu, date accessed 21 December 2009. Ferrero-Waldner, B. (2007) ‘Foreword’, in European Commission The European Union: Furthering Human Rights and Democracy Across the Globe (Belgium: Office for Official Publications of the European Communities). Front for Defending the Egyptian Demonstration (2008) Al Bayan Al Rabi’ Wa Al Thalathoun 12 Mai 2008 (Statement N. 34), http://www.anhri.net/egypt/hmcl/ 2008/pr0512.shtml, date accessed 21 January 2010. Honig, B. (2007) ‘Between decision and deliberation: Political paradox in democratic theory’, American Political Science Review, 101 (1), 1–17. Ingram, J.D. (2008) ‘What is a “right to have rights”? Three images of the politics of human rights’, American Political Science Review, 102 (4), 401–16. Kausch, K. (2009) ‘Plus Ça Change: Europe’s Engagement with Moderate Islamists’, FRIDE Working Paper NO. 75 (Madrid: Fundación Para Las Relaciones Internacionales Y El Dialogo Exterior). Laclau, E. (2005) On Populist Reason (London: Verso). Landman, T. (2006) Studying Human Rights (London: Routledge). Macpherson, C.B. (1977) The Life and Times of Liberal Democracy (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Mahmood, S. (2005) Politics of Piety: Islamic Renewal and the Feminist Subject (Princeton: Princeton University Press). Mitchell, T. (2002) Rule of Experts: Egypt, Techno-Politics, Modernity (Berkeley: University of California Press). Moustafa, T. (2007) The Struggle for Constitutional Power: Law, Politics, and Economic Development in Egypt (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Muslim Brotherhood (2007) Birnamij Hizb Al Ikhwan Al Muslimin, Al Isdar Al Awal (The Program of the Muslim Brotherhood Party, the First Issuance) (Cairo: Muslim Brotherhood). National Council for Human Rights (2009) The Fifth Annual Report, 2008 (Cairo: The National Council for Human Rights). Norval, A.J. (2007) Aversive Democracy: Inheritance and Originality in the Democratic Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Norval, A.J. (2009a) ‘Passionate Subjectivity, Contestation and Acknowledgement: Rereading Austin and Cavell’, in A. Schaap (ed.) Law and Agonistic Politics (Aldershot: Ashgate). Norval, A.J. (2009b) ‘ “No reconciliation without redress”: Articulating political demands in post-transitional South Africa’, Critical Discourse Studies, 6 (4), 311–21. Ottaway, M. and Choucair-Vizoso, J. (2008) Beyond the Façade: Political Reform in the Arab World (Washington, D.C.: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace). Owen, D. (2006) ‘Perfectionism, Parrhesia and the Care of the Self: Foucault and Cavell on Ethics and Politics’, in A. Norris (ed.) The Claim to Community. Essays on Stanley Cavell and Political Philosophy (Stanford, California: Stanford University Press). Pace, M. (2009) Liberal or Social Democracy? Aspects of the EU’s Democracy Promotion Agenda in the Middle East, http://www.idea.int/resources/analysis/upload/Pace_ paper12.pdf, date accessed 21 January 2010.


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Pace, M. (2010) ‘Interrogating the European Union’s Democracy Promotion Agenda: Discursive Configurations of “Democracy” from the Middle East’, European Foreign Affairs Review, Special Issue, guest edited by Michelle Pace and Francesco Cavatorta. The Euro-Med Civil Platform (2009) www.euromedplatform.org (home page), date accessed 22 December 2009. The Muslim Brotherhood Official English Web site (2009) www.ikhwanweb.com (home page), date accessed 21 December 2009. The Muslim Brotherhood Official Web site (2009) www.ikhwanonline.com (home page), date accessed 21 December 2009. The National Council for Human Rights (2009) www.nchr.org.eg (home page), date accessed 21 December 2009. The Ombudsman Unit at the National Council for Human Rights (2009) National Council for Human Rights, http://www.nchr.org.eg/index.php/en/2009-10-2811-31-44/54-2009-07-07-08-08-04, date accessed 21 December 2009. Tully, J. (2008a) Public Philosophy in a New Key, Volume I, Democracy and Civic Freedom (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Tully, J. (2008b) Public Philosophy in a New Key, Volume II, Imperialism and Civic Freedom (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). United Nations Development Programme (2002) The Arab Human Development Report (New York: United Nations Development Programme, Regional Bureau for Arab States). Van Houtum, H. and Pijpers, R. (2007) ‘The European Union as Gated Community: The Two-faced Border and Immigration Regime of the EU’, Antipode, 39 (2), 291–309. Walzer, M. (1989) In the Company of Critics: Social Criticism and Political Commitment in the Twentieth Century (London: Halban). Youngs, R. (2008) ‘Trends in democracy assistance – what has Europe been doing?’, Journal of Democracy, 19 (2), 160–9.

3 EU, Political Islam and Polarization of Turkish Society Emel Akçalı

Introduction It is generally believed that a ‘democratic’ political system corresponds to the rule of law, the protection of basic human, socio-political and economic rights (freedom of speech, religious tolerance and protection of private property), a well-functioning market economy and the capacity to cope with competitive pressure and market forces. In short, democracy is often understood as ‘liberal’ democracy. Since the end of the Cold War, the European Union (EU) ‘has been pursuing an almost messianic quest for the internationalization of liberal democracy abroad’ (Pace, 2009, p. 39) and in so doing has become an ‘external ally’1 for various domestic actors, especially in its candidate and neighbouring countries. To give an example, in Turkey, an official EU candidate since 1999, a significant segment of intellectuals views EUrope as a ‘force for good’ for its potential to foster democratic consolidation.2 The EU’s accession process functions as a way of securing liberal economic reforms for key Turkish business circles. Various societal and political actors perceive Turkey’s EUropean pursuit as an important catalyst to resolve the country’s frozen political ills and expand civil liberties. In addition, the Turkish state qualifies the EU project as the natural outcome of the Turks’ 200-year quest for Westernization.3 Despite these positive perceptions, however, Turkey remains an ‘awkward candidate’ for EUrope (Arikan, 2006). EU members such as France, Germany and Austria have publicly announced their objection to Turkey’s accession, irrespective of whether it becomes a fully democratic country or not, arguing that with Turkey in, EUrope cannot realize its political union. Turkey’s problems with its neighbours and the crises over what constitutes a ‘European’ identity within the EU itself further complicate 40

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EU-Turkish relations. EU members, such as the Republic of Cyprus and Greece, make use of the EU’s process as a way to settle their own accounts with Turkey. Prejudices within EUropean societies towards immigrants, especially Muslim, contribute negatively to the possibility of Turkey’s accession. Finally, Turkish governments have been struggling with the requirements of the EU’s democratization process, despite expressing commitment to EU integration. These challenges notwithstanding, the EU is still relatively popular in Turkey. This is primarily because Turkey’s official candidature to the EU in 1999 has provided a very strong incentive for adopting major political change (Baç-Müftüler, 2005, p. 30) and significantly empowered domestic civil society actors (Göksel and Güne¸s, 2005; Tocci, 2005), who, incidentally, are deemed essential for EU democratization policies in its neighbourhood (Pace, 2009, p. 44). However, the EU process has also created polarization within Turkish society. Such polarization has generally been characterized as an outcome of a ‘nationalist resurgence’ that occurred during Turkey’s harmonization process with the EU (Grigoriadis, 2006) and the ensuing resistance of the ‘statist elite’ to change. For instance, according to a prominent Turkish scholar, Ahmet I˙ nsel: Turkey is now going through a paradoxical period in which statistWesternizing elites are forced to swerve into anti-Western positions, and the West is defended by Islamic, Kurdish, and other movements of identity politics, which shows that the exit from the authoritarian regime will be realized when the polarization that traverses the entire republican history, the polarization that appears to be between modernizationists and traditionalists but is actually between the republican elites and the people, loses effect and leaves its place to more normal dynamics of social polarization and conflict. Such a development, if it indeed occurs, will be one of the most important transformations determining the future of Turkey. (2003, p. 306) I˙ nsel’s assumption about requirements for the constitution of a truly democratic system in Turkey coincides with Chantal Mouffe’s call for ‘agonistic pluralism’ (2000a, 2000b). By this term, Mouffe suggests that in a genuine democratic environment, the ‘other’ should not be seen ‘as an enemy to be destroyed, but as an “adversary” whose ideas we are going to struggle with but whose right to defend those ideas we will not put into question’ (2000a, p. 148). In other words, conflict

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between political actors should not take the form of an ‘antagonism’ which corresponds to a struggle between enemies, but the form of an ‘agonism’ which entails a struggle between adversaries (Mouffe, 2009, p. 551). Moreover, the institutions, processes and practices of politics should be able to deal with such a situation (Mouffe, 2009, p. 551). Drawing on I˙ nsel’s assumption and Mouffe’s concept, this chapter will critically scrutinize the EU’s democratization process in Turkey. In so doing, it will try to answer the question of whether the EU’s democratization process, at least in the way that it has been conducted thus far, has created the basis for a genuine pluralism and a well-functioning democracy to flourish or whether it has rather been further complicating the already complex Turkish internal dynamics, leading to polarization within the society. The chapter will also critically investigate whether the political polarization that exists in Turkey today is indeed between the ‘statist-Westernizing’ elite and the ‘people’, as I˙ nsel has argued, or whether it is actually within the Turkish demos. In the next section, I will initiate my discussion by incorporating the current debate about the ways in which a genuine democratization process can be constituted in our globalizing world. In the third section, I will present an overview of the socio-political developments in Turkey, especially those that have led to a polarization within the Turkish society during the EUled democratization process. This will help me critically assess in the fourth section whether the EU’s project has laid the basis for a genuine and well-functioning democracy to flourish in Turkey. In this section, I will also present some suggestions for a more productive democratization process. Finally, the concluding section will summarize the broader implications of the Turkish case for the EU’s democracy promotion agenda, especially vis-à-vis political Islam, which has been the main political force in the EU-led democratization process in Turkey.

Democratization in a Globalizing World Globalization, ‘multiple modernities’,4 (trans)formations of national identities and the post-modern thinking have enabled the mobilization of fluid, fluctuating and plural identifications and new images of citizenship ‘opening up new possibilities, but spawning new dangers’ (I¸sın, 2002, p. 117). Being a member of the state does not equate with being a member of the nation any more (Antonsich, 2009, p. 4). For Engin I¸sın, the most promising among these new identifications and images of citizenship are those that are agonistic and contested processes of becoming political because, he argues, they generate rights, claims and

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articulate responsibilities for multiple identities, polities and practices (I¸sın, 2002, p. 117). However, he is also quite cautious about how to deal with these emerging identifications. ‘The question facing us today therefore is not whether to recognize different ethnic identities or to protect “nature” or to enable access to cultural capital or to eliminate discrimination against women and gays or to democratize computermediated communications, but how to do them all at the same time’ (I¸sın, 2002, p. 124). According to Norval, democracy is constituted in and through practices; it is always incomplete, in process, conceived of practices of contestation, questioning, claim-making, challenging, disruption and negotiation that should not necessarily happen within traditional representative and liberal democratic institutions (2007, pp. 145–52, 2009). Laclau also argues that democratic practices are constituted through the articulation of heterogeneous demands addressed to the institutions of power (2005, pp. 73–7). Genuine democratization practices should thus not aim at overcoming of heterogeneity of demands and us/them dichotomies, but help to establish them in such a way that they are compatible with pluralist democracy (Mouffe, 2000b, p. 101). In other words, and in line with ‘agonistic pluralism’, democratization politics should target transforming antagonism to agonism and enemies to adversaries (Mouffe, 2000b, p. 103). Mouffe reminds us that such a form of democratization requires providing channels through which collective passions can express themselves because ‘the prime task of democratic politics is not to eliminate passions from the sphere of the public, in order to render a rational consensus possible, but to mobilize those passions towards democratic designs’ (Mouffe, 2000b, p. 103). She further emphasizes that in the absence of agonistic dynamics of pluralism, due to a lack of democratic identities to identify with, the political ground is left to confrontations over non-negotiable moral values and various forms of politics articulated around essentialist identities: nationalist, religious or ethnic (Mouffe, 2000a, p. 148, 2009, p. 552). Despite the fact that the ideal of constituting an environment for ‘agonistic pluralism’, hence a genuine democracy, ‘may be normatively desirable and may respond to the values and worldviews of many people in different parts of the world’ (Cerny, 2009, p. 782), how this could practically be achieved without ‘multiplying overlapping and cross-cutting oppositions to democracy at various levels’ (Cerny, 2009, p. 781) begs the question. After all, pluralism and liberal democracy function when there is acceptance of the rules of the game and shared

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values (Cerny, 2009, p. 781). There are problems with pluralist forms of democracy, in terms of the complexities of extending it into new areas through democratization processes (Cerny, 2009, p. 782). Without shared values, institutional superstructures and interstate pressures, pluralist forms of democracy may introduce ‘destabilizing elements that were seen in Europe between the two world wars and in the first wave of failed postcolonial constitutions’ (Cerny, 2009, p. 782). Hence, although liberal democracy does not fully address religious claims, ecological problems, regulation of transnational firms, global financial markets and huge socio-economic inequalities especially in the developing and post-colonial world which democratization processes target, it is after all the easiest to achieve as ‘it does not require complex mechanisms of social intervention, can keep redistribution to a minimum and yet call on collective norms of national defence and patriotism’ (Cerny, 2009, p. 781). Mouffe agrees with those such as Cerny who argue that a pluralist democracy requires a certain amount of consensus and allegiance to the values which constitute its ‘ethico-political’ principles (Mouffe, 2000, p. 103, 2009, pp. 551–2). However, she maintains that those ethico-political principles can only be constituted through many ‘different and competing interpretations’ of various political groups such as liberal-conservative, social-democratic, neo-liberal and radicaldemocratic (Mouffe, 2000, p. 103, 2009, pp. 551–2). Mere consensus produces problems for democracy, understood as an open-ended process by Norval, Laclau and Mouffe, creating an illusion of unity, rejecting anything that might shake internal cohesion (Palonen, 2009, p. 332). Hence, each political group should try to implement its own version of consensus and hegemony by proposing its own interpretation of the ‘common good’, forming competing forms of citizenship identification (Mouffe, 2000, p. 204). In light of these views, the next two sections will now investigate and assess the EU-led democratization efforts and the concomitant political developments in Turkey.

The Turkish political scene during the EU-led democratization process Ever since Turkey was granted official candidature status during the Helsinki Summit in 1999, change has occurred not only because it has been imposed from the outside, but also because it has interacted with domestic developments in Turkey (Tocci, 2005, p. 79). By supporting

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civil society organizations, the EU has increased the credibility and legitimacy of the claims of domestic actors in the country (Göksel and Güne¸s, 2005; Tocci, 2005, p. 81). Liberal, Kurdish, political Islamist and some left-wing civil society groups have started to be active in a wide range of activities, pursuing at times different and at times overlapping agendas, such as human, civil, socio-political, and religious rights and freedoms, gender issues and environmental causes (Tocci, 2005, p. 81). In fact, various domestic actors exploited the EU as much as the EU enabled them to articulate particular political positions (Diez et al., 2005, p. 12). The Turkish ‘statist-Westernizing elites’ have thus come under pressure both from above (the EU level) and from below (civil society) to initiate political reforms. These have so far consisted of two major constitutional modifications, in 2001 and 2004, and eight legislative packages adopted by the Parliament between February 2002 and July 2004. In 2002, by securing a single party government, the political Islamist Justice and Development Party (AKP – Adalet ve Kalkinma Partisi), fully committed to the EU process, gave a further breakthrough to the liberal, left-wing, pro-Kurdish and pro-Islamist civil society forces and their political demands in Turkey. The AKP also drastically changed Turkey’s traditional foreign policy towards Cyprus, giving its full support to the comprehensive plan of the UN Secretary General for the reunification of the island. During this period, Turkey also experienced a period of economic growth (7.5 per cent per annum during 2002–2006), helped by a highly favourable global liquidity environment and low inflation. Secularists, nationalists and a segment of socialists who articulated both overlapping and diverging political demands constituted the AKP’s main opponents during this period. Secularists voiced their concerns about the rise of religious conservatism in the country and had problems with trusting the sincerity of the AKP government in its commitment to the secular structure of the Turkish state. In the spring and summer of 2007, this group conducted a series of mass demonstrations, rallied in the name of secularism and against the AKP policies in several of Turkey’s major urban centres. The nationalists, on the other hand, were concerned with the decentralization efforts of the Turkish state and the transformation of traditional Turkish foreign policy, especially towards Cyprus. Finally, the socialists criticized the benefits of economic growth, which have been unevenly distributed, and the fact that the AKP tries to close this socio-economic gap by increasing local government services and charity-based organizations, rather than state-based forms of redistribution, much in line with the neo-liberal paradigm

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(Öni¸s, 2009, p. 24). Socialists also lamented that the poor and rural areas suffer from the negative effects of the massive cuts in agricultural subsidies, due to the International Monetary Fund’s (IMF) prescriptions and the EUropean economic harmonization process.5 Despite such opposition, the AKP reached a second landmark victory in July 2007. However, this time Turkey did not have the EU member states’ support for full membership, although the EU’s Commission continued its democratization efforts in the country. The reasons why the AKP lost the EU member states’ support are various. EU internal contradictions and enlargement fatigue led to a growing reluctance to accept Turkey’s membership among EU members. By supporting the UN’s Peace Plan for Cyprus, the AKP government felt that Turkey had fulfilled a very important part of her responsibilities towards finding a comprehensive settlement to the Cyprus problem. However, this plan became a dead letter due to the ‘No’ vote of the Greek Cypriots. Following the negative outcome of the referendum on the reunification of Cyprus, the EU proposed direct trade with the Turkish Cypriot side, coupled with financial aid to ease the economic embargo imposed on them by the international community. However, the Republic of Cyprus (RoC), a new EU member state, and Greece, together with some other EU member states rejected this direct trade regulation, arguing that it would mean the de facto recognition of Northern Cyprus. In return, Turkey refused to recognize the RoC, which then entered the EU without Turkish Cypriots; the latter side then decided to keep its air space and ports closed to Greek Cypriot aircrafts and vessels. As a retaliation, the RoC blocked Turkey’s negotiation process with the EU. In addition to these negative developments which have seriously harmed the credibility of the EU in the AKP’s eyes, the cartoon crisis in Denmark, the Danish government’s stance with regard to this crisis, and the decision of the European Court of Human Rights against the ban on the headscarf in public spaces struck negative chords in the AKP’s psyche. Hence, during its second term, the AKP started to detach itself from the EU and preferred to concentrate more on its domestic political agenda by appealing to its conservative religious constituency. The AKP’s first move was to nominate the then Minister of Foreign Affairs, Abdullah Gül, as presidential candidate. The choice of the pro-Islamist Gül, whose wife wears a headscarf, was perceived as a provocation by the secularists and pro-republican actors. Soon after, the party leadership also introduced a constitutional amendment which would remove the ban on girls who tried to wear headscarves in universities, arguing that this amendment was in line with the right to religious freedom.

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All these developments increased concerns among many that the AKP had an instrumental understanding of democracy. Moreover, during this period, the AKP slowed down the dialogue process with ethnic Kurdish political interlocutors, leading also to the alienation of its own Kurdish constituency. In 2008, the Constitutional Court took action against AKP political initiatives, aiming at closing down the AKP because of its ‘provocative’ moves against the secular principles of the Turkish state. In this instance, the EU intervened and backed the AKP, stating that its closure would endanger Turkey’s EU integration process. The Constitutional Court’s decision eventually led to only a few warnings to the AKP government. However, soon after the closure of this case, the Istanbul High Criminal Court launched a sweeping operation, labelled Ergenekon, with the aim of dismantling an invisible security and bureaucratic establishment in Turkey (‘deep state’), which was allegedly paving the way to a military coup against the AKP government. During the Cold War, ‘deep state’, ‘gladio’ or counter-guerrilla formations were set up by the CIA in various NATO countries including Turkey to counter the rise of communist/socialist movements (Dündar and Kazda˘ glı, 1997). Throughout the 1980s and the 1990s, these formations in Turkey were also used to counter the separatist Kurdistan Worker’s Party (PKK) and the Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia (ASALA), which, in 1975–1986, assassinated Turkish diplomats (ibid.). Although these organizations were discovered and removed from the state in various EU countries, they have never been confronted in Turkey.6 Additionally, since the end of the Cold War, as the financial resources of these formations disappeared, many of its members have become closely connected with mafia activities (ibid.). The prosecutors of the Ergenekon operation in 2008 have linked these terrorist/mafia organizations with almost all well-known Kemalists,7 secular activists, politicians, academics, trade union leaders, judges, journalists and retired generals, claiming that they were being used by these groups to create terror disguised as Islamist, Marxist or PKK attacks, so as to lead to a coup d’etat against the AKP government and legitimize the intervention of the military power in Turkish political life. Thus far, more than a dozen waves of arrests have occurred, targeting about 200 public figures, including eminent professors who publicly opposed the AKP’s attempt to lift the ban on wearing headscarves in universities and directors of secular non-governmental organizations (NGOs) that sponsor students from poor families. A large number of public figures, as well as ordinary people, are also being wiretapped,

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including members of the Supreme Court of Appeals, as part of the ongoing investigation into alleged clandestine Ergenekon organization.8 In fact, it has recently become commonplace among the opponents of the AKP to switch off mobile phones at social gatherings in Turkey, as fragments from recorded mobile phone conversations like ‘What should we do about antisecular policies?’ have already been taken as evidence for plotting to overthrow the government.9 The pro-AKP, pro-Islamist and liberal segments of the society have been sympathetic to this investigation, which, they argue, is a historical reckoning aimed at bringing to account ‘the deep state’ which has allegedly been in power in Turkey since almost four decades. In its 2009 Progress Report on Turkey, the European Commission also acknowledged that the Ergenekon trial is ‘the first case in Turkey to probe into a coup attempt and the most extensive investigation ever on an alleged criminal network at destabilizing the democratic institutions’.10 Large segments of Turkish society today hold reservations about military involvement in politics, especially since Turkey has suffered from three military coups so far. The discovery of arms, bombs and private diaries, together with the arrest of former high-rank army officers have also made the whole Ergenekon case look very serious. However, significant procedural problems with the Ergenekon investigation create doubts about the reliability of this operation. For example, in the absence of concrete evidence, some people find it very hard to believe that there exist relational links among the 200 detainees, as most of them sit at opposite ends of the political spectrum. The fact that the details of the inquiries are leaked continuously through pro-AKP mass media, leading to the public denigration of the detainees, has caused large segments of Turkish society to speculate about the involvement of the AKP government in the Ergenekon case. Moreover, sending police teams to Kemalist and secularist public personalities’ houses early in the morning, collecting their computers, personal belongings and documents indiscriminately and arresting some of them is qualified as a procedural irregularity by lawyers. ‘Legal experts contend that the elaborate charges and sometimes wild allegations [such as manufacturing chemical and biological weapons and controlling every terrorist organization not just in Turkey but in the entire world] resemble an Inquisition.’11 Targeting Türkan Saylan, an eminent professor of medicine, and the head of the Association for Supporting Contemporary Living (ÇYDD), a secularist organization run by volunteers to provide scholarships especially for female students all over Turkey, created a major upheaval among large segments of the society, including famous artists, writers,

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actors and musicians. Seventy-four-year-old terminally ill Saylan, who was an outspoken AKP critic was speaking from her balcony to a group of people who came to support her on the street below while police officers conducted a seven-hour long search in her house, taking away her computers and other personal belongings. The offices of Saylan’s organization were also targeted throughout Turkey, with their computers and documents taken away. Many people protested against these acts by showing solidarity to this organization through donating large sums, which increased substantially within days of Saylan’s house search.12 The fact that the procedural irregularities concerning the Ergenekon trial and suspicions about the AKP’s involvement in the process have not found any significant echo either in Brussels or in the EUropean media has created the perception among many in Turkey that this case has been opened with the tacit support of both ‘Western powers’, namely the EU and the USA, as a way to silence all AKP opponents, more specifically the pro-republican forces, by charging them with anti-democratic and terroristic acts and putting them in prison. The situation is today so entangled that ‘depending on whom you ask, some of these suspects are either innocent victims of a weak justice system manipulated by the authorities, or a genuine danger to Turkey and its government who must be brought to justice’.13

EU democracy promotion: an assessment As discussed in the previous section, after Turkey became an official EU candidate in 1999, the Turkish political spectrum initially experienced a pluralization of political forces mainly due to the EU’s empowerment of various civil society actors defending, especially, the rights of anti-establishment segments of the society which had been previously marginalized.14 This can be considered as a positive step for the development of pluralistic democratic practices as conceptualized by Norval (2007, 2009), Laclau (2005) and Mouffe (2000a, b). However, this situation soon led to a high level of polarization within Turkish society. According to Palonen, polarization occurs not so much through the articulation of differences, but through the rejection of the other camp (Palonen, 2009, p. 324). As has been wittily demonstrated by a famous Turkish caricaturist, Behiç Ak15 (see Figure 3.1), there is no middle ground; one has to choose sides. Palonen argues that polarization solves the initial problem of fragmentation, by instituting a frontier that sustains two communities as a bipolar hegemony (2009, p. 332). However, because it requires constant

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Figure 3.1 ‘Hmm, you’re not wearing a veil . . . You are supporting the military coups then.’ Behiç Ak (2007)

rearticulation and therefore constant antagonism on one frontier to avoid new cleavages or demands from emerging, it actually stagnates the political articulation of demands, by prioritizing one stance over others (Palonen, 2009). It thus sets up two different types of consensus on the two sides of the frontier and this hinders genuine democratic practices, once again as conceptualized by Norval (2007, 2009), Laclau (2005) and Mouffe (2000a, b). So far, the EU’s stance during the various developments that have led to the present polarization of Turkish society especially between secularist, Kemalist, pro-republican forces on the one hand and liberals and political Islamists on the other, has been to continue to support the latter. This has been done in the name of EUropeanization and democratization. However, in such a form of democratization, a pluralistic, political environment where each political group can get a chance to implement its own version of consensus and hegemony by proposing its own interpretation of the ‘common good’ (Mouffe, 2000, p. 204) could not be constituted. The ‘common good’ was already set by the EU and what was left to the political actors in Turkey was merely to agree with it. In fact, those who articulated discourses that matched the ones expressed by the EU were considered as ‘allies’, ‘progressive’ and

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‘democratic’ and others were left out, since they were considered as supporters of the status quo. This situation has alienated many in Turkey which were clearly not only ‘statist-Westernizing’ elites, but large segments of the Turkish society still committed to the twentieth-century republican project and values. It has consequently awakened in many Turks the ‘Sèvres complex,16 enforcing the image of EU countries as sinister imperialist powers trying to weaken and divide up Turkey. EU silence regarding the procedural wrongdoings and human rights’ violations of the Kemalist, pro-republican and secularist detainees during the Ergenekon case has further reinforced these perceptions. It is important to note that such concerns in Turkey resemble Iranians’ negative sentiments towards the Western hegemony, expressed not only at the so-called state level, but also amongst various segments of the society, as revealed in Shabnam J Holliday’s chapter in this edited volume. On the one hand, it is undeniable that the unitary and secular structure of the Turkish nation-state has been seriously challenged by the realities of the globalized world and the political demands of ethnic and religious sectors of the society and these demands need to be taken seriously. However, on the other hand, the institutional transformation of the Turkish state, especially its secular structure by a political Islamist party which could not gain the trust of many, and the support given to this transformation by an external power, the EU, which is reluctant to accept Turkey’s full accession to Europe, have created understandable suspicions among many Turks. Considerable segments of Turkish society fear that enlarging religious and ethnic liberties and regional devolution can lead to both a territorial disintegration and the Islamization of the country, especially without the protection of an EU umbrella. These concerns are not without substance. PKK terrorism is still ongoing and political Islamist activism has a substantial impact on contemporary Turkish politics, increasing its networks within the Turkish media and allegedly state institutions, especially the police force thanks to sectarian links.17 The withdrawal of the Charles Darwin cover story in March 2009 from the country’s top scientific journal, published by TÜBI˙ TAK, the main state institution responsible for funding scientific research, raised further concerns about such involvement, especially since the AKP passed a law in summer 2009 tightening its control of appointments to this research institution. Furthermore, besides being divided along ideological lines, Turkish society is today mired in other serious problems, such as the high level of unemployment which has steadily risen during the second term of the AKP government. All these developments feed major feelings of insecurity within Turkish society.

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A quick glance at these developments can in fact help us draw important and beneficial lessons for EU-led democratization efforts. When taking sides with anti-establishment forces in its democratization processes, the EU may not be working for a genuine democracy to flourish, but allying with actors who are, perhaps, ‘global’. In Russia, for example, during the Yeltsin period, despite Russia’s undemocratic acts, the EU supported the Yeltsin government because he was anti-establishment and believed to represent ‘change’ and ‘democracy’ in Russia. European organizations working in the region even made political judgments about the outcomes of elections, such as openly voicing their wish to see Yeltsin and his associates stay in power (Wedel, cited in Saari, 2009, p. 738). This policy not only contributed to political polarization in Russia, but also ‘although perhaps well-intentioned, [it] confirmed the common Russian suspicion that the West is instrumental in its evaluation of democracy’ (Saari, 2009, p. 738). I therefore suggest that instead of concentrating all our efforts on the importance of interaction and articulatory practices of the human agency for the contestation of liberal democracy, as suggested by Norval (2007, 2009), Laclau (2005) and Mouffe (2000a, b), we also need perhaps to turn our attention to the socio-political and socio-economical (trans)formative effects of globalization on societies and analyse third parties’ democratization efforts within such a framework. After all, globalization, especially when conceived mainly in economic terms, is considered as ‘a series of processes contributing to social destabilization and the “crises” of the nation-state by undermining the traditional basis of community, belonging, citizenship and identity’ (Rumford, 2003, p. 37). Also, it is the configuration of the capitalist world economy that has created contemporary cross-border flows and rigid national identities are not compatible with the dynamic flows of such an order any more (Flint, 2001, p. 6). Such a development contributes to the (trans)formation of national identities and emergence of new political demands and forces (Akçalı, 2011, forthcoming) of which political Islam constitutes a part. Furthermore, the global terrain helps these new political demands and forces to be heard and seen in so far as they match with globally hegemonic ones (ibid.). In the case of Turkey, for example, despite the fact that there has been much attention paid in the ‘West’ to whether Islamist movements are truly committed to democracy, the EU has sided with the political Islamist AKP rather than the pro-republican segments of the society. This is mainly because the AKP has articulated a form of political Islam compatible with the neo-liberal capitalist world order

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and the hegemonic discourse of ‘politics of no adversaries’ which has become the motto of many countries in order to be able to secure a welcomed place in the globalized world, as also skilfully demonstrated by Odeta Barbullishi in her chapter on Albania in this edited volume. Prorepublican forces in Turkey have, on the other hand, resisted against the political (trans-)formations brought by globalization, by remaining committed to the twentieth-century republican project that no longer seems to fit the globalized present. Hence, I suggest that if we scrutinize EU democratization efforts within the context of globalization and the new neo-liberal world order and take into account the impacts of such order on societies, we can then perhaps seriously challenge liberal democracy, create possibilities for a genuine democratization process to occur, and also find out more about the commitment of political Islam to democracy.

Conclusion In this chapter, I have tried to critically investigate the impact/s of the EU’s democratization process in Turkey and its engagement with political Islam, by drawing on Chantal Mouffe’s call for an ‘agonistic pluralism’ as opposed to traditional liberal democracy and Turkish scholar Ahmet I˙ nsel’s assumption about the requirements for the consolidation of a pluralist democracy in Turkey. I have argued that the Turkish political spectrum has experienced a pluralization of political actors due to EU empowerment of many anti-establishment segments of the society including the political Islam camp which had been previously marginalized. This can be, I argue, considered as a positive development in the consolidation of pluralistic democratic practices, as conceptualized by Norval (2007, 2009), Laclau (2005) and Mouffe (2000a, b). However, by discussing the political developments during the EU-led democratization process in Turkey, I have suggested that this new situation has very quickly led to a high level polarization within Turkish society, endangering democratic practices. I consider that two main factors were influential in leading to such a polarization. One is the fact that the EU’s democratization process and the concomitant institutional transformation of the Turkish state have been run by a political power that significant segments of the society did not trust because of its political Islamist character. The other, I argue, is the fact that the EU has run its democratization efforts only through empowering the once marginalized, today welcomed anti-establishment forces rather than creating a ground for a genuine pluralistic democracy to flourish.

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I therefore suggest that instead of concentrating on the interactions and articulatory practices of the human agency alone, we should perhaps start analysing democratization efforts, especially those led by ‘Western’ third parties within the context of current neo-liberal globalization trends. Furthermore, to reach more productive results about democratization and EU engagement, we perhaps also need to investigate the socio-economic effects of globalization on societies. In this sense, we can then perhaps genuinely challenge and ameliorate the liberal democracy ‘model’, especially in countries like Turkey where socio-economic exclusion remains a core democratic deficit in the society.

Notes 1. I borrowed this term from Nathalie Tocci (2005, p. 81). 2. By spelling Europe as EUrope I am trying to highlight the hegemonic role played by the EU in monopolizing conceptually the meanings associated with the idea of Europe. I am grateful to Dr Marco Antonsich for suggesting this terminological use. See also his article on this issue (Antonsich, 2008). 3. Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Republic of Turkey website, ‘Relations between Turkey and the European Union’ section, available at http://www.mfa.gov. tr/relations-between-turkey-and-the-european-union.en.mfa, date accessed 10 October 2009. 4. ‘Multiple Modernities’ is a term coined by S.N. Eisenstadt which denotes a certain view of the contemporary world which has undermined classical theories of modernization, but paradoxically remained closely connected ‘with the development of new multiple common reference points and networks, through the globalization of cultural networks and channels of communication, far beyond what existed before’ (Eisenstadt, 2000, pp. 592, 610). 5. For further information about IMF- and EU-led economic reform policies in Turkey, see Öni¸s and Bakır, 2007. 6. See BBC (2008) ‘ “Deep-state” trial polarises Turkey’, available at http://news. bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/7684578.stm, date accessed 10 October 2009. 7. Kemalism is a set of principles introduced by the Turkish national movement leader Mustafa Kemal Atatürk in the 1920s that defines the basic characteristics of the Republic of Turkey, namely republicanism and secularism. 8. See Hurriyet Daily News ‘Wiretapping scandal still echoes in Turkish capital’, available at http://www.hurriyetdailynews.com/n.php?n=wiretappingscandal-still-echoed-in-capital-2009-11-16, date accessed 17 November 2009. 9. Dan Bilefsky (2009) ‘Subversion trial puts cloud over Turkey’, New York Times, available at http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/13/world/europe/ 13iht-turkey.html, date accessed 17 November 2009. 10. Commission of the European Communities (2009) Turkey 2009 Progress Report, http://ec.europa.eu/enlargement/pdf/key_documents/2009/tr_rapport_ 2009_en.pdf, p. 6, date accessed 17 November 2009.

Emel Akçalı 55 11. Dan Bilefsky (2009) ‘Subversion trial puts cloud over Turkey’, New York Times, available at http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/13/world/europe/ 13iht-turkey.html, date accessed 17 November 2009. 12. Professor Saylan passed away soon after her house search and thousands of people attended her funeral, carrying Turkish flags and shouting ‘Turkey is secular and will stay secular’ and ‘Hear our voices AKP’. 13. Dan Bilefsky (2009) ‘Subversion trial puts cloud over Turkey’, New York Times, available at http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/13/world/europe/ 13iht-turkey.html, date accessed 17 November 2009. 14. Even though the EU has empowered anti-establishment forces in Turkey, it cannot be said that it has reached out to the ones who needed support the most. This is mainly because the EU often directs funding and gives a voice to the ‘usual suspects’, namely the relatively large, well-equipped and well-connected liberal non-governmental organizations (NGOs) in big cities (Tocci and Kaliber, 2008). 15. Cumhuriyet, 22 September 2007. Behiç Ak is a famous Turkish caricaturist whose cartoons confront Turkish society with the paradoxes and absurdities of their lives and multiple identities (2003). 16. This refers to the Treaty signed with the Allied Powers in the aftermath of the First World War which foresaw the partition of the Ottoman Empire among its ethnic communities, with large territorial shares given to Greek and Armenian populations. It also foresaw the creation of an ethnically Kurdish state in the territories that belong to Turkey today. The Treaty of Sèvres was cancelled after 3 years of the War of Liberation led by Mustafa Kemal Atatürk against the Allied Powers, but it has remained one of the most disturbing reference points in the Turkish collective memory. 17. Professor Ahmet I˙ nsel wrote a piece in Radikal, a liberal Turkish newspaper, about the proliferation of Islamic activism into state institutions in Turkey which he qualifies as dangerous because it can hinder a democratic regime based on the rule of law and lead the country to neo-feudalism. A. I˙ nsel (2007) ‘Neofeodal devlette ilerlerken’ (Moving towards a neo-feudal state), Radikal 04 March 2007, available at http://www.radikal.com.tr/ek_ haber.php?ek=r2&haberno=6800, date accessed 17 October 2009.

Bibliography Ak, B. (2003) ‘Humoring the State’, The South Atlantic Quarterly, 102 (2/3), Spring/Summer, 396–403. Akçalı, E. (2011) ‘Getting real on fluctuating national identities: Insights from Northern Cyprus’, Antipode (forthcoming). Antonsich, M. (2009) ‘On territory, the nation-state and the crisis of the hyphen’, Progress in Human Geography, 33 (6), 1–18. Antonsich, M. (2008) ‘European attachment and meanings of Europe: A qualitative study in the EU-15’, Political Geography, 27 (6), 691–710. Arıkan, H. (2006) Turkey and the EU: An Awkward Candidate for EU Membership (Aldershot: Ashgate). Baç-Müftüler, M. (2005) ‘Turkey’s political reforms and the impact of the European Union’, South European Society and Politics, 10 (1), 17–31.

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Bilefsky, D. (2009) ‘Subversion trial puts cloud over Turkey’, New York Times, available at http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/13/world/europe/13iht-turkey.html, date accessed 17 November 2009. Cerny, G.P. (2009) ‘Some pitfalls of democratisation in a globalising world: Thoughts from the 2008 millennium conference’, Millennium: Journal of International Studies, 37 (3), 767–90. Diez, T., Agnantopoulos, A. and Kaliber, A. (2005) ‘Turkey, europeanization and civil society’, South European Society and Politics, 10 (1), 1–15. Dündar, C. and Kazda˘ glı, C. (1997) Ergenekon (I˙ stanbul: I˙ mge Yayınevi). Eisenstadt, S.N. (2000) ‘The reconstruction of religious arenas in the framework of multiple modernities’, Millennium – Journal of International Studies, 29 (3), 591–611. Flint, C. (2001) ‘The geopolitics of laughter and forgetting: A world-systems interpretation of the postmodern geopolitical condition’, Geopolitics, 6 (3), 1–16. Göksel, N.D. and Güne¸s, B.R. (2005) ‘The role of NGOs in the European integration process: The Turkish experience’, South European Society & Politics, 10 (1), 57–72. Grigoriadis, I.N. (2006) ‘Upsurge amidst political uncertainty: Nationalism in post-2004 Turkey’, SWP Research Paper, http://www.policypointers.org/Page/ View/4558, date accessed 5 December 2009. I˙ nsel, A. (2003) ‘The AKP and normalizing democracy in Turkey’, The South Atlantic Quarterly, 102 (2/3), 293–308. I¸sın, E. (2002) ‘Citizenship after orientalism’ in E. I¸sın and B.S. Turner (eds) Handbook of Citizenship Studies (London: Sage). Laclau, E. (2005) On Populist Reason (London: Verso). Mouffe, C. (2000a) ‘Politics and passions: The stakes of democracy’, Ethical Perspectives, 7 (2–3), 146–50. Mouffe, C. (2000b) The Democratic Paradox (London, New York: Verso). Mouffe, C. (2009) ‘Democracy in a multipolar world’, Millennium – Journal of International Studies, 37 (3), 549–61. Norval, A.J. (2007) Aversive Democracy. Inheritance and Originality in the Democratic Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Norval, A.J. (2009) ‘ “No Reconciliation without Redress”: Articulating political demands in post-transitional South Africa’, Critical Discourse Studies, 6 (4), 311–21. Öni¸s, Z. (2009) ‘Conservative globalism at the crossroads: The justice and development party and the thorny path of democratic consolidation in Turkey’, Mediterranean Politics, 14 (1), 21–40. Öni¸s, Z. and Bakır, C. (2007) ‘Turkey’s political economy in the age of financial globalisation: The significance of the EU anchor’, South European Society and Politics, 12 (2), 147–64. Pace, M. (2009) ‘Paradoxes and contradictions in EU democracy promotion in the mediterranean: The limits of EU normative power’, Democratization, 16 (1), 39–58. Palonen, C. (2009) ‘Political polarisation and populism in contemporary Hungary’, Parliamentary Affairs, 62 (2/3), 318–34. Rumford, C. (2003) ‘European civil society or transnational social space? Conceptions of society in discourses of EU citizenship, governance and the

Emel Akçalı 57 democractic deficit: An emerging agenda’, European Journal of Social Theory, 6 (1), 25–43. Saari, S. (2009) ‘European democracy promotion in Russia before and after the “colour” Revolutions’, Democratization, (16) 4, 732–55. Tocci, N. (2005) ‘Europeanization in Turkey: Trigger or anchor for reform?’, South European Society and Politics, 10 (1), 73–83. Tocci, N. and Kaliber, A. (2008) ‘Conflict society and transformation of Turkey’s Kurdish question’, SHUR, 01 August, 1–38. Wedel, J.R. (1998) Collision and Collusion: The Strange Case of Western Aid to Eastern Europe 1989–1998 (New York: St. Martin’s Press).

4 Democratization in Iran: A Role for the EU? Shabnam J. Holliday

Introduction My contention is threefold. Firstly, international and domestic politics are interdependent, which is shown through a deconstruction of Iran’s democracy movement during Ahmadinezhad’s presidency. Secondly, Iran’s indigenous democracy movement, based on its own historical experience, whatever form it may take, should be allowed to develop organically from within Iran. This is because it has its own agenda and aspirations, one of which is anti-imperialism.1 Thirdly, based on the above, I contend that if the European Union (EU) wishes to encourage democratization in Iran, it needs to reconsider its policy towards Iran. Currently, it advocates ‘positive measures’ in relation to the issue of human rights abuses. However, these measures are contradicted by the ‘negative measures’ it employs and supports in response to Iran’s nuclear programme. Thus, the EU’s position towards Iran is inconsistent. Analyses of democracy in predominantly Muslim societies often address the question of whether or not Islam and democracy are compatible. Asef Bayat argues that this question is the wrong one to ask. Instead, he suggests it is under what conditions Muslims can make democracy and modernity compatible with Islam that should be asked (2007, p. 4). The events surrounding the tenth presidential election in the Islamic Republic of Iran on 22 Khurd¯ad 1388/12 June 20092 suggest that the question regarding the compatibility of Islam and democracy is no longer relevant. The sophistication of the campaigns, the televised debates between presidential candidates, the ideas articulated by presidential candidates Mir-Hossein Mousavi and Mehdi Karroubi and the protests following the results by what has come to be known as Jibhih-yi Sabz (the Green Movement), or Mawj-i Sabz (the Green Wave)3 have 58

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demonstrated how a predominantly Muslim society has made Islam democratic. Nevertheless, it must be stressed that Iran has been making Islam democratic for some time; Iran has a history of indigenous calls for values associated with democracy starting with the 1906 Iranian Constitution (Azimi, 2008).4 The EU does not have a formal policy of democracy promotion in relation to Iran. However, its general advocacy of human rights means that it has an impact on Iran’s democracy movement. Ulrich Sedelmeier argues that the promotion of human rights and democracy has been the EU’s most important role since the end of the Cold War (2006, p. 119). Based on this link, as Karen Smith argues, the EU pursues this human rights objective through ‘positive measures’, which are designed to encourage and reward, as opposed to ‘negative measures’ intended to punish lack of progress, such as sanctions (2003, p. 110). ‘Positive measures’ are thought to help ‘establish the conditions under which democratic principles and human rights can be protected’. It is believed that ‘negative measures do not necessarily address the causes of human rights violations, and can even worsen the situation’ (Smith, 2003, p. 110). The EU’s policy of ‘comprehensive dialogue’ during Seyyed Muhammad Khatami’s presidency suggests an interest in reform in Iran. In this regard, Shahriar Sabet-Saeidi (2008, p. 63) highlights that in July 1998 the head of the EU’s delegation in its meeting with Iran in Vienna wanted to support reform. Others (Moshaver, 2005, p. 187; Youngs, 2006, pp. 69–70), however, emphasize the importance of trade. Nevertheless, following 11 September 2001, the EU wanted to develop what had started as a proposal on trade into a proposal for political dialogue that would enable a formal human rights dialogue. However, in 2003, the talks were still exploratory (Youngs, 2006, p. 73). The Islamic Republic of Iran is not simply an example of a predominantly Muslim country where Islam has been made democratic. Iran also has a nuclear programme, the nature of which is debated – civilian or military. In reaction to this, the international community, with the full support of the EU, has put pressure on Iran by imposing sanctions, ‘negative measures’. Thus, the EU’s relationship with the Islamic Republic of Iran is one of strained engagement with political Islam; at the centre of this relationship are the issues of human rights and Iran’s nuclear programme. In the context of engaging political Islam in debates about democracy promotion, the Islamic Republic of Iran demonstrates an intriguing case. On one level, while elements of the regime are vehemently opposed to

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the idea of democracy, other elements advocate it. Thus, the Islamic Republic of Iran is an example of political Islam whereby the idea of democracy has developed from within. On another level, democracy is also being advocated by Iranians who do not consider themselves as part of the political system and in many cases reject political Islam and are opposed to the very idea of an Islamic Republic. The EU’s strained engagement with Iran will be analysed, by deconstructing the idea of democracy in Iran, how it is articulated and the meanings attached to it. This will be done by defining two examples of democracy that have evolved out of the very foundations of the Islamic Republic of Iran and analysing the idea of democracy reflected in the ‘Peace and Democracy Discourse’ and the dynamics of the 1388/2009 presidential election.

Defining democracy When defining democracy, the focus should be on domestic desires rather than those of external actors; the population of a country should be permitted to determine its own system of government. In Iran, the notion of democracy is not monolithic. Recurring issues in the calls for democratic practices are civil society, the rule of law, and human rights. Some Iranians call for a secular democracy, others for Islamic democracy. The aim here is to give the essence of these two ideas. The first example is that of former president Khatami. Fakhreddin Azimi argues that Khatami’s election was ‘a rejection of authoritarianism and a clear indication of the scale and strength of democratic aspirations in the country’ (2008, p. 381). Khatami was upheld as the hope for democracy in Iran both internally and externally. His presidency (1997–2005) became the most significant period since the establishment of the Islamic Republic of Iran in terms of democracy in Iran: the ideas of democracy were articulated at the state level for the first time since 1979. Khatami used the term mardums¯al¯ar¯ı (literally, government by the people); the Persianized version of the word democracy, dim¯ukr¯as¯ı, was used to refer to the non-Iranian experience, specifically the Western experience. His aim for Iran was Islamic mardums¯al¯ar¯ı (democracy); its main pillars are ‘freedom, equality, and possession of rights’ through which the people are able to truly enjoy civil and political rights (Abtahi, 1380/2001, p. 7).5 Khatami’s speech in Hamadan on 29 August 1998 outlines how he understands mardums¯al¯ar¯ı: ‘Government for the people’ means that the people have rights; it means that the government has an obligation towards the people; it

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means the people have a role in the legitimacy of government. Such views are compatible with democratic government. Such a view also exists in Islam and our Constitution also confirms this view. This means that people have a role in the realization of government; this means the people’s vote is the decider. (1380/2001, p. 17)6 As far as Khatami is concerned, the values of democracy are also the values of Islam and Iran’s Constitution. Thus, Islamic mardums¯al¯ar¯ı is authentic and legitimate. Later in the same speech Khatami associates Islamic mardums¯al¯ar¯ı with Seyyed Jamal ad-Din Asadabady (Afghani) and Muhammad Musaddiq,7 both of whom are considered as important figures in the struggle against what is perceived to be imperialism. I have argued elsewhere that this association demonstrates that embedded in Khatami’s understanding of democracy are strong anti-imperialist sentiments (Holliday, 2010, pp. 10–12). The roots of Khatami’s Islamic mardums¯al¯ar¯ı lay in the ideas of Rawshanfikr¯an-i D¯ın¯ı (Religious Intellectuals). During Ali Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani’s presidency (1989–97), as Hamid Dabashi highlights, the Islamic Republic of Iran experienced internal dissent. Led by activist intellectuals, this manifested itself as an ideological opposition that appeared from within the Islamic Republic; they came to call themselves Rawshanfikr¯an-i D¯ın¯ı (2006, p. 190). These intellectuals, according to Bayat, were the main intellectual source of ‘post-Islamist practices’; they made Islam democratic and consequently engendered, as far as Bayat is concerned, ‘one of the most remarkable intellectual movements in the Muslim world with far-reaching implications for religious thought and democratic practice’ (2007, p. 84). Women too played an important role in this period. Mehri Honarbin-Holliday argues that a women’s press re-emerged, with the help of which their position in the Islamic Republic of Iran was re-conceptualized based on a thorough knowledge of Islam, the Quran and feminist ideology (2008, p. 46). Among Rawshanfikr¯an-i D¯ın¯ı was Akbar Ganji, now one of the most vociferous advocates of democracy and one of Iran’s most vocal dissidents. Significantly, Ganji was actively involved in the early stages of the Islamic regime and in consolidating the institutions of the theocracy (Dabashi, 2006, p. 242). However, he became disillusioned with the Islamic Republic of Iran (Cohen and Milani, 2007, p. xiii). Ganji’s speech at the Berlin Conference8 in April 2000 addressed how democracy can be achieved. Ganji argued that ‘[D]emocracy is the product of democratic people and without people democracy is impossible to create’. He

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went on to argue that there are two types of political system; those that accept reform and those that reject it. As far as he was concerned, the Islamic Republic of Iran falls into the former category. It becomes clear that he believes that Iran can become democratic by means of elections and peaceful democratic methods, rather than revolutions (1379/2000, pp. 71–3). On his return to Iran, following the Berlin Conference, Ganji was summoned to court, where a warrant for his arrest was issued (Sharq, 1876/2003). He was imprisoned between 2000 and 2006 where he went on more than one hunger strike. He currently lives in the US. Whilst in prison, Ganji wrote M¯an¯ıfist-i Jumh¯ur¯ıkh¯ah¯ı (Republican Manifesto) in which he outlined his idea of democracy, jumh¯ur¯ı-yi mudirn-i dim¯ukr¯at¯ık (modern democratic republic). Two aspects of this are the importance of elections and the issue of human rights. Ganji argues that in such a political system, no power is exempt from election. In this regard he states: ‘All adult citizens have the right to participate in elections: the right to elect and the right to be elected.’ He goes on to state that no one can be prevented from participating in elections because of their beliefs, religion or race. He also argues that this republic is based on human rights and that ‘the link between the concept of a republic and the idea of universal human rights is very strong’. As will be shown below, Ganji’s democracy must be attained by Iranians and not by external forces (1381/2002). There are similarities between the democracies of Khatami and Ganji. Integral to both are elections, human rights and the rejection of external forces. However, Ganji’s democracy implies a rejection of the system of government in the Islamic Republic of Iran whereby the Supreme Leader decides who can stand for election and is not himself elected by the people. Thus, while Khatami advocated an Islamic democracy, Ganji rejected the idea of vil¯ayat-i faq¯ıh (guardianship of the Islamic jurists). Nonetheless, these two particular examples of how the idea of democracy is defined are articulated by two individuals that have been, and in the case of Khatami continue to be, part of the Islamic Republic. These examples also show not only that there is an organic democracy movement in Iran, but also that the idea of democracy is being constructed on the basis of Iran’s historical experience and not the EU’s historical experience.9 If Aletta Norval and Amr Abdulrahman’s suggestion in this edited volume of a shift from selective support of ‘contestational practices’ towards a radical aversive conception of democracy that ‘does not and cannot seek to prejudge either the sites where

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democracy may erupt or the actors who may engage in such activities’ were to be heeded by the EU, then these ideas of democracy should be supported. The question is, however, what form that support should take. Furthermore, in the case of Iran, the issue of democracy is complicated by the issue of Iran’s nuclear programme, and the EU’s response to it, and the belief of some that democracy enabled by external forces is imperialism. Thus, we see an interdependence of international and domestic politics.

Peace and democracy discourse The examples above demonstrate that during Khatami’s presidency there were indigenous ideas of democracy based on Iran’s historical experience being articulated. This continued during Ahmadinezhad’s presidency. However, the context was different. During Ahmadinezhad’s first term (2005–9), Iran witnessed an exacerbation of human rights abuses (AI, 2008; HRW, 2008) as well as the nuclear issue. In response to the former, the EU issued a number of statements in which it condemned the clampdown on freedom of expression, death sentences and executions (Europa, 2008a, b, c, d, e; Ferrero-Waldner, 2007). However, alongside these condemnations of the Islamic Republic of Iran’s human rights violations, the nuclear issue has been the international community’s main focus. A series of UN Security resolutions were issued (UN, 2006a, b, 2007, 2008). Significantly, United Nations (UN) Security Resolution 1747, which calls for the ‘toughening’ of sanctions was submitted by Britain, France and Germany (UN, 2007). Thus, the EU has not only supported, but has also been complicit in the implementation of ‘negative measures’. In the context of the imposition of sanctions and the increase in human rights violations for some individuals and groups, it became clear that if Iran’s democracy movement were to survive and continue to develop, there must be an end to sanctions. These individuals and groups have been labelled the ‘Peace and Democracy Discourse’. They argue, as illustrated below, that sanctions and the threat of war, let alone actual military attack, provide Ahmadinezhad’s administration an excuse to arrest, detain and execute in the name of ‘national security’. Thus, for this discourse, the ‘West’s’ support of sanctions, which includes the EU, enables Ahmadinezhad’s abuse of human rights. Furthermore, the Peace and Democracy Discourse’s approach to democracy in Iran along with the context in which it is being articulated show that domestic and international politics are interdependent.

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The dynamics of international relations – Iran’s relationship with the ‘West’ – affects how both democracy and democratization (how it is to be achieved) are understood in Iran. In addition to this, it is clear that the Peace and Democracy Discourse is also very much aware not only of the impact of the approach of the ‘West’ – the EU (or at least of some of its member states) and the US – towards Iran both contemporaneously and historically, but also of their approach towards Iran’s neighbours, Iraq and Afghanistan. The interdependence of domestic and international politics is significant to the EU’s engagement with the Islamic Republic of Iran. First of all, the EU needs to be aware of how it and its member states are perceived. Secondly, if the EU is interested in enabling or promoting democracy in Iran, it needs to be aware of the indirect impact on the democracy movement of sanctions employed in relation to the nuclear issue. Finally, due to the relationship of the EU, its member states and the US towards Iran historically and currently in the region, many of their actions are perceived as imperialism. In this regard, as will now be illustrated, the articulation of anti-imperialism is embedded in the Peace and Democracy Discourse. While the individuals and groups of the Peace and Democracy Discourse all call for democracy, a division must be made. On the one hand there is Ganji, who, as shown above, has rejected vil¯ayat-i faq¯ıh. On the other hand, the National Peace Council, academics and the nongovernmental organization (NGO), Mothers for Peace, do not question the idea of vil¯ayat-i faq¯ıh. Nevertheless, they have in common a belief in Iran’s democracy movement and that democratization should take place from within. Ganji articulates the interdependence of international and domestic politics and subsequent anti-imperialist sentiment in his article in the Washington Post. He does this by associating democracy with wider freedoms, imperialism and peace. He argues: [T]he Iranian people, myself included, need freedom, democracy and peace . . . Over the past two centuries, many Iranian politicians were paid or influenced by foreign powers. As a result, most Iranian intellectuals and democratic forces are deeply critical of external support. Iranians are viewed as discredited when they receive money from foreign governments. The Bush administration may be striving to help Iranian democrats, but any Iranian who seeks American dollars will not be recognized as a democrat by his or her fellow citizens. The Iranian regime uses American funding as an excuse to persecute opponents. Although its accusations are false, this has proved

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effective in poisoning the public against the regime’s opponents. Fear of foreign meddling is one reason for the regime’s staying power. Of course, Iran’s democratic movement and civil institutions need funding. But this must come from independent Iranian sources. Iranians themselves must support the transition to democracy; it cannot be presented like a gift. Expatriate Iranians can assist the transition. Many of the social prerequisites of democracy exist in Iran today, but dollars cannot produce the bravery or love of freedom that individuals need to make the transition possible. So here is our request to Congress: To do away with any misunderstanding, we hope lawmakers will approve a bill that bans payment to individuals or groups opposing the Iranian government. Iran’s democratic movement does not need foreign handouts; it needs the moral support of the international community and condemnation of the Iranian regime for its systematic violation of human rights. (2007) Here, Ganji has shown that external involvement in Iran’s democracy movement is problematic because of the legacy of influence from foreign powers in Iran’s affairs. In doing this, he also shows how the democratization process in Iran can be enabled: moral support from the international community and a condemnation of human rights violation. The context of this article is also significant. While he makes specific demands of the US Congress, his audience is also the international community in general. Thus, he is trying to engage directly with the international community, which includes the EU. A year later, the interdependence of international and domestic politics and the relationship between peace and democracy in Iran came to a head in the summer of 2008 when once again there were renewed fears of an Israeli or American military attack on Iran.10 This was partly due to the ongoing tensions surrounding Iran’s nuclear programme and fears especially in Israel and the US that the programme is for military purposes. In this environment, on 3 July 2008, a group of academics issued the following statement: [I]ranian academicians believe democracy, not as an imported and luxury commodity, but as a viable method of people’s participation in major domestic and foreign decision makings and then defending the implementation of these decisions in practice, is the best method for governing the country.

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Academicians with full knowledge of the devastating impact of the long war imposed on Iran by Iraq’s dictatorial regime, which was initiated and maintained with the support of major world powers, are mindful of and express their utmost revulsion towards another war. For this reason, academicians view avoidance and prevention of war, while protecting Iran’s honour and integrity, as a national duty. The academicians are against the imposition of economic sanctions and the continuing state of ‘neither war, nor peace’. They demand lasting peace. Iran’s academicians reach out and call on individual peace activists and all peace movements throughout the world to raise their voice against military interventions and the expansionist policies of warmongers. (CI, 2008a) A similar discourse is articulated in the goals of the National Peace Council, which was first established on 3 July 2008 (CI, 2008b) following the forming of the Provisional Peace Committee in November 2007 by 2003 Nobel Peace Laureate and human rights lawyer, Shirin Ebadi (IHRV, 2008). At the meeting ‘strong opposition to war and sanctions’, the ‘end to the situation of “neither war, nor peace” ’ which is perceived to be ‘so detrimental to the economy as well as the democratic and civil society movement in Iran’ were expressed (CI, 2008b). On 3 September 2008, the National Peace Council confirmed its four goals as: (1) [the] establishment, strengthening, and promotion of foundations for peace, human rights, and lasting development in Iran; (2) rejection and prevention of any military, terrorist, or violent confrontation; (3) working towards removal of reasons for sanctions against Iran and preventing further intensification of sanctions; [and] (4) ending the current situation of ‘no war-no peace’. (IRHV, 2008) A closer look at the members of this council indicates that the meanings embedded in these goals indeed refer to democracy and antiimperialism. For example, one of the members is Ebrahim Yazdi,11 the Islamic Republic of Iran’s first minister of foreign affairs and the secre¯ ad¯ı-yi ¯Ir¯an (Freedom Movement tary general of the banned Nihzat-i Az¯ of Iran), which was founded in 1961 by some members of Musaddiq’s Nahzat-i Mill¯ı (National Front). Their main aim is ‘to gain freedom, independence and democracy for the Iranian nation, on the basis of a modern interpretation of Islamic principles’ (FMI, 2009). Another

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member is ‘Abbas ‘Abdi, once a leader of the D¯anishj¯uy¯an-i Musulm¯an-i Payruv-i Khat-i Im¯am (Muslim Student Followers of the Imam Line), who seized the US Embassy in Tehran in November 1979, and later one of Rawshanfikr¯an-i D¯ın¯ı. Later in the same summer, on 26 and 27 August, the international conference ‘Regional Meeting on Muslim Women Challenges to achieve Sustainable Peace and Security’, hosted by Tehran’s Mayor’s office and H¯am¯ı (Association for the Protection of Refugee Women and Children) among others, was held at Tehran’s Kh¯anih-yi Hunarmand¯an (Artists’ Forum). Speakers included representatives from civil society organizations and government representatives mainly from Iran, Afghanistan and Iraq. Those speaking on Iran articulated a discourse calling for the West to respect and consider human rights when causing or supporting war in the region. There was a strong sense of rejection of importing democracy into Iran.12 One of the speakers was journalist Lili Farhadpour, who is one of the founders of Mothers for Peace. This NGO states that its members are mothers of diverse ethnic and religious backgrounds, who seek ‘justice, freedom, independence and peace’. They participated in the 1979 Revolution as part of their struggle against Muhammad Reza Shah’s ‘dictatorship and imperialism’. They state that they have witnessed firsthand the impact of war (the 8-year Iran-Iraq war) and sanctions (MFP, 2009). An examination of Farhadpour’s presentation shows a link between peace, democracy and anti-imperialism. She states: I may not vote for Ahmadinezhad, nor will I vote for him. But the way the media in the West attacks Ahmadinezhad, I find is an attack on Iran. I do not support plans to bring democracy [to Iran] as in Iraq and Afghanistan. We have our democratic movement: Reformists, the women’s movement and the students’ movement. (2008) And also that: [D]emocracy in Iran can only be obtained by Iranians. Neither America, Israel nor Europe will give democracy to Iran. I personally prefer the Islamic Republic to the democracy that America has gifted to Iraq and Afghanistan. The issue is that within Iran, movements for democracy, reform, students, women . . . are active and working hard and constantly challenging the regime’s totalitarian tendencies. And they pay the price for it too. (2008)

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The voices of the group of Iranian academics, the National Peace Council and Mothers for Peace demonstrate the interdependence of international and domestic politics in two ways. Firstly, like Ganji, they articulate clearly their awareness of the ‘West’s’ role in Iran’s political history as well as their role in more contemporary dynamics in the region. Secondly, they articulate how democracy in Iran should be achieved; internally by means of Iran’s democracy movement, which is comprised of Reformists, and the students’ and women’s movements. To this regard, they are adamant on the need to allow space for the democracy movement in Iran to flourish. This is intrinsically linked with peace; this means no economic sanctions, let alone military attack or threat of military attack. This interdependence of the international and domestic has three implications for the EU’s engagement with Iran. Firstly, historical involvement by the EU’s member states, namely Britain, is perceived as imperialism. This makes the EU’s involvement in Iran’s democracy movement problematic, as that too could be perceived as imperialism. Secondly, the EU’s support for sanctions in response to Iran’s nuclear programme hinders Iran’s democracy movement because the sanctions provide an excuse for Ahmadinezhad to make arrests in the name of national security. Thirdly, with this discourse we once again see the articulation of democracy based on Iran’s historical experience. Thus, if the EU wishes to promote or enable democracy in Iran it needs to change its understanding of democracy towards a radical, aversive conception of democracy that supports democracy however it appears, as argued by Norval and Abdulrahman.

Tenth presidential election The dynamics surrounding the tenth presidential election in the summer of 1388/2009 demonstrate both a continuation and intensification of the dynamics of Ahmadinezhad’s first term. This is evident in the intensification of Iran’s democracy movement as reflected in the election campaigns and the post-election protests. The campaigns, massive rallies, discussions regarding who would be the most appropriate president along with censorship, arbitrary arrests and harassment (AI, 2009a, b) culminated in fraudulent results (Ansari, 2009; Ehsani et al., 2009; Mebane, 2009) and subsequent protests throughout the country. Ahmadinezhad’s response to these protests has been the arrest and beating of those involved or suspected of involvement in the protests (AI, 2009b). Six months after the election, the protests and arrests have

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continued; the most recent at the time of writing was on Students’ Day, ¯ 16 Azar/7 December. In addition to these dynamics, the nuclear issue has once again become a focus of the international community following Iran’s revelation in September 2009 that it is building a second enrichment site in Qom. Thus, as was the case during Ahmadinezhad’s first term, there is a situation whereby Iran’s democracy movement is very active at the same time as the abuse of human rights and the nuclear issue are at the forefront of the international community’s concerns. The election campaigns demonstrate a continuation of the call for democracy, or at least reform in Iran. Both former Prime Minister Mousavi13 and Speaker of Parliament Karroubi, labelled as reformists, called for more democratic practices. Significantly, Mousavi was endorsed by Khatami. Like Khatami, he stressed the importance of the rule of law. For example, in a speech entitled ‘Discriminatory politics towards students, women, the youth, labourers and all strata of society must be changed’, made on 16 May, Mousavi states: ‘We must proceed according to the path of the law and even if at some point we do not accept the law, we must change it according to the path of the law’ (1388/2009b). Endorsed by Abtahi among others, according to Sadjadpour, Karroubi took more ‘reformist positions than Mousavi, pledging to free political prisoners and abolish the Guardian Council’s ability to reject candidates’ (2009). The intensification of the democracy movement is reflected in the decision by the women’s movement to come together, despite their differences, in favour of Mousavi. There is no doubt that a particularly striking feature in these election campaigns was the visibility of women from the grassroots reminiscent of the 1997 elections. In many ways, the activities and endeavours of women in Iran have been symbolic of the democracy movement since the 1990s. Between 1990 and 2001, as Elaheh Rostami-Povey points out, women with diverse views and from different social groups came together and interacted with both the state and institutions of religion, law, media, parliament, politics, and sport to influence how the institutions behave (2001, p. 44). HonarbinHolliday also highlights the role of women in democratization in Iran. Writing more recently, she argues that women play a leading role in ‘the battle of ideas regarding the condition of women in society, and developing grassroots non-violent civil society and civil rights movement’ (2008, p. 127). Honarbin-Holliday recognizes the significant role played by young women in a ‘collective and egalitarian struggle for change through individual participation, private institutions,

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and non-governmental organizations’ (Honarbin-Holiday, 2008, p. 127). In their analyses of the position and role of women in Iranian society both Honarbin-Holliday and Rostami-Povey not only draw attention to the women’s organizations and the media working towards a more egalitarian society, but also highlight the democratic discourse adopted by the women themselves. Rostami-Povey was concerned that a breakdown of the women’s alliance in 2001 would have significant ramifications for the process of democratization and secularization (2001, p. 45). This is significant because in the run-up to the 1388/2009 election women of different social groups and diverse political perspectives (secular feminists, Islamist feminists, reformists, and those with allegiances with the regime) established Hamgar¯ay¯ı-yi Junbish-i Zan¯an (the Coalition of the [Iranian] Women’s Movement). On 14 May, the Feminist School, one of the groups taking part in the Coalition, published a statement on their website in which they state: The Iranian women’s movement, which in the past years has pursued various ways and means of voicing the demands of Iranian women, and [has] actively sought to achieve these, is now using the opportunity posed by the tenth Iranian presidential elections to form a coalition. By stating some of the basic demands of Iranian women and raising public awareness, the coalition intends to affect decision-making institutions and individuals. (2009)14 The women’s ‘vote’ was very important in Mousavi’s campaign. Not only was his wife, Zahra Rahnavard, a former university chancellor, an integral part of the campaign, but so were women’s issues and demands. One of the electronic flyers, entitled Zan¯an va Dawlat-i M¯ır-Husayn-i M¯usav¯ı (Women and the Government of Mir-Hossein Mousavi) downloadable from GhalamNews15 was dedicated to the issue of women. One of the seven sections focuses on the rights of women and Mousavi’s aims in this regard. The dynamics of human rights abuse, the nuclear issue and the possibility of further sanctions has caused members of the democracy movement to make demands of the international community. For example, in November, Bahareh Hedayat of ‘Itih¯ad¯ıyih-yi Anjumani Isl¯am¯ı-yi D¯anishj¯uy¯an-i ¯Ir¯an¯ı, Daftar-i Tahk¯ım-iVahdat (Union of the Islamic Society of Iranian Students, Student Union to Foster Unity) addressed the European Students’ Union asking for solidarity. She pointed out to her European audience that the students’ movement

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has actively participated in the democracy movement since 2005. She stated that she was sending a message at a time ‘when peaceful struggle for freedom and democracy is being violently repressed’ (2009). More explicit demands have been made by Mousavi, Ganji and Ebadi. In August, at a seminar hosted by Emory University, Ebadi was very clear in her demands from the international community. Firstly, as before, as illustrated above, Ebadi rejected any military attack, threat of military attack or economic sanctions because not only would they damage the people, but also ‘give the government the excuse to suppress in the name of national security’. Secondly, she asked that the international media not only bring the voice of the government to the world, but also that of the people. Thirdly, she asked that solidarity for the victims be shown by gathering in parks on Saturday nights. Fourthly, she demanded that governments, especially western governments, who ‘believe in human rights’ include the issue of human rights in their negotiations on the nuclear issue. Finally, if this is unsuccessful, then these governments should impose political sanctions whereby ambassadors are withdrawn. She stressed that this does not mean a cutting of ties altogether (2009). Like Ebadi, Mousavi and Ganji oppose military attack and economic sanctions. To this regard, on 28 September, Mousavi issued his 13th statement, entitled Khush¯unat Ch¯arihs¯az nist (Violence is not the Solution) in which he condemned sanctions (1388/2009a). Like Ebadi, he believes that sanctions would affect the people rather than the government. In a document entitled B¯a ¯ın rizh¯ım chih b¯ayad kard? (What should be done with this Regime?), Ganji argues that it is possible to oppose military attack and economic sanctions and yet allow the international community to have a responsibility towards the Iranian people (1388/2009, pp. 6–7). Ganji goes on to state that not only is he in favour of clever political sanctions, but he also advocates that the Islamic Republic, specifically Ahmadinezhad and the Supreme Leader, be taken to the UN’s court for crimes against humanity (1388/2009, p. 7). In the aftermath of the tenth presidential election the EU is faced with not only human rights abuses and an Islamist government from which calls for democracy have evolved, but also an Islamist government that is pursuing a nuclear programme, which the international community believes is military. Thus far, the way the EU has dealt with these issues highlights the contradictory nature of EU policy towards Iran. In response to human rights violations it has employed ‘positive measures’ as reflected in the statements it has issued. In response to the violence after the election results, the EU was once again clear in its

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condemnation of human rights violations. On 23 June, the EU stated that it expected the ‘crisis to be settled through democratic dialogue and peaceful means’; it showed concern for ‘the continuing brutal violence against demonstrators which has so far resulted in the loss of lives’; and called upon ‘the Iranian authorities to refrain from mass arbitrary arrests’. Finally, the statement rejected the accusation that there was European interference in the Iranian elections (Europa, 2009a). The EU has not been alone in its condemnation of human rights abuses. On 19 November the US Senate passed, by unanimous consent, a resolution which stated that ‘the Government of the Islamic Republic of Iran has systematically violated its obligations to uphold human rights provided for under its constitution and international law’. The resolution goes on to address in more detail how human rights have been violated and outlines specific incidents (USS, 2009). More recently, on 11 December, the EU issued another statement regarding Iran. This time the main focus was Iran’s nuclear programme; only the last paragraph condemns human rights violations (Europa, 2009b). In response to this the US issued a similar statement (White House, 2009). The intensification of Iran’s democracy movement presents the EU with a choice. It can continue down the same path it has done thus far whereby it supports sanctions in response to Iran’s nuclear programme which in turn allow for the abuse of human rights by Ahmadinezhad’s administration in the name of national security. Alternatively, it has the opportunity to take a lead in the international community and choose to enable Iran’s democracy movement to develop. A step towards the latter option would be to engage with members of the democracy movement, if not to take heed of and implement what they demand.

Conclusion This deconstruction of Iran’s democracy movement elucidates that there is an organic indigenous democracy movement that is fluid and not monolithic. The democracy movement and Jibhih-yi Sabz have many dimensions and voices – reformists, students, women’s movement, human rights activists and academics. Thus, as is the case in Lebanon and Palestine, as shown by Maria Holt in this edited volume, women play an important role in political discourses. Furthermore, ideas of democracy, both religious and secular, have evolved out of political Islam, in this case the Islamic Republic of Iran, as well as in reaction to this particular political Islam. While, the aims of Mousavi and Karroubi are a continuation of the ideas articulated

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by Rawshanfikr¯an-i D¯ın¯ı and Khatami, the ideas of other individuals and groups – including some students, some women and some groups included in the peace and democracy discourse – are based on their own experiences. These dynamics show that the democracy movement is at once a bottom-up and a top-down process. Finally, the democracy movement is based on Iran’s historical experience in which European powers, along with the US, have interfered on many occasions. This historical experience has caused the Iranian government and many Iranians to be suspicious of and resist what is perceived to be Western hegemony. A parallel can be drawn here with the Turkish experience, as shown in Emel Akçali’s chapter in this edited volume, where there are concerns about Western hegemony. While the EU does not have a direct policy regarding democratization in Iran, it does play an implicit role through its policy regarding human rights. If this policy is examined alongside its policy towards Iran’s nuclear programme, the EU’s engagement with Iran is somewhat contradictory. The very ‘positive measures’ employed in relation to human rights are negated by the ‘negative measures’ (economic sanctions) employed in response to the nuclear issue. While the EU’s approach to the human rights issue in Iran may be consistent with their general promotion of human rights, sanctions are being employed which ultimately have the same impact on Iran as they would if they were employed in relation to human rights abuses. The EU must also be careful in how it ‘supports’ and ‘speaks out in favour’ of Iranians desiring reform because of the legacy of some of its member states in Iran’s political history. However, while the democracy movement and Jibhih-yi Sabz do not have one voice, there are still attempts, such as those of Hedayat, Ganji, Ebadi and Mousavi, as illustrated above, at engagement with the international community. The EU, if it is serious about promoting democracy in Iran, as in the other cases addressed in this edited volume (see Pace, Akçalı, Holt and El-Effendi), must be aware of the Iranian democracy movement’s desires and engage directly with members of this democracy movement. This would imply the EU changing its own understanding of democracy towards a radical aversive conception of democracy as advocated by Norval and Abdulrahman in this edited volume.

Notes I would like to thank the editor, Michelle Pace, and the contributors to this book, Ali Ansari, Mehri Honarbin-Holliday, Brieg Powel and Elaheh Rostami-Povey for

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their constructive comments on earlier drafts. I would also like to thank the British Institute of Persian Studies for funding a research trip to Iran in June to September 2008. 1. Imperialism here is understood as domination or occupation, whether it be military, socio-economic, political or cultural. 2. The Iranian solar calendar starts on 21 March. An Iranian year can be converted into the Gregorian calendar by adding 621. For example, the Iranian year 1376 refers to the period 21 March 1997 to 20 March 1998. 3. Green was the colour of Mousavi’s election campaign. Many supporters wore green headscarves, t-shirts and ribbons around their wrists. Following the election results and reactions to the protests against Ahmadinezhad’s election, the colour green has come to symbolise the call for reform in general and not specifically Mousavi’s supporters. This call for reform has come to be known as Jibhih-yi Sabz or Mawj-i Sabz. 4. It is generally agreed the Constitutional Revolution demonstrates the beginning of Iran’s quest for democracy. There are several analyses of Iran’s desire for and expression of democracy in Iran. Gheissari and Nasr (2006) examine the relationship between state building and democracy building; Azimi (2008) explores how there has been a quest for democracy for a century in spite of authoritarian rule; Bayat (2007) illustrates a post-Islamist turn whereby Islam was made democratic in the 1990s by the Religions Intellectuals, their political mission being religious democracy; Ansari (2006) focuses on Khatami and the reform movement and the influences on Khatami. 5. Seyyed Mohammad Ali Abtahi is Khatami’s former vice-president. He also wrote the introduction to many of the collections of Khatami’s speeches. Following the 2009 election result he was arrested and was among those in the mass trials. He was released on bail on 22 November 2009. See his blog webneveshteha.com/. 6. The author has carried out all translations from the Persian text. 7. Afghani was an important figure in advocating Muslim independence against foreign encroachments in the nineteenth century. For Musaddiq (prime minister from 1951 to 53), in the context of continued domination by Britain in particular, the ideas of independence and democracy were interlinked. 8. See Zakariya’i (1379/2000) for a collection of the conference papers and discussions. See also Mir-Hosseini and Tapper (2006) for an analysis of the ideas of Eshkevari, another of the participants. 9. See Norval and Abdulrahman’s contribution to this book. 10. I was in Tehran from June to September 2008 when there was a very strong sense of impending war with the United States and/or Israel reflected in daily conversations and local media. 11. According to AI (2009b) Yazdi was among those who were arrested after the results of the 1388/2009 election. He was arrested on 17 June at Pars hospital where he was being treated. He was later released and returned to hospital. 12. I attended this conference. 13. Mousavi was prime minister during the Iran-Iraq War, while Khamene’i was president.

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14. Details of their requests and the varied stances of the different groups and personalities with regard to how democracy and equality are to be achieved are available at http://zanschool.net/english/spip.php? page=print&id_article=290. 15. At the time of writing both ghalamnews.ir and etemademelli.ir, the websites of Mousavi and Karroubi respectively, are no longer available.

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Ganji, A. (1381/2002) M¯an¯ıfist-i Jumh¯ur¯ıkh¯ah¯ı, http://content.akbarganji.org/ docs/RepublicManifesto_1.pdf, date accessed 7 December 2009. Ganji, A. (1388/2009) B¯a ¯ın Rizh¯ım chih b¯ayad kard? (What should be done with this Regime?), http://content.akbarganji.org/docs/what_to_do_with_regime. pdf, date accessed 30 November 2009. Ganji, A. (2007) Why Iran’s Democrats Shun Aid, Washington Post, http://www. washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/10/25/AR2007102502216. html?sub=new, date accessed 6 November 2007. Ganji, A. (2008) The Road to Democracy in Iran (Cambridge, Massachusetts and London: The MIT Press). GhalamNews (1388/2009) Zan¯an va Dawlat-i M¯ır-Husayn-i M¯usav¯ı’ (Women and the Government of Mir-Hossein Mousavi), http://www.ghalamnews.ir, date accessed 9 June 2009. Gheissari, A. and Nasr, V. (2006) Democracy in Iran: History and the Quest for Liberty (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Guardian (2009) ‘Iran election protests: The dead, jailed and missing’, http:// www.guardian.co.uk/world/blog/2009/jul/29/iran-election-protest-deadmissing, date accessed 14 October 2009. Hedayat, B. (2009) Pay¯am-i D¯anishj¯uy¯an-i ¯Ir¯an¯ı (The Message of Iranian Students), http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kKaG0e_Zjo4, date accessed 15 December 2009. Holliday, S. J. (2010) ‘Khatami’s Islamist-Iranian Discourse of National Identity: A Discourse of Resistance’, British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, 37 (1), 1–13. Honarbin-Holliday, M. (2008) Becoming Visible in Iran: Women in Contemporary Iranian Society (London and New York: I. B. Tauris). HRW (2008) Human Rights Watch: Iran Rights Crisis Escalates, http://www.unhcr. org/refworld/docid/48d749891a.html, date accessed 5 January 2009. ICIC (2009) Faces of the Iranians Killed and Arrested, http://tehran.stanford.edu/ list/, date accessed 14 October 2005. IHRV (2008) Iran Human Rights Voice: National Peace Council, http://www. iranhumanrights.org/index.php?id=14&tx_ttnews[tt_news]=139&no_cache=1, date accessed 4 February 2009. Khatami, S. M. (1380/2001) Mardums¯al¯ar¯ı (Democracy) (Tehran: Tarh-i Naw Publishers). Mebane, W. R. (2009) Note on the Presidential Election in Iran, June 2009, http://www-personal.umich.edu/∼wmebane/note24jun2009.pdf, date accessed 11 December 2009. MFP (2009) Mothers for Peace, http://mothersforpeace.blogfa.com/ (home page), date accessed 10 December 2009. Mir-Hosseini, Z. and Tapper, R. (2006) Islam and Democracy in Iran: Eshkevari and the Quest for Reform (London and New York: I. B. Tauris). Moshaver, Z. (2005) ‘Revolution, Theocratic Leadership and Iran’s Foreign Policy: Implications for Iran-EU Relations’ in G. Nonneman (ed.) Analyzing Middle East Foreign Policies: And the Relationship with Europe (London: Routledge). Mousavi, M. H. (1388/2009a) Bay¯an¯ıy-ih Shum¯arih-yi 13 M¯ır-Husayn-i M¯usav¯ı: Khush¯unat Ch¯arihs¯az nist (Mousavi’s 13th Statement: Violence is not the Solution), http://khordaad88.com/?p=671, date accessed 2 October 2009. Mousavi, M. H. (1388/2009b) Siy¯asat-h¯a-yi Tab’¯ız-¯am¯ız ‘alayh-i D¯anishj¯uy¯an, Zan¯an, Jav¯an¯an, K¯arigar¯an va hamih-yi Aqsh¯ar b¯ayad Taghy¯ır kunad

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(Discriminatory Politics towards Students, Women, the Youth, Labourer and all Strata [of society] must be Changed), http://www.ghalam.ir/news-13707.aspx, date accessed 9 June 2009. Naji, K. (2008) Ahmadinezhad: The Secret History of Iran’s Radical Leader (London and New York: I. B. Tauris). Rostami-Povey, E. (2001) ‘Feminist Contestations of Institutional Domains in Iran’, Feminist Review, 69, 44–72. Sabet-Saeidi, S. (2008) ‘Iranian-European Relations: A Strategic Partnership?’ in A. Ehteshami and M. Zweiri (eds) Iran’s Foreign Policy: From Khatami to Ahmadinezhad (Reading: Ithaca Press). Sadjadpour, K. (2009) Setting the Scene: Iran’s Presidential (S)elections, http:// www.carnegieendowment.org/publications/index.cfm?fa=view&id=23210& prog=zgp&proj=zme#1, date accessed 5 June 2009. Sedelmeier, U. (2006) ‘The EU’s Role as a Promoter of Human Rights and Democracy’ in O. Elgstr˝ om and M. Smith (eds) The European Union’s Roles in International Politics: Concepts and Analysis (London and New York: Routledge). ¯ an 1876/2003) ‘41 M¯ah dar Zind¯an (41 Months in Prison)’ in Sharq Sharq (11 Ab¯ Newspaper. Smith, K. (2003) European Union Foreign Policy in a Changing World (Cambridge: Polity). Tran, M. (2009) ‘Khatami: Iran’s “show trial” violates constitution’, Guardian.co.uk, http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/aug/02/iran-khatamiprotests-show-trial, date accessed 14 October 2009. UN (2006a) UNSCR 1696, http://www.un.org/News/Press/docs/2006/sc8792.doc. htm, date accessed 15 October 2009. UN (2006b) UNSCR 1737, http://www.un.org/News/Press/docs/2006/sc8928.doc. htm, date accessed 15 October 2009. UN (2007) UNSCR 1747, http://www.un.org/News/Press/docs/2007/sc8980.doc. htm, date accessed 15 October 2009. UN (2008) UNSCR 1803, http://www.un.org/News/Press/docs/2008/sc9268.doc. htm, date accessed 15 October 2009. USS (2009) S. RES. 355, http://thomas.loc.gov/cgi-bin/query/z?c111:S.RES.355:, date accessed 11 December 2009. White House (2009) Statement by the Press Secretary on the European Council Declaration on Iran, http://www.america.gov/st/texttrans-english/2009/December/ 20091211170625eaifas0.1512982.html?CP.rss=true, date accessed 14 Dec 2009. Youngs, R. (2006) Europe and the Middle East: In the Shadow of September 11 (Boulder, Colorado and London: Lynne Reiner Publishers).

5 Challenging Preconceptions: Women and Islamic Resistance Maria Holt

Introduction In October 2008, the British media reported a disturbing development in the Occupied Palestinian Territory; the militant group Islamic Jihad, it claimed, had established a camp to train young women to become suicide bombers against the Israeli occupation. According to a BBC correspondent: ‘The use of Palestinian women as suicide bombers was once thought of as immodest – and therefore un-Islamic – but that changed, the militant groups say, because of a shortage of male candidates and because women were better able to get close to their targets’ (Wood, 2008). Although a few Palestinian women have carried out suicide – or ‘martyrdom’ – operations in the past, this is the first time that an Islamic resistance organization has formally acknowledged the need for female recruits. It raises the question of whether this apparent change represents progress for Palestinian women, in terms of rights and entitlements, is evidence of a further deterioration in Palestinian morale, or indicates a trend hitherto unfamiliar to Western observers. The decision of a small number of Palestinian women to sacrifice their lives in the cause of national liberation has been described by some commentators as the emergence of a ‘culture of death’ (Miller, 2007, p. 54) in Palestinian society. Yet, others have argued that women should have equal rights, ‘especially the right to die in the armed struggle against Israel’ (Cambanis, 2006). I think that we need to subject all these ‘explanations’ to more rigorous analysis. In my view, to debate female ‘martyrdom’ purely in terms of claims for equal rights is an incorrect approach since, on the one hand, it is not clear exactly what ‘equal rights’ might mean in the context of conflict and resistance; it is likely that women forced 79

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to live in an environment of relentless violence will be more influenced by pressures to survive and to protect their children than to promote a liberationist agenda. On the other hand, rather than seeking ‘equal rights’, I would suggest that women and men are involved together in an effort to reinforce a community ‘guided by moral values of Islam’ (Gole, 1996, p. 4). To focus exclusively on the ‘aberration’ of the female suicide bomber also disregards the possibility that other versions of modernity may be available to women in embattled societies. The Islamist group Hizbullah in Lebanon, for example, has also been waging an anti-colonial struggle against Israeli aggression; as a result, within Shi’i areas of Lebanon, a model has emerged which Deeb describes as the ‘pious modern in contrast to notions of modern-ness as involving secularization and women’s “emancipation” ’ (2006, p. 23). The Lebanese experience provides women with more conventionally ‘appropriate’ role models, which nonetheless challenge traditional gender relations. Another approach to the question of modernity highlights the argument of some Islamic ‘feminists’ that Muslim men are failing to adhere to Islamic principles and injunctions (Abou Bakr, 2001) and, instead, are interpreting the religious texts in ways that disadvantage women. Rather than deferring to male authority, many women are rejecting ‘the presumed passivity of women under the weight of Islamic tradition’ (Hatem, 2002, p. 44). In this chapter, I propose to subject all three societal trends to closer scrutiny through the lens of Islamic resistance in areas of violent conflict. To illustrate my arguments, I will compare the experiences of Shi’i Muslim women in Lebanon and Sunni Muslim Palestinian women in the West Bank and Gaza Strip. At the heart of this discussion lie concerns about the re-Islamization of Arab societies. It has become increasingly common in the West to interpret Islamism as ‘a simple struggle over power and sovereignty’ (Crooke, 2009, p. 29) and to categorize all Islamic resistance movements as ‘terrorist’. While the issue of power is undoubtedly an important component of the debate, this ready demonization disregards both significant differences between Islamist groups and the efforts and aspirations of individuals involved in such groups to liberate themselves and their communities from external oppression and to improve the conditions of their lives. Many of these individuals are women and their activities call into question assumptions about the monolithically male character of Islamism and also the strength of popular feeling. I will argue here that, on the one hand, women represent a counternarrative in violent conflict, disrupting male heroism, displaying initiative and subverting conventional discourse; and, on the other hand,

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when subjected to more critical scrutiny, male ‘heroism’ dissolves into ambiguity. There is no doubt that European policymakers and publics would benefit from a more nuanced understanding of the dilemmas being experienced by Arab women caught up in conflict. Like some of the men in their communities, many Palestinian and Lebanese women express pride in their respective resistance movements; they perceive themselves as subjects (see Norval and Abdulrahman’s chapter, this volume), fully engaged in the protection of ‘the nation’, although some also voice anxiety about the growing militarization of their society, the unbalanced nature of the struggle with Israel, the evident bias of the West, and the continuing negative impact of violence on themselves and their families. At the heart of the Islamic resistance project lies the question of what constitutes modernity and how the role of women as participants can be enhanced. In order to gain a clearer understanding of women’s experiences of Islamic resistance and bearing in mind the ‘problematic boundaries of modernity’ (Bhabha, 1990, p. 294) outlined above, I will discuss, firstly, how Palestinians and Lebanese Shi’is are seeking to ‘build the nation’ in light of the contradictory expectations imposed on women by ambiguous notions of male heroism; since the anti-colonial struggles of the early twentieth century, feelings of national identification in the Arab world have tended to be expressed ‘through gendered narratives’ (Massad, 2006, p. 41) and also through the distorting lens of the Euro-Christian gaze ‘of violence, dominance, distortion and belittlement’ (El Guindi, 1999, p. 23). Secondly, I will consider the question of Islamic resistance as a model of modernity, in the sense of Deeb’s ‘pious modern’, in the early twenty-first century, and ask how this has supported women’s efforts. Thirdly, I will address the paradox of violence as both inhibiting and empowering for women embroiled in conflict, in the sense that a small number of women in the Palestinian territories are carrying out ‘martyrdom operations’ out of anger, desperation or a desire to protect the honour of their community; the notion of ‘honour’ as a positive and cohesive social value will be fully explored. I will briefly conclude by reviewing the argument that some Muslim women are ‘turning the tables’ (Abou Bakr, 2001) on men and thus claiming their rights as modernizing subjects. I am arguing that the European Union (EU)’s agenda of equality and women’s rights is premised on a particular view of ‘modernity’. However, many Lebanese and Palestinian women, as I will illustrate in this chapter, are increasingly constructing their identity in terms of Islamic

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belonging, both as a counterweight to the prevailing Western model of modernity and also as a coherent mode of development. In order to enhance a respect for diversity and to promote a deeper engagement with Islamist movements in the Arab world, EU policies which tend to envisage all Muslim-Arab women as oppressed and powerless beings need to be refined. As Norval and Abdulrahman (this volume) argue, there is a need for ‘political imagination’.

Methodology During 2007–8, I conducted a research project on women and Islamic resistance in Lebanon and the Palestinian territories,1 which involved interviews with a wide range of women about their experiences of and feelings about the Islamist parties Hizbullah (in Lebanon) and Hamas (in the Palestinian territories), both of whom claim to be fighting the Israeli invasion and occupation of their lands and both of whom too have done well in parliamentary elections recently (Hamas won the Palestinian election in January 2006 and Hizbullah gained seats in the June 2009 Lebanese election). My principal objective was to explore some of the ways in which women have felt able and entitled to participate in the resistance and also the methods that women employ to challenge processes of constructing and defending the nation as a predominantly male endeavour. Over several fieldwork visits, I interviewed a total of 60 women in the West Bank2 and 46 women in Lebanon, from all sectors of society, including students, professionals, housewives, the politically active, refugees, those who proclaim themselves ‘very religious’ or ‘less religious’,3 and the widows and mothers of ‘martyrs’. The interviews were conducted in cities, towns, villages and refugee camps; they usually took place in the woman’s home or her place of work or in a community centre or educational setting, most on a one-to-one basis although some were in small groups. As my Arabic is rudimentary, I used an interpreter for most of the interviews, usually a local woman with good access to the communities being researched. There were benefits and disadvantages to this method; on the one hand, the interpreter occasionally inserted her own views or prejudices and may sometimes have inhibited a respondent’s flow, but on the other hand, the presence of a trusted interlocutor frequently had the effect of producing a relaxed, less formal environment in which some of the interviewees certainly felt more able to speak freely.

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Building the nation: ‘gendered narratives’ In the context of this chapter, an understanding of ‘the centrality of gender to the phenomenon of nationalism’ (Racioppi and See, 2000, p. 22) is essential in order to gain a clearer picture of the current popularity of Islamic resistance movements and the recent trend towards re-Islamization in Arab societies. To this end, I will examine processes of modernity and nation building in the Arab world in terms, on the one hand, of the development of nationalism as a ‘masculine-based identity’ (Massad, 2006, p. 42) and, on the other, of the construction of women as ‘symbols of national morality and purity’ (Peterson and Runyon, 1999, p. 192). I want to explore the argument that, in their negotiations with Western modernization, anti-colonial nationalists sought to combine European and ‘indigenous’ gender norms. Modernity ‘has always been complicated by association with a colonializing and imperialist West’ (Badran, 2009, p. 216) and I will argue that the creation of ‘national sentiment’ was an artificial process, managed and manipulated by European colonialist practice and designed to thwart genuine ‘modernity’. To begin with, while the colonial rulers instigated a nationalism based on male values, at the same time they subtly undermined Arab masculinity. Colonial portrayals of the Arab world ‘are rife with constructions of the Other as feminine . . . The particular form of masculinity ascribed to Arab men . . . emphasizes violence’ (Norton, 1991, p. 26). In colonial discourse, ‘gender metaphors serve to reaffirm the Arab world’s openness to invasion and domination’ (Norton, 1991, pp. 27–8). The period of French rule in Algeria, for example, led to the ‘perceived emasculation of Algerian men’, resulting in ‘a loss of status for men, now perceiving themselves as reduced to the social status of women’ (Lazreg, 1994, p. 53). However, there is a tension between the image of the Arab nationalist as a male agent with control over his destiny and the disempowered man at the mercy of colonizers and occupiers. Secular nationalist ideologies were further thrown into doubt by the Arab defeat in the 1967 war with Israel ‘and the crisis of confidence that appeared to afflict nationalist discourse’ (Milton-Edwards, 2004, p. 27). One can surmise that these events contributed towards feelings of helplessness and inadequacy in the face of the ‘powerful’ West, the beginning of a cycle of perceived ineffectualness that, it could be argued, continues to this day. Indeed, the tacit approval shown by some Muslims for acts of terrorism such as the attacks of 11 September 2001 ‘should be sought in

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the direction of [the] displacement of power relations between the West and Muslims’ (Gole, 1996, p. 4). This raises the question, particularly pertinent in the context of this chapter, of how Arab women are incorporated into this evidently contradictory scenario, of ‘how new ideas and practices considered “modern” and progressive implanted in Europe’s colonies or simply taken up by emerging local elites might usher in not only forms of emancipation but new forms of social control’ (Abu-Lughod, 1998, p. 6). What implications does male demoralization have for women in the post-colonial Arab world in terms of their own status and also from the perspective of gender relations? Throughout the modern period, women have been forced to contend with the contradiction, on the one hand, of supporting male heroism, which is often expressed through violence; and, on the other hand, of embodying the sanctity of home and private life. They do this against a backdrop of insecure masculinity and distorted relationships with the West. This contradiction offers a clue to the current popularity of Islamist movements. While it is doubtless true that Arab women were a focus of colonial manoeuvring, the ‘support’ given by European colonialists has had ambivalent implications. In Middle Eastern societies tainted by colonialism, a specific, rather narrow version of nationalism has tended to emerge. Created out of an uncomfortable marriage between traditional values and European notions of modernity, it contained a special place for women as agents of modernization but, at the same time, they ‘have often been treated more as symbols than as active participants by nationalist movements organized to end colonialism and racism’ (Enloe, 1989, p. 42). This uneasy position placed women on the boundaries or margins of national belonging and, rather than being seen as liberating, women’s apparent ‘progress’ provoked conflict, confusion and backlash. It is the case too that, although there are numerous examples, such as Egypt, Algeria and Iraq, where brave and committed women made significant contributions to the liberation struggle, they continue to be regarded as exceptions. One wonders what has been the impact of such preconceptions on the lived experiences of Arab women. On the one hand, the modern Arab woman is regarded as symbolic of the emerging nation and, on the other, rather than being supported as agents of change, women continue to be relegated to the role of the ‘carrier of tradition’ (Yuval-Davis, 1997, p. 61). While Cockburn’s observation that, as ‘men’s lives are at the disposal of the nation, women’s bodies are at the disposal of men’ (1998, p. 43) is generally correct, the reality, especially in terms of ‘the nation’, is

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frequently more complex. Anderson defines the nation as ‘an imagined political community’ (1991, p. 6), but it is likely that it has been ‘imagined’ in significantly different ways by men and women; ‘imagined communities of women’, as Mohanty observes, although they have ‘divergent histories and social locations’, are ‘woven together by the political threads of opposition to forms of domination that are not only pervasive but also systemic’ (1991, p. 4). While the socialization of the nationalist woman has encouraged a notion of womanhood that is maternal, protected and obedient, real women have taken to the streets and challenged the oppressive conditions of their lives; and men have needed women’s support even as they sought to demonstrate their own manhood. The ‘political threads of opposition’ unite not only communities of women but also women and men struggling against external domination. This is highlighted by Nira Yuval-Davis’s argument that ‘constructions of nationhood usually involve specific notions of both “manhood” and “womanhood” ’ (1997, p. 42). The nationalist urge is rooted in recognition of difference which can then be formalized into state structures. In other words, although ‘espousing a discourse of modernity, the nation-state [is] at the same time reinforcing male dominance, notwithstanding its mobilization of both men and women into its service’ (Sonbol, 1996, p. 277). Thus, ‘the practical and strategic interests of women’ tend to be ‘subordinated to masculinist priorities in the name of national consolidation and continued unity’ (Peterson and Runyon, 1999, p. 192). The European notion of a modern nation-state, after all, is based on ‘men’s freedom and women’s subjection’. The original social contract is also a sexual contract; ‘it is sexual in the sense of patriarchal – that is, the contract establishes men’s political right over women – and also sexual in the sense of establishing orderly access by men to women’s bodies’ (Pateman, 1988, p. 2). Indeed, the rhetoric of nationalism ‘is heavily sexualized and gendered’ (Peterson and Runyan, 1999, p. 192). While one should not underestimate the symbolic importance of women, it is necessary to recognize that they have performed other, vitally important tasks during nationalist or anti-colonialist struggles in the Arab world. Yet, notwithstanding their real contributions, it would be fair to say that ‘nationalist movements have rarely taken women’s experiences as the starting point for an understanding of how a people become colonized or how it throws off the shackles of . . . domination’ (Enloe, 1989, p. 44). Rather, ‘nationalism typically has sprung from masculinized memory, masculinized humiliation and masculinized hope. Anger at being “emasculated” . . . has been presumed to be the natural

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fuel for igniting a nationalist movement’ (Enloe, 1989, p. 44). This analysis can reasonably be applied to Lebanese and Palestinian societies where, despite their commitment to the cause, nationalism contains much ambivalence for women. Whether the nationalist impulse is rooted in pride, desperation or modernization, it tends to be defined and controlled by men and, while ‘women, like men, frequently have a strong sense of identification with the nation . . . it is clear that nationalism has a special affinity for male society and legitimizes the dominance of men over women’ (Steans, 1998, p. 69). At the same time, I am arguing that this observation does not altogether do justice to the situation in which Palestinians and Lebanese Shi’i women find themselves and, in the following sections, I will look more closely at how these two groups of women negotiate processes of modernity and survival.

The ‘pious modern’: Islamic resistance in the Arab world In the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, much unease has been expressed by Arabs and Muslims about the uncritical embrace of Western modernity. In the West, there is a tendency to argue that ‘a secular national identity cannot be reconciled with a religious public identity’ (Ismail, 2004, p. 614). The orientalist tradition, as Lazreg observes, ‘supports the notion that Islam is an archaic and backward system of beliefs that determines the behaviour of the people who adhere to it’ (1994, p. 13). However, many in the post-colonial Arab world are disillusioned with Western models of ‘secular national identity’. They are turning instead to a more familiar and perhaps more comfortable ‘religious public identity’. Islamism is sometimes conceptualized as a reaction against Western ‘modernity’, which assumes that modernity is bound to develop according to a particular, rigidly defined pattern. However, Lash and Friedman have raised the possibility of ‘another modernity . . . of the fleeting, the transient’ (1992, p. 2). The emergence of Islam on the world stage ‘deconstructs the mono-civilizational definitions of modernity’ (Gole, 1996, p. 9), thus creating a more complex interaction, and consequently many Muslims now reject ‘the reduction of the resurgence of Islamic forms of modesty and sociability to an expression of resistance to the West’ (Kandiyoti, 2009, p. 95). As a result of his fascination with the 1979 Islamic revolution in Iran, Foucault ‘recognized the enormous power of the new discourse of militant Islam’, not just for the Muslim world but also for the West (Afary and Anderson, 2005, p. 4). Writing in February 1979, he said ‘it is true that, as an “Islamic” movement, it can set the entire region

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afire’ (Foucault, 1979). Militant Islam springs not, as is widely assumed in the West, out of desperation, fanatical hatred or envy of Western liberal democracy. Rather, it is ‘a distinct view of human behaviour that posits an alternative method of thinking about the human being’ (Crooke, 2009, p. 29). This ‘method of thinking’ applies to women as much as men. In the Western media, the term ‘Islamic resistance’ conjures images of militant bearded men, of self-sacrifice and extremism, and the concept of jihad ‘is generally given a meaning inextricably linked to, and based on, the bomb attacks on civilians by those who adhere to the thinking of al-Qae’da’ (Crooke, 2009, p. 68), an extreme masculinist organization. In this scenario, ‘Muslim identity remains gendered in a way that privileges men’ (Milton-Edwards, 2004, p. 131); thus women tend to be perceived as invisible, submissive and powerless. But this is not the case today and was certainly not true in the past and, clearly, the question of women ‘is pivotal for the antagonistic engagement of Islamists with modernity’ (Gole, 1996, p. 8). Muslim women’s involvement in resistance against what they regard as unjustified oppression began in the early days of Islam, at a time when ‘women were regarded as fully fledged citizens capable of participating in all political activities (including . . . taking part in Jihad)’ (Jawad, 1998, p. 87). After the death of the Prophet Muhammad in 632 CE, A’isha, his favourite wife, whom he had married when she was a child and who was only 18 when he died, became a figure of some influence; having enjoyed close proximity to Muhammad, she was able to attest to the accuracy of some of his sayings (hadith). According to a tradition attributed to A’isha, ‘although jihad for women may be “without fighting”, it remains jihad’ (Cooke, 2001, p. 55). In 656 CE, when she was 42 years old, A’isha ‘took to the battlefield at the head of an army that challenged the legitimacy of . . . Ali’ (Mernissi, 1991, p. 5), the fourth ‘rightly-guided caliph’. This incident, which is known as the Battle of the Camel, ‘named after the camel on which A’isha sat while exhorting the soldiers to fight and directing the battle’ (Ahmed, 1992, p. 61), has been described as the first Islamic civil war. It resulted in the defeat of A’isha and her army, and thus vindicated the position of some opponents who claimed ‘that A’isha’s going into battle violated the seclusion imposed by Muhammad, who had ordered his wives to stay at home, women’s proper place in this new order’ (Ahmed, 1992, p. 61). A’isha’s participation in warfare, suggests Spellberg, ‘resulted in the creation of a problematic female public example’ (1991, p. 45). The question, as she says, is did A’isha violate Islamic precedent ‘by participating directly in

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battle?’ (Spellberg, 1991, p. 49) and, on this topic, there seems to be no clear consensus. At any rate, after her defeat at the Battle of the Camel, A’isha retired from public life and her retreat has been interpreted by some ‘as representative of the future limited role of all women in the Islamic community’ (Spellberg, 1991, p. 55). Others interpret this model of female resistance differently. Both in Islamic history and in more modern times, women have ventured into the arena of violent conflict and, as the Palestinian and Lebanese examples illustrate, continue to do so. Their involvement has been described as ‘gender activism’ which, as Badran explains, is intended ‘to capture women’s common “feminist” modes of thinking and behaviour in the public sphere without denying the reality of distinct feminist and Islamist “movements” ’ (2009, p. 142). For example, although women, on the whole, have been excluded from formal politics in the Arab world, they have frequently been encouraged to participate in national liberation struggles (Fluehr-Lobban, 1980, p. 236). The discord between expediency and the perfected society is clear. Yet, even this may be incorporated into official ideology, as happened during the Algerian war of national liberation against the French in the 1950s and 1960s and in Iran during its war with Iraq in the 1980s, so that women can be returned to the private realm of the home once the need for their services has disappeared. Some commentators describe ‘Islamism’ as a transitory phase on the way to modernization, but such arguments involve assumptions about modernization and the forms it should take, which fail to address the possibility that ‘modernity’ and ‘progress’ may come in an assortment of shapes and patterns, some more appropriate for certain societies than others. They also disregard the reality of women’s complicity in the Islamist political project; in Lazreg’s words: to ‘break out of the totalitarianism of the religion paradigm requires the conception of religion as a process’ (1994, p. 14). Many women in the Muslim world are building on a ‘method of thinking’ that takes Islam as a starting point for the reformation of society. The example of the Islamic resistance in Lebanon has been hailed as a model for other Arab-Muslim areas suffering conquest and oppression to emulate. During its 27 years of existence, the Shi’i Islamist group Hizbullah has grown from a militant underground movement fighting the neo-imperialism of the West to a political party and a fighting force widely respected for its defeat of the militarily more powerful Israel – in 2000 when it forced the Israelis to withdraw from southern Lebanon and again in 2006 following the brief destructive ‘July

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war’. Yet, Hizbullah gives the impression of operating as a traditional, male-dominated and highly disciplined organization and one wonders, therefore, where women fit into its liberationist agenda. During interviews with women in the towns and villages of southern Lebanon and the southern suburbs of Beirut, I began to understand how the Islamic resistance is regarded by members of a community who otherwise feel themselves relatively powerless. Lina4 is 31 years old; she is married, lives in Dahiya (the southern suburbs of Beirut) and is studying law; she is, she told me, a religious person and this is illustrated by the way she dresses; beauty is inside a person, she said, and women are protected by God when they are veiled. Lina believes that, ‘as Muslims, we must be patient and, in the end, we will win against Israeli aggression’. For her, the Islamic resistance represents ‘dignity and power’ and therefore will always be victorious; the resistance, rather than the Lebanese government, should be responsible for protecting Lebanon. The resistance, she added, taught women how to be tough; it gave them a big role in society. She is confident that victory will be achieved by Hizbullah, ‘no matter how many are martyred’. Lina’s neighbour Maha, on the other hand, who is 40 years old and married with four children, said that the resistance and the Lebanese government should protect Lebanon together; although she supports the resistance completely, she does not feel that it is necessary for Lebanon to be an Islamic state; however, she agreed with Lina that the resistance has changed women for the better as they are now more involved in their society. This recognition by many of the women I interviewed that the resistance not only protects them from Israeli aggression but also enhances their role in society and is leading to a new framework of modernity was one of the key findings of my research. It casts considerable doubt on Western assumptions of female passivity and thus has significant implications for EU policymakers who are attempting to devise strategies for engaging with political Islam; the argument that Islamic resistance movements disregard the needs and rights of women starts to ring rather hollow as one hears accounts by a diverse range of women about how the resistance is strengthening their identity. Um Hassan, a 57-year-old-married woman with eight children who lives in a village near the Lebanese-Israeli border, provided a practical example. During the Israeli invasion of Lebanon in 2006, her house and many other houses in the village were badly damaged; no one helped them, she said, except the resistance; the resistance gave them compensation and they are now rebuilding their house. She would, she added, give her soul for the resistance. Amal, a 22-year-old college

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student living in a village near Nabatieh, agreed that the Islamic resistance is able to preserve security and dignity in Lebanon; people, she said, are now proud as a result of the resistance and, since the resistance protects Lebanon, it should have a political role. The resistance, she added, makes women strong-minded because they feel safe and protected. Their words reinforce the notion of the resistance as a social system which provides a sense of belonging and empowerment for many Lebanese Shi’is.

Violence as inhibition or empowerment: the female ‘martyr’ In her critique of what she calls religious ‘fundamentalism’, Yuval-Davis argues that one ‘of the paradoxes associated with fundamentalism is the fact that women collude, seek comfort and even gain at times a sense of empowerment within the spaces allocated to them by fundamentalist movements’ (1997, p. 63). Her tone implies that ‘fundamentalism’ has a tendency to discriminate against women; yet my research suggests otherwise. When questioned, the majority of women in the two case studies are unequivocal in their commitment to the ‘national struggle’ and its precedence over other social questions, including ‘women’s liberation’. They have little sense of being oppressed by ‘religious fundamentalism’ and, furthermore, many link the activities of Islamic resistance movements, as I have described in the Lebanese case, with promoting national dignity and resilience. Unlike Lebanon, the situation in the occupied Palestinian territories remains dangerously unresolved. Also in contrast to the Lebanese experience, a few Palestinian women are adopting increasingly controversial tactics. There is evidence that roughly the same proportion of women as men support the use of violence against Israeli aggression in the Palestinian territories,5 which throws into question the conventional stereotype of men as warriors and women as peacemakers. Indeed, many Palestinian women would argue that they cannot afford the luxury of opposing the militarization of society ‘because the national liberation of oppressed people can only be carried out with the help of an armed struggle’ (Yuval-Davis, 1997, p. 113). From the start of the Palestinian anti-colonial struggle in the early 1920s, women’s involvement has been wide-ranging; it has encompassed social welfare provision, non-violent protest and organized political activities. However, since the second intifada began in September 2000, a small number of women in the West Bank and especially in the

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Gaza Strip have chosen the role of shaheeda (female martyr) and their actions have generated consternation and even shock. Hage describes the Palestinian suicide bomber as ‘a social tendency emanating from within colonized Palestinian society and as such has to be explained not as an individual psychological aberration but as the product of specific social conditions’ (2003, p. 69). The ‘specific social conditions’ in the occupied territories have created an environment in which the normal framework of values and behaviour has been deformed. In an article published in 2002, Lori Allen explores the reasons why some Palestinians have become suicide bombers against Israeli targets. She refers to the ‘constant quest for an explanation of how a young man – and recently a few young women – could decide to commit such an act’ (2002, p. 34). The allusion to ‘a few young women’ is significant. At the time she wrote her article, very few Palestinian women had embarked on this desperate act of self-sacrifice. However, although I agree with Hage that their behaviour does not stem from ‘individual psychological aberration’, to place these women in the same category as young male bombers as an undifferentiated group is problematic. Clearly, as Allen argues, ‘resistance to occupation and sacrifice for that struggle are highly praised and everywhere commemorated in Palestine’ (2002, p. 34), and the reasons behind the actions of individual militants are complex, but I believe that, overall, ‘resistance’ has been defined as masculine since martyrdom is linked to a ‘warrior interpretation of jihad and the devotion to the community’s defence’ (Gole, 1996, p. 5) and therefore women’s active engagement in violence may be seen as ‘destabilizing the construct of men as defenders of community and women as the protected’ (Hasso, 2005, p. 24). When Palestinian women seek to involve themselves in militant resistance, their activities have raised questions about appropriate gender roles. Women’s willingness to sacrifice themselves on behalf of ‘the nation’ suggests that men, the traditional defenders of their community, are no longer able to protect their society. Fanon equated national liberation with militarized masculinity and called upon men ‘to reclaim their manhood’ (1952) but, as I have argued, Palestinian masculinity has been undermined by colonial Israeli policies of repression and silencing and, in addition, some women are questioning strategies which have proved ineffective in the past and are seeking to change the terms of the debate. In December 2007, the organization Women Living Under Muslim Laws (WLUML) reported that Palestinian women in the Gaza Strip are ‘moving to the forefront of activism’. In what WLUML describes as

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‘conservative, male-dominated, clan-based Gaza . . . women are increasingly taking action and expressing their views more and more in public’ (2007). Although many of these women would not describe themselves as Islamists, what seems to be happening is that, like men, women have been empowered by the influence of religion in the arena of politics and armed struggle. Some of them have reached the conclusion that to die under the auspices of Islam is a noble and heroic act, an eloquent protest against violation. But their choices are also blurring the boundaries between traditional gender roles and threatening male privilege and ownership of the ‘narration of nation’; Bhabha observes that counternarratives of the nation ‘evoke and erase its totalizing boundaries’ (1990, p. 300). However, as Lowenhaupt Tsing notes, such counter-narratives ‘have to be situated within wider negotiations of meaning and power’ (1993, p. 9). There is a disjunction between the justice of ‘the cause’, as elaborated in the Palestinian national narrative, and the ‘medievally violent political affects’ (Hage, 2003, p. 67) of the suicide bomber. The linking of ‘the nation’ and violence is by no means new but there is a possibility that the preoccupation with ‘Islamic violence’ is distracting attention from the real issues. While men have claimed the right to ‘narrate the nation’, their use of the ‘medieval violence’ of suicide bombing casts doubt on their authority and raises the question of meaning in the sense that women have felt both excluded and mobilized. In a survey conducted in the Gaza Strip in 2001, over 70 per cent of a group of Palestinians aged 9–16 said they wanted to be martyrs (cited in Barak, 2002). One wonders if any of the children questioned were girls. When I interviewed a group of women students at Birzeit University in November 2007, most expressed admiration for the martyr and several said they saw no reason why women should not undertake such acts. Similarly, when I met a group of teenage Palestinian girls in a southern Lebanese refugee camp, three of them said they wished they could ‘die for their nation’. But there is a significant gulf between the approval and pride expressed by observers and the particular circumstances required to propel an individual woman into action. It would appear that the ‘specific social conditions’ in the West Bank and Gaza Strip have convinced some women that their traditional roles are no longer sufficient and that they are obliged, therefore, to step outside accepted boundaries of behaviour. In order to deconstruct the question of why some Palestinian women decide to become suicide bombers, I will explore, to paraphrase Alastair Crooke, how westerners think about thinking (2009, p. 53). The creation of training camps for young women in Gaza, together with the culture of embattled,

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disempowered societies, offers a clue. It is simplistic to attribute the explosion of violence against Israeli civilians to despair, hopelessness or hatred or to see women’s bodies as ‘a privileged political site for the expression of . . . resistance to Western modernity’ (Kandiyoti, 2009, p. 95). Instead, we should consider women’s responses to oppression, however misplaced, in terms of communal solidarity and the protection of the family. According to Dr Mariam Saleh, an elected member of the Palestine Legislative Council, the highest level of jihad is to sacrifice oneself. A woman such as the elderly suicide bomber Fatma al-Najjar, who blew herself up in the Gaza Strip in November 2006, she said, was not committing suicide but an act of martyrdom: ‘she killed herself to fight the occupation and protect her people’. Jamila, a 22-year-old student at Birzeit University, agreed that martyrs are ‘glorified people’; they are very strong people who give their lives for the freedom of their land. Women, she said, also have this right. But a woman’s decision to end her life on behalf of family and nation goes beyond the question of ‘rights’; it is, at some deeper level, an acknowledgement of responsibility and a challenge to the dishonouring of society. Another student, Hala, observed that there are 14 Israeli military checkpoints between Jenin and Ramallah and this is humiliating; therefore, violence is a legitimate response; Palestinians, she said, have the right of self-defence and everyone wants ‘to be like the martyr’. The linkage between humiliation and martyrdom suggests that, in the absence of meaningful progress towards peace, a victimized population must find ways of sustaining a coherent identity. A more conventional role model for the Palestinian woman is that of the mother of the martyr. Described by Khalili as an ‘important iconic figure’, this woman ‘encourages her son to fight at any cost, and . . . rejoices rather than mourns his death’. The ‘stoicism and joyful pride of the martyr’s mother’, as she says, ‘is intended to convey defiance and a challenge to the enemy’ (2007, pp. 127–8). In November 2007 I met Um Walid, whose son, a Hamas fighter, had been killed by the Israelis. She felt very proud of him she said, but added that ‘women too have the right to become martyrs’; if a woman kills herself, she said, it is because she had a bad experience with Israel. Um Walid’s account is a good example of what Peteet, in her discussion of ‘Palestinian activist mothering’, describes as ‘a particular kind of narration’ (2002, p. 148), whereby mothers ‘were called on to tell outsiders what they had seen, and in doing so, they became communal witnesses . . . and tellers of suffering’ (Peteet, 2002, p. 153). While it seems inconceivable to many

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outsiders that a woman would celebrate the death of her son or even choose to take the path of violent sacrifice herself, since it would appear to indicate profound failure, the lack of alternatives or the impoverishment of a society, another way of conceptualizing this view is through acknowledging communal dignity and the necessity, as Hala observed, of surmounting humiliation.

‘Turning the tables on men’ Kandiyoti argues that ‘neither Islam nor modernity appears to be a viable analytic category for an understanding of the politics of gender’ (2002, p. 96); they do, however, provide a compelling context in which to appreciate the agency of women in situations of conflict as they struggle to make sense of their lives. Mahmoud defines ‘agency’ as ‘a capacity for action that historically specific relations of subordination enable and create’ (2001, p. 203). It has been argued, however, that ‘through their participation in religious and nationalist movements, women often achieve some form of political agency, self-realization, or self-representation . . . even as the patriarchal values and discourses of the movements limit this agency’ (Saliba, 2002, p. 4). While some Lebanese and Palestinian women have chosen to support the nation through social welfare, political or, in some cases, military action, there is another form of activism which is gaining ground as increasing numbers of women add their voices to the debate. Women intellectuals in the Arab world are seeking to interpret the words of the Qur’an themselves rather than accepting traditional male meanings. There is an urgent need, in Tohidi’s words, ‘to fight back and reverse the fundamentalism trend’ (1991, p. 260) and thus to create ‘alternative modernities’ (Sullivan, 1998, p. 216). Hatem argues that, while ‘patriarchal Islamist groups have sought to impose conservative gender rules on women, Islamist and other Muslim women have not passively accepted them’ (2002, p. 44). Their non-cooperation has taken several forms: firstly, many Muslim women now involve themselves in the study and interpretation of their religion and are thus able to challenge male assertions; secondly, women are more aware of international human rights legislation designed to protect them; and thirdly, it is increasingly regarded as necessary to include women in the management and resolution of conflict.6 Some Muslim scholars suggest that women ‘should be taking a much more prominent role in the interpretation of the basic sources of Islam’ (Yamani, 1996, p. 24), which raises the question of whether

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their activism can be characterized as ‘feminism’. Cooke argues that ‘Islam’ and ‘feminism’ are compatible and, furthermore, this ‘linking of apparently mutually exclusive identities can become a radical act of subversion’ (2001, p. 60). Islamic feminists, she adds, ‘are claiming their right . . . to be feminists without fear that they be accused of being Westernized and imitative’ (2001, p. 60). Many of the women I met in Lebanon and the West Bank insisted that it is not Islam but later additions and interpretations that are responsible for women’s diminished status. They were keen to remind me that, in the beginning, Islam provided enlightened and revolutionary changes in the lives of women, bestowing upon them rights and responsibilities which they had not previously enjoyed; and it is this ‘Islam’ rather than the ‘Islam’ of the male establishment that Muslim women should seek to reclaim. Moghissi, on the other hand, rejects the notion that a religion based on gender hierarchy could be ‘adopted as the framework for struggle for gender democracy and women’s equality with men’ (1999, p. 126). In her view, gender-conscious women in Muslim societies who are active in the women’s rights struggle ‘rarely choose to identify themselves or to be identified by others as feminists’ (Moghissi, 1999, p. 126). Moghissi is correct that the label ‘feminist’ has been rejected by many Muslim women who are reluctant ‘to identify themselves with feminism’, not only because of ‘its negative image in society’, but also because of a belief that it detracts from ‘larger issues’ (Al-Ali, 2000, p. 5), such as resistance against oppression. In an interview in 1994, Egyptian Islamist Heba Ra’uf Ezzat stated: I declare myself an Islamist, but this doesn’t mean that I accept the dominant discourse about women inside the Islamist movement. My studies focus on the need for a new interpretation of Qur’an and Sunna. We should benefit from the fiqh [Islamic legal theory] and the contributions of previous generations of Islamic scholars. This doesn’t mean that we have to stick to their interpretations of Islamic sources while we ignore the sociology of knowledge. (El-Gawhary 1994) She is not, she said, an ‘Islamic feminist’ but, instead believes in ‘Islam as a worldview’ and thinks that ‘women’s liberation in our society should rely on Islam’ (El-Gawhary, 1994). Her words resonate with many women in Lebanon and the Palestinian territories for whom Islam rather than ‘feminism’ has provided the tools of liberation. For example, Randa, a 38-year-old kindergarten teacher in Beirut, studies and

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teaches religion and said that the problem lies with people who do not follow God but instead follow tradition. Many women, she added, have become knowledgeable about religion and are using their knowledge to change the traditions of their society. Um Hassan in South Lebanon agreed. Some people are ignorant, she observed; they know nothing about religion, they simply follow traditional practices and claim that is religion. Although the notion of ‘fighting back’ does not quite capture the process of careful negotiation in which women are involved, many Palestinian and Lebanese women appear to agree that a greater awareness of Islam has enhanced their ability to play a part in the national struggle. Salwa, an accountancy student at Birzeit University, said that, in the past, women were not educated but now they can read and therefore can make their own judgements and do not have to depend on their parents or husbands; many women, she added, now have a better understanding of Islam. Abir, a 32-year-old mother of three children, said that Islam gives women the freedom to participate; in her opinion, Hamas should establish an Islamic state in Palestine so they can apply ‘true’ Islam on the ground. Far from the Western stereotypical image of female subjugation, these women are challenging men’s right to ‘narrate the nation’. However, their voices have been neglected by EU policymakers who, lacking ‘political imagination’, continue to focus on the images presented by men. By engaging only with these images, which are frequently characterized as violent and irrational and almost always exclude women’s experiences, and by disregarding the politics of identity in the Middle East, the EU is in danger of promoting a narrow and self-referential relationship with Arab-Muslim peoples.

Conclusions My research reveals a situation considerably more complex than is often imagined in the West. I have argued that, as a result of colonial interference, the ‘masculine-based nationalism’ that developed in much of the Arab world was an artificial construct. In Lebanon and the Occupied Palestinian Territory, both of which have suffered invasion and occupation by Israel, the most effective resistance has been expressed through Islam as a promoter of dignity and instigator of militant action. The resistance has inspired women and men in equal measure. These communities are strong and share ties of tradition and oppression, although they are well aware of the distinction between

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the rituals of tradition and, as I have outlined above, a ‘method of thinking’ that takes Islam as a starting point for the reformation of society. Disempowered populations, which lack powerful armies or allies, need to find ways of protecting the honour and sanctity of their communities. If ‘nationalism is conceived by and for men’ (Abdo and Lentin, 2002, p. 9) and if constructing ‘the nation’ is envisaged as being achievable only through violence, the space for women’s action would appear to be considerably reduced. Yet women’s narratives tell a different story and, as I have argued in this chapter, it is unhelpful to dismiss the activities of Islamic resistance groups simply as ‘terrorism’. Instead, we need to deconstruct the notion of terrorist practice into its real component parts. As I have tried to show, women’s activism has presented ‘uncomfortable challenges to masculinist scrambles to control the construction of modernity’ (Badran, 2009, p. 215). While this process is underway in various Muslim contexts, the presence of violent conflict in Lebanon and the Palestinian territories has the effect of distorting ‘the construction of modernity’. In practical terms, there is much that European governments, publics and organizations, including the EU, can do to support Arab women who face lives of violence while struggling to protect their families and, at the same time, asserting their right to place themselves at ‘the forefront of activism’. The most valuable response would be to listen to the stories that women tell. Rather than labelling the resistance ‘terrorist’ and refusing to engage with it and instead of assuming that Palestinian and Lebanese women are helpless victims of irrational Arab masculinity, Europeans and other Westerners would do well to learn that lurking inside the ‘terrorist’ body is a world of infinite complexity and civilization. By changing the way they ‘think about thinking’, Westerners may at last appreciate the positive role played by the Islamic resistance. Groups such as Hamas and Hizbullah have developed as a response to the particular circumstances of Lebanese and Palestinian political life. Their ideologies and activities are bound to have some effect on how women are treated and what they do. Nonetheless, it is certainly the case that, for many Palestinians living under Israeli occupation and for the Shi’i community in Lebanon, Islamic movements have provided a focal point for national liberation and acted as a promoter of communal solidarity, which has given meaning to women’s lives. As a movement for national and personal liberation, Islamic resistance may be capable of creating a ‘revolution’ in the Arab world in which women’s needs and rights will be recognized.

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Notes 1. My work was funded by the United States Institute of Peace (2007–9). 2. Although I sought permission from the Israeli military authorities in November 2007, I was not able to enter the Gaza Strip. 3. Very few women stated that they were ‘not religious at all’. 4. The names of all the women interviewed for this chapter have been disguised. 5. Public opinion poll carried out by Jerusalem Media and Communications Centre, January 2001. A more recent survey, carried out by the Jerusalem Media and Communications Centre in January 2009, revealed that ‘the percentage of those who support military operations against Israeli targets as an appropriate response under the current political conditions’ rose from 49.5 per cent in April 2008 to 53.5 per cent in January 2009; and the percentage of those who support bombing operations against Israeli civilians increased from 50.7 per cent to 55.4 per cent for the same period. 6. United Nations Security Council resolution 1325 of 31 October 2000 highlights ‘the importance of bringing gender perspectives to the centre of all United Nations conflict prevention and resolution, peace-building, peacekeeping, rehabilitation and reconstruction efforts’.

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Mahmoud, S. (2001) ‘Feminist Theory, Embodiment and the Docile Agent: Some Reflections on the Egyptian Islamic Revival’, Cultural Anthropology, 16 (2), 202–36. Massad, J. A. (2006) The Persistence of the Palestinian Question: Essays on Zionism and the Palestinians (London and New York: Routledge). Mernissi, F. (1991) Women and Islam: An Historical and Theological Enquiry (Oxford: Basil Blackwell). Miller, J. (2007) ‘The Bomb Under the Abbaya’, Policy Review, 143, July & August, 43–58. Milton-Edwards, B. (2004) Islam and Politics in the Contemporary World (Cambridge: Polity). Moghadam, V. M. (ed.) (1994) Gender and National Identity: Women and Identity in Muslim Societies (London and New Jersey: Zed Books). Moghissi, H. (1999) Feminism and Islamic Fundamentalism: The Limits of Postmodern Analysis (London and New York: Zed Books). Mohanty, C. T., Russoand, A. and Torres, L. (eds) (1991) Third World Women and the Politics of Feminism (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press). Norton, A. (1991) ‘Gender, Sexuality and the Iraq of Our Imagination’, Middle East Report, 173, November–December. Pateman, C. (1988) The Sexual Contract, 1st edn (Cambridge: Polity Press). Peteet, J. (2002) ‘Icons and Militants: Mothering in the Danger Zone’ in T. Saliba, C. Allen and J. A. Howard (eds) Gender, Politics and Islam (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press). Peterson, V. S. and Runyan, A. S. (1999) Global Gender Issues (Boulder: Westview Press). Racioppi, L. and See, K.O’S. (2000) ‘Engendering Nation and National Identity’ in S. Ranchod-Nilsson and M. A. Tetreault (eds) Women, States and Nationalism: At Home in the Nation? (London and New York: Routledge). Saliba, T. (2002) ‘Introduction: Gender, Politics, and Islam’ in T. Saliba, C. Allen and J. A. Howard (eds) Gender, Politics and Islam (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press). Sonbol, A. (1996) ‘Law and Gender Violence in Ottoman and Modern Egypt’ in A. Sonbol (ed.) Women, the Family and Divorce Laws in Islamic History (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press). Spellberg, D. A. (1991) ‘Political Action and Public Example: A’isha and the Battle of the Camel’ in N. R. Keddie and B. Baron (eds) Women in Middle Eastern History: Shifting Boundaries in Sex and Gender (New Haven and London: Yale University Press). Steans, J. (1998) Gender and International Relations: An Introduction (Cambridge: Polity Press). Sullivan, Z. T. (1998) ‘Eluding the Feminist, Overthrowing the Modern? Transformations in Twentieth Century Iran’ in L. Abu-Lughod (ed.) Remaking Women: Feminism and Modernity in the Middle East (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press). Tohidi, N. (1991) ‘Gender and Islamic Fundamentalism: Feminist Politics in Iran’ in C. T. Mohanty, A. Russo and L. Torres (eds) Third World Women and the Politics of Feminism (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press).

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Tsing, A. L. (1993) In the Realms of the Diamond Queen (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press). Women Living Under Muslim Laws (WLUML) (2007) Palestine: Female Activists a Force in Male-Dominated Gaza, 2 December, http://www.wluml.org/english/ newsfulltxt.shtml?cmd%5B157%5D=x-157-550222, date accessed 26 March 2009. Wood, P. (2008) ‘Just Married and Determined to Die’, BBC News, http:// newsvote.bbc.co.uk, date accessed 13 October 2008. Yamani, M. (ed) (1996) Feminism and Islam: Legal and Literary Perspectives (Reading: Ithaca Press). Yuval-Davis, N. (1997) Gender and Nation (London, Thousand Oaks and New Delhi: Sage Publications).

List of interviews Author’s interview with ‘Abir’, Hawarra village (near Nablus), West Bank, 19 June 2007. Author’s interview with ‘Amal’, Nabatieh, 31 July 2007. Author’s interview with Dr Mariam Saleh, PLC member, Ramallah, 1 November 2007. Author’s interview with group of approximately ten girls, aged 13–18 years, Kasmiyye camp, near Tyre, 31 January 2007. Author’s interview with ‘Hala’, Birzeit University, near Ramallah, 3 November 2007. Author’s interview with ‘Jamila’, Birzeit University, near Ramallah, 3 November 2007. Author’s interview with ‘Lina’, Dahiya, Beirut, 25 July 2007. Author’s interview with ‘Maha’, Dahiya, Beirut, 25 July 2007. Author’s interview with ‘Randa’, Bourj el-Barajne camp, Beirut, 3 June 2006. Author’s interview with ‘Salwa’, Birzeit University, West Bank, 3 November 2007. Author’s interview with ‘Um Hassan’, Aita Chaab village, 2 May 2007. Author’s interview with ‘Um Walid’, Hebron, 4 November 2007.

6 Democracy Promotion in the Context of an Occupied Nation? The Case of Palestine Michelle Pace

Introduction In a 2001 document entitled ‘The EU Role in Promoting Human Rights and Democratization in Third Countries’ the European Commission (EC) set out the European Union (EU)’s strategic and funding priorities in the area of democracy and human rights assistance. The EU’s approach to democracy promotion was thus marked not by a military posture (in the words of Chris Patten, the EU’s external relations Commissioner from 1999 to 2004: not to be ‘imposed through the barrel of a gun’) but by a predisposition to promoting its values through its interaction with and the socialization of other actors: in other words, through a partnership-based approach. This also indirectly sent a message to the very targets of the EU’s democracy promotion efforts that the EU is somewhat different from the US in the manner in which it was proposing to encourage political reform in other regions. However, it has long been acknowledged by diplomats, academics and journalists that when it comes to the EU’s role in its external relations with the Middle East, a key constraint on the EU’s effectiveness in this domain is the lack of a coherent and unitary voice (MacShane, 2008). This institutional constraint is not limited to differences between Council, Commission and European Parliament positions alone: it extends to differences within and between member states. A second factor which adds to the EU’s malaise is its failure to deal with the real political causes of the Middle East conflict. Moreover, there is another main limit on the EU’s identity as a global actor, particularly in the Middle East: the EU often acts as a hesitant spectator of events as they unfold in this region, 102

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waiting for the United States to give its green light (Rashwan, interview, 26 March 2008). As one Council official admits: Right now we have a relatively calm period and we are waiting to see what’s happening. We are waiting to see the results of the Egyptians’ mediation efforts; we’re waiting to see how the Israeli government forms itself; we’re waiting to see the consolidation of the ceasefire. We are pretty much in waiting mode. Once all this is in place, we will then be called on. But for now, we wait. (Official ‘A’, interview, 25 March 2009) Despite its strong economic and diplomatic influence, the EU thus often appears to be a powerless, hand-wringing bystander. No other area highlights these constraints more than democracy building and the case study under consideration in this chapter: Palestine. Palestine is an exceptional case study in that the Palestinians inhabit an occupied territory and most policymakers work on the basis that this ‘state’ is an illusion or a pseudo-state. Thus, one cannot focus on the perceptions of Palestinians on the EU’s role and impact in democracy building without taking into consideration the Middle East conflict between the Palestinians and Israel. The Palestinians have a long history of civil society activism, a core pillar of any transition to democracy. Were it not for the occupation, Palestine would be the most promising target for democracy building in the whole Middle East. This is largely due to an embedded democratic ethos in Palestinian society. Although the EU sent its own mission to observe the January 2006 Palestinian parliamentary elections – which were declared as fair, free and transparent – it reacted to the result by freezing direct aid to the Palestinian Authority: this was due to the fact that the elected Hamas is on the EU’s black list of outlawed terrorist organizations (following pressure from the US). EU democracy promotion policies are not alone in this emphasis on free and fair elections: statements from other external actors including the United States and international organizations such as IDEA (International Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance, Sweden) highlight an embedded belief in the force of elections to transform the political landscape worldwide. Thus, the promotion of democracy is conceived as operating through processes familiar in a reality [European context] that is external to the core roots of political configurations in the Middle East, [more specifically of occupation in the case of Palestine]. Such an EU framing of democracy promotion in procedural

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terms has been severely challenged in this case. As Rami Nasrallah puts it: We cannot talk about elections as tools for democratic transformation – elections in Palestine have nothing to do with democratic values. In reality they are either to support a political agreement like the elections in 1996,1 or an election is held to build a new political landscape and to integrate factors that are not part of the PLO as when Hamas won in the 2006 election. (Nasrallah, interview, 3 September 2007) In the run-up to the Annapolis meeting scheduled for December 2007, Javier Solana and Benita Ferrero-Waldner focused on what they call Palestinian state building as a key pillar for a ‘new momentum in the peace process’ by emphasizing . . . Comprehensive institution building and good governance. For over a decade the EU has been at the forefront of efforts to empower the PA via institution building and its work in the Jerusalem based ‘Governance Strategy Group’. The EU anticipates intensifying these activities, in areas which complement PA plans, for example health, education and the judiciary . . . (2007, p. 2) without any mention of how the EU would engage with the democratically elected Hamas government! The EU in fact acted as if Hamas did not exist, despite the fact that the movement is a crucial aspect of the Palestinian political landscape (whether the EU likes it or not) and controls the Gaza Strip. The EU’s refusal to take a different track from the US and officially engage with Hamas on the core challenges of governance and its rebuttal of using its diplomatic leverage in an attempt to understand the Islamist, nationalist movement and to encourage national unity between Hamas and (the more ‘moderate’) Fatah, have led to the EU being labelled as complicit in the December 2008–January 2009 events in Gaza as they unfolded in full view across the globe. As Khalid Mish’al (2009), the head of the Hamas political bureau stated: ‘If this is the “free world” . . . then we want nothing to do with it’. As a member of the Quartet, the EU has not only isolated Hamas but also allocated funds for the improvement of the security apparatus which Fatah uses to crack down on Hamas in the West Bank. Such actions encourage an embedded perception in the

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region that the EU’s principles and values about democracy building are false and empty rhetoric and actually harm the Palestinians’ desire and efforts towards a free society. Javier Solana (2009) himself admitted the EU’s failure and collective impotence in this regard.2 And so do many other officials from the Council General Secretariat: There is a growing realization here that Hamas is a political and social movement which commands an enormous amount of popularity in the territories and I think we all agree, or rather, we think that our policies of the past haven’t worked; they haven’t been successful in the sense that we’ve never had a real strategy for Gaza. Putting conditions on the movement was the easiest thing to do but it left us with absolutely no real room for manoeuvre and it has left them with no room for manoeuvre. So, we are all stuck. (Official ‘B’, interview, 23 March 2009) The perception in the Middle East of the EU’s negation of the Palestinian people’s democratic choice led to unprecedented negative feelings towards the EU’s involvement in the region, particularly for the average person, vis-à-vis its role and impact on so-called democracy building. In academic as well as policymaking circles, there are some who argue that the debate on democracy promotion in the Middle East has been exhausted (Minsat and Pace, 2009). Others argue that the EU’s focus is more on elections and human rights rather than democracy promotion per se. Still others question the real intentions of the EU in its democracy promotion efforts in the Middle East: while the EU’s colonial past in the region cannot be erased, they call for Europeans to deal with their past grievances and move on. Otherwise they will be seriously stuck in the Middle East. Although such debates are important, they do not grant any attention to perceptions of the EU’s role and impact in democracy building of the very targets of these policies. This chapter thus aims to fill this gap and to highlight some of these perceptions from Palestine. Perceptions of what the EU does in the Middle East are very much driven by how actors in the Middle East perceive what the EU represents as an international actor. For a long time, the EU has been perceived to act as a normative actor and as a ‘force for good’, attempting to export its own norms to other regions in the world (Pace, 2007). This perception has radically changed since the above-mentioned events in Palestine (and elsewhere in the Middle East, especially following the 2005 elections in Egypt and the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, amongst other examples). This chapter thus builds

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on approximately 20 interviews carried out by the author in Palestine during September 2007, amongst various academics, representatives of non-governmental organizations (NGOs), political party activists and parliamentarians (including Islamists) and journalists as well as over 20 interviews held in Brussels with EU officials from the Council of the European Union, the European Commission, the European Parliament and Permanent Representative Offices of Member States in Brussels. The summarized conclusions from these interviews aim to be reflexive reading, for EU officials in particular. The chapter will first briefly offer a background to the EU’s relations with Palestine in the context of democracy building. This helps us understand the logic behind EU democratization efforts. This section will be followed by an overview of perceptions of the EU as an actor in this policy domain to shed light on how EU policies are received on the part of its very ‘targets’. A separate section will summarize these perceptions. It concludes with a set of policy options for the future.

EU relations with Palestine in the context of democracy building: a brief overview EU institutions. It is the EC which has the principal responsibility of developing and implementing democracy-related programmes in the framework of the EU’s external relations. Since the de-concentration reform in 2000, its Delegation Offices in the Middle East have an increased role on the ground including the management of budget lines for (former) MEDA (Financial and Technical Measures),3 European Neighbourhood and Partnership Instrument (ENPI), human rights (HR) and civil society projects and European Instrument for Democracy and Human Rights (EIDHR) micro-projects, as well as reporting on political developments and human rights (HR) in the region. However, the Commission is far from an autonomous actor, with member state governments represented through the Council (which sets the general political orientations of EU policies) and more specifically through the High Representative of the Common Foreign and Security Policy (that is, the Second Pillar of the EU System covering the political and security dimension) through the comitology system.4 Democracy and HR are core objectives of the EU’s CFSP: ‘to develop and consolidate democracy and the rule of law, and respect for HR and fundamental freedom’ (11.1 EUT, 2002, p. 14). Under the assumption of economic development leading to political reform, the EU commits itself ‘to contribute to the general objective of developing and consolidating democracy and

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the rule of law, and to that of respecting HR and fundamental freedoms’ (181a and 177.2 ECT, 2002, pp. 18–19: Development cooperation and economic, financial and technical cooperation with third countries). The European Parliament has emphasized the importance of supporting democratization processes, particularly EU measures to support the electoral process and to allow comprehensive and effective election monitoring. In 1999, the Commission supported the Swedish International Development Agency with 990,000 Euros for the implementation of common European standards for electoral observation (SIDA). Members of the European Parliament exercise their (limited) power through regular resolutions, parliamentary exchanges via the Euro-Med Parliamentary Assembly, reports, hearings, oral and written questions and missions (during elections). There is an EP delegation to the EuroMediterranean Parliamentary Assembly (EMPA). As Chris Patten highlighted, ‘the pivotal role of the European Parliament [is] in both the development of policy and the expansion of available resources’ in the implementation of measures intended to promote observance of HR and democratic principles in the EU’s external relations (European Commission, 2000). EU focus: themes and actors on the ground. Thus, as one can easily decipher from the above, so-called EU democracy promotion efforts have, so far, mainly focused on HR and elections. As various officials admit: We very much advocate for certain processes, in particular for elections, which have to be held at international standards. We put at our partners’ disposal our expertise in order to suggest ways where improvements can be made, in terms of holding elections. (Grippa, interview, 24 March 2009) The thing is we tend to put aside what a democratic process entails because we consider a country’s elections as a democratic move. (Matias, interview, 31 March 2009) . . . there is a clear need for fine tuning or sharpening or re-shaping our democracy promotion as a policy tool. (Koistinen, interview, 30 March 2009) It’s about the electoral system rather than the value behind it. If you look at most of the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) countries, they have elections: now whether they are wrecked, free, fair . . . that is something else . . . But elections are not the only pillar of a democratic

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process: they are just part of it. So elections on their own, quite frankly, are not enough. (Official ‘C’, interview, 2 April 2009) Two key pillars in the EU’s endeavours in this regard include HR education and an emphasis on institution building. In Palestine, Community assistance extends to legal aid to the victims of HR violations as well as support for monitoring by international NGOs specializing in children’s rights. Moreover, EU democracy building efforts have prioritized relations with civil society and NGOs, as the main implementing partners for projects (such as those under EIDHR): We are talking about strengthening the role of civil society, we are trying to finance a dialogue of civil society with decision-makers. We try to influence legislation, we try to make the voice of civil society heard through the lens of human rights and democracy. When we are tackling human rights’ issues, when we are engaging in this dialogue and this strengthening of civil society, we consider that we are contributing to a democratic process. (Matias, interview, 31 March 2009) It is thus a key stated aim of the EU to (supposedly) strengthen the development of a pluralistic civil society in neighbouring countries. Civil society organizations are therefore singled out as playing a crucial role in ‘monitoring’ human rights and democracy, reform processes. However, there are more critical voices questioning EU interests and motives for engaging in this terrain. In fact, there is nothing inherent in civil society that attaches it to a democratizing project. As Norval and Ahmed stipulate in this volume, actors of civil society in the Middle East are often part of the elites of those societies and remain split from the marginalized groups. Linked to the EU’s focus on civil society groups are the primary and declared aims of the EU’s democracy promotion activities to develop and consolidate the principles of liberty, democracy, respect for human rights, and the rule of law in its neighbouring countries – through the development of cooperative activities under association agreements (in the case of Mediterranean partners and specifically here of Palestine, the latter having an interim agreement). Under Article 2 of each association agreement respect for democratic principles and human rights is stipulated as an essential element and therefore this clause is legally

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binding on both parties to the agreement, with the possibility of suspension in cases of violations.5 The EU seeks to achieve these aims primarily through funding projects/democracy assistance packages for particular target groups including women and victims of torture. Rather than directly challenging authoritarian regimes’ strategies for suppressing and silencing opposition voices within the MENA region, the EU prefers instead to offer assistance for ‘countering the abuse of prisoners and detainees, empowering survivors of torture and developing capacity in the area of forensic medicine’ (European Commission, 2000, p. 53). Relations between the EU and Palestine go beyond bilateral relations to include multilateral as well as regional relations. EUPalestine relations have been institutionalized further through the Euro-Mediterranean Partnership (launched in 1995; see also Council Regulation, 1996), the European Neighbourhood Policy (launched in 2003) and the more recent Union for the Mediterranean (launched in 2008). EU bilateral relations with Palestine have a legal basis in the EuroMediterranean Interim Association Agreement (which Israel does not recognize, however) on trade and cooperation between the European Community and the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) on behalf of the Palestinian Authority, PA (Official Journal, 1997, pp. 0003–135). In the context of the Middle East Peace Process and on paper, the EU plays a role as part of the Quartet and seeks to support the Palestinians with continued and comprehensive political, economic and social reforms. In particular, the EU seeks to support Palestinians in their institution building efforts towards an independent and democratic Palestinian state: In the case of Palestine, we push for the development of democratic, accountable institutions as a preparation for a Palestinian state . . . We do not look at the realities . . . We keep our focus on the Road Map . . . In 2006 there was already thinking of possible talks with Hamas but there is also a fringe view which needs to be convinced. (Official ‘D’, interview, 3 April 2009) The EC is the biggest donor of financial assistance to the Palestinians. Following the elections of January 2006, and the victory of Hamas, the EU – at the request of the Quartet and the European Council – established the Temporary International Mechanism (TIM) to facilitate need-based assistance to the Palestinians and support by international donors. Emphasis was placed on sectors that enabled the continued

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functioning of essential public social services. TIM was phased out in March 2008 and replaced by a PEGASE (Mecanisme ‘Palestino – Européen de Gestion et d’Aide Socio-Economique’) mechanism which aims to support a 3-year Palestinian Reform and Development Plan (PRDP), presented by the PA Prime Minister Salam Fayyad at the Paris Donor Conference of 17 December 2007. Under the European Neighbourhood Policy, EU-Palestinian relations are guided by an Action Plan concluded with the PA. Moreover, the agenda for reforms in Palestine has also been overshadowed by internal Palestinian fighting since Hamas’ takeover of Gaza in the summer of 2007. The ensuing Israeli and Western economic embargo of Gaza, Israel’s almost total closure of Gaza’s border crossings, ongoing lawlessness in Palestine, and heightened Israeli restrictions on freedom of movement in the West Bank contribute to a serious halt in development in any political, economic or social reforms. A ceasefire was reached in June 2008 between Hamas and Israel for 6 months but was not renewed in December. Israel started bombarding Gaza on 27 December 2008 and a war was waged until 18 January 2009 when, first, Israel and then Hamas, declared unilateral ceasefires.

Overview of perceptions of the EU as an actor in democracy building In the case of Palestine, the view from the region in regard to TIM and PEGASE is that following the January 2006 elections in Palestine, the EU on the one hand sanctions an elected party while on the other hand it increases assistance to the Palestinians, showing how encumbered the organization is with its ‘clumsy’ decision making and ‘confused’ messages to the people in the Middle East. Moreover, the EU’s support of particular political factions, namely Fatah, has come at the expense of the marginalization of progressive voices within Hamas (Youssef, interview, 11 September 2007) as well as more general support for indigenous and vital political (rather than civil) society organizations6 and institutions which cater for the real needs of their societies including leadership training of young people: Our job has been made much harder over the last two years and thus our intervention needs to be micro-sized. We need a concept that is based on a sensible moral imperative. Our projects should be based on developing society and the fundamentals of ethics. Any project needs to be conducted by the people for the people. The so-called external ‘development projects’ are parachuted here in accordance

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with various political agendas or donor ‘beliefs’. These projects never really take off here . . . people in the region are poorer, less capable and more vulnerable and susceptible to extremism despite the financial surplus from external actors. (Saidam, interview, 15 September 2007, my emphasis) In fact, there are strong voices in the territories who claim that the EU pays for the Israeli occupation of Palestine. These perceptions also reiterate the view that the EU’s policy is subservient to that of the US. Interviewees expressed strong feelings of anger at the EU which will make any EU approach at democracy building either impossible or very difficult indeed and with severe limitations. According to these voices, no democracy building efforts in the Middle East will be fruitful unless the EU takes the Middle East conflict seriously through a thorough understanding of its historical roots and by understanding the real agenda of the occupying power. As Rami Nasrallah iterates: You cannot talk about democratic transformations in Palestine without a real economic, political and social transformation. First, one cannot talk about reform7 without making concrete moves on the peace transformation front. Secondly, because our political circumstances do not allow it, none of our organizations or movements have had the chance to develop into democratic political parties: neither Fatah nor Hamas. They still see themselves as resistance movements. They see their agendas as twofold: one a peace building agenda and second, the resistance agenda: they’ve never been able to move to a civil agenda of a political party. What we have had here with the PLO is a democracy of guns: whereby political figures like Arafat used to buy power through loyalty. In a patrimonial system like this one loyalty buys you benefits and in return you give your support to a political movement. The donors on their part seek to protect Israel and Israeli civilians. The international community has no intention for a real democracy to emerge in Palestine. (Interview, 3 September 2007) In other words, the EU must use its economic leverage on Israel especially when international norms are violated rather than continuing to upgrade its relations with Israel. EU officials themselves admit this: Whether the timing was disastrous, in terms of policy . . . absolutely [when EU was considering the upgrade with Israel]. Why should we justify this upgrade? It was very difficult . . . But there was this very

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strong political direction for the Council to take . . . to endorse the approval of this upgrade . . . I think such a move again will not be without a cost . . . as the position taken by the EU on the Hamas elections showed us. I think we all paid a price for that in terms of our credibility . . . [People in the region were saying . . . ] ‘You’ve been telling us to hold elections, we held elections. You were observers: you found the elections to be fine’. They simply couldn’t understand the messages coming out from Brussels. (Official ‘E’, interview, 2 April 2009) The EU is the biggest donor to the Palestinians as well as Israel’s biggest export market. If some lessons are to be learnt from the events in Gaza, then the EU should apply tougher conditions on any long-term assistance to the Palestinian community. Moreover, as one interviewee put it: There is a misplaced emphasis in my view in the EU on economic development leading to political reform. Democracy is not the solution to our problems here in Palestine: it is a way to resolve these problems, not the end result. We have to try and resolve our problems in the right way: that for me is democracy. (Naim, interview, 11 September 2007) The EU should also suspend its existing and proposed association and new cooperation agreement with Israel until real changes on the ground take effect. The EU cannot possibly attempt democracy building in Palestine while arming Israel with weapons which use contravenes EU licensing criteria. (Clegg, 2009) Furthermore, it is now a reality in Palestine that Islamist groups, particularly Hamas, are becoming increasingly popular. The Islamists interviewed by this author agreed on an interpretation of democracy as a political process and programme which caters for the collective needs of the people, including employment, education, housing and health facilities: a welfare or social democracy: My belief is in welfare democracy. The only way to unite our efforts towards solving our problem as Palestinians in terms of the occupation is democracy. However, democracy is a way of life, it is a culture, it is a way of thinking. The basis of this should be citizenship, rights: the basis of the relationship between leader and citizens . . . not

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religion or gender or ethnic group. The reality moreover is that we are Muslims with an Islamic background, and therefore we consider this as part of our form of government. (Naim, interview, 11 September 2007) Such a perception of democracy was equally shared by other interviewees and all argue that the EU should focus on basic needs and political rights if it is really serious about democracy building in the Middle East. In the case of Palestine such a democratic process and programme requires the end of occupation. Because of the particular context of occupation in Palestine, interviewees distinguished between perceptions of democracy on an intellectual level and perceptions of democracy in praxis. As Nasr El-Din Sha’r argued: The EU has to understand that people in Palestine – whether they are Islamists or from Fatah or from other groups – they accept democracy in principle. What they do not accept is to share power. So there is a big gap between the rhetoric of agreeing on democracy and the believe in democracy on the one hand and on the other hand accepting each other and to share power . . . (Interview, 10 September 2007) Moreover, in Palestine, democracy is seen as a means rather than an end in itself: as a means to end corrupt practices and occupation. As one Hamas official stated: When the people voted, they voted because they expected reform and change and we had a political programme to achieve this: to address the corruption, the chaos, the lack of law and order. (Youssef, interview, 11 September 2007) It therefore follows that although in the Western mode of democratic political thinking, political Islam lacks an emphasis on the liberal aspect of governance, no external actor had the courage to engage with Hamas’ progressive political faction to assist in opening up understandings of what governing really entails. Hamas officials, on their part, had misread the EU’s intentions, thinking that if they agreed to a National Unity Government the Europeans would lift their sanctions on Hamas – but this did not happen. By promoting a specific model of liberal democracy, which only secular and liberal actors in the Middle East can subscribe to, the EU thereby accentuates the divisions between

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governing and opposition groups in the MENA (on North Africa see the work of Francesco Cavatorta in Pace (ed.), 2009, pp. 137–56). This is exactly what happened in Palestine. This goes to explain why interviewees argued that the EU is only interested in protecting its own set of liberal values rather than helping other regions emulate its success in the process of democratic transition. Ahmed Youssef also emphasized the importance of context for democracy building efforts by any external actor: The situation here is totally different from Europe. The people here feel this is an Islamic culture. So we are not intending to have an Islamic state here: We are not like Iran or Sudan. It is better to have a democratic state and culturally we are guided by Islam. (Interview, 11 September 2007) Another interesting insight into perceptions from Palestine relates to the view that the EU cannot have an impact or lead by example particularly when its member states’ development agencies generously donate money to corrupt individuals in Palestine who pose as representatives of civil society/NGOs: Some of the Swedish people (representing their government) I spoke to and who are responsible for funding some projects here (in Gaza) told me that unfortunately after twenty years they figured out that most of the project funded work was just a piece of paper: a project proposal on paper. In reality, there has been no outcome, no impact. All the money they poured in has gone in the pockets of those people who submitted the project proposals in the first instance. (Youssef, interview, 11 September 2007) Clearly, all interviewees agree that the EU has somewhat got it wrong when attempting to promote democracy building in the case of Palestine.

Summary: perceptions on EU democracy promotion from Palestine Thus, a key running theme throughout the interviews conducted in Palestine is that the EU’s intervention in democracy building in this case has not really addressed the core of the problem, that is, of the lack of basic rights and needs in the Middle East. Most interviewees

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acknowledged that the EU’s emphasis has been, in the main, on elections and human rights, with funding directed at human rights organizations. They also acknowledge, however, that these efforts have in turn encouraged and created a kind of sensibility for human rights issues in societies at large which indirectly affect their governments’ behaviour. Most interviewees in Palestine agreed that the EU confuses democracy building with procedural mechanisms and human rights. For this reason, a key related implication of the EU’s strategy is that there is no trust in the intentions of external actors in the Middle East. The USled ‘war on terror’ became a brand which other external actors like the EU adopted without any questioning and Arab regimes were only too keen to adapt to their own version of dealing with extremism. As Sadiki notes: Arab autocrats have become quite skilled in public relations, mastering the language of democracy, human rights, and free markets while preserving old and arbitrary means of decision making. In the last ten years, Arab regimes have fallen into what could be referred to as ‘dynastic republicanism’ – a form of government that translates roughly to an oxymoron: ‘monarchical presidency’. Whatever outward appearances they project inside Arab regimes, republican governments come with no legal or historical guarantees. Family domination of Arab governments reduces states to vehicles for the advancement of private and particular interests rather than public ones. Arab states with limited political institutions are often beset by tribalism, and tribalism in turn results in skewed and undemocratic political institutions. (2009, p. 1) This is also the case in Palestine. Moreover, there is general agreement between interviewees that unless the EU applies very strong pressure and persuades the Israelis to lift the severe restrictions on freedom of movement for Palestinians, dismantle the so-called ‘security’ wall and freeze all settlement activities, then all EU activities under the banner of democracy building will be pointless. Perceptions from across Palestinian interviewees emphasize that the EU’s focus on human rights concerns does not translate into a pro-active programme for the EU to understand the real situation on the ground. The EU simply cannot have any role or impact in the democratization processes in the Middle East unless it puts pressure on Israel to abide by international norms in the case of Palestine when violations of international norms occur.

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Actors in Palestine also believe that the EU’s underlying logic of economic development leading to political reform is misplaced. It therefore follows that what the EU needs is a short to medium as well as a long-term plan for the region: political change requires a thorough appreciation of the root cause of the ‘problem’ of the Middle East and a reflexive period on the part of EU actors on the role of the EU in the creation of this ‘problem’.

Conclusion and some policy prescriptions The analysis above has pointed to how, on paper, the EU promotes democracy building in the Middle East through a number of approaches. First, through a conditionality approach whereby the EU attempts to induce change in the region via its economic leverage and, secondly, through a socialization approach through which the EU supports the development of civil society in the Middle East. By taking a reality check of what actors on the ground in the region, specifically in Palestine, make of the EU’s role and impact on democracy building, this chapter has concluded that there are a number of problems in the EU’s current policies in this area. Apart from internal, institutional constraints, the EU fails, in the eyes of its target audience in the Middle East, to deal with the real, political causes of the failure of reform in the region. Moreover, rather than focusing on people’s basic needs and claims to real freedom, the EU has a narrow focus on electoral processes and human rights – rather than political, social, economic and civil rights. An additional problem in the EU’s strategy is the selection of actors it chooses to work with on the ground in the Middle East. Another criticism of the EU which emerged from the voices in Palestine analysed here is the lack of knowledge of the region as a whole. Interviewees thus question the EU’s real intentions when it claims to be supporting democracy building in third countries. Given this reality check, the last section of this chapter concludes with some policy prescriptions in the area of EU democracy building in the Middle East: these proposals are clearly linked and not mutually exclusive.

Option one: EU must move away from conforming to liberal democracy models In the post-Cold War era, Europe adopted a liberal foreign policy towards the MENA region. This policy has been carried out through

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the EU’s main carrot, that of economic incentives, which Europeans believed would lead to socioeconomic and political liberalization. Lured by the apparent stability that Middle Eastern regimes offered, Europeans assumed that liberal reforms could be undertaken without undermining the existing pro-Western political order; liberalization was taken as the way to ensure that MENA regimes would be accommodating to European demands (Kandil, 2010). But, as Norval and Ahmed argue in this volume, we need to pay more attention to the historical conflicts between rights (or the traditions of liberalism) and popular sovereignty (democracy). As argued in this chapter, such blindness to these tensions leads to the prioritizing of the liberal tradition over democracy. David Hammerstein from the European Parliament agrees: We’ve seen a lot of contradictions in what the EU is doing in the MENA. Can a democratic situation ensue when we are destroying what we consider to be the local middle class in this region? The small shop-keepers, the small artisans, the small producers – on an economic level? So yes there is a contradiction between the liberalisation and total open markets policy and pushing forward a democratic agenda. (Interview, 1 April 2009) Thus far, Europe’s policies towards the Middle East, from colonial times up to the post-Cold War era, have been complicit in producing authoritarian and weak states inept in meeting the basic needs of their populations, including education. As Hassan Hanafi (interview, 9 October 2009) argues, an illiterate population is better controlled and ‘governed’ by MENA regimes because an educated people will question what its government is doing in its name. This is why people seek refuge in alternative representatives such as Islamist movements. But even in rare cases in the Middle East where the majority of the population is educated, as in Palestine, the grip of corrupt representatives and specific contexts, as in the case of occupation in Palestine, disables people from acting as true democrats: Most Palestinian people are well educated people and they will accept any suggestion coming from Europe on how to politically reform and develop the occupied territories here . . . Most people here they do not have the experience of being democrats. When we had Europeans come here, I observed our people responding positively

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to the interactions, I could see some change in these people, an incremental change. (Youssef, interview, 11 September 2007) Throughout this chapter emphasis was placed on interviewees’ calls for the EU to focus on MENA peoples’ basic needs and their claims for real change and reform via economic, social and civil as well as political rights. Conceptually, this finding is in line with the work of Aletta Norval (2007) on aversive democracy, which makes a convincing case for moving away from conforming to liberal democracy models to an emphasis on the articulation of political demands and claims and the formation of democratic subjectivity. She stresses in particular the creation of democratic claims between citizens and democratic imagination. Her ‘aversion to conformism’, that is, of traditional, democratic grammar and practices, invites external actors like the EU to aspect learn innovative ways of thinking about democratic practices, procedures and grammars in regions like the Middle East. Rather than adhering to universal norms, Norval emphasises the ‘interplay between tradition and novelty in democratic politics’ (2007, p. 12). Practically – and given the expectation that the Obama administration will somehow reverse Bush’s policies in the Middle East (Goldenberg, 2009), such insights from the ground in the MENA as well as from recent theoretical works, – there is an urgent call for the EU to take the lead and, in Norval’s term, move from aspect blindness (blind in real knowledge of what is going on in the Middle East) to aspect learning. In line with interviewees’ encouraging remarks to external actors to take the time to really understand what is going on in the MENA and for the EU in particular to become fully aware of restrictions on real freedoms, this may involve the EU taking some brave steps and establishing channels of communication with all state and non-state actors in Palestine, including Islamists who are increasingly popular with their people.

Option two Linked to option one above, we need to ask: why is the EU really interested in democracy building in the Middle East? If the answer is partly due to the historical guilt that Europe continues to carry because of its colonial past and its involvement in the creation of the Middle East problem in Palestine, then the EU would do better to face and address its past and then move on. This point links to the calls by critical voices on the ground in the Middle East who argue that

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the EU should deal with the causes not the symptoms of the lack of democracy-building in the region. In this case the policy on democracy building proves to be void and the EU would do better to just simply do nothing until it gets its own house in order. This is particularly important in light of the revelations in this chapter about how the EU has lost its legitimacy in the eyes of people in the Middle East and how it needs to rebuild trust there. The EU could choose to stay out of the democracy building business and allow the forces within the Middle East to develop their own programmes, agendas and so forth. The EU can then support (but not impose) internally driven initiatives. As various quotes from interviewees in this chapter reveal, no actors in Palestine would refuse outright engagement with the EU but the terms they propose are on a collaborative basis. Although EU documents endorse such a basis for its relations with Middle Eastern neighbours, its practices lag behind in that they are not based on a true partnership and collaborative approach. Furthermore, most Islamists as well as academics and NGO representatives prefer to engage in a dialogue and debate with the EU as opposed to receiving direct financial assistance. Thus, a re-emphasis on the focus on people’s basic needs is recurring as well as who the EU chooses to work with in its democracy-building efforts in the Middle East.

Option three Change track. Linked to option two above, the EU should rethink policies, priorities, strategies and so on. If we take the premise from the actors interviewed in Palestine that the EU is more interested in protecting its own set of liberal values than ensuring that these same values are emulated elsewhere, then the EU needs some reflexive thinking. If the EU genuinely desires to encourage democracy building in Palestine, and as per analysis in this chapter, then it needs to make a more consistent and robust use of the democracy clause in all bilateral agreements with third parties, including Israel (in the case under consideration here, Israel being the occupying power of Palestinian territory), especially in cases of democratic infringements and to focus on real obstacles to democratization. In the case of Palestine, the EU must engage with the democratically elected Hamas, as already mentioned above. The EU should formally open diplomatic talks with Islamic groups (like Hamas) to allow for credible negotiations (rather than just engagement with) between all sides and re-establish its credentials in the region as a real force for good.

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Option four: getting the EU’s priorities right Linked to option three, EU actors need to seriously question whether the EU is really interested in democracy building in the Middle East. Or is its priority more in diplomatic mediation and alliance building? This is a question which relates to the EU’s Member States’ interests and requires high-level political bargaining between national governments. The EU’s focus on incremental democratization in the case covered in this chapter requires an aspect learning (Norval, 2007) process from political developments on the ground. In Palestine, the Commission must act as an influential advocate of national unity between Fatah and Hamas as a primary means of democratic support (as per interviewees’ recommendations). As a collective, moreover, the EU has the potential to bypass the colonial historical baggage that member states like France and Britain carry in their relations with the Middle East. In order to do this, the EU must put its act together through institutional and political reforms of its own. This means that the EU should have one, coherent voice as a global actor. President Sarkozy’s shuttle diplomacy in the recent crisis in Gaza (even though the French Presidency of the EU ended on 31 December 2008) shows that the EU needs a strong President (as foreseen in the Lisbon Treaty) to represent the EU in a consistent fashion (Garton Ash, 2009, p. 27).

Option five: the EU must be consistent in its rhetorical pressure on Middle East governments when violations of democratic principles and human rights occur In line with option four above, the EU has to acknowledge its leverage and power of its rhetoric – but such announcements must be continuous and show a true commitment for the respect for human rights, throughout the Middle East region and thus save its legitimacy in the region. The EU must thus act by example as actions speak louder than words. This applies particularly to the case of Palestine. Given the recent humanitarian crisis in Gaza and later, large numbers of Europeans took to the streets to protest against the lack of diplomatic leverage that the EU in particular could firmly place on Israel, rather than upgrading its cooperation agreement. It is no surprise that in the recent EP elections, the turnout was very low indeed. The EU would therefore do well to take a reflexive step backwards and learn some lessons from the tragic events that have recently unfolded in front of the

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international community. The lack of democracy building in the Middle East may well have negative repercussions on democracy in Europe as well.

Notes 1. The Oslo Agreement was signed between the PLO and Israel in 1993. It was renegotiated in 1995 as Oslo 2, partly because there were several unclear elements in the first. 2. It may be the case that Solana regretted having made an announcement prior to the January 2006 elections in Palestine that if the Palestinians vote for Hamas there would be repercussions. On a legal basis, this statement was a clear infringement of the internal affairs of the Palestinian territories. 3. MEDA was a major financial instrument of the EU to support economic and social reforms in the Mediterranean region, providing finance for bilateral and multilateral cooperation. For example MEDA involved projects relating to the education, health and environment sectors as well as to the improvement of infrastructure and restructuring of administrations. Until 31 December 2006, EC assistance to the countries of the Middle East was provided under geographical programmes including MEDA, as well as thematic programmes such as the EIDHR. For the budgetary period (2000–6), the funds available were approximately ¤5.3 billion for MEDA, as well as approximately ¤2 billion in European Investment Bank lending for MEDA beneficiary countries. See http://ec.europa.eu/world/enp/funding_en.htm for more information and EC documents cited in the list of references. 4. Some observers see the comitology as a technocratic version of deliberative democracy in which informal norms, deliberation, and good arguments matter more than economic interests and formal voting rules. An alternative understanding portrays comitology as an arena for hard intergovernmental bargaining designed by the member states to control the Commission (Blom-Hansen, 2007). 5. Although the EU has never thus far suspended any agreement with any Mediterranean partner. This may be very difficult as such a suspension would require a consensual agreement between all 27 member states of the EU. 6. Political society organizations refer to the fact that democracy is at its roots about questioning the political (see Norval, 2007). 7. Western understandings of the word ‘reform’ may be different from the original Arabic term. As Dr Mohamed Kadry Said (2008) argues: ‘The word “reform” when translated into Arabic is the word “islah” which means repairing . . . this is an unfortunate translation of this term. Reform means sometimes reshaping or advancing for example but unfortunately it was translated to “islah” that is repairing, correcting, and of course this is a heavy blow on anybody or any institution here especially when it is coming (imposed) from outside.’

Bibliography Black, I. (2009) ‘EU admits failures as international pressure grows for ceasefire’, The Guardian, 5 January, 3.

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Blom-Hansen, J. (2007) ‘The EU Comitology System: Intergovernmental Bargaining and Deliberative Supranationalism?’, Paper presented at the 65th MPSA National Conference, Chicago, USA, 12–15 April. Clegg, N. (2009) ‘We Must Stop Arming Israel’, The Guardian, 7 January, 30. European Commission (2000) On the Implementation of Measures Intended to Promote Observance of Human Rights and Democratic Principles in External Relations for 1996–1999, Brussels 14 November 2000, COM(2000) 726 final. Consolidated Version of The Treaty Establishing the European Community, http://eur-lex.europa.eu/en/treaties/dat/12002E/htm/C_2002325EN.003301. html, date accessed 15 September 2009. Council Regulation (EC) No 1488/96 of 23 July 1996 on financial and technical measures to accompany the reform of economic and social structures in the framework of the Euro-Mediterranean Partnership, Official Journal L 187 (16 July 1997), pp. 0003–135. European Commission (1996) MEDA Democracy Programme, Budget Line B7705N – Criteria and Conditions of Eligibility, DG1B.A1.1.J. European Commission (2001) From MEDA I to MEDA II: Commitments and Payments, http://europa.eu.int/comm/europeaid/projects/med/financial/19952004.pdf, date accessed 5 March 2009. European Commission, http://ec.europa.eu/world/enp/funding_en.htm, date accessed 13 January 2010. Garton Ash, T. (2009) ‘Europe is Failing Two Life and Death Tests. We Must Act Together, Now’, The Guardian, 8 January, 27. Goldenberg, S. (2009) ‘Obama Camp Ready to Open up Dialogue with Hamas’, The Guardian, 9 January, 1. Ferrero-Waldner, B. and Solana, J. (2007) Statebuilding for Peace in the Middle East: An EU Action Plan, S378/07, http://www.consilium.europa.eu/ueDocs/ cms_Data/docs/pressdata/en/reports/97949.pdf, date accessed 9 February 2009. Kandil, H. (2010) ‘Resisting Resistance: Europe and the Shifting Balance of Threats in the Middle East’ in F. Cavatorta and M. Pace (eds) The Post-Normative Turn in EU-MENA relations, Special Issue of the journal European Foreign Affairs Review, 15 (5); 2010. MacShane, D. (2008) ‘Europe Needs to Speak with One Voice’, The Independent, 29 June, http://www.independent.co.uk/opinion/commentators/denismacshane-europe-needs-to-speak-with-one-voice-850964.html, date accessed 6 January 2009. Minsat, A. and Pace, M. (2009) Report from the Second Meeting of the ESRC Project Research Group on the EU and Democracy Promotion in the Middle East, London School of Economics and Political Science, 9 January, www.eumena.bham.ac. uk website, 20 January 2010. Mish’al, K. (2009) ‘This Brutality Will Never Break Our Will to Be Free’, The Guardian, 6 January 2009, p. 26. Norval, A. (2007) Aversive Democracy. Inheritance and Originality in the Democratic Tradition (Cambridge: CUP). Official Journal of the European Communities, ‘Consolidated Version Of The Treaty On European Union’ 24 December 2002, C 325, http://eur-lex.europa.

Michelle Pace 123 eu/en/treaties/dat/12002M/pdf/12002M_EN.pdf, date accessed 15 September 2009. Pace, M. (2007) ‘The Construction of EU Normative Power’, Journal of Common Market Studies, 45 (5), 1039–62. Pace, M. with Seeberg, P. (eds) (2009) Special Issue on ‘The EU’s Democratization Agenda in the Mediterranean: A Critical Inside-Out Approach’, Democratization, 16, 1–214. Sadiki, L. (2009) ‘Like Father, Like Son: Dynastic Republicanism in the Middle East’, Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, number 52, November, http:// www.carnegieendowment.org/publications/index.cfm?fa=view&id=24226& zoom_highlight=Larbi+Sadiki, date accessed on 13 January 2010. Swedish International Development Agency (1999) ‘Election observation – A Common European Approach’, B7-709, Project No. 99-079.

List of interviews Author’s interview with an official ‘A’ from the Council General Secretariat, Brussels, 25 March 2009. The official in question wished to remain anonymous. Author’s interview with an official ‘B’ from the Council General Secretariat, Brussels, 23 March 2009. The official in question wished to remain anonymous. Author’s interview with an official ‘C’ from the Council General Secretariat, Brussels, 2 April 2009. The official in question wished to remain anonymous. Author’s interview with an official ‘D’ from the Council General Secretariat, Brussels, 3 April 2009. The official in question wished to remain anonymous. Author’s interview with an official ‘E’ from the Council General Secretariat, Brussels, 2 April 2009. The official in question wished to remain anonymous. Author’s interview with Anne Koistinen, DG RELEX, European Commission, 30 March 2009. Author’s interview with Bela Matias, EuropeAid, EIDHR instruments and implementation, European Commission, 31 March 2009. Author’s interview with David Hammerstein, European Parliament, Brussels, 1 April 2009. Author’s interview with Dr Ahmed Youssef, Political Advisor to Ismail Haniyeh, Office of the Prime Minister, Gaza, 11 September 2007. Author’s interview with Dr Basem N Naim, Minister of Youth, Sport and Health, PNA, Gaza, 11 September 2007. Author’s interview with Dr Diaa Rashwan, Director of the Comparative Politics Unit, Al Ahram Centre, Cairo, 26 March 2008. Author’s interview with Dr Nasr El-Din Sha’r, Deputy Prime Minister and Education Minister in National Unity Government, Nablus, 10 September 2007. Author’s interview with Dr Sabri Saidam, Centre for Continuing Education, BirZeit University, Ramallah, 15 September 2007. Author’s interview with Gianluca Grippa, DG RELEX, European Commission, Brussels, 24 March 2009.

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Author’s interview with Mohamed Kadry Said, Military Advisor, Al Ahram Centre, Cairo, 23 March 2008. Author’s interview with Mr Rami Nasrallah, Head of International Peace and Cooperation Center (IPCC), East Jerusalem, 3 September 2007. Author’s interview with Mrs Haitham Arar, Ministry of Interior, Democracy and Human Rights Division (Fatah), Ramallah, 5 September 2007. Author’s interview with Professor Hassan Hanafi, University of Cairo, Cairo, 9 October 2009.

7 The Islamism Debate Revisited: In Search of ‘Islamist Democrats’ Abdelwahab El-Affendi

Writing in the 1990s, the prominent US neo-conservative analyst Robert Satloff described the ‘Islamism Debate’ as ‘one of the few remaining intellectual debates in US foreign policy’. The debate (which Satloff sums up in the question ‘How did we lose Iran?’) was seen as at once providing a fascinating intellectual challenge and carrying great risks for senior bureaucrats where providing the wrong answers could destroy careers (Satloff, 1997, pp. 101–2). Satloff’s remarks highlight a number of significant and very revealing points about the context in which this debate is being conducted. To start with, we can clearly see that this debate predates the cataclysmic events of 9/11 and had not been launched by it. Iran and its Islamic revolution, as Satloff indicates, provided the trigger. Of equal significance was the fact that Satloff was making his remarks in a series of talks hosted by the Moshe Dayan Centre in Israel (run at the time by Martin Kramer, who was to emerge later as a leading neo-conservative voice in his own right). The appearance of the Islamic Resistance Movement (Hamas) in tandem with the eruption of the Palestinian intifada in 1987 has occasioned a radical shift in policy, as Israel was forced to embrace its arch-enemy, the Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO), in the Oslo agreement of 1993, and regard Islamism as the new threat to its future (Kramer, 1996; Sela and Ma’oz, 1997). From the early 1990s, the debate on the ‘Islamic threat’ started to be dominated by polemics between Israel’s supporters and its critics (Esposito, 1992; Kramer, 2001; Miller, 1993; Sugg, 2005). The Israeli shift coincided with a convergence of views in the region which foreclosed the debate. I remember being told on the eve of a conference on US policy towards Islamic movements I was attending in New York in 1993 that the debate we were about to have was ‘academic’ 125

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in the worst sense of that term. The administration’s mind was already made up, and there was no way we could influence it. The reason was that key US allies in the region (Israel, Egypt, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, etc.) all came to Washington with one consistent message: ‘Islamism is the main threat we are facing.’ The US could not afford to engage with Islamists under those conditions. And it is true. US and other Western diplomats used to make feeble attempts to contact leading Islamist figures in their countries or abroad. But after a few had their heads bitten off, it became less risky for a Western diplomat to consort with Al-Qaeda than to talk to Islamist parliamentarians or activists. The loathing is mutual. Since 9/11 and the US invasion of Afghanistan and Iraq, not to mention its stance on Israel during the second intifada, most Islamist leaders would not want to be seen dead in the company of a US diplomat. It was a more guaranteed path to political suicide than having one’s picture taken with a convicted serial rapist. And this leads us to the other point Satloff raises: the personal risks involved for diplomats and senior political figures who might want to engage in bridge-building with Islamists. It could be political suicide to even try, and much worse if you try and fail. President Ronald Reagan’s National Security Advisor Robert MacFarlane in fact attempted actual suicide after his overtures to Iran proved to be political suicide. The risks have increased exponentially in recent times. However, we cannot afford to pass by one giveaway hint in Satloff’s comments: the mention of ‘losing Iran’. This possessive attitude towards the Muslim countries seems to betray a lingering colonial presupposition: those countries are ‘ours’, and it is those mullahs or fundamentalists who have snatched them away from our grasp! But Iran is precisely a salutary lesson on how not to go about ‘owning’ countries that are not yours. The US and its allies were faced, in the person of the liberal nationalist Mohammad Mosaddeq in the 1950s, with another ‘thief’ who wanted to snatch Iran from their grip. They did what it took to topple him and reinstate the despotic Shah. Nowadays, Western policymakers would kill for a subversive like Mosaddeq to take any Middle Eastern country off their hands. But alas, they will never find one. And it is precisely because they have supported despots like the Shah and Saddam for so long that when Iraq was invaded, only pro-Iranian Islamists were able to stand out as the viable alternative. Attempts to groom potential Mosaddeqs (or, rather, ‘Shahs’ like former Iraqi Prime Minister Iyad Allawi), ended in tears for many a seasoned diplomat and not a few soldiers and politicians.

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The cost of despotism Faced with difficult alternatives, most Western policymakers regard support for local despots as a relatively benign policy which maximizes short-term benefits and minimizes costs. However, support for despots is neither benign nor beneficial. These despots are at war with their people. They torture, murder and harass opponents and make the daily lives of ordinary citizens an unmitigated misery. Associating with such monsters does incur a cost. Like the rash policies of the world’s leading banks in the post-regulation era, it could land one with many ‘toxic assets’ and bring about the inevitable credit crunch and all forms of deep depression. However, the answer of many policymakers is usually that there are few options available. For the Islamists are not only hostile to Western interests and opposed to peace in the Middle East and other major Western objectives, but they are also inherently anti-democratic. So what is the point of supporting a democratization process which ends up ensconcing in power an even more repressive dictatorship? At least the secular dictators are socially liberal, so their dictatorial practices do not extend to impositions on private lives. This posing of the dilemma is not as daft as it seems. The steady rise in the influence of Islamist groups, both within and outside the electoral process, is being used as a pretext by incumbent regimes for resisting democratic reforms. It is an excuse which is finding more receptive ears in Western capitals as the increasingly pro-Islamist sentiments in the proverbial ‘Arab Street’ coincide with an unprecedented rise in anti-Western or, more specifically anti-American, sentiments. ‘Better the devil we know’, became the motto summing up the prevailing sentiment as a result. Fareed Zakaria, a prominent US journalist and author who was close to the neo-conservatives, describes the practical predicament of diplomats and policymakers succinctly thus: A senior American diplomat enters one of the grand presidential palaces in Heliopolis, the neighborhood of Cairo from which President Hosni Mubarak rules over Egypt . . . The two men talk amiably about U.S.-Egyptian relations, regional matters and the state of the peace process between Israel and the Palestinians. Then the American gently raises the issue of human rights and suggests that Egypt’s government might ease up on political dissent, allow more press freedoms and stop jailing intellectuals. Mubarak tenses up and snaps, ‘If I were to do what you ask, the fundamentalists will take over Egypt.

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Is that what you want?’ The diplomat demurs and the conversation moves back to the latest twist in the peace process. (Zakaria, 2001) Zakaria and friends go on to see this as a virtue. Maybe it is a good thing we have tenacious regimes in the Middle East. This is why we did not ‘lose’ other countries after Iran, as many ‘experts’ had predicted (Kramer, 1996). One should also abandon the compulsion to promote democracy in that region, since what we are going to have would in fact be ‘illiberal democracies’ (Zakaria, 1997). While not many subscribe to this crude advocacy of authoritarianism in theory, in practice policy in most developed countries now follows this prescription. This leaves aside the responsibility of the opposition, including the Islamists. Those advocating support for repressive regimes tend to assume that repression would work, and other actors would play along or play dead. That is not what had happened in Iran. Islamists also took power in Sudan by force. But could Islamists champion democracy as well? And why not? Indeed an obvious question that poses itself here is this: if Islamists are by far the largest opposition bloc in most Arab countries, why are we not witnessing an Islamist-led democratic movement anywhere in the Arab world? What could Islamists have done, or could still do, to halt the slide towards this apparently incurable chronic authoritarianism, of which they are often the main victims? Again the question might sound unfair, carrying as it does a hint of blaming the victims of despotism, even if indirectly, for their predicament. But since we are looking here at the rising influence of Islamist movements, it is legitimate to ask how this influence could be better used to further democracy. The question about what liberals could do to further democracy independent of other actors or foreign support is irrelevant here, since the main problem is that liberals enjoy neither the popular support nor the influence that would have made it possible for them to achieve such a goal. In any case, the emergence of a vibrant liberal constituency requires a minimum of political openness which incumbent regimes in the region are unwilling to provide. This puts democracy promotion efforts into what looks like a vicious circle. To promote liberal democracy, one needs liberals. But if we are honest with ourselves, we need to recognize that, as a group, such liberals are increasingly ageing, increasingly isolated, and diminishing in number. These liberals are losing a battle for the hearts


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and minds of their countries, and populations are increasingly driven towards younger and more disaffected personalities. America’s problems do not stop there, however. The United States faces a paradox. Liberal reformers in much of the Arab world are already seen as clients of foreign powers and as collaborators in a Western effort to weaken and dominate the Arab world. Focusing attention and resources on these reformers runs the risk of isolating them still further, driving a deeper wedge between them and the societies we (and they) seek to affect. (Alterman, 2004) Incumbent regimes did attempt to nurture their own tame ‘liberals’, as was the case in Tunisia, and to a lesser degree in places such as Bahrain, Jordan, Kuwait and Egypt. However, these (socially) liberal clones were not in any degree political liberals. In fact, they are even more antidemocratic, given their reliance on authoritarian regimes and their awareness of how much they are distrusted by the masses. When some liberals develop an attachment to democracy, they usually break off with the regimes, and soon become the object of their wrath. We have seen a lot of this in Saudi Arabia, Egypt and Tunisia. The problem with liberalism in the Arab world does not stem, as is often claimed, from the fact that liberals could not use mosques like their Islamist rivals (they could if they wanted to, and the first generation of liberals did just that). The problem of liberalism is the absence of credible liberals.

The irrepressible Islamists By contrast, the fortunes of the Islamists continue, for whatever reason, to advance relentlessly even when elections are far from being free and fair. The major Islamist parties are usually banned, while incumbent regimes use draconian measures to obstruct opposition candidates from presenting themselves in the first place. If and when they do, they get no access to the official media, and are victims of constant harassment. When elections are held, incumbents have not shied away from the most blatant acts of fraud and manipulation, not to mention outright violence, against opposition candidates and their supporters. In this regard, the surprisingly good results for Islamist candidates in countries such as Egypt, Jordan, Bahrain, Kuwait, Yemen, Algeria, and Morocco reflect only part of the picture. This is what gets the regimes even more worried.

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No less important is the fact that this burst of popular support for Islamists is sometimes as surprising to the groups as it is to everyone else. The Font Islamique du Salut (FIS) in Algeria was scarcely 2 years old when it appeared poised to sweep 80 per cent of the seats in the 1991 parliamentary elections. Its chaotic leadership structure (not to mention the fact that its founding leaders were in jail at the time) was swept to a victory that had the character of a windfall (Heristchi, 2004; Zoubir, 1995). By the same token, Hamas was more shocked than its opponents by its unexpected landslide victory in the January 2006 Palestinian elections, and has been struggling ever since to cope with the burden hoisted on its shoulders by that win. The Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood could easily sweep to victory in free and fair elections in Egypt (President Hosni Mubarak himself candidly admitted as much to the Washington Post in a 2003 interview (Ibrahim, 2003), adding that this could also happen in Jordan, Saudi Arabia and across the region, which may not be far from the truth). However, the movement would be equally ill-prepared for the eventuality, having been outlawed for over 50 years, and unable to hold a proper open policy debate or a contested election for its leaders. Without going too much into detail, it has to be asserted here that the enduring popularity of Islamist movements cannot be simply explained with reference to the shortcomings of liberals or the corruption of governments. The phenomenon is much more complex and has much deeper roots. What can be said with certainty is that authoritarian regimes, without a vision and with no constituency to speak of, have been the problem for democratic development in the Arab world and are showing no signs that they could be the solution. This puts the burden for change on the Islamists who, by dint of being the leading opposition in most of those countries with authoritarian regimes, must take the lead in helping to break this deadlock. This could be done by espousing a clear democratic agenda and moving to lead a democratic coalition. This can only happen, paradoxically, if the Islamists become more ambitious. Up to now, the Islamists have tended to respond to the paradox they found themselves in by curtailing their political ambitions. In this, they try to placate incumbent regimes by refraining from flexing their political muscle provocatively. They hold back from organizing massive anti-regime protests and they field candidates in only a small number of constituencies. Even when they become the largest party in parliament, as was the case in Jordan, Bahrain or Kuwait, they do not push


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to take over the cabinet as any other party in a similar position would have done. However, while this attitude of restraint would be commendable were it part of a mutually agreed deal, it tends to compound the problem when it is just a unilateral endeavour. First, it helps to uphold the corrupt and unpopular systems. Second, it also increases public disillusionment with the political process and the political class, giving the impression that the opposition is neither bold enough nor clean enough, appearing to cut deals with the regime behind closed doors. And finally, it helps perpetuate the deadlock. The root of the problem is that Islamist groups usually put forth maximalist, not to say intransigent and highly unfeasible, programmes and then compromise on issues of power. In other words, they indicate to everyone that their coming to power would mean radical (some could say risky, or even disastrous) change. This is naturally threatening to the interests of their rivals, and has the potential for creating problems within the country and with the outside world. By way of reassurance, Islamists then hasten to indicate to those who may be affected that they have no intention of coming to power, yet. This is a sure recipe for deadlock, since giving reassurances of restraint on this basis only postpones the problem. And in any case, the opponents do not accept these reassurances, which are contingent and usually depend on the leadership of the day. Usually, the form these assurances take is an argument that the country is not yet ready for Islamic government. This in turn raises the question of what it is that is ever likely to happen to make it ready, and why it should be moving in that direction and not in the opposite one. It also eschews the more central question: could it be that it is the movement, not the country, which is not ready for government by Islamists?

Islamist democrats? If Islamists then themselves acknowledge – through their self-imposed restraint – that their coming to power at this juncture would create insurmountable problems for themselves and their countries, why not review the whole of the movements’ agenda and programmes to permit Islamist rule which would not be disastrous for everybody? According to many interpretations, this is precisely what the Justice and Development party (AKP) in Turkey has done.1 Realizing that

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even the minimalist Islamist agenda promoted by the succession of (Necmettin) Erbekan-led pro-Islamist parties would not be workable in Turkey, some members broke away and founded the new party in 2001, winning a landslide victory 1 year later (Çarko˘ glu, 2007). In this, it did keep at least one ‘Islamist thing’: the capacity to win a lightning, resounding, electoral victory that was as much a shock to it as it was to its opponents. It could, of course, be argued that Turkey is altogether a different kettle of fish, since even the ‘Islamist’ parties there have always professed adherence to that country’s militant and militarized concept of secularism. Many argue that the Justice and Development party could not be categorized as Islamist in any valid sense, since the party itself disavows such a label and does not have any Islamist agenda. However, what is at issue here is the party’s adaptability and political success. A similar process had been seen earlier in Europe with the emergence of both Social Democratic and Christian Democratic parties, which promoted agendas incorporating the maximum of socialist policies or Christian values that was compatible with secular liberal democratic politics and national consensus. The hope was, of course, to make the relevant country more socialist or more Christian by these compromises. By the same token, Islamist parties in Arab countries cannot continue to sit on the fence the way they have been doing without contributing to the debilitating impasse in Arab politics. For they cannot promote a programme which is seen as threatening by their internal rivals and outside critics alike, and hope that the others will just stand by and let this ‘threat’ grow. As has actually happened, hostile coalitions between internal and external actors are likely to form in order to block their progress. The problem is that, while these coalitions have up to now succeeded in blocking the Islamist advance, they proved unable to provide any viable alternative. Some of these regimes, like those in Egypt and Algeria, have, at different times, tried radically divergent formulas to achieve this (socialist-Arab nationalism first, ‘liberal’ market-oriented later). However, half a century on, these experiments do not look that promising. They continue to lack a viable political agenda which could lead to stable consensual governance (I am deliberately avoiding the D-word here so as to put minimal demands on the actors). More important, this success depends more on the restraint and hesitation of the Islamists than on any inherent capacity of the regimes. This, as mentioned before, leaves us with the hope of an Islamist transformation which could help break the deadlock.


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Islamist options As things stand, Islamist groups appear to have four different options. They could, if they were bold enough, go for a full revolutionary take over on the basis of their current programmes, and face the consequence. The experience of movements which took this root (in Iran and Sudan) does not look very encouraging. However, one must add here that there was nothing inevitable about the disastrous performance of Islamists in power in those countries. As was indicated by the experiments with the Mehdi Bazargan government during the early phase of the revolution, and the more recent (1997–2004) Khatami presidency (or even the Banisadr interlude) other options were and are available in revolutionary Iran.2 In Sudan as well, the conclusion of the 2005 Naivasha agreements, which ended the civil war in the South on the basis of a power sharing arrangement between Islamists and their main rivals, indicates that the pragmatic route remains open even in post-takeover situations. Alternatively, Islamist groups could withdraw from politics altogether and act as mere pressure groups in the way Ulama have done for centuries and continue to do today. They could then support political parties or governments which are more sympathetic to their worldview and oppose those which are not, without contributing to a political impasse as is the case now. This role in fact may be the one more suitable for the current stance of Islamist groups, since it can combine a maximalist agenda with a minimalist commitment to effective political action. Pressure groups are different creatures from political parties. And although some pressure groups did constitute themselves as political parties (the Greens, the UK Independence party, anti-immigration parties, etc.), such parties are not very likely to be elected to power. And if they were, their tenure is likely to be very short and very disastrous. Single issue agendas do not sit well with the complex business of government and the endless compromises it demands. Islamist groups have been rather successful in this role of pressure groups in many Arab countries, although not always with positive consequences. The problem has often been their emphasis on marginal issues to do with personal conduct or freedom of expression, a tendency which had both distracted from more important issues and invited incumbent governments to engage in even more restrictive practices. The third option for Islamists is to build broader coalitions in support of change. This has the advantage of not demanding any radical revision of Islamist ideology or programmes. The compromises reached

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could be legitimized as temporary and contingent. In fact, this is the substance of what Islamists have been doing in practice, whether in accepting to work within secular systems or in allying with secular parties. In Lebanon, Islamists have fully reconciled themselves to the secular constitution and therefore pose no problem to democracy there. In countries like Kuwait and Morocco, Islamists also support the constitution, and similarly play a constructive role in the democratic process. The problem only arises when the opponents of Islamists raise the question of the sincerity of Islamists in the compromises they make, and continue to express the fear that these temporary compromises are just that: temporary. They could be reversed any time the Islamists felt powerful enough. However, this can be countered by pointing to Islamist ruling parties in Iraq (and to a lesser extent in Afghanistan), which are working hard to lead a democratic system. (Of course critics might point out – correctly to a large extent – that these examples are not typical, as the countries in question continue to be under foreign occupation, making it meaningless to speak of democracy.)3 And then there is the AKP option: that of radically restructuring Islamist programmes so as to attract a broader democratic coalition and make for a more stable political structure overall. The difficulties posed by such a radical break with what all traditional Islamism stood for is understandable, especially since Islamist groups have been experiencing a resurgence in support of their agenda as it stands today, as has already been mentioned. It is going to be psychologically very demanding for Islamist groups to openly give legitimacy to ‘un-Islamic’ arrangements and share power with former rivals on a diluted agenda. It is also likely to alienate a section of hardcore supporters, and thus do no more than displace the Islamist dilemma. This latter development is not new, since it has already occurred over the issue of violence and involvement in democratic politics. A significant section of Islamist opinion has rejected the peaceful democratic approach, and this schism, which is at the heart of the debate on terrorism, has contributed significantly to the current crisis. Ironically, many regimes have used this as a pretext to punish the peaceful groups keen on joining the political process, thus giving credence to the argument of the radical groups about the futility of peaceful political involvement. However, this polarization has nevertheless been instrumental in de-legitimizing and marginalizing the violent extremist groups.


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Helping Islamist democrats Islamist democrats may be a rare breed, but they did exist even before the advent of the phenomenon for which Asef Bayat coined the term ‘post-Islamism’ (2007). During the dying years of the Cold War, I had the privilege of interviewing three key figures in this category: Malaysia’s Anwar Ibrahim (1985), Tunisia’s Rachid al-Ghannoushi (1986) and Tukey’s Necmettin Erbakan (1987). What was interesting about these leaders was their unequivocal and unconditional commitment to democracy. That did not help them much, though. Over the following decade and a half, I watched as each in turn became a victim of his own success. After the electoral success of independent candidates affiliated to Ghannoushi’s Islamic Trend Movement in 1988, the regime cracked down heavily on its supporters. Ghannoushi was the lucky one: he went into exile first in Algeria and later in the UK. Other leaders were tortured and many remained in jail for long years (some are still there). While the Tunisian regime is one of the most viciously repressive in the world (some young Internet bloggers received up to 26 years in jail for downloading files), it continues to receive unremitting Western adulation and huge sums in aid. The fact that the Islamist opposition was civil and restrained worked in the regime’s favour, since Western governments need not worry about terrorism or instability, a painful irony. Erbakan went on to become Prime Minister of Turkey in 1995, but he was forced out of office by the army in 1997. His Refah (Welfare) party was banned in 1998, and its appeal to the European Court of Human Rights was rejected when the Court ruled (in 2001) that the Turkish courts were perfectly entitled to dissolve the party. Such a ban, the majority verdict argued, did not represent a violation of the complainants’ right to freedom of association under Article 11 of the European Convention on Human Rights. Anwar Ibrahim suffered more but fared slightly better in the end. When I interviewed him in 1985, he was Education Minister in the government of Prime Minister Mahathir Muhammad. A few years later he became finance minister and then Deputy Prime Minister and heir apparent to his mentor, Mahathir. However, differences between the two men over tackling corruption erupted into open warfare during the severe financial crisis which hit South East Asia in 1998. In September that year, he was arrested, tried on trumped up charges of sexual misconduct and given a long jail sentence. This time, Europe and the US spoke out. Anwar was a close friend of US Vice-President Al Gore,

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and the US administration showed strong support. That did not avail Anwar much, and he spent nearly 6 years in prison, released only in September 2004, shortly after his replacement as Deputy Prime Minister, Abdullah Badawi, succeeded Mahathir as Premier. In March 2008, he made the most dramatic comeback, leading an unlikely coalition of various shades of Islamist, ethnic Chinese and Indian parties into a coalition that robbed the ruling National Front of its absolute majority for the first time in decades, and also wrested form it control of five states. What is interesting about what happened in Turkey and Malaysia (and also in Iran during the Khatami era of 1997–2005) was that it has occurred without any outside help, and in fact, in the face of much hindrance, as was the case of the European Court which did not think freedom of association was worth preserving. By contrast, dictators do need some outside help to stay in power. That is why Ghannoushi was quoted at some point as saying that he did not want Western governments to help promote democracy in the Arab world; just to stop supporting dictators.

The case of Hamas A lot has been said about Hamas and its 2006 electoral victory and how Western double dealing in refusing to recognize that victory has undermined the credentials of Western governments as supporters of democracy. But the case is much more complicated than that. To start with, there is no proper Palestinian state, and the Palestinian National Authority (PNA) is a mere adjunct of the Israeli state, with no sovereign territory or control over its air space or borders.4 The PNA has thus to negotiate its existence with Israel, and the accession to power of a group that did not recognize Israel and did not want to talk to it has predictable consequences in this case. To get around this problem, the Palestinian electorate made a split decision: it elected a Hamas parliament in conjunction with an incumbent Fatah president who had more control over the state apparatus and could talk to Israel and make sure that funds necessary to maintain a minimal normality would keep flowing from donors. And if this was not complicated enough, we need a reminder that Hamas is not really primarily an Islamist group as far its politics (and its role as an irritant to Israel and the West) are concerned. Like Hizbullah, Hamas (in its role as government in Gaza) has not been too strict in imposing Islamic dress on women, banning alcohol or doing much of what would qualify a movement as Islamist. The Israeli complaint is that


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it refuses to recognize the Jewish state and insists on the right to resist occupation. This could have been the stance of any other radical group (and it is and has been the stance of Marxist Christian-led Palestinian radical groups such as the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine). Thus, the label Islamist appears largely irrelevant as far as Hamas is concerned, while terms like democracy and ‘authority’ need to be heavily qualified in this case. The Hamas example cannot be thus generalized nor used as a standard to compare Western attitudes towards ‘Islamist’ groups coming to power. For the West’s objections to Hamas have little to do with its Islamism, while Hamas’s main problem stems from the peculiar status of the PNA and lack of recognition for its territorial sovereignty, not to mention the complete dependence of the Palestinian territories on Israel and foreign donors for their basic daily needs.

Conclusion Islamist groups are, by definition, those groups which have successfully and credibly appropriated a sizeable portion of the community’s spiritual capital in a context where such a success is politically relevant (that is, through the existence of a sizeable constituency for which the locus of religious authority matters). This success can only be achieved with a combination of credible religious commitment and political entrepreneurship. What we are witnessing with the current impasse is the limits of this entrepreneurship. Islamist groups have successfully appropriated the politically valuable spiritual capital, but then sat on it, not knowing what to do with it, in the same way as governments have achieved monopoly of political power but also failed to use it creatively, leading to political stagnation. One or both of these actors needs to move and invest its capital to achieve a dynamic outcome. Incumbent regimes have proved unable and unwilling to move forward in a satisfactory way. Quite the reverse, in fact; regimes have been punishing successful political entrepreneurs, whether Islamist or liberal, and continue to stifle civil society. Similarly, it looks as though Islamist inaction is blocking the path of reform and providing incumbent regimes with sufficient excuses to avoid discharging their duties in promoting positive change. The solution appears to be for Islamists to adopt a more flexible stance so as to build broader democratic coalitions that could push reform forward. In other words, what we need is more ‘Islamist democrats’. No less important, we also need the EU and other international actors to be more flexible and imaginative in their approach, embracing and encouraging these new democrats wherever

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they emerge. They must certainly stop backing dictators. Supporting despots is anything but benign, for they are at war with their peoples. This support amounts to collusion in torture, murder and all sorts of abrogation of basic human rights. It should be no surprise if people after enduring all that torment erupt in all sorts of angry outbursts, including violence and revolution. Nor should it be a surprise if, as was the case in Iran, they do not remember fondly their tormentors’ best friends.

Acknowledgements The author is currently an ESRC/AHRC Fellow at the Global Uncertainties Programme (http://www.rcuk.ac.uk/research/ccprog/security.htm). He would like to thank the two councils for their generous support for his research.

Notes 1. For a more detailed discussion of the Turkish case see Emel Akçalı’s chapter in this volume. 2. For a more detailed treatment of Iran’s democratic trials and tribulations see Shabnam J Holliday’s chapter in this volume. 3. See Michelle Pace’s reflections on this issue in her chapter in this volume. 4. See the more detailed discussions of the dilemmas of Hamas and Fatah and the predicament of the EU in Michelle Pace’s chapter in this volume.

Bibliography Alterman, J. B. (2004) ‘The False Promise of Arab Liberals’, PolicyReview, 125, June and July, http://www.hoover.org/publications/policyreview/3438441. html, date accessed 14 December 2009. Bayat, A. (2007) Making Islam Democratic: Social Movements and the Post-Islamist Turn (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press). Çarko˘ glu, A. (2007) ‘A New Electoral Victory for the “Pro-Islamists” or the “New Centre-Right”? The Justice and Development Party Phenomenon in the July 2007 Parliamentary Elections in Turkey’, South European Society and Politics, 12 (4), 501–19. Esposito, J. L. (1992) The Islamic Threat: Myth or Reality? (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Heristchi, C. (2004) ‘The Islamist Discourse of the FIS and the Democratic Experiment in Algeria’, Democratization, 11 (4), 111–32. Ibrahim, Y. M. (2003) ‘Democracy: Be Careful What You Wish For’, The Washington Post, Page B03, http://www.washingtonpost.com/ac2/wp-dyn/ A8222-2003Mar21?language=printer, date accessed 14 December 2009. Kramer, M. (1996–97) ‘The Real Islamic Threat’, Survival, 38 (4), 154–9.


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Kramer, M. (2001) Ivory Towers on Sand: The Failure of Middle Eastern Studies in America (Washington: Washington Institute for Near East Policy), http://www. washingtoninstitute.org/pubPDFs/IvoryTowers.pdf, date accessed 13 January 2010. Lockman, Z. (2004) Contending Visions of the Middle East: The History and Politics of Orientalism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Miller, J. (1993) ‘The Challenge of Radical Islam’, Foreign Affairs, 72 (2), 47–56. Satloff, R. (1997) ‘Islamism Seen from Washington’ in M. Kramer (ed.) The Islamism Debate, Dayan Center Papers No. 120, 101–2. Sela, A. and Ma’oz, M. (eds) (1997) The PLO and Israel: From Armed Conflict to Political Solution, 1964–94 (New York: St. Martin’s Press). Sugg, J. (2005) ‘Judith Miller and Me’, Counterpunch, http://www.counterpunch. org/sugg10252005.html, date accessed 11 December 2009. Wittes, T. C. (2004) ‘The Promise of Arab Liberalism’, PolicyReview, 125, June and July, http://www.hoover.org/publications/policyreview/3438381. html, date accessed 14 December 2009. Zakaria, F. (1997) ‘The Rise of Illiberal Democracy’, Foreign Affairs, 76 (6), November–December, 22–43. Zakaria, F. (2001) ‘How to Save the Arab World’, Newsweek (US ed.), http:// www.fareedzakaria.com/articles/newsweek/122401_how.html, date accessed 13 December 2009. Zoubir, Y. H. (1995) ‘Stalled Democratization of an Authoritarian Regime: The Case of Algeria’, Democratization, 2 (2), 109–39.

8 The Politics of ‘Religious Tolerance’ in Post-Communist Albania: Ideology, Security and Euro-Atlantic Integration Odeta Barbullushi

Background ‘Religious tolerance’ has become the dominant identity discourse of the Albanian nation in the post-Communist period and increasingly so after Albania’s signing of the Stabilization and Association Agreement in May 2006. Albanian politicians and intellectuals have hailed ‘religious tolerance’ as the most positive contribution that the Albanian nation can make to the European Union. In the words of the Speaker of the Albanian Parliament, Jozefina Topalli, ‘ “religious tolerance” is an added value which we, as a nation, can contribute to the European Union,1 as well as an example that other countries can follow’ (TVSH, 2009). In this context, ‘religious tolerance’ is construed in the public debate as both the ultimate proof of the Albanian nation’s genuine belonging to the European cultural sphere as well as Albania’s contribution to European security. Yet, at the same time, ‘religious tolerance’ is presented as a direct expression of the principles and ideas of the Albanian National Renaissance (1848–1912). As such, ‘religious tolerance’ reconciles both what is ‘genuinely Albanian’ with what is perceived as European and Western. The Albanian political elites locate the identity narrative of ‘religious tolerance’ in the texts of the Albanian National Renaissance (1848– 1912). Thus a line from a poem by the National Renaissance activist Vaso Pasha (1825–1892) ‘Churches and mosques you shall not heed/The religion of Albanians is Albanianism’ became the political slogan through which the Albanian identity is constructed in the post-Communist 140

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political discourse. However, a critical reading of the canonical writings of the Albanian National Renaissance ideologues (rilindasve) demonstrates that the myth of ‘indifference to religion’ – rather than ‘religious tolerance’ – performed the ideological function of unifying a fragmented and highly divided society in moments of critical junctures such as the moment of state formation in the late nineteenth/early twentieth century. I will critically investigate the Albanian political elites’ practices of reconstituting Albanianism and particularly ‘religious tolerance’ as one of the country’s key tenets in terms of state identity in the post-Communist era. In this analysis, I will draw on Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe’s conceptual vocabulary (1985) and pay particular attention to the concept of ‘myth’. Like the rest of the authors in this volume, I am particularly interested in the conditions of formation, the functions and the implications of various myths such as those of ‘democracy’, ‘secularism’ and ‘human rights’. These myths might indeed be exported by an external actor, such as the European Union (EU), but eventually become highly sedimented and institutionally entrenched domestically to the degree of non-contestability. I focus upon one particular identity narrative – religious tolerance – and investigate the contextual conditions which have made possible not only its formation, but also its functions and implications for post-Communist Albania. Furthermore, the chapter traces the re-articulation of the narrative of ‘indifference to religion’– as one of the basic identity narratives of the Albanian nationalist ideology – into the narrative of ‘religious tolerance’ in the post-Communist period. The overarching argument of the chapter is that the ideological translation of the national identity myth of ‘indifference to religion’ into ‘religious tolerance’ is a discursive strategy which cannot be extricated from a broader discursive formation of ‘democratic governance’. Furthermore, it is a particular hegemonic conception of democratic governance as ‘politics of no adversaries’ (Mouffe, 2005) which enables the stabilization of ‘religious tolerance’ as Albanian state identity.

Identity narratives, EU integration and democracy Like post-Communist elites in other countries of Central and Eastern Europe and the Western Balkans, the Albanian state elites promulgated the transition from communist isolation to the opening towards the West through a ‘return to Europe’ identity discourse. However, ‘return to Europe’ refers to a process of identity construction and not recovery of a lost identity.2 In this process of reconstruction, certain identity

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The Politics of ‘Religious Tolerance’ in Albania

narratives dominate the public discourse over others and thus become entrenched in the public debate as well as in various national institutions. One of these basic discourses of identity of post-Communist Albania has been the narrative of ‘religious tolerance’. Post-communist Albanian elites have increasingly hailed ‘religious tolerance’ as the ultimate national identity as well as the positive value, which Albania could and should export to the EU. Indeed, ‘religious tolerance’ has become one of the main pillars of the elites’ attempts to improve Albania’s image in the world in general and in the EU in particular. The need to improve Albania’s image became a necessity particularly after the refugee waves to the neighbouring countries such as Italy and Greece and the chaos of 1997, following the collapse of the pyramid schemes (or the Ponzi schemes).3 The fierce political conflict between the two main political parties, the Democrats and the Socialists, has further hampered Albania’s chances of making progress in its European vocation. Therefore, despite the fact that Albania was the first of ‘potential candidate countries’ to start the negotiations of the Stabilization and Association Agreement (SAA), it lagged behind other countries of the Western Balkans like Croatia and Macedonia. Thus, recognition by the West in general and the EU in particular as ‘democratic’, ‘Western’ and ‘European’ has been a paramount objective for the Albanian post-Communist elites. ‘Religious tolerance’ is one of those basic identity narratives through which Albanian elites have tried to construct a positive Western Albanian state identity as well as forge national unity and harmony domestically. In the same way that the identity narrative of ‘indifference to religion’ aimed at unifying a highly divided Albanian society in the late nineteenth to early twentieth century with a view to creating a Western-type secular nation-state, the myth of ‘religious tolerance’ strives to unify the nation and forge a Western democratic state identity, now with the objective of European integration. In both contexts, the Albanians have sought to appropriate the identity narrative of ‘religious tolerance’ in an attempt to ‘catch up’ with the dominant European security discourse of statehood and of democratic governance. Therefore, the focus of this chapter lies in the intersection between the EU dominant discourse of democratic governance and statehood and efforts by the state elites in Albania to stabilize the national identity in ways that are compatible with the ‘European vulgate’4 of human rights, dialogue, tolerance and reconciliation. Like the liberal discourse of ‘politics of no adversaries’ (Mouffe, 2005), the myth of ‘religious tolerance’ denies conflict and dissent which builds upon religious difference. As Mouffe suggests, the

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implication of this is the impossibility of channelling different forms of identification through democratic institutions (Mouffe, 2005). Yet, religious conflict is simulated to provide both the necessary conditions as well as the consequences of the discourse of reconciliation. Conflict needs to be construed as a permanent internal peril which threatens this Western value of the Albanian nation that is ‘religious tolerance’. In this sense, this chapter is an attempt to forestall the possibility of such simulation, by way of revealing the specific conditions of formation and inherent contradictions of the identity narrative of ‘religious tolerance’. Like the other contributions in this volume, the chapter asks for a contextual reading of the domestic dynamic of interpreting, re-interpreting and stabilizing (Hansen, 2006) identities in an attempt for external recognition. As Shabnam J. Holliday suggests in this volume in the context of democratization and democratic practices, we need to consider carefully who is calling for tolerance and why the Albanian political elites hail ‘religious tolerance’ as the ultimate value which the Albanian state should export to the more developed and democratic countries (e.g. Korrieri, 2009). Yet, in the context of this chapter, the ‘domestic’ is not juxtaposed to the ‘external’ factors and actors, such as the EU and US. In fact, my main focus is on the process of ‘domestication’ of the categories and identities of the dominant discourse of the external actors. If we are ‘to problematize the EU’s vision as an external normative actor’, as Norval and Abdulrahman rightly prompt us to do in the Introduction of this volume, then a good starting point for this enterprise is to analyse how the EU’s normative power is constructed within those countries where the effect of this normative power is exerted, which includes aspiring members such as Albania. Indeed, as Thomas Diez has rightly argued in a slightly different context, the EU is never quite an external factor; as long as the identities which the dominant EU discourse of security and governance articulates are appropriated by the domestic political elites and used internally to gain both domestic and external recognition, then the EU cannot be rendered an outsider to the domestic and internal struggles for power (Diez, 2000). The EU becomes thus an internal actor, for it provides the discursive resources as well as the context in which the domestic struggle to fix the meaning of ‘Albanian’, ‘Albanianness’ or ‘state identity’ takes place. In many respects, the chapter shares with Emel Akçalı’s chapter in this volume the ethical concern regarding the ways in which EU integration can influence inter-societal relations, if not necessarily conflict. Furthermore, it argues that these ways are much more subtle and complex than a framework which differentiates between the external and internal can

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grasp. As the following analysis of the Albanian elites’ discourse of the nation in the early nineties attests, the divide between external and internal or non-Albanian and genuinely Albanian is one of the main strategies which help to stabilize the discourse of ‘religious tolerance’ as state identity in the post-Communist era. As such, the discourse of ‘religious tolerance’ can only be critically investigated as part of a broader security discourse, which simultaneously includes some and excludes others. This means that the discourse of ‘religious tolerance’ is inherently political; despite the fact that it articulates a cultural identity and it assigns religion strictly to the field of culture, rather than politics, its functions are political. I submit that like the discourse of ‘politics of no adversaries’ (Mouffe, 2005), the myth of ‘religious tolerance’ is part of a broader discursive formation of democratic governance. The specific discursive formation of my case here, like in the case of other contributions in this volume, articulates a set of political demands and identities, such as free market, free movement, individual freedom, private property, secularism, cooperation and tolerance. As becomes clear, this discursive formation builds upon a liberal conception of statehood and of democracy and as such it articulates conflict and discord as obstacles to economic prosperity and progress. At the same time, it makes tolerance and reconciliation not only ‘must-haves’ for those countries wanting to be recognized as ‘democratic’ and ‘Western’ by the EU, but also as the values which each nation-state can promulgate and ‘sell’ in the big market of national images in an increasingly larger, open and competitive market. The translation of the identity narrative of ‘indifference to religion’ into ‘religious tolerance’ goes through the ideological lenses of the main political elites. In this respect, I suggest that the meanings attached to ‘religious tolerance’, as well as its functions, can be best grasped by a contextual reading of the security discourse of the main political elites in the post-Communist period. I argue that the identity narrative of ‘religious tolerance’ has played the role of a myth, which forges the sense of coherence, unity and continuity both, after moments of ‘structural dislocation’ (Laclau and Mouffe, 1985; Torfing, 1999) and also in the context of Albania’s enhanced relationship with the EU. According to George Schopflin ‘myth’ is a ‘particular set of ideas with a moral content told as a narrative by a community about itself’ (Schopflin, 2002, p. 26). In this sense, the discourse of Europe and of Euro-Atlantic integration builds on certain myths of the nation and of the state and it is not un-mythical (see also Hansen and Williams, 1999). It reconciles both the national question and the liberal discourse of integration, of

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joining contemporary modernity (Brisku, 2009) as well as the global market economy. It thus translates particularistic claims for preservation of ‘tradition’, ‘character’, ‘national character’ or ‘national culture’5 into universalistic claims for recognition and admission in a global system of governance. Myths differ from discursive elements and moments; this difference is a matter of sedimentation and stabilization. Elements are signs which, because of a structural dislocation, have remained unarticulated within a discourse and therefore have not attained a full identity (Howarth and Stavrakakis, 2000, p. 8). When elements are stabilized and have obtained some degree of fixity, they become ‘moments’ or what we might simply call identities. In the vocabulary of discourse theory, these are the differential positions within a discourse (Howarth and Stavrakakis, 2000, p. 8). Those ‘moments’ or identities which are sediment to the degree of becoming political imaginaries and incorporating a large number of social and political demands become myths (Howarth and Stavrakakis, 2000, p. 16). As such, myths help reconstruct the social as objective and as external to the field of political contestation (also Norval, 2000, p. 329). They foster a sense of social unity and cohesion after a dislocatory experience. As such, myths are necessary for politics and do not lie outside the sphere of the political. In the first part of the chapter, I explain how the identity narrative of ‘religious tolerance’ can be viewed as a political myth. Furthermore, I investigate the functions which political myths play. The second part of the chapter discusses the conditions of birth and the ideological functions of the identity narrative of ‘indifference to religion’ in the Albanian National Renaissance. The third part discusses the political elites’ re-articulation of ‘indifference to religion’ in the post-Communist period, particularly in the context of the enhanced relationship with the EU. I divide this period into two fragments: the early 1990s and the post-1997 period. The reason for this division is the institutional and economic collapse of 1997 which led to the change of government, from the Democrat-led administration (1992–1997) to the Socialist-led administration (1997–2005). In the last part of the chapter, I investigate the construction of ‘Islam’ as an exogenous layer of the Albanian national identity in the official and political discourse of security.

‘Indifference to religion’ as a myth of the Albanian National Renaissance One of the main tasks that the Albanian ideologues of the National Renaissance (rilindasit) were faced with at the turn of the nineteenth

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century/early twentieth century was to forge an overarching Albanian identity. Forging an overarching identity was a difficult task in the face of a highly divided society across regional and religious lines. Albanians belonged to three different faiths, which had been officially designated by the Ottoman governments as millets: 70 per cent Muslim, 20 per cent Orthodox and 10 per cent Latin Catholic (Gawrych, 2006, p. 7).6 In the Ottoman Empire, religion and not nationality was the criterion which was used to determine the conqueror from the conquered. Being Muslims, the majority of Albanians enjoyed a privileged position with the Empire, which their Catholic and Orthodox brothers did not (Skendo in Kulla, 2003, p. 732). However, this religious affinity gave Turks less inclination to understand and accept the nationalist awakening of their Albanian brethren in the late nineteenth century than to understand Serbs’ or Greeks’ resistance towards them (Gawrych, 2006). Tajar Zavalani, one of the main proponents of the inter-war intellectual tradition, notes that while in other countries of the Balkans the religious clergy became the bearers and leaders of the nationalist projects, under the vow for ‘the nation and for God’, religion could not play this role in the case of Albania; it was only the common language and the common rites and habits which made Albanians feel as though they belonged to one nation, albeit divided into different religions (Zavalani, 1998, p. 193). The National Renaissance ideologues (Rilindasit) strove to construct Albanianness as an overarching homogenous identity which transcended religious lines. As Piro Misha argues, the nationalists considered religious divisions ‘not only as a factor for discord but also as a vehicle for foreign influence’ (Misha, 2002, p. 45). These attempts to subsume religious identities under an overarching national identity were encapsulated by the monumental line of the National Renaissance intellectual (rilindas) Pashko Vaso (1825–1892) ‘Churches and mosques you shall not heed/The religion of Albanians is Albanianism’. In this context, ‘indifference to religion’ was not construed, even in the texts of National Renaissance, as an ethno-cultural identity; rather it was construed as a ‘problem’ of democratic governance. In the words of one of the key national ideologues, Sami Frasheri: [I]f he is Albanian( . . . ) and if he is Gegh, Tosks would not want him; if he is Tosk, Gegs would not want him; if he is Muslim, the Christians would not view him under a good light; if he was Muslim the Christians would not be happy. (Frasheri, 1999, p. 82)

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This passage does not attest to Albanians’ perennial indifference to religion as the post-Communist myth of indifference seems to imply. On the contrary, it confirms the deep societal antagonisms within the Albanian population of the time. These antagonisms had become even sharper in the face of disintegration of the Ottoman Empire and the decline of Ottomanism as a state ideology (Gawrych, 2006). Thus, ‘indifference to religion’ played the function of a myth in the sense that it offered a sense of ‘common purpose’ and of continuity in the face of a dislocatory experience such as the disintegration of the Ottoman Empire. Under conditions of ‘dislocation’ actors will be forced to take decisions, that is, ‘to identify with those social constructions that seem capable of suturing the rift in the symbolic order’ (Howarth and Stavrakakis, 2000, p. 13). In these conditions, myths provide a sense of continuity and coherence and help reconstruct the social as objective and as external to the field of political contestation (Norval, 2000, p. 329). I use the term myth in the context of discourse theory as ‘signifying attempts to constitute a new space of representation’ after a moment of dislocation/juncture (Norval, 2000, p. 329). At the same time, ‘indifference to religion’ was an identity articulation which was part of a broader discursive formation of security and democratic governance at the time. The disintegration of the Ottoman Empire was accompanied with the prevalence of a new discourse of security, that is, of the secular nation-state. Hence, we find the replacement of one discourse of security and of governance with the other: the shift from ‘religion’ to ‘ethnicity’ as the locus of the new political organization. In this respect, one should note that the project of creation of a secular and centralized nation-state prevailed the League of Prizren [1878]7 over other projects which privileged religious affiliation – such as the project of the unification of all Muslims of the Balkans or the Sunni/Bektashi project (Brisku, 2009). In this respect, ‘indifference to religion’ was an ideological and highly instrumental identity construction of the nationalist movement.

Religion in the post-Communist period and the reconstitution of the National Renaissance In a similar way as the disintegration of the Ottoman Empire led to the replacement of one discourse of security with another, the end of the Cold War led to a process of reconstruction of Albanian state identity as well as of domestic political identities. Following the dislocatory experience of 1991–92, the political elites attempted to identify with the

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Albanian National Renaissance and seek in the nationalist ideology the legitimizing criteria of their political projects. In this part of the chapter, I will argue that firstly, religion was instrumentalized by the Albanian political elites in their attempts to achieve a hegemonic position in the discursive field, and secondly, the use of religious tolerance is linked to the broader discursive formation of security and democratic governance pre- and post- the 1997 crisis.

Religious tolerance in the context of the democrats’ nationalist discourse This was particularly the case with the first opposition party, the Democratic Party, which sought to construe the end of communism as a continuation of the Albanian National Renaissance. In this connection, a perusal of the political and electoral texts of the Democrat leader Berisha shows that references to God often served to qualify the Democrats’ political project and their conception of democratic order as the one which fitted best the Albanian national character and was compatible with the Albanians’ belief in God. However, in a nation with three major confessions, references to God could never be entirely neutral. Despite Berisha’s insistence upon not instrumentalizing any of the three religions in Albania, Nathalie Clayer suggests that in his strategy of opening towards Europe, Berisha did instrumentalize Catholicism and its historical anti-communism (Clayer, 2005, p. 34). Indeed, the clergy was constantly shown close to the official figures on the Public TV, particularly on occasions of high national significance or during electoral rallies. Orthodoxy was from the early nineties related to the political issue of ethnic minorities and has been a strong identity element in the intra-political battles between the two main political parties, the Socialists and the Democrats,8 as well as in inter-state relations between Albania and Greece. Given that Greece is the second host country for Albanian immigrants in the post-Communist period, after Italy, and that Albanian immigrants were faced with the need to adapt in a not very tolerant Orthodox society (Clayer, 2005, p. 30), Orthodoxy has been intimately linked in the Albanian foreign policy debate with questions of national identity, Albania’s economic dependency and of domestic political legitimacy. In the early 1990s, a number of events unfolded which led to a process of securitization and the entrenchment of elements such as ‘national sovereignty’ and ‘non-intervention from outside’ into the

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official foreign and security policy discourse. Just a few months after the Democrats came to power in 1992, the head of the district of Dervican, of ethnic Greek origin, was imprisoned on the charge of raising the Greek flag in a public place. In August of the same year, Anastas Janullatos was nominated the Hierarch of the Albanian Orthodox Church by the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Istanbul (Clayer, 2005, p. 30). The state elite and particularly the Democratic Party considered this act as a direct blow on the independence of the Autocephalous Albanian Orthodox Church.9 With a view to counter this act, academics from the Institute of History at the Albanian Academy of Sciences which were close to the Democratic Party (DP) leadership organized a symposium on the 70th anniversary of the Autocephalous Albanian Orthodox Church (Clayer, 2005, p. 31). The speakers of the symposium denounced the decision of the Istanbul Patriarchate to nominate a Greek Hierarch as an ‘intervention in the domestic affairs of the Albanian state’ (Prifti in Clayer, 2005, p. 31). Identifying themselves as the defenders of Albanianism and of the National Renaissance ideology, the Democrats were particularly sensitive to the equation of Greek Orthodoxy with Greek nationality. The instrumentalization of Islam was even more explicit in the early nineties; the affiliation of some of the highest state figures with the Muslim community (Clayer, 2005, p. 23)10 helped to reify the image of the Democrats’ administration of 1992–96 as a concoction of nationalist-religious ideals. In 1992, Albania became a member of the Islamic Conference Organization (ICO). The Albanian President, Berisha, legitimized the decision by referring to one of the best principles of the Albanian National Renaissance, that is, ‘religious tolerance’: We are a profoundly European country and Albania will soon become part of the political and military organizations of Europe. However, in Albania, in a European country, the Muslim percentage of the population is very important. It [Albania] must put this reality into the service of its people and of its region. ( . . . ) If there are people who find the word ‘Islamic’ shocking, I would do no more than to remind them that this is incompatible with our country’s great tradition of religious tolerance. (Quoted in Fuga, 2003, p. 113) The same tone was upheld by the official newspaper of the governing party (DP), which denounced the opposition’s criticism against Albania’s membership in the ICO as both ‘anti-national’ and

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‘anti-European’ (see Rilindja Demokratike, 1992a, p. 1). The newspaper reminded the leftist opposition that any attack against Islamism was in fact an attempt to divide Albania ‘again’ (Rilindja Demokratike, 1992a, p. 1). In this respect, ‘religious tolerance’ helped to stabilize the identity of the Democrats as the inheritors of the National Renaissance. At the same time, ironically, membership of the ICO was used to fix the Albanian state identity in terms of secularism and a Western orientation. State elites reassured the nation that membership of the ICO would also comply with the Western orientation of the Albanian state. In fact, the Vice-Minister, who also represented Albania at one of the early ICO summits, claims that ‘we were telling the ICO delegates about the OSCE principles we were complying to and urging them to do the same’ (Rakipi, interview, 14 March 2006). Here, Albania was presented not only as a bridge between different cultures and civilizations, but also as having a civilizing mission/role to play in the Islamic world by virtue of Albania’s Western orientation.11 As a former specialist of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs notes, Albania was following the example of Turkey in its inclination to sustain its constitutional secularism and represent itself as a bridge between cultures (Lleshi, interview, 15 January 2007; see also Bejtja, 1997). This view confirms that the ICO membership was never regarded as jeopardizing either Albania’s standing vis-à-vis the West or the Democrats’ domestic and external legitimacy.

The crisis of 1997 and the reconstitution of ‘religious tolerance’ in the context of the economic security discourse The period from the general elections of May 1996 through to the collapse of the pyramid schemes in March 1997 can be described as a period of increasingly weak legitimacy, domestically and externally, for the right-centrist administration and President Berisha in particular. The electoral victory of the DP in the two-stage parliamentary elections of 26 May and 2 June 1996 had been denounced as fraudulent and in flagrant violation of the law (Bideleux and Jeffries, 2007, p. 47). The USA’s demand for a repetition of the elections had been vehemently refused by the Albanian President and the newly elected majority. The hardest blow to the government’s domestic legitimacy, however, came with the collapse of the pyramid schemes in early 1997 and the state structures’ unpreparedness for the subsequent popular protests (Bideleux and Jeffries, 2007, p. 54). The governing party, the Democrats, in general and the Albanian President in particular called for the preservation of ‘national

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sovereignty’ and denounced the other states – particularly Greece and the USA – for ‘interference in domestic affairs’. In this context, political elites accelerated their calls for ‘national reconciliation’ and ‘national unity’. The new Socialist-led government stated that their foreign policy would be based on the principles of the Albanian National Renaissance and that the philosophy of reconciliation, dialogue and tolerance would guide the new government. In the words of the newly elected Minister for Foreign Affairs, Paskal Milo: [O]ur national policy will be guided by the philosophy of the National Renaissance, which promulgated unity and love among all Albanians, regardless of religion, region and ideas. The philosophy of our honourable national ideologues [Rilindasve] is today more pertinent than ever, for it encapsulates both, our national and democratic ideals. (Parliamentary Debates, 1997, p. 251) Given the political and social context in which the Socialists came to power – lack of trust in the state and social polarization – it was crucial for them to emphasize that the ideological basis of their ‘new politics’ would be the National Renaissance. In this respect, they reinterpreted the basic tenet of the National Renaissance, which was that the nation should be placed above all societal/religious/political divisions, through the lens of ‘pragmatism’. Within this interpretation, political contentions and differences became illegitimate in the face of Albania’s ‘historical mission’, namely, ‘Euro-Atlantic integration’. In this respect, the Socialists sought to revamp their political identity as the only democratic force which could carry forth the incomplete project of the National Renaissance. This ‘new politics’ of reconciliation was materialized in the Socialist-led government’s attempts to establish dialogue with Belgrade and turn Albania into an emancipating force in the Balkans (Meidani in Nazarko, 2000, p. 77). While the democratled government’s focal point of their security discourse had been the ‘nation’, the Socialist-led government’s official discourse centred on the notion of the ‘region’. The only ideational and legitimacy basis for the Socialists’ foreign policy became the ‘economy’, since all other cultural elements such as ethnicity, religion, and differences between Right and Left, were now constructed as ‘deviations’ from the Euro-Atlantic Orientation and from the National Renaissance. The need to reassure the West of Albania’s commitment not to tolerate Islamic terrorism became particularly urgent after the US evacuated its

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diplomats from the embassy in Tirana in August 1998 in the face of possible terrorist attacks, following the arrest of five Islamic militants (Kiefner, 1998). Thus, the revival of the narrative of ‘religious tolerance’ served the domestic legitimization needs of the elite in power. Secondly, the narrative of ‘religious tolerance’ was re-articulated within the discourse of the ‘national question’ during 1998. In this context, the Kosovo conflict raised for Tirana the concern of Western public opinion perceiving Albanians as ‘Islamic’. This concern was raised particularly due to the Serbian propaganda which portrayed the Kosovo Liberation Army as supporters of ‘an Islamic State in the Balkans’ (Islami, 1999, pp. 191–2). In this context, the alignment with the US against an enemy which was largely defined in terms of religious fundamentalism and more specifically in terms of radical Islam would confirm the fallibility of the thesis of Islam as being a pillar of Albanians’ national identification. During his visit to Tirana in March 2006 the Spanish Minister for Foreign Affairs requested of the Albanian Minister for Foreign Affairs that Albania play an active role within the framework of the Coalition of Civilizations, given its membership in the ICO. The request was met first with surprise and eventually with disappointment at Europe’s misperception of Albania as an Islamic country (Meta, interview, 21 January 2006; Zeneli, interview, 21 March 2006; Rakipi, interview, 14 February 2006). Along the same lines, any public demonstration of Islam – such as headscarves – was met with frustration and panic on the part of politicians and the mainstream media equally (see Hatibi, 2005; Kajsiu, 2009). As the former Minister for Foreign Affairs, Katriot Islami stated, ‘[W]e cannot afford any sign of radicalization; we are constantly being monitored by the West’ (Islami, interview, 17 February 2006). ‘Religious tolerance’ was thus articulated as inseparable from the ‘national interest’, as long as it enhanced the positive Western identity of Albania and facilitated the processes of Euro-Atlantic integration.

The interpretation of Islam in the post-1997 period In the context of this new liberal discourse of security, religious identities in general and Islam in particular were interpreted as exogenous layers over national identity (Clayer, 2005, p. 25). As Nathalie Clayer suggests, following their coming to power in 1997, the Socialists dismantled the ‘Islamic’ network which had been intimately connected with the DP and the Presidency of Berisha (Clayer, 2005, p. 25).12 Furthermore, the word ‘Islam’ took on a negative connotation in the media and

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in the intellectual discourse.13 Most notably, President Alfred Moisiu, in a presentation delivered at Oxford University during the Inter-Religious Relations Symposium on 9 November 2005, stated that: [I]f one scratches slightly on the surface of every Albanian, one would discover his Christian essence. ( . . . ) The Albanian Muslim believer might indeed swear on the Quran, but so does he at the same time celebrate the St. Maria of August, St. George of May and St. Nicola of autumn as well as Christmas. This means that inside the Albanian man, no matter how he identified himself today, there is a homogenizing factor and this homogenizing factor lies precisely in the period of fifteen centuries of Christianity that each of them has inherited from the tradition of ancestors. (Moisiu, 2005, p. 3) In the same text, the President broadly referred to the majority of Albanians as ‘crypto-Christians’, who had adapted Islam due to their ‘inbuilt pragmatism’ and the violent oppression of the Ottoman rule.14 The logical contradictions of such an identity articulation are mainly two: firstly, if Albanians are crypto-Christians, then the discourse of ‘inter-religious harmony’ as the main defining feature of the Albanian nation becomes incoherent. As Enis Sulstarova has rightly noted, according to the President’s presentation, one might conclude that just as the essence of Albanianism in its vertical plane (as opposed to the diachronic plane) is Christianity, so tolerance as its defining feature which is materialized in everyday practice derives from the Albanian Christian essence (Sulstarova, 2006, p. 61). To put it crudely, if all Albanians are inherently Christian, then what is so unique about their ability to tolerate the ‘other’? The implication of Moisiu’s articulation is that genuine Islam is indeed radical and hence the riverbed of terrorism (also Hatibi, 2005). The second contradiction lies in the relationship between the Albanian nation’s inbuilt ‘pragmatism’ and their ‘religious tolerance’. If one is not a genuine believer – as Moisiu’s statement seems to suggest – then, what is so special about being tolerant about those who equally do not believe but are nominally of another religion? Father Rrok Mirdita, the Highest Authority of the Catholic Church rightly pointed out this contradiction: We must continue to live in this harmony not with the feeling that we are doing something extraordinary, because like this we would

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make that harmony fragile, but with the rejoiced and comforted feeling that we are living with the most natural trait of our religious spirit, which is tolerance and harmony. (Cited in Andersen, 2003) As the quote rightly indicates, ‘religious tolerance’ only becomes ‘extraordinary’ when used politically and ideologically. Furthermore, it becomes an ‘added value’ or a ‘contribution’ in the context of aspired integration in the EU and NATO and in the global market. The hegemonic liberal discourse of ‘politics of no adversaries’ (Mouffe, 2005) denies dissent on an ideological and political basis and yet, it encourages competition for the monopolization of the same ‘planetary vulgate’ (Bourdieu and Wacquant, 2001) of welfare, human rights and democratic governance. In this respect, each state is faced with the necessity of emphasizing a particular image and of forging – and if necessary simulating – a sense of uniqueness. Hence the Albanian political elites’ efforts in the direction of revamping and improving ‘state image’ as a pre-requisite for the attraction of investments and the integration of the national economy into the global market.15 It is in the context of this struggle for ‘uniqueness’ and ‘particularity’ which can be translated into the liberal repertoire of security that the Albanian political elites’ use of ‘religious tolerance’ can be understood as a political and ideological practice.

Conclusions In this chapter I argued that ‘religious tolerance’ is not a perennial feature of the Albanian nation, but rather an ideological element of both the nationalist discourse of the late nineteenth/early twentieth century and the post-Communist discourse of foreign and security policy. Furthermore, the translation of the nationalist myth of ‘indifference to religion’ into ‘religious tolerance’ has taken place through the ideological repertoires/lenses of the post-Communist Albanian elites. The meanings attached to ‘religious tolerance’ are part of a broader discursive formation of democracy and statehood of the Albanian state. I also argued that the political elites have re-articulated the nationalist myth of ‘indifference to religion’ as ‘religious tolerance’ in the context of the new hegemonic discourse of ‘politics of no adversaries’. As I suggested above, this discourse played the role of a myth particularly in the

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aftermath of the 1997 institutional and economic crisis in Albania as well as the enhanced relationship of the country with the EU. The 1997 crisis led to the dominance of the economic conception of security and to the de-legitimization of the discourse of ‘national sovereignty’ and of ‘non-interference from outside’, which had been prominent themes of the Democrat-led government (1992–97). Furthermore, the EU vocation has necessitated the adoption on the part of the Albanian political elites of the dominant discourse of human rights, tolerance, reconciliation and ‘politics of no adversaries’, as Chantal Mouffe suggests. In other words, the national political elites import the dominant conception of democracy and statehood as exported by the EU to the countries in its periphery or to the aspirant countries. In this context, this chapter shares with the other contributions in this volume the preoccupation as to what are the often implicit implications of EU integration. Yet, I suggested that ‘importation’ of the EU liberal conception of democracy and statehood is not a one-way and straightforward process: the domestic political elites re-articulate the basic identity narratives of the nation with a view to reconciling the ‘national’ with the ‘European’. Yet, this process of simultaneous re-articulation and stabilization of national identity narratives is necessarily political, despite the Albanian elites’ persistence in keeping religion separate from politics. Furthermore, despite the elites’ emphasis on ‘reconciliation’ and ‘tolerance’ and ‘lack of conflict’, the prospect of conflict must be construed – and simulated, if necessary – as a constant threat both to internal harmony as well as to the European character of the Albanian nation. The implications of these conclusions are several: firstly, the analysis shows that the nationalist and the integrationist discourses are not irreconcilable. Instead ‘moments’ or identities of the nationalist discourse can be re-articulated in the new integrationist discourse, while gaining a new meaning. Both ‘indifference to religion’ and ‘religious tolerance’ perform the functions of a ‘myth’ particularly after moments of structural dislocation and disjuncture, such as the disintegration of the Ottoman Empire or the end of communism. Secondly, the analysis shows how the domestic and the external cannot be clearly differentiated from each other. It is not an external actor, such as the EU, which forges artificially societal conflict in countries in its periphery or in aspirant countries. Rather it is the dominant discourse of democracy and statehood as propagated and exported by the EU which necessitates the re-articulation of certain identity narratives. Furthermore, it is the specific re-articulation and re-interpretation of these identity

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narratives – and specifically, the narrative of ‘religious tolerance – by the political elites which lead to certain inclusionary and exclusionary practices. The contribution of this chapter to the overall arguments of this volume lies precisely in the critical investigation of the domestic appropriation of the dominant liberal discourse of the EU. Lastly, the narrative of ‘religious tolerance’, like the one of ‘indifference to religion’, stemmed from particular contexts when recognition by the West in particular and the EU in particular was vital to the Albanian nationstate. Whereas in the late nineteenth century/early twentieth century, the Albanian nationalist ideologues were faced with the need to be recognized by the West as a unified nation as well as with the need to practically unify a divided Albanian society domestically, the Albanian post-Communist elites were faced with the need of Albania to be recognized by the West in general and the EU in particular as Western and democratic as well as to restore internal unity and cohesion after dislocatory experiences, such as those of 1996–97. Whereas the identity narrative of ‘indifference to religion’ was appropriated to the dominant discourse of security at the time – that is of secular nation-state – the narrative of ‘religious tolerance’ builds on the EU dominant liberal discourse of security.

Notes The author wishes to express her gratitude to Michelle Pace, Emel Akçalı and Shabnam J. Holliday for their helpful comments and suggestions on a previous draft of the chapter. 1. The process of the Accession of Albania to the EU started in 2003. The Stabilization and Association Agreement was signed on 12 June 2006, and ratification completed with Greece’s signature on 14 January 2009. 2. Along similar lines, Christopher Browning has argued in the case of postCold War Finland that the elites’ discourse of ‘coming home’, which stresses return to a common Western cultural and geopolitical sphere, in effect means ‘moving houses’. By this Browning implies that the security challenge of the country lies in reconstructing a new identity, which negates Finland’s ‘Eastern’ identity and which only privileges the history of its integration in Western security institutions during the Cold War. See Browning (2002). 3. The banking system that Albania had inherited from communism had not been privatized and was inadequate to digest the flow of hard currency from the emigrants’ remittances (Pettifer and Vickers, 2007, p. 4). The response to this was the rapid rise of pyramid firms. By 1996 the high interest rates offered by these Ponzi schemes had created a feeling of both euphoria and uncertainty domestically. The schemes kept paying out enormous sums in interest. The political elites were not prepared to interfere in this process, as

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5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

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both the party in power and the Socialists had benefited greatly from donations from these ‘foundations’ to fund their party activities (Judah, 2002, p. 128). The neutrality of the state in matters of religion is sanctioned by the Constitution Article 10 of the present Constitution states that ‘In the republic of Albania there is no official religion’ and also (point 2) ‘The State is neutral in questions of belief and conscience and it also guarantees the freedom of their expression in public life.’ Drawing upon Clifford Geertz, Judy Batt suggests that post-Communist politics of identity follows two complementary and yet competing motives: of pursuing the ‘indigenous way of life’ on the one hand, and aligning with the ‘Spirit of the Age’ on the other. While the former is materialized through themes of ‘national culture’, ‘national tradition’ and ‘national character’, the latter is captured by the aspiration to ‘return to Europe’ (Batt, 2002, pp. 3–4). These religious divisions overlapped with regional differences, with the Roman Catholics being concentrated in the mountainous North, the Orthodox inhabiting primarily the South and the Muslims distributed throughout Albania. See Gawrych, 2006, p. 7. The League of Prizren marked the first moment of the institutionalization of the nationalist claims to the High Porte. Despite its eventual failure, Albanian historiography identifies the League as the beginning of the autonomous Albanian state (Pollo, 1993, p. 89). Nathalie Clayer notes that following the Socialists’ electoral victory in 1997, the Democratic Party and academics/media editorialists who were closely affiliated with the DP launched a campaign against the ‘orthodox fundamentalism’. In 1998, academics such as Sherif Delvina and Kasem Bicoku published texts with titles such Pa Pavaresi Fetare nuk ka pavaresi kombetare (Without religious independence there is no national independence) or Falangat qe rrezikojne Kombin Shqiptar (The phalanges which threaten the Albanian nation) (Clayer, 2005, p. 33). The Autocephalous Orthodox Albanian Church was founded in 1922 by Fan Stilian Noli, Visarion Xhuvani et al. Following the fall of communism and the restoration of religious institutions, the Autocephalous Church was led by the Archbishop of Tirana, Durres and all Albania, Anastasios Yannoulatos. The Head of the National Intelligence Service (SHIK), Bashkim Gazidede held at the time the position of the Head of the Association of Albanian Muslim Intellectuals (Clayer, 2005, p. 23). In an interview given to the German daily Die Presse and re-printed in Rilindja Demokratike, President Berisha stated that ‘Albania is the most Western country in the region. We are already paying our obligations to our roots.’ See Rilindja Demokratike, 1996, p. 2. The US embassy in Tirana was temporarily closed in August 1998 in response to ‘Islamic threats’; it was the first US embassy to close on these grounds. For the negative portrayal of the Albanian Muslims in the Albanian public discourse and the instrumentalization of ‘Islam’ on the part of postCommunist politicians, see Hatibi (2005).

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14. Ervin Hatibi rightly notes that the post-Communist political elites have not departed from their communist predecessors’ approach to Islam as ‘the religion of the invader’. See Hatibi, 2005; also Sulstarova, 2006. 15. The interest for the strengthening of ‘economic diplomacy’ and of ‘improving state identity’ became particularly pertinent from 2003 onwards.

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Howarth, D. and Stavrakakis, Y. (2000) ‘Introducing discourse theory and political analysis’ in D. Howarth, A. J. Norval and Y. Stavrakakis (eds) Discourse Theory and Political Analysis: Identities, Hegemonies and Social Change, Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press. Islami, K. (1999) Per nje Konfigurim te ri Politik (For a New Political Configuration) (Tirana: Toena). Judah, T. (2002) Kosovo. War and Revenge, 2nd edn (New Haven and London: Yale University Press). Kajsiu, B. (2009) ‘Ferexheja e Islamofobise’, Panorama, 28 April, 1. Kiefner, J. (1998) ‘US removes its diplomats from Embassy in Albania’, New York Times, 17 August, http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html? res=9A06E2DE163DF934A2575BC0A96E958260, date accessed 20 November 2008. Korrieri (2009) ‘Topalli: Krenare per bashkejetesen fetare’ (‘Topalli: Proud of religious co-existence’), 28 December, 3. Kulla, N. (2003) Antologji e Mendimit Shqiptar, 1870–1945 (Antology of the Albanian Thought, 1870–1945) (Tirana: Plejad). Laclau, E. and Mouffe, C. (1985) Hegemony and Socialist Strategy: Towards a Radical Democratic Politics (London: Verso). Misha, P. (2002) ‘Invention of a Nationalism: Myth and Amnesia’ in S. Schwandner-Sievers and B. J. Fischer (eds) Albanian Identities: Myth and History (London: Hurst & Company). Moisiu, A. (2005) ‘Tolerance Nder-fetare ne Traditen e Popullit Shqiptar’ (The Inter-religious tolerance in the tradition of the Albanian people’), Korrieri, 9 November, 1–3. Mouffe, C. (2005) On the Political (London: Routledge). Nazarko, M. (2000) Presidenti Meidani dhe Kosova. Permbledhje intervistash, fjalimesh dhe njoftimesh shtypi, 25 Korrik 1997–30 korrik 1999 (President Meidani and Kosovo. A compilation of interviews, speches and press releases 25 July 1997–30 July 1999) (Tirana: Toena). Norval, A. (2000) ‘The things we do with words. Contemporary Approaches to the analysis of Ideology’, British Journal of Political Science, 30 (2), 313–46. Parliamentary Debates, 10 November 1997, Legjislatura e 15-te [Legislature No. 15]. Pettifer, J. and Vickers, M. (2007) The Albanian Question: Reshaping the Balkans (London: I.B. Taurus). Pollo, S. (1993) The Truth on Kosovo (Tirana: Encyclopedia Publishing House). Rilindja Demokratike (1992) ‘Politike e hapjes, politike e hapave konkrete’ (‘Politics of Opening; Politics of Concrete Steps’), 6 December, 1. Rilindja Demokratike (1996) ‘Shqiperia nuk do te akceptoje kurre nje ndarje te Kosoves’ (‘Albania will never accept Kosovo’s partition’), 18 August, 1. Schopflin, G. (2002) ‘The Nature of Myth: Some theoretical aspects’, in S. Schwandner-Sievers and B. Fischer (eds) Albanian Identities. Myth and History. London: Hurst and Company. Sulstarova, E. (2006) Orientalizmi Shqiptar: Nga Naimi te Kadareja. (Albanian Orientalism: From Naim to Kadare) (Tirana: Aferdita). Torfing, J. (1999) New Theories of Discourse: Laclau, Mouffe and Zizek (Oxford and Malden: Blackwell Publishers Inc). TVSH (2009) News Edition at 16.00, 20 September. Zavalani, T. (1998) Histori e Shqipnis (History of Albania) (Tirana: Phoenix).

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List of interviews Author’s interview with I. Meta Tirana, 21 January 2006. Author’s interview with A. Rakipi Tirana, 14 February 2006. Author’s interview with K. Islami Tirana, 17 February 2006. Author’s interview with B. Zeneli, Tirana, 21 March 2006. Author’s interview with R. Lleshi, Tirana, 15 January 2007.

9 America’s Freedom Dilemma for the Middle East: Interests or Democracy? Oz Hassan

Introduction Few subjects stimulate a more ferocious debate in Washington than the issue of how to deal with political Islam and whether the United States should engage with ‘Islamist’ movements. Whilst in the past these were largely considered to be academic questions, with little policy relevance, in the aftermath of 11 September 2001 they have become central themes in discussions of US–Middle East and North African (MENA) relations. Notably, they are central to a debate that has all too often been conducted with a focus on what have been termed ‘radical’, ‘extremist’, ‘nationalist’ or ‘Islamofascist’ groups such as al-Qaeda, the Taliban in Afghanistan, the Islamic government of Iran, Harakat al-Muqawama al-Islamiya (Hamas) in the Palestinian territories, or Hizbullah in Lebanon. That is to say that political Islam and the term ‘Islamists’ have often been conflated solely with groups that view violence as a legitimate recourse for their political grievances and the maintenance of power, but who articulate such methods with Islamic referents – terms, symbols, configurative emplotment1 of events and actors – in their espoused ideological-discursive formations. Problematically, placing such an emphatic emphasis on groups that have not renounced aggression has meant that the debate has often become cast in bifurcated terms, writing out what have been called ‘grey zones’, or ‘moderate’ Islamist groups that do not engage in violence (see Brown et al., 2006; Heydemann, 2007). A serious consequence of this is that ‘political Islam’ is all too often represented as a homogenous monolithic structure of ideas; there is little discussion of what is better referred to as ‘political Islam-s’ and the hermeneutic diversity that 161

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is derived from interpreting the Koran, the Hadith and fatwas. As such the extent to which there is an ongoing political battle within political Islam (or rather between Islam-s) is often drowned out from public discourse (see Bulliet, 2002; Halliday, 2003; Sivan, 2003). Under such circumstances, the debate concerning how to deal with the various forms of political Islam, and engage with the Islamist groups that espouse them, is fraught with peril. The US debate’s complexity is inextricably entwined with the politics of identity and fear as much as larger diplomatic and strategic concerns, such as combating terrorism, promoting democracy, stabilizing the MENA region, and peace building (Asseburg, 2007, p. 73). However, that this complex issue is all too often dealt with parsimoniously is in and of itself an interesting phenomenon. This is especially the case in light of John L. Esposito’s observation that: Policymakers, particularly since 9/11, have demonstrated an inability and/or unwillingness to distinguish between radical and moderate Islamists . . . US administrations and many European governments have often said that they distinguish between mainstream and extremist groups. However, more often than not, they have looked the other way when autocratic rulers in Algeria, Tunisia, Egypt and elsewhere have intimidated and suppressed mainstream Islamist groups or attempted to reverse their success in elections in the past several decades. (Esposito, 2006, pp. 6–7) This chapter concurs with this observation, but seeks to generate a greater understanding of why this has been the case. Chiefly, this is done by putting forward a fairly simple argument: the distinctions between the diverse plethora of political Islam-s and Islamist groups have been obscured deliberately for the achievement of Washington’s perceived national interests in the MENA region; or more boldly, this obfuscation is part of a larger exercise of power in which the US is seeking to dominate, restructure and have authority over the MENA. In this regard, to understand the US debate about engaging political Islam and promoting freedom and democracy requires a broader understanding of how successive administrations have understood America’s global preponderance as inextricably linked to the geostrategic orientation of MENA regimes. It is this relationship that informs America’s foreign policy elite when they construct policy towards the region, and it is therefore inseparable from any discussion of engaging regional actors inspired by political Islam.

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To elucidate this argument, this chapter begins by briefly contextualizing America’s perceived national interests that have arisen throughout the twentieth and into the twenty-first century. This is done with a particular focus on the role of oil, military bases and the security of Israel, and highlights how the US has historically pursued a counterrevolutionary status quo policy to secure these interests. Subsequently, it is argued that, in light of the events of 11 September 2001, a consensus has emerged in Washington that has questioned the ability of such a policy to provide American security and begun to advocate democracy promotion as a method of countering terrorism and engaging with the MENA. However, in elevating the promotion of freedom and democracy to the level of US national interests, US-MENA relations have become characterized by a ‘conflict of interests’ problem which relates to how the US engages with Islamist groups and solves the so-called ‘Islamist dilemma’. For the G. W. Bush administration, its proposed solution to this dilemma was the Freedom Agenda. This policy was, however, often criticized for its failure to take into account historical interests, its inconsistencies and for being highly disorganized. This chapter challenges such accounts, by demonstrating that the Freedom Agenda had both conservative and radical strands, but that these were united by a common emphasis on neo-liberalism and modernization thesis. As such the Bush administration pursued a policy of domination through an ‘economic reform first’ strategy, which ultimately sought to socially engineer conditions favourable to US interests. Thus, it is argued that the Freedom Agenda implicitly sought to confront, isolate and contain Islamist groups by creating conditions suitable for long-term democratization and the secularization of Middle Eastern politics. Notably this was done by advocating a positive conception of freedom, in which freedom was understood as an end state delivered by the teleological promise of modernization processes and not autonomy. Problematically, this utopian vision was both imperialistic and fraught with perils, which demonstrates a family resemblance with the European Union’s policy, set out in this collective volume by Norval and Abdulrahman.

Domination for national interests: oil, bases and Israel Utilizing the term ‘domination’ is provocative yet fruitful. Thus, deploying this term, to characterize the US relationship towards the MENA, is not intended to suggest that the US has ever had absolute control over the region. Indeed, throughout the twentieth and into the

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twenty-first century, it is unambiguous that the occupants of the region have always maintained some degree of autonomy, and have certainly never remained passive. Rather, in using this term, what is intended is a sense of the term’s etymological roots – dominus and dominari; ‘a lord’ and ‘to be lord over’ – to distinguish the manner in which US-MENA relations have been characterized by US attempts to try and control the region, albeit with varying levels of success. It signifies the extent to which, since the steady growth of American involvement in the MENA from 1945, the US has slowly taken over imperial Britain’s ‘security management services’ and ‘oversight role’ (Boot, 2004, p. 47; Murden, 2002, p. 43). Consequently, attempts to control the regional practices of governance are based on an assumed imperial right, in a similar vein set out in this collective volume by Norval and Abdulrahman. The aftermath of the Second World War and the rise of a new international order have led subsequent US administrations to increasingly define US interests as intrinsically linked to the fate of the MENA region. In the post-war milieu, the geopolitical orientation of the MENA was increasingly seen as vital to US interests, and as containment became the dominant US strategic doctrine it impacted directly upon US– MENA relations. As such, the US increasingly attempted to prevent the Soviet Union from ‘filling the power vacuum being created by the incipient withdrawal of the old colonial powers’ (Taylor, 1991, p. 49). The first sign of this creeping insurrection occurred over the issue of postwar Soviet retention of troops in Northern Iran (see Truman, 1956, pp. 98–101). However, this was to subsequently expand into concerns over the Turko-Iranian border, Turkish sovereignty and ultimately the geopolitical orientation of the entire Middle East. This established for the first time a situation in which the US would actively endeavour to strengthen its own position in the MENA whilst containing Soviet advances. Such a strategy would come to typify the Cold War as the US increasingly sought the need for stability and the maintenance of the established political order in the region. The clearest example of this was the use of the CIA in Iran to facilitate the overthrow of Mohammed Mossadegh, in 1953, and the reinstatement of Mohammad Reza Shah, as outlined in this collective volume by both Holliday and El-Affendi (also see Kinzer, 2003; Pollack, 2004, pp. 40–80). Yet, in a similar vein, the Eisenhower doctrine led to interventions in Jordan, Syria, Lebanon and Iraq through the 1957–8 period, with the aim of maintaining the regional ‘status quo’ and winning American influence. This ‘status quo’ policy was pursued by successive administrations culminating in

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President Carter advising the Shah of Iran to use force to crush the 1979 Islamic revolution to maintain ‘an island of stability’, and President Reagan asserting that ‘I will not permit [Saudi Arabia] to be an Iran’ after US-trained Saudi Arabian SANG forces crushed an anti-regime uprising in 1981 (see Hahn, 2005, pp. 42–3, 70–85; Freedman, 2008, pp. 63–149; Zunes, 2003, p. 15). Notably, the ‘status quo’ policy pursued by the US demonstrated the extent to which the domination of the MENA was believed to be the best means of securing perceived American national interests. Accordingly, throughout history, the US has demonstrated its willingness to pursue counter-revolutionary policies, by challenging the internal dynamics emerging from the region, through condoning and participating in both coercion and subversion. Similarly, in addition to these directly violent methods of securing stability, the US has actively sought to maintain the established political order through foreign and military assistance. The origins of this, in US-MENA relations, lay with the precedent set by the Truman doctrine’s aid packages to Greece and Turkey. With this as a model, President Eisenhower declared his own doctrine to a joint session of Congress on 5 January 1957. Approved in March the same year, Congress authorized the Eisenhower administration to use force if necessary to protect American interests in the Middle East. However, this was coupled with $200 million in economic aid to support any nation in the Middle East ‘requesting assistance against armed aggression from any country controlled by international communism’. Yet, as Secretary of State John Foster Dulles argued, economic aid would be used ‘as a means of building our [US] position in the Middle East’ (Little, 2004, pp. 132–7; see Heiss, 2006; Yaqub, 2004). As a method of securing stability and influence, economic and military aid to the MENA has waxed and waned but continues to the present day. From 1950 to 1970 both economic and military aid to the region totalled a sum of $7,845 million. Yet, these sums are meagre in comparison to the dramatic rise in foreign assistance that accompanied the 1970s, and would continue into the 2000s. From 1971 to 2001 economic and military aid to the region totalled a sum of $144,969 million, representing over a 1,800 per cent increase (see Sharp, 2006b). That foreign assistance to the MENA continued in the post-Cold War era is testimony to the fact that the US also sought to guarantee that its perceived interests in the region would continue. Thus, despite the US having no other superpower challenging their hegemonic power over the region in the post-Cold War era, reasons for America to intervene in the region and secure a favourable geopolitical

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orientation remain. Accordingly, there are a set of interests that the US consistently maintains, which could be jeopardized by regional instability. Discernibly, geography has played a distinctive role. The reason for this was recognized as early as 1945 by the State Department, which described the Middle East as ‘a stupendous source of strategic power, and one of the greatest material prizes in world history’ (Zunes, 2003, p. 2). This was a far cry from earlier assertions by the State Department in 1923 that the region ‘is of little commercial importance’ (Oren, 2007, p. 407). The fundamental distinction between these two assertions relates to the role of oil in the region and the manner in which it began transforming the world in the early twentieth century. Accelerated industrialization combined with an increasing demand on oil dependent consumer goods, such as automobiles and electronification of households in the United States, played an unprecedented role. Moreover, what became apparent from both World Wars was that oil was playing a decisive factor in providing ‘longlegs’ to military personnel and faster vehicles – consequently, providing a strategic advantage in warfare. Notably, by 1947 oil-producing MENA states provided half of the oil consumed by the US armed forces, which led to the CIA deeming Middle Eastern oil ‘essential to the security of the United States’ (Hahn, 2005, p. 7). Yet, oil from the region was playing a much more important strategic role by fuelling the revitalization of Western European economies. As one US government report commented at the time ‘without petroleum the Marshall plan could not have functioned’ (Yergin, 1991, p. 424). This was due to the fact that in the post-war era a fundamental transition in Europe took place, in which coal-based economies transitioned to importing oil. This helped produce a symbiotic confluence of events in which European needs and the development of Middle Eastern oil combined. Thus, by 1955 approximately 90 per cent of oil consumed in Western Europe came from the Middle East (Hahn, 2005, p. 7; see Kapstein, 1990; Yergin, 1991, p. 425). From the American perspective, Middle Eastern oil was now fundamental to the material balance of the world, and to its efforts to create an integrated transatlantic market system. The twenty-first century still bears the marks of the post-war decision to move from coal power to oil. As Kenneth Pollack has argued: The reason the United States has a legitimate and critical interest in seeing that Persian Gulf oil continues to flow copiously and relatively cheaply is simply that the global economy built over the last

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50 years rests on a foundation of inexpensive, plentiful oil, and if that foundation were removed, the global economy would collapse. (2003, p. 3) Furthermore, in today’s highly technological hydrocarbon society the demand for oil is increasing, and the Middle East contains around 66 per cent of the world’s known oil reserves (Milton-Edwards, 2006, p. 73). Of particular concern to the United States is that in the intermediate future ‘oil supply is expected to continue to concentrate in the Persian Gulf, which holds the world’s largest geologically attractive reserves’ (CFR, 2006, p. 22). The cause of America’s concern is that the highly industrial US economy is becoming more dependent on oil for growth. The United States, with only 4.3 per cent of the world’s population, uses 25 per cent of the world’s oil, and significantly 60 per cent of this need is dependent on imports and expected to rise in the coming decades (CFR, 2006, p. 22). Yet, as consumption is increasing, America’s domestic production is decreasing, making the US significantly dependent on foreign oil from places such as Saudi Arabia, which provides 20 per cent of America’s crude oil imports (Milton-Edwards, 2006, p. 239). As Beverley Milton-Edwards argues: The maintenance and future growth of the American economy owes much to the import of oil from the Middle East. In this way unimpeded access to that resource is vital to national interest. If there were any doubt that this were not the case, the Arab oil embargo during the 1973 Arab-Israeli conflict, although it occurred more than thirty years ago, remains fresh in the collective consciousness of American policymakers. (2006, p. 239) In addition to American demand for oil, however, the region’s resources are also increasingly being claimed by expanding global economic powers such as India and China. Indeed, the Chinese government is pursuing a strategy of ‘locking up’ particular supplies for the Chinese market, and is aligning its relationships with Saudi Arabia and Iran in order to secure these exclusive oil supplies. This is a direct challenge to American hegemony in the region and is impacting Middle Eastern politics more widely (see Pace, 2008, pp. 162–3; Salameh, 2003). The effect of this is that US influence in the region is diminishing; which has caused foreign policy analysts such as Henry Kissinger to predict potential international conflicts over hydrocarbon resources to occur in the future (see

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Ikenberry, 2008; Leverett and Bader, 2005, p. 187). This demonstrates that concerns over the material balance of the world and the geopolitical orientation of the Middle East are as strong in the twenty-first century as they were in the Cold War era. With oil being linked to the ‘American way of life’, economic growth and strategic military power, the consequences of instability or a loss of regional hegemony are intricately linked to American’s global position. The geographical location of the Middle East also plays a distinctive role in wider military-strategic concerns of the US. Previous to the development of intercontinental ballistic missiles in the 1960s, the US enjoyed a significant strategic advantage over the USSR by having allies that bordered the Soviet Union. This gave the US the potential power to invade its rival from Turkey or Iran, whilst the Soviets had no comparable access to the United States (Sluglett, 2005, p. 43). More widely, throughout the Cold War, military bases were seen as a strategic advantage essential to winning a direct conflict with the Soviet Union. Not only would they have provided the ability to launch aerial offensives, but they also allowed the build-up of troops for a ground invasion and the positioning of intelligence gathering personnel and equipment for covert operations (see Cohen, 1997, pp. 1–94). Although the threat of war with the Soviet Union has passed, the Middle East remains an important strategic location for American defence interests. Military bases in the region could provide a method of projecting American military might in future conflicts with rising powers. With bases in the Middle East, the US would be able to strike China from the West, as well as from eastern bases in the Pacific. Whilst this represents an ‘external’ dynamic to the projection of US military power from the region, there are also ‘internal’ and ‘inter-regional’ strategic concerns. With potential political unrest in the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) countries, the dilemma represented by Iran’s nuclear weapons programme, and the instability in Iraq there is a perceived need to maintain a military presence in the region (see Cordesman, 2008; Pollack, 2003, 2004; Sick et al., 2008). Furthermore, the MENA has been considered part of an ‘arc of instability’ and a ‘breeding ground for threats’ to US interests (NMS, 2004, p. 5). In the 2005 National Defense Strategy (NDS), the US declared the objective of securing ‘strategic access’ and retaining ‘global freedom of action’. The logic underlying this was simple: ‘the United States cannot influence that which it cannot reach’ (NDS, 2005, p. 6; see also Posch, 2006). The overall result of this is, as the highly influential Council on Foreign Relations has concluded;

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‘[E]ven if the Persian Gulf did not have the bulk of the world’s readily available oil reserves, there would be reasons to maintain a substantial military capability in the region’ (CFR, 2006, pp. 29–30). In addition to the region’s oil supply and military-strategic concerns, the US has also held a historical interest in maintaining the security of Israel. At times the US-Israeli ‘special relationship’ has conflicted with the goal of securing the region’s oil, by antagonizing the populations of other regional allies. However, the extent of the relationship is visible in the vast quantity of foreign assistance that Israel has received. Notably since France withdrew its assistance to Israel, in protest of the pre-emptive launch of the June 1967 War, the US has stepped into a patron role (Mearsheimer and Walt, 2007, p. 53; Sharp, 2006b, p. 5). From 1971 to 2008, the US has given foreign assistance to Israel at an average rate of $2 billion per year, making it the ‘largest annual recipient of US aid and the largest recipient of cumulative US assistance since World War II’ (Mark, 2006, pp. 2–21; Sharp, 2006b, p. 5). A clear turning point in the US-Israeli relationship, and in the USEgyptian relationship, was the signing of the Israel-Egypt Peace Treaty in 1979. This was the result of secret negotiations and the signing of the Camp David Accords, which ushered in the current era of financial support for stability between Israel and its Arab neighbours (MiltonEdwards, 2006, p. 247). As a consequence, Israel became the highest recipient of US aid and Egypt the second highest recipient. Combined, these two countries currently receive almost 93 per cent of all annual funding to the region (Sharp, 2006b, p. 7). Since this period, the US has remained ‘engaged’ in the peace process as a ‘peace broker’, but remained committed to strengthening Israel. Conspicuously, maintaining the free flow of oil, a military presence and the integrity of regional allies such as Israel, contributes to a strategically selective context that US foreign policymakers have sought to navigate throughout the twentieth and into the twenty-first century. Consequently, in spite of the Cold War removing any superpower rivalry in the Middle East, long-term interests have remained, which have traditionally led to the US continuing to support the regional status quo. However, in light of the terrorist attacks on 11 September 2001, many policymakers, and members of the foreign policy commentariat, began re-evaluating the value of longstanding ties with autocratic allies in the region. This was highly evident when the G. W. Bush administration declared its so-called ‘Freedom Agenda’, which regarded the democratization of the MENA as a US national security priority. This, however,

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has led to the rise of a ‘conflict of interests’ problem, and fore grounded questions over how exactly to balance the pursuit of these interests with the need for regional reform.

The rise of the freedom agenda: conflicting interests and the ‘Islamist’ dilemma The Freedom Agenda was not the initial response to the events of 11 September 2001. It was a strategy to combat terrorism and engage with the MENA, that iteratively yet cumulatively arose from policymakers, and members of the foreign policy commentariat, re-evaluating the value of longstanding ties with autocratic allies in the region (see Dunn and Hassan, 2010; Hassan, 2008). Thus, the Bush administration throughout the spring of 2002, until being formally declared in November 2003 at the National Endowment for Democracy, slowly began to advocate the promotion of ‘freedom’ and ‘democracy’ in the MENA. The reasons for this were explained by President Bush, who argued that: [S]ixty years of Western nations excusing and accommodating the lack of freedom in the Middle East did nothing to make us safe – because in the long run, stability cannot be purchased at the expense of liberty. As long as the Middle East remains a place where freedom does not flourish, it will remain a place of stagnation, resentment, and violence ready for export. (Bush, 2003a) That the President of the United States made such a rare admission of failure about past policy reflected a serious conceptual change concerning US-MENA relations. Moreover, not only was the President accepting a consistent pattern of American administrations using diplomatic, military and economic assistance to bolster the region’s autocrats, but the decision to advocate freedom and democracy in the MENA appeared to challenge decades of US foreign policy. The Bush administration was distinguishable in that not only was the promotion of democracy in the MENA elevated to the level of a national interest, but to support this, the administration began creating new institutions to bolster America’s growing ‘democracy bureaucracy’. Foreign policy tools such as the Presidential pulpit and diplomatic pressure were to be coupled with initiatives such the Middle East Partnership Initiative (MEPI), the Middle East Free Trade Area (MEFTA) and the Broader Middle East and North Africa Initiative (BMENA). Consequently, the

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Freedom Agenda, along with the war in Iraq, was designed to transform the MENA politically, socially and economically, by deploying the full spectrum of means available to US foreign policymakers. Freedom, visà-vis regime change and democracy promotion, was being prescribed by Washington as a method of eradicating terrorism, countering the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction (WMD), promoting regional stability and economic growth, and ending tyranny as a prerequisite for ‘peace’ (see NSCT, 2006). In essence, the Freedom Agenda was the quintessential expression of a liberal grand strategy, which emphasized the importance of the internal domestic character of MENA states as vitally important for the attainment of American security and material interests (see Ikenberry, 2000, p. 103). The Bush administration believed that if both American self-interest and American values were promoted, they would assist one another instrumentally in a symbiotic relationship. Significantly, this premise was one shared by a wider set of Washington elites than merely the Bush administration and its much touted neoconservative supporters. Throughout the Bush administration’s tenure in office, the White House was able to significantly re-articulate the discourse in Washington, and generate an informal consensus between ‘neoconservatives’, ‘neo-liberal’ hawks and parts of America’s ‘moderate’ political commentariat, all advocating the promotion of democracy in the MENA (see Gause III, 2005; Kaye et al., 2008; Lieven and Hulsman, 2006, pp. 62–3; Smith, 2007). There were certainly individuals associated with the neoconservative movement, such as Charles Krauthammer, who regarded democracy promotion as a fundamental approach to countering terrorism. Indeed, Krauthammer went so far as to suggest that ‘there is not a single, remotely plausible, alternative strategy for attacking the monster behind 9/11’ (Krauthammer, 2004b; also see Krauthammer, 2004a). However, the perceived need to promote democracy in the MENA was also touted by liberal ‘hawks’ such as Madeline Albright (2003), who, reflecting upon her time in the Clinton administration declared that ‘I regret not having done more to push for liberalisation in the Arab world’. Further still, individuals such as Kenneth Pollack, former director of Persian Gulf affairs at the National Security Council (2006) argued that: [T]he end state that America’s grand strategy toward the Middle East must envision is a new liberal order to replace a status quo marked by political repression, economic stagnation, and cultural

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conflict . . . America must move aggressively and creatively to help reformers throughout the Arab world. Similarly, Larry Diamond and Michael McFaul, writing for a think tank affiliated with the Democratic Party, the Progressive Policy Institute, claimed that: [I]n this new embrace of democratic reform in the Middle East, Bush has been correct in intent, even if late to the cause . . . Over time, expanding political freedom and accountability through democratising reforms would help to change the political and socio-economic conditions that have spawned terrorist groups and ideologies in the region. (2006, pp. 49–50) What emerged in Washington was a sense that promoting democracy in the MENA was ‘neither a luxury nor a pipe dream’, but rather ‘a necessity’ to combat terrorism and the growing regional insecurity caused by demographic change, economic stagnation and increasing alienation (Wittes, 2008, p. 146; see also Cook et al., 2005). In spite of this emergent consensus, however, and the institutionalization of the Freedom Agenda, the events of 11 September 2001 did not alter US perceived historical interests. Rather, the events themselves had exacerbated America’s national interest in combating terrorism and ‘eradicating’ the terrorist threat, which led to the Bush administration becoming more reliant on cooperation from the very regimes it was now openly talking about democratizing (Dunn and Hassan, 2010). Consequently, advocating the promotion of democracy in the MENA added to these already perceived national interests, and contributed to a ‘conflict of interests’ problem at the heart of US-MENA relations (Wittes, 2008, p. 18). Thus, on the one hand, the Bush administration asserted the need for regional reform through democratization, but on the other, more traditional interests remained. This not only created a considerable level of strategic confusion emanating from the White House, but the Freedom Agenda highlighted the tension in US-MENA relations between democracy promotion and domination. In turn, this foregrounded what has traditionally been termed the ‘Islamist dilemma’. Accordingly, many critics of the Freedom Agenda have argued that promoting democracy in the MENA runs contrary to the pursuit of other American national interests. Indeed, Flynt Leverett, who served as

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Senior Director for Middle East Affairs at the National Security Council (2002–3) and as a Middle East expert on the Secretary of State’s Policy Planning Staff (2001–2), has asserted that ‘spreading democracy in the Middle East is a bad idea’ and that it is ‘downright harmful’ to US interests (IQ2, 2007). Significantly, at the core of such objections lies an empirical observation, which is an ongoing theme throughout this edited volume; all over the MENA, various ‘Islamist’ groups have established themselves as major political players and currently represent the only viable opposition forces to existing undemocratic regimes. Consequently, as many have argued, ‘should free and fair elections be held in the Middle East tomorrow, it would be likely that radical religious forces [sic] would win a sweeping victory in many countries’ (Byman, 2007, pp. 143–4; Neep, 2004, p. 82). This is seen as problematic within American political discourse, because it could result in the ‘one person, one vote, one time’ scenario, which could potentially replace one form of authoritarianism with another, whilst additionally aiding the formation of ‘Islamic’ states. The emergence of such states would fundamentally alter the geopolitical orientation of the region, which would not facilitate the pursuit of other American interests. Indeed, as many critics have contended: [T]he problem with promoting democracy in the Arab world is not that Arabs do not like democracy; it is that Washington probably would not like the governments Arab democracy would produce . . . Assuming that democratic Arab governments would better represent the opinions of their people than do the current Arab regimes, democratisation of the Arab world should produce more anti-U.S. foreign policies. (Gause III, 2005) Such a position was felt to be vindicated throughout the 2005–6 period, when Washington had pushed for elections in the Palestinian territories, which were followed by the electoral victory of Hamas in the 2006 Palestinian parliamentary elections (detailed in this collective volume by both Pace and El-Affendi). This was the pinnacle of an emerging pattern in the ‘Arab Spring’ period, where Islamic groups, hostile to Washington and Israel, won significant gains through elections; which included the Muslim brotherhood in Egypt, Hizbullah in Lebanon, and Shiites backed by militias in Iraq (Weisman, 2006a). This was coupled with the 2006 Israel-Hizbullah war in Lebanon and increasing civil

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violence in Iraq despite hopes that the elections would calm the insurgency (Kurth, 2006). Moreover, given such circumstances, many of the autocratic regimes Washington has historically supported were able to stress that Islamist groups presented the only viable alternative to their own autocratic rule. Thus, they had returned to their traditional argument of presenting Islamists as a threat to the ‘stability bargain’ they have traditionally struck with the US and sections of their own societies (Feldman, 2004, pp. 19–25). Accordingly, many returned to their optimal strategy of eliminating secular democratic dissent, and keeping ‘just enough Islamist opposition alive to make Islamism the only alternative without enabling it to become strong enough to overthrow the government’ (Feldman, 2004, p. 23). These ‘setbacks’ to the Freedom Agenda led to growing dissent in the Republican Party, with Representative Henry Hyde, the Chairman of the International Relations Committee, condemning the Bush strategy because of its emphasis on democracy as a ‘magic bullet’. Moreover, the electoral success of ‘Islamists’ gave ‘realists’ in the Republican Party cause to challenge the Bush administration’s approach and condemn the emphasis on democracy promotion at the expense of other American interests (Weisman, 2006b). However, what is highly discernable from this situation is the extent to which the US discourse concerning engaging Islamist groups and dealing with political Islam is intrinsically tied to larger questions concerning the pursuit of American interests; whether they be oil, military bases, the security of Israel, or the promotion of democracy. That is to say, US commitments to democracy promotion in the MENA are contingent on the concerns of the Washington foreign policy elite, regarding the impact of ‘Islamist’ groups coming to power and how this would affect other national interests. As a result, the future of Washington’s domination of the region is inextricably entwined with the future of Islamist groups. For policymakers and the foreign policy commentariat alike, it is largely agreed that ‘Islamist politics pose what might well be seen as the most significant and complex set of foreign policy challenges that the US has faced in the post-Cold War era’ (Heydemann, 2007, p. 15). In spite of this, however, the US debate has often been framed around whether Washington should maintain the Bush administration’s proposed liberal grand strategy, or retreat to a ‘realist’ position (see Brumberg, 2007). Framing the debate in this manner, however, masks the extent to which the Freedom Agenda sought to marginalize ‘Islamist’ groups, not just through attempting to ‘win hearts and minds’ in the region, but by adopting a long-term strategy of social engineering.

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The G.W. Bush approach: social engineering and strangulation It has long been recognized that since the rise of Islamist politics in the MENA, the US has actively pursued a policy of exclusion and marginalization; as demonstrated by the status quo policy outlined above. However, with the Bush administration having introduced the Freedom Agenda, and Islamist movements representing the largest viable alternative to autocratic regimes, it might well be logically consistent to assume that the US would be forced to engage with Islamist groups: not least to maintain a modicum of consistency between espousing the need to promote democracy, and allowing populist movements into the political process. Whilst this was the case with less strategically important countries, the Bush administration did not attempt to significantly engage with groups that opposed strategically important allies. As Daniel Brumberg has explained: [T]he prioritization of security over democracy concerns is especially manifest in those countries or regions considered of pivotal importance to US geo-strategic interests. Thus Washington works with mainstream Islamists in far-away Morocco, colorful Yemen, forgotten Algeria, and little Kuwait, but not in geo-strategically important Saudi Arabia or Egypt. In the former case Washington has no democracy promotion programs, while in the latter Washington has avoided engaging the Muslim Brethren and has repeatedly failed to criticize Cairo’s repression of democracy activists. (2007, pp. 12–13) As the above shows, there are certainly instances where the US has practiced a limited level of both formal and informal engagement with ‘Islamist’ groups. At times this has been quietly undertaken through standard diplomatic channels, and at others, quasi-governmental organizations such as the National Democratic Institute (NDI) and the International Republican Institute (IRI) have played a decisive role (Glennnie, 2009, pp. 38–9; Yacoubian, 2007). Whether it be Morocco’s Party of Justice and Development (PJD), Yemen’s Islah party, Jordan’s alWasat party, or now Turkey’s Justice and Development party (AKP) and Iraq’s Shia parties, the US has in one form or another listened, talked and worked with Islamist groups (see Asseburg and Brumberg, 2007; Sharp, 2006a; Yacoubian, 2007). However, where Islamist groups have come to power, and potentially challenged US national interests, the US has consistently placed stability

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and the pursuit of historical interests first. As J. Scott Carpenter, who served in the Bush administration as Assistant Secretary of State in the Bureau for Near East Affairs overseeing MEPI and later the BMENA imitative, has argued, the Freedom Agenda was a ‘tertiary concern’. This was behind regional security and by 2007 a renewed interest in the Palestinian-Israeli conflict (2008, p. 79). Moreover, where ‘extremist’ movements, or what some argue to be resistance movements, such as Hamas and Hizbullah, have risen to power, the Bush administration not only labelled these organizations as ‘terrorist’ groups, but actively sought to marginalize them in spite of both being elected parties with popular bases (Esposito, 2006, p. 7). As such, the US demonstrated that where Islamist groups do come to power, and potentially challenge US interests, this was not be tolerated and strategies of political engagement would not be adopted. The archetypal response to the rise of such a regime followed the electoral success of Hamas in 2006, which is outlined by Pace in this volume. The US, along with the European Union, responded swiftly by cutting off aid to the Palestinian Authority and refused to work with the Hamas-led government. More problematic however, was the covert initiative from within the Bush administration to supply new weapons to Fatah, designed to remove the democratically elected Hamas-led government from power (see Rose, 2008). In effect, the Bush administration demonstrated its guiding temperament towards such groups by launching what Said Eddin Ibrahim termed a ‘cold war on Muslim democrats’ following the ‘Arab Spring’ period (2006, p. 15). In doing so, a guiding rule for the Freedom Agenda was revealed, which was: the United States would aspire to promote democracy in the Middle East if and only if the results of this did not challenge its influence and other interests in the region. Thus, demonstrating how ‘[M]aking other people free is said to be the goal of US foreign policy; but the natives are expected not only to accept the offer of freedom but also to show their gratitude’ (Ingram, 2007, p. 3). The fact that the Bush administration was in some instances willing to engage with Islamist groups yet actively marginalize, or attempt to dispose of others, under the Freedom Agenda policy, has led some commentators to declare US policy towards Islamists as ‘profoundly disorganized’ (Heydemann, 2007, p. 15). This, however, in many respects fundamentally misrepresents the thrust of the Freedom Agenda policy, which implicitly had a long-term strategy to confront, isolate and contain Islamist groups embedded within it. A distinguishing feature of the Freedom Agenda was the extent to which it was characterized by, and oscillated between, both conservative and radical dimensions.

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The policy was radical to the extent that it insisted on political democracy, yet conservative in its desire to safeguard the socio-economic privileges and power of established allies in the region (Hassan, 2008, p. 279). At times this produced double standards, notably in its efforts to force regime change in Iraq, which was in part intended to trigger a benign domino effect throughout the region. Similarly, this radical agenda was pursued against Iran where strong diplomatic pressure was coupled with the Iran Democracy Program, which sought to utilize MEPI funds to bolster internal dissidents and exile groups that wanted to instigate US-supported regime change. However, the conservative side of the Freedom Agenda was strongly touted as a fundamental dimension of the policy. President Bush consistently made it clear that the ‘war on terror’ and the Freedom Agenda were seen to be a ‘generational commitment’, and that the promotion of ‘working democracies always need time to develop’ (Bush, 2003a). As the administration tried to justify this position, many of its members were eager to illustrate that this was a strategy of ‘partnerships’ and ‘principle’ (Powell, 2004). Chiefly, this was to symbolize that the Freedom Agenda was not a direct challenge to MENA allies. Rather, the Freedom Agenda’s intended purpose was to work with regional allies, in ‘partnerships’, to try and alleviate the social conditions that were undermining their legitimacy. Consequently, senior Bush administration officials hastened to add, after the launch of MEPI, that the US was not planning ‘to abandon long-term allies such as Saudi Arabia and Egypt because of their lack of democracy’ but would offer ‘positive reinforcement for emerging reform trends’ (in Ottaway, 2005, p. 182). Significantly, both the radical and conservative dimensions of the Freedom Agenda had a common core held together by articulating neo-liberalism with modernization thesis. Despite the diverse nature of programmes initiated by MEPI and the BMENA it was economic reform, exemplified in MEFTA, which provided the Freedom Agenda’s nucleus. This was seen as a method of reforming the region and delivering ‘good governance’, whilst ultimately providing a means to combat terrorism. Thus, as President Bush declared: [A]cross the globe, free markets and trade have helped defeat poverty, and taught men and women the habits of liberty. So I propose the establishment of a U.S.-Middle East Free Trade Area within a decade, to bring the Middle East into an expanding circle of opportunity, to provide hope for the people who live in that region. (emphasis added, Bush, 2003b)

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The argument put forward by the Bush administration was that a lack of economic opportunities in the Middle East helped foster resentment towards Western affluence and generated conditions that favoured Islamist extremism. As a logical corollary, it was argued that: [T]he advance of freedom and peace in the Middle East would drain this bitterness and increase our own security . . . The Arab world has a great cultural tradition, but is largely missing out on the economic progress of our time. Across the globe, free markets and trade have helped defeat poverty, and taught men and women the habits of liberty. (emphasis added, Bush, 2003b) Instructively, embedded within this vision was a notion that free trade and free markets would provide a mechanism for modernization and ultimately the long-term democratization of the MENA. Utilizing the rise of the ‘Asian Tigers’ as a model for the MENA, the Bush administration proposed an economic strategy that would help develop the conditions for democratic transitions. Fundamentally, this relied on a gradualist and sequential understanding of how political economy relates to democratization. Modernity was seen as a single universal model in which democratization was reachable through pursuing economic growth, and integrating the MENA into global markets (Lockman, 2004, pp. 133–40). Within this schema, economic freedom was being promoted because it was seen as a method of slowly loosening the statist grip that many authoritarian regimes have over their economies. In essence, the Bush administration was carrying out its widely asserted premise that ‘Free trade brings greater political and personal freedom’ (Bush, 2001). The promise of such a strategy was that it would create wealth that it was assumed would ‘trickle down’ and produce a well educated middle class that would demand cultural changes favourable to democracy, such as increased secularism, and therefore weaken the role of Islamic identities (see Grugel, 2002, p. 47). Thus, not only was the Bush administration’s strategy the quintessential expression of modernization thesis, but inscribed in this economic liberalization strategy was a perceived method of isolating Islamist groups and undermining political Islam. Thus rather than engaging with political Islam, the Bush administration’s strategy was to slowly generate a liberal middle class alternative, which it was imagined would be more enlightened and therefore secular. In effect, the Freedom Agenda outlined a social engineering project, using principles of political economy, to create alternatives to

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Islamist movements and generate more pluralistic societies, which it was assumed would be more favourable to Washington. Given such a strategy, engaging with Islamist groups was by and large not only unnecessary, but harmful to the desired policy objective; why would the US legitimize and strengthen the very groups that its policy was designed to marginalize and eradicate? From such a diagnosis it became apparent that in order to democratize the MENA whilst simultaneously undermining the appeal of political Islam, the Freedom Agenda would adopt a neo-liberal prognosis. MEPI reinforced this process by promoting economic reform and private sector development, with the aim of enhancing the region’s competitiveness, encouraging investment, and facilitating the growth of private enterprise by creating a market-driven framework and private sector led economy. Similarly, the BMENA initiative sought to support such activities through several small multilateral projects designed to assist the development of private enterprise and promote job training and literacy in the Middle East (Wittes and Yerkes, 2006, p. 8). Yet, ultimately it was MEFTA that personified this neo-liberal agenda, which Robert Z. Lawrence has argued was not the result of economic concerns, but rather reflected ‘geopolitical and security considerations’ (2006a, p. 2). The appeal of MEFTA was located in the manner in which it created the illusion of favouring both parties. Middle Eastern regimes were able to accept such an agreement in the belief that economic reforms would allow them to alleviate the poor social conditions that threaten their power, whilst the US was able to pursue a strategy which many believed would dilute the appeal of Islamist groups and move the region slowly to stable, secular, liberalized democracies. This apparently symbiotic relationship was appealing because of its gradualist emphasis in which the US need not directly challenge friendly regimes, consequently allowing cooperation to ensue on security and other economic concerns. In effect, it provided the default foundations upon which the Freedom Agenda was constructed, by offering an illusory ‘silver bullet’ to Middle East reform. Accordingly, it mirrors Edward Ingram’s insight about pax-Americana, which favours ‘trade and investment without rule whenever possible, but with rule when unavoidable’ (2007, p. 7). This is precisely what was meant by Robert B. Zoellick, then acting U.S. Trade Representative, when he envisioned MEFTA becoming part of a ‘competitive liberalization strategy’, which would make an assault on protectionism and lead countries eager for greater access to US markets to vie for Washington’s attention and approval (Lawrence, 2006b, pp. 4–12; Magnusson, 2003, p. 94). This strategy was highly

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significant for pursuing primacy in the Middle East because it sought to increase American influence in the region by creating interdependence between the US and Middle Eastern economies, therefore strengthening American hegemony. Indeed, with more politically sensitive measures proposed by the Freedom Agenda being rejected by ‘partners’ in the MENA, it became highly evident that the Bush administration began to rely on an ‘economic reform first’ strategy. Increasingly, this led to standard market-orientated measures being prescribed, which the US and international financial institutions have advocated around the world, such as increased privatization, fiscal reform, banking reform, tax reform and investment liberalization (Carothers, 2005, pp. 198–200). Thus, the Bush administration, strictly speaking, was no longer promoting the status quo policy previous administrations had adopted, but nor was it advocating radical democratic transformation. Rather than challenging the political power of friendly regimes, the Bush administration was working with them to carefully and slowly create the conditions for modernizing their autocracies; a status quo plus strategy. Thus, the Bush administration’s democracy promotion rationale, increasingly drew upon the ‘one-size fits all’ logic of the ‘Washington Consensus’ in which democracy (mainly meaning elections), open markets (that follow the prescriptions of neo-liberal economics), and free trade (within larger interdependent markets), would all fit together and reinforce one another (Thomas, 2005, pp. 328–34; Wiarda, 1997, p. 16; Williamson, 2004). Thus, whilst Norval and Abdulrahman, in this volume, highlight Europe’s belief in an ‘imperial right’ and emphasis on ‘practices of governance’, their argument can additionally be extended to US relations with the MENA. The most controversial application of this liberalization strategy was, however, in Iraq, which demonstrated the dogmatic lengths to which the Bush administration was willing to purse this strategy. Thus, whilst in 2003 the insurgency was rife and personal security was largely absent throughout most of the cities in Iraq, Paul Bremer, the head of the Coalition Provisional Authority, decided that it was time to ‘teach influential Iraqis the basics of a free-market economy’ (Bremer and McConnell, 2006, p. 63). The results of this led to Bremer, on 19 September 2003, to order [T]he full privatization of public enterprises, full ownership rights by foreign firms of Iraqi businesses, full repatriation of foreign profits . . . the opening of Iraq’s banks to foreign control, national

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treatment for foreign companies, and the elimination of nearly all trade barriers. (In Harvey, 2005, p. 6) These orders were to apply to all areas of the economy, including public services, the media, manufacturing, transportation, finance, and construction. Whilst the labour market was to be strictly regulated, strikes were effectively outlawed in key sectors and the right to unionize restricted (see Juhasz, 2006). Iraq had become a test case for American style free market capitalism in the Middle East. Indeed, whilst Thomas Friedman (2005) of the New York Times was keen to point out ‘we are not doing nation-building in Iraq. We are doing nation-creating’, Naomi Klein asserted that: [O]vernight, Iraq went from being one of the most isolated countries in the world, sealed off from the most basic trade by strict UN sanctions, to becoming the widest-open market anywhere. (2007, p. 339) Condemnation of this neo-liberal strategy in Iraq has come from diverse corners. Paul Krugman, of the New York Times and winner of the Nobel Prize for economics, argued that by introducing free trade, supply-side tax policy and privatization into Iraq, the Coalition Provisional Authority ‘undermined the chances for a successful transition to democracy’ and reinforced ‘the sense of many Iraqis that we [America] came as occupiers, not liberators’ (Krugman, 2004). Similar discord was echoed by Newt Gingrich, the former speaker of the House of Representatives, who told Vice President Cheney that ‘Bremer’s [economic] model was totally wrong. Totally’ and added that ‘Bremer is the largest single disaster in American foreign policy in modern times’ (in Woodward, 2006, p. 252). However, what the Iraq experiment demonstrated, and what it is certainly inferable that the Freedom Agenda was attempting to achieve more widely, is that the Bush administration was trying to establish its ‘single sustainable model for national success’ throughout the Middle East; a model designed to undermine and replace political Islam, and not engage with it or allow it to become an alternative to the liberal model. This is of crucial importance not only because the Bush administration was setting out a particular understanding of the concept of freedom, but because this directly relates to the policies the Obama administration has inherited.

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The freedom dilemma: the tension between positive and negative liberty That the Freedom Agenda came to be inscribed with and reflected modernization thesis and neo-liberal logics is unsurprising. As James Goldgeier, in a personal interview with this author at the Council on Foreign Relations, explained, ‘In Washington the extent to which people think about it [democracy promotion], it is modernization theory. The economic development comes first, and then you can have democracy’ (Goldgeier, interview, 18 June 2008). Moreover, that the Freedom Agenda articulated multiple academic ideas together as a method of legitimizing its rationalizations is equally unsurprising given the extent to which it was an amalgamated product of policymakers, Washington think tanks and university professors (see Hassan, 2009). However, through the appropriation of academic theories, articulated with the constant repetition of the word ‘freedom’, the Bush administration revealed a particular definition of the term. Importantly, this essentially contested concept was rarely utilized alone. It was part of a collocation that became defined by the ‘company’ that it kept, and was habitually and predictably articulated with terms such as ‘peace’, ‘democracy’, ‘free trade’ and ‘free markets’. Thus, as the 2002 National Security Strategy set out: [T]he U.S. will use this moment of opportunity to extend the benefits of freedom across the globe . . . We will actively work to bring the hope of democracy, development, free markets, and free trade to every corner of the world. (Emphasis added, NSC, 2002) As a result the abstract boundaries of the term ‘freedom’ were reified and conditioned by ideologically framing the debate around a triumvirate of widely understood American values: ‘freedom, democracy and free enterprise’ (see Reus-Smit, 2004, pp. 34–8). By articulating the triumvirate together what appear to be pluralistic concepts were sutured together in an attempt to close their political contestability. Such an act legitimized the notion that they combine into ‘a single sustainable model for national success’ (NSC, 2002, p. 1). Consequently, through the Freedom Agenda, the US was ‘offering’ the MENA what Isaiah Berlin termed a ‘positive’ conception of liberty. Within this schema, the term freedom was being deployed by the Bush administration to describe the

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name of an end state; the ‘single sustainable model’: that is to say that embedded in the Freedom Agenda was a teleological vision of a future liberal utopia that bestowed a pattern of action. This might well be described as a ‘hard’ form of Hegelianism in which the Bush administration envisioned the need to move towards a utopian vision; rather than perhaps a ‘softer’ Hegelian approach which may well have prescribed a move away from tyranny. This created an absurdity in which ‘freedom’ became the choice of a single ethnocentric pre-configuration of both the political and economic realms; and not the desire on the part of individuals and groups for autonomy or what Berlin referred to as a ‘negative’ conception of liberty. Within this scenario, ‘freedom’ implied the existence of intervention from the United States to help Middle Eastern regimes achieve the ‘single sustainable model’, and as Eric Foner has illustrated, ‘[T]here [was] no sense that other people may have given thought to the question of freedom and arrived at their own conclusions’ (2003, p. 21). The dangers of conferring a positive conception of liberty were strongly pronounced by Berlin, and are worth quoting at length: [T]he ‘positive’ and ‘negative’ notions of freedom historically developed in divergent directions . . . until, in the end, they came into direct conflict with each other . . . The perils of using organic metaphors to justify the coercion of some men by others in order to raise them to a ‘higher’ level of freedom have been pointed out . . . we recognize that it is possible, and at times justifiable, to coerce men in the name of some goal . . . which they would, if they were more enlightened, themselves pursue, but do not because they are blind or ignorant or corrupt. This renders it easy for me to conceive of myself as coercing others for their own sake, in their, not my, interest. I am then claiming that I know what they truly need better than they know it themselves . . . Once I take this view, I am in a position to ignore the actual wishes of men or societies, to bully, oppress, torture them in the name, and on behalf of their ‘real’ selves. (2006, pp. 44–5) This is a prophetic vision of what happened in Iraq, not only through US determination to bestow a neo-liberal policy, but more profoundly in Abu Ghraib prison and beyond. More widely, deploying Berlin’s distinction between positive and negative liberty provides a heuristic devise through which to understand the relationship between the Freedom

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Agenda, the ‘conflict of interests’ problem, and the Islamist dilemma. Instructively, Berlin defined the negative conception of liberty thus: [I] am normally said to be free to the degree to which no man or body of men interferes with my activity . . . If I am prevented by others from doing what I could otherwise do, I am to that degree unfree; and if this area is contracted by other men beyond a certain minimum, I can be described as being coerced, or, it may be, enslaved . . . Coercion implies the deliberate interference of other human beings within the area in which I could otherwise act. (Berlin, 2006) The implications of this are imperative as it can be argued that to the extent that the US has historically favoured stability, and through doing so supported autocratic regimes with military and economic aid packages over popular opposition (whatever its form), the US was complicit in removing that population’s negative liberty under the rubric of American national interests. Consequently, the inhabitants of the MENA cannot be said to have negative liberty to the extent that the US intervenes in the area. This form of freedom is not only undermined by the US desire for primacy over the region, but also through the US promotion of the Freedom Agenda’s positive conception of liberty; they are both disempowering policies of imperial marginalization. That is to say that both the status quo policy adopted prior to 11 September 2001, and the Freedom Agenda (status quo plus policy) deny the peoples of that region autonomy and self-determination.

Conclusion This chapter began its argument based on the premise that to understand the current relationship the US has with political Islam and Islamist-s groups in the MENA, it is necessary to contextualize USMENA relations through the prism of perceived national interests. These interests do not determine behaviour, but constitute part of the strategically selective context in which US foreign policymakers navigate. That is to say, the US has key national interests it pursues in the MENA, and therefore any issue which is likely to affect the geostrategic balance of the region is likely to be subjugated to these interests. This was certainly the case throughout the twentieth century when the US pursued a counter-revolutionary status quo policy, but in light of 11 September 2001 this has fundamentally altered. In its place came a liberal grand

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strategy, in the form of the Freedom Agenda, presented by the Bush administration. This not only helped generate a ‘conflict of interests’ problem at the heart of US engagement with the MENA, but thrust the so-called Islamist dilemma centre stage of US foreign policy. Yet, in spite of this, the US foreign policy elite has largely been resistant to operationalizing a policy that recognizes the diverse plethora of Islamist-s groups in the MENA. This has largely been the case because it is politically expedient to do so. Thus, the ambiguity with regard to the role of Islamists in US policy aids in the process of pursuing national interests and marginalizing the importance of political Islam in the region. Accordingly, the Bush administration pursued a strategy of obfuscation that equated al-Qaeda, Hamas and Hizbullah via their shared ‘evil’ nature. Similarly, instead of clarification, the US has been particularly successful in highlighting the 1979 Islamic revolution in Iran as the paradigm example of ‘Islamists’ coming to power and challenging US power. Indeed, it was since the late 1970s that successive American administrations have been able to argue that should Islamist groups of any variety come to power in the MENA, ‘they would pursue a more confrontational approach in their foreign policy towards the United States and that key US strategic interests would suffer’ (Sharp, 2006a, p. 3). This has certainly been part of the US discourse towards the rise of the AKP in Turkey and fears over the ‘Islamization’ of Turkish foreign policy. Herein, American policymakers have been able to invoke the spectre of 1979 in their official narrative, and it is still commonplace to ask ‘Will country X be another Iran? Is so-and-so another Ayatollah Khomeini?’ (Esposito and Voll, 1996, p. 150). Moreover, rather than engage with political Islam and Islamists groups, the Bush administration sought to marginalize them by institutionalizing the Freedom Agenda, and its policy emphasis on neo-liberal modernization thesis. Rather than claiming that US policy was incoherent in this regard, it is clear that the Bush administration was working on a social engineering project to generate more liberal, secular middle class sectors of MENA societies, which it was assumed would be more pro-American and amenable to the pursuit of American interests than Islamic alternatives. What this highlights is that notions of freedom do not necessarily go hand in hand with the engagement of political Islam. Yet, for the US to meaningfully engage with political Islam in the future, it must not only extend an ‘open hand’, but seek to fundamentally alter the manner in which it pursues a policy of domination over the region in the pursuit of other interests. It is only then

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that a policy of promoting democracy can escape imperialist notions of utopian inspired liberty, and space can be opened for alternative meanings of ‘freedom’ to ferment endogenously.

Note 1. The term ‘emplotment’, refers to the assembly of historical events into a narrative, within a plot.

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List of Interviews Author’s interview with J. Goldgeier, Council for Foreign Relations, Washington DC 18 June 2008.

10 Conclusion Shabnam J. Holliday

This edited volume contributes to the existing literature on the relationship between the European Union (EU) and US, on the one hand, and political Islam on the other. This is done by providing a critique of how these two external actors are perceived in the cases of Egypt, Turkey, Iran, Albania, Palestine and among Lebanese and Palestinian women and Islamist democrats in the Arab world. The edited volume also provides an examination of US policy towards Islamists in the Middle East (Afghanistan and Iraq) as well as a conceptual discussion of the idea of democracy and the implications of this for democracy promotion by external actors. The case studies take the critique of the relationship between the EU and US and political Islam one step further and recommend strategies for engagement. In their chapter ‘EU Democracy Promotion Rethought: The Case of Egypt’ Norval and Abdulrahman provide a conceptual framework to the case studies in this edited volume by deconstructing the idea of democracy as promoted by the EU’s ‘democracy machinery’. They examine, through democratic theory and the case study of Egypt, the basis on which EU democracy promotion is built and demonstrate the meanings attached to this highly contentious concept. They argue that the Egyptian experience shows that the EU plays the role of a normative democratic power. In reaction to Egypt’s failure to keep up with global trends of liberalization, democracy is presented by the EU as a means of enabling free market mechanisms to flourish and of installing stable governance. The supposedly normative and democratic nature of the EU is reflected in the EU’s lack of engagement with Islamism in Egypt and with informal democratic struggles. As in the case of Hamas in Palestine and other Arab Islamist democrats, as argued by Pace and El-Affendi respectively, Islamists are excluded from the EU’s democracy radar 192

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(Pace, 2009, p. 47). In the case of Egypt it is the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood that escapes the EU’s attention. Building on the work of Tully and Foucault, Norval and Abdulrahman argue that the EU’s understanding of democracy is based on a particular historical encounter between liberalism and democracy. Furthermore, they argue that there are parallels between democracy promotion and ‘practices of governance’ that are ‘extended around the world by formal and informal imperial means’. Norval and Abdulrahman contend that the EU’s democratization project can be seen in the same light as these practices of governance; this too is ‘a mission to foster and install practices of governance as “imperial right” ’. In light of these factors and dynamics, Norval and Abdulrahman argue that we need ‘to democratize liberalism (even as we also need to liberalize democracy)’. They recommend that the EU adopts a radical aversive understanding of democracy, whereby the EU does not seek to jump to conclusions about where democracy may appear or about who is involved in the process. Rather, the EU should support democratic struggles, wherever and however they appear. The other case studies presented in this edited volume seem to reaffirm this contention that the EU plays the role of a normative democratic power and that this also seems to be the case with the US. Both the EU and the US appear to be highly selective in the kind of democracy they purport to support. However, the case studies also reveal inconsistencies in these external actors’ support of democracy in Muslim or predominantly Muslim societies. Furthermore, it is clear, in some cases, that EU and/or US policies jeopardize the articulation of democracy and/or democratization. In other cases, for many of the actors addressed in the case studies, the impact of their relationship with the EU and/or US is a negative one. The case studies in this edited volume thereby not only shed light on what kind of actor/s the EU and/or the US is/are as reflected in their approach to political Islam and democracy, but also how these external actors are perceived by local agents in the cases. The case studies share in common a move away from a focus on how the EU and/or the US view their relationship with the various local actors and instead concentrate on how these actors, that is, the EU and the US, as well as their relationships with local actors, are perceived from within the case studies. By looking at perceptions of the EU and US, the case studies reassess the nature of these external actors’ engagement in the democratization process of various majority Muslim societies. Based on this approach, it becomes clear that what the EU/US think they are doing and what they

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are actually doing are often very different. The case studies also show how, on the one hand, political Islam is engaged with in different ways and how, on the other hand, the articulation of democracy in predominantly Muslim societies, or societies with large Muslim populations, is dealt with in different ways. Thus, it becomes clear that EU and US policies are often inconsistent. These dynamics call into question what kind of democracy the EU and the US actually desire in the societies outside their borders that they engage with, or whether it is democracy that they want at all. In Akçali’s chapter, ‘EU, Political Islam and Polarization of Turkish Society’, the focus of analysis is the impact of a state becoming an official EU candidate and the EU’s democratization process on Turkey. Akçali argues that while there has been a pluralization of society because the previously marginalized anti-establishment groups have been empowered, there has also been a polarization of Turkish society rather than an enabling of genuine democratization. This is evident in the absence of a ‘middle ground’ between anti-establishment groups, such as liberals, pro-Islamists and some pro-Kurdish and socialist parties, and proestablishment groups, such as secularists, Kemalists, pre-republicans, nationalists, and some socialists. Akçali also highlights that the EU was silent during the Ergenekon case when there were human rights violations of Kemalist, pro-republican and secularist detainees. The impact of this has been the arousal in many Turks of the perception of the EU as a ‘sinister imperialist power’. Based on this analysis, Akçali recommends that the democratization efforts of Western third parties need to be analysed at deeper societal levels for their impact on the ground and the day-to-day well-being of democratic subjects. This chapter and its analysis of Turkey-EU relations also shows how in the case of the Islamist Justice and Development Party (AKP – Adalet ve Kalkinma Partisi), the EU is actually engaging directly with an Islamist political party, and furthermore one involved in a democratic process. Indeed, as is contended by Akçali, the AKP, a pro-Islamist party has also had an instrumental understanding of democracy in Turkey. The EU’s engagement with the AKP raises the question of whether this is an exception in terms of the EU’s engagement with political Islam. If this model of engagement were to be followed elsewhere, then surely Hamas would be an ideal partner. It should be mentioned, however, that El-Affendi draws attention to the debate regarding the extent to which AKP can be considered Islamist. He states that it is also argued that the AKP cannot be categorized as Islamist since it does not have

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an Islamist agenda and the party disowns the Islamist label. Nevertheless, as El-Affendi elucidates, the AKP experience, as well as the politics of Khatami’s presidency (1997–2005) in Iran, came about without any help from external actors. This suggests, therefore, that external actors such as the EU and US are not needed for democracy to develop. The idea of democracy in the Islamic Republic of Iran is addressed in Holliday’s chapter on ‘Democratization in Iran: A Role for the EU?’ The primary focus is on Iran’s democracy movement during Ahmadinezhad’s presidency. It is argued that international and domestic politics are interdependent, particularly in this case. In this regard, the EU’s policy towards Iran’s nuclear programme, which the EU believes has military intentions, and towards human rights violations by Ahmadinezhad’s administration, have an impact on Iran’s democracy movement. In response to the human rights matter, the EU employs ‘positive measures’, whereas in response to the nuclear issue it continues to contemplate ‘negative measures’ in the form of economic sanctions. It is further argued that the negative measures that may be employed contradict any positive measures taken: economic sanctions will ultimately have the same impact on Iran as they would if they were employed in relation to human rights abuses. Based on this analysis, it is suggested that if the EU wants to promote and enable democracy to truly flourish in Iran, it needs to engage directly with the varied members of the democracy movement. Furthermore, by analysing the ideas of democracy as articulated in Iran and as they are reflected in the democracy movement, it becomes clear that the perception of the ‘West’ articulated by members of the democracy movement addressed in the chapter is integral to how they believe democracy can be achieved in Iran. For the Islamic Republic of Iran as well as many Iranians, the historical role played by European powers and the US in Iran’s affairs, in the form of indirect colonialism, means that democracy should be achieved from within Iran. Thus, once again the historical legacy of European powers and a perception of external actors as imperialist influence the relationship with the EU and/or US. The articulation of the Peace and Democracy Discourse and the events surrounding the tenth presidential election in June 2009 show that Iran’s democracy movement is made up of a number of groups: reformists, students, the women’s movement, human rights activists and academics among others. Of particular significance here is that Iran’s reformists demonstrate an idea of democracy as being articulated by Islamists. Thus, parallels can be drawn here with the cases examined by Pace, Al-Effendi, Akçali and Norval and Abdulrahman.

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However, it should be stressed that in Iran’s case, while the idea of Islamic democracy as articulated by reformists has evolved out of the Islamic Republic, it is not in reaction to the dominance of secular politics. Furthermore, existing alongside the idea of Islamic democracy are also ideas of secular democracy as articulated by Ganji among others, which has also evolved out of the Islamic Republic, as well as ideas of secular democracy, the roots of which pre-date the establishment of the Islamic Republic of Iran. The focus of Holt’s chapter on ‘Challenging Preconceptions: Women and Islamic Resistance’ is, precisely, perceptions of Lebanese and Palestinian women. Her analysis of their perceptions of the EU shows how the historical legacy of colonialism, as well as occupation, influences how the EU is seen. This is represented in the women’s relationship with masculine-based nationalism, Israeli occupation and EU policy towards Israel. Masculine-based nationalism, which is a reaction to colonial interference, is no longer seen as an appropriate means of resisting Israeli occupation. This, in addition to the EU’s policy towards Israel, which is perceived as biased towards Israel, means that for these women the most effective means of resistance is Islam. Furthermore, Holt argues that this EU perceived bias has a negative impact on the women and their families. Thus, the EU has had an impact on these women both historically, through colonization and contemporaneously, through its policy towards Israel. The recommended strategy for engagement here is an appreciation of the dynamics on the ground as they are lived by these women. Holt suggests that both the European public and the EU would profit from a closer look at the dilemmas faced by these women, who are experiencing violent conflict on a day-to-day basis. Significant to the discussion of women in Muslim societies, these women and also the women in Iran’s democracy movement, who play a very important and vocal part in the democratization process there, also show that, contrary to many Western preconceptions, women are very active in political discourses. This is an important finding that contradicts the image often constructed in the West regarding women in the Muslim world: that they are excluded from political forums and are not part of or reject Islamist discourses in particular. However, it should also be stressed there are also women who reject political Islam in whatever form it appears, as well as those who reject political Islam when it is used as an excuse for violence.

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Pace’s chapter, ‘Democracy Promotion in the Context of an Occupied Nation? The Case of Palestine’, as the title suggests, like Holt, deals with the theme of occupation. Both the Palestinian Territory’s relationship with Israel, in the form of occupied-occupier, as well as the EU’s attitudes towards Israel, are integral to how the EU is perceived in this case study. In her analysis of the EU’s engagement in democracy promotion in Palestine, Pace highlights how, since the 2006 elections, the EU has lost the credibility and legitimacy it had built up over many years in the eyes of most actors in Palestine. Consequently, the EU is mistrusted and suspicion is now also cast on Palestinian non-governmental organizations (NGOs) who are believed by many to pursue EU and US agendas. Pace also draws attention to Hamas’ approach towards democracy. Her interviews with Hamas members from the movement’s political wing show that they are aware of the environment needed for democracy to flourish: an end to Israeli occupation. With this in mind, Pace’s strategy for EU engagement in Palestine is three-fold. Firstly, like Holt, Pace argues that the EU should be more aware of the real dynamics on the ground in Palestine; the EU should engage more with the Palestinian people and focus on their real needs and political rights. Secondly, the EU should make the most of the negative legacy of the Bush administration in this case as this is a vacuum the EU can fill and an opportunity it should not miss. This includes engaging with Islamists in the form of Hamas elected Palestinian Legislative Council members. Thirdly, the EU should put pressure on Israel to abide by international norms and assume its responsibilities as an occupying power, rather than the EU acting as the paymaster for this long-lasting occupation. In his chapter, ‘The Islamism Debate Revisited: In Search of “Islamist Democrats” ’, El-Affendi examines the relationship between the ‘West’ and Islamist democrats. As in the case studies on Turkey, Palestinian and Lebanese women, and Iran’s democracy movement, the notion of the legacy of European colonialism is also highlighted here. El-Affendi argues that the possessive discourse of Western policy-makers towards Arab states is reminiscent of colonialism. He highlights the similarly ‘controlling’ attitude of US diplomats in particular towards Muslim countries that are thought to have been overtaken by ‘fundamentalists’ out of the grasp of external actors. El-Affendi argues that this portrays an enduring colonial assumption. He also argues that democratic development lies with Islamist democrats. For example, based on his interviews in the 1980s with Islamist democrats such as Malaysia’s Anwar Ibrahim, Tunisia’s Rachid al-Ghannoushi and Turkey’s Erbakan, he argues that

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their commitment to democracy was clear. Like Pace, El-Affendi recommends that a strategy for engagement means direct engagement because the future of democracy is in their hands. However, it is not the Islamist democrats with whom Western policy-makers engage, but rather ‘local despots’. It is these authoritarian regimes that have hindered and are still hindering democratic development in the Arab world. El-Affendi also suggests that the Islamists from their part also need to adapt their strategies so as to break the deadlock in Islamist politics. In some cases this would mean withdrawing from politics and acting as a pressure group and in other cases, radically restructuring Islamist programmes so as to attract a broader democratic coalition and make for a more stable political structure overall. The focus of Barbullushi’s chapter on ‘The Politics of “Religious Tolerance” in Post-communist Albania: Ideology, Security and Euro-Atlantic Integration’, like Akçali’s chapter, is on a country aspiring to be an EU member state: Albania. Barbullushi highlights how Albanian political elites have used the notion of ‘religious tolerance’ to create a sense of Albanian national identity. These political elites have ‘re-articulated the nationalist myth of “indifference to religion” as “religious tolerance” in the context of the new hegemonic discourse of “politics of no adversaries” ’. However, unlike the other cases addressed in this edited volume, in the case of Albania, historical experience is not based on the legacy of Western colonialism. Rather, it is based on Albania being part of both the Ottoman Empire and the Communist bloc. Thus, Albania, over two historical periods, has been part of what has been constructed as the ‘other’ in relation to Europe and the US. Furthermore, it has a large Muslim population. In response to these dynamics, Barbullushi argues, Albanian political elites have not only had to create a sense of national unity that is ‘Albanian’, as opposed to Ottoman or Communist, but they have had to also create a sense of national unity in such a way that they are perceived as acceptable to the EU and the US and suitable for Euro-Atlantic integration. A parallel can be drawn here with the case of Turkey as addressed by Akçali. Both Albania and Turkey have at some stage been part of Europe’s ‘other’ and both states want external recognition in the form of EU member state status. In the case of Albania, as Barbullushi argues, this is constructed through a ‘return to Europe’ identity discourse whereby the inseparable nature of ‘religious tolerance’ and ‘national security’ is articulated. Furthermore, Albanian elites have been forced to import an understanding of democracy, as well as statehood, which is being exported by the EU to its periphery and to states aspiring to be EU member states.

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Like Pace and Al-Effendi, in his chapter on ‘America’s Freedom Dilemma for the Middle East: Interests or Democracy?’, Hassan also calls for an engagement with Islamists, this time specifically by the US. In this chapter on US involvement in the Middle East, Hassan argues that US policy is based on Pax Americana rather than engagement. He argues that until 11 September 2001 American involvement was based on long-standing national interests, namely Israel and oil. However, in the aftermath of 11 September 2001, the US saw the region as a stability problem. Hassan’s contention is that in response to these dynamics, US policy was based on an ideological commitment to a neo-liberal modernization thesis. Thus, because of this strategy, engagement with Islamists has been marked out of subsequent administrations’ policies. While the Obama administration’s strategy is more pragmatic than that of the Bush administration, it still does not allow for negotiations with Islamists. Hassan argues that if the US wants to truly engage in the Middle East, it needs to make a conceptual shift whereby the idea of liberty is not constructed as an end point in history, but rather as a progression away from tyranny. This conceptual shift would allow for engagement with Islamists. As mentioned above, the case studies presented in this edited volume reaffirm that the EU and the US are inconsistent in their approach to political Islam and democracy in Muslim, or predominantly Muslim societies. In addition to this, in some cases EU and/or US policies actually jeopardize the articulation of democracy and/or democratization. The inconsistency and possible negative impact of the EU and the US becomes apparent when the different case studies are examined alongside each other. For example, a look at the case of Turkey alongside other cases presented in this edited volume highlights the EU’s inconsistency in its approach to democracy. In the case of Turkey, as Akçali has argued, on the one hand the EU has played a role in empowering the anti-establishment groups, which include pro-Islamists. On the other hand, as Akçali also argues, the EU engaged and supported the AKP in Turkey, not because it is Islamist, but because it is perceived as conforming to the neo-liberal understanding prevailing in the EU. Nevertheless, while the EU supports Islamists in Turkey, in the case of the Arab world, it is the Islamists who are not engaged with. As highlighted by Norval and Abdulrahman, the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood, which like many other Islamist movements is considered a very important opposition voice, is ignored in the EU’s promotion of democracy in Egypt. Similarly, Pace argues that in its promotion of democracy in the Palestinian Territory the EU also needs to engage with Islamists, namely Hamas,

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as the movement is a very important part of the Palestinian political landscape, not least because Hamas now controls Gaza. Her chapter also shows that the Islamist movement Hamas is not averse to the idea of democracy. Indeed, as far as El-Affendi is concerned, the future of democracy in the Arab world lies in the hands of Islamist democrats, and therefore Western policymakers need to engage with them. And finally, Hassan contends that the US’s commitment to a neo-liberal modernization thesis prevents them from engaging with Islamists. Furthermore, both Turkey and Egypt are considered as allies of the EU and US. However, while the idea of democracy is supported in the former, in the latter it seems that the support is only in name because continuous and informal democratic struggles are ignored. In addition to this, as is reflected in the chapters by Akçali, Hassan and Norval and Abdulrahman, it would also seem that it is actually a neo-liberal agenda the EU and the US are more concerned with rather than democracy. In this sense the EU and the US do not differ. Inconsistency in the promotion of democracy is also evident in that it seems that the EU and/or US actually hinder democratization or indigenous democracy movements. As Akçali has argued, the EU’s support for anti-establishment groups has caused a polarization of Turkish society as opposed to democratization. The idea of polarization is another theme across this edited volume. In Palestine the EU is complicit in furthering the polarization of Palestinian society, especially between Fatah and Hamas, and in other cases too. It also seems that a common impact of the general attitude of the EU and the US, as highlighted by Hassan and Al-Effendi, towards most Islamist movements is one of polarization of societies between Islamist or pro-Islamist forces and those opposing the idea of political Islam. In the case of Albania, however, the discourse of ‘religious tolerance’, as contended by Barbullushi, is a means of creating national unity in an already polarized society. But significantly, this idea of ‘religious tolerance’ is constructed in reaction to the pressures imposed on Albania by the EU to comply with its idea of democracy. In the case of Iran, as Holliday has shown, and as far as Iran’s democracy movement is concerned, economic sanctions employed by the international community, which includes both the EU and the US, as well as threats of military attack, allow for the violation of human rights abuses by Ahmadinezhad’s administration; human rights and women’s rights activists are detained in the name of national security. This in turn poses a threat to political activists who are part of the democracy movement. In the case of the Palestinian Territory, as Pace demonstrates, it would seem that Israeli occupation is a hindrance to

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the flourishing of Palestinian democracy. These examples call into question whether the EU and US actually want democracy. It is certainly possible that the EU and US are averse to the type of democracy that may develop, as well as its impact on domestic and regional politics, were the opportunity for such a change to arise, as was the case in Palestine in 2006. The idea of whether the EU and US want democracy in the cases examined in this edited volume is also raised when the strategies for engaging political Islam recommended are examined. Holt, Pace and Holliday all call for the dynamics on the ground to be examined by external actors more closely, which include listening to the desires of the people. It is worth addressing here what is meant by listening, and in this regard Iran’s former president Khatami makes some valuable points in his speeches calling for ‘dialogue among civilizations’. It has been argued elsewhere that among the several factors integral to Khatami’s notion of dialogue is ‘listening as an “active engagement” rather than as a “passive activity” ’ (Holliday, 2010, p. 8). Thus, the EU and US should be active, rather than passive, in their listening to the desires of the people. If active listening and engagement were to be practiced in the case of Lebanese and Palestinian women, as Holt suggests, the EU, and for that matter the US, would realize that as part of disempowered populations, these women need to find a means to protect the honour and sanctity of their communities, especially since they do not have powerful armies or allies. Furthermore, Holt argues they have the right to position themselves at ‘the forefront of activism’. As for the case of the Palestinians in general, active listening and engagement on the part of the EU, if EU actors wish to save their legitimacy, as Pace argues, would mean a realization that the EU should ‘show a true commitment for the respect for human rights throughout the Middle East’. This can be achieved through continuous announcements. As far as Iran is concerned, as Holliday contends, the EU should listen to what members of Iran’s democracy movement demand of the international community. Active engagement and listening by the EU, and for that matter the US, means an understanding that the employment of economic sanctions in response to Iran’s nuclear programme has a negative impact on the democracy movement. Furthermore, the threat of military attack also has the same impact. Thus, in this regard, the EU and US would also have to put pressure on Israel. All these case studies show how politics are fluid and consequently how the ideas of democracy, political Islam, and relations between local

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actors in the cases and external actors such as the EU and US are constantly being constructed and reconstructed. The case studies also demonstrate that the more dominant partner in considerations of so-called ‘engagement’ with political Islam in many ways appears to be the EU and/or the US in that the rules of engagement are still determined by these two actors. This is reflected in what type of, how, where and when democracy is promoted or enabled. Based on these dynamics, combinations of practical and conceptual strategies have been recommended as outlined above. Furthermore, the failure to closely examine the dynamics on the ground demonstrates, as mentioned above, an indisposition for democracy that evolves out of a non-Western historical experience, and more specifically out of Islamist politics. If it is democracy that the EU and US want in the cases examined here, these analyses show that both external actors would have to make a conceptual shift in how they understand democracy outside their borders. Firstly, this edited volume has illustrated that in several cases, the historical legacy of colonialism, indirect colonialism and occupation, and in some cases the continued perception of certain actors as colonial entities has an important impact on the role of external actors in democracy promotion. Thus, the perception of the nature of the historical relationship plays a role in contemporary relationships with the EU and/or the US. Therefore, both actors need to appreciate the direct and indirect impact, both historically and contemporaneously, their policies have on how they are perceived and in practical terms in the sites of engagement. Secondly, both actors need to understand that in many cases, Islam, and particularly political Islam, has been chosen as the most appropriate means of dealing with politics, both domestically and internationally. In this regard, the case studies have also shown how international and domestic politics are interdependent: the aspirations of external actors, such as the EU and US, have an impact on domestic politics. However, it is also the case that political development is taking place regardless of the aspirations of the same external actors. Finally and of particular significance, as has been argued by El-Affendi, and shown by Pace, Akçali, Holliday and Norval and Abdulrahman, democratic development is taking place among Islamists. A shift towards a radical aversive conception of democracy that appreciates and supports democracy wherever it may appear and however it may appear, as argued by Norval ad Abdulrahman, would allow the EU and US to engage with Islamists that advocate democracy.

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Bibliography Holliday, S. J. (2010) ‘Khatami’s Islamist-Iranian Discourse of National Identity: A Discourse of Resistance’, British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, 37(1), 1–13. Pace, M. (2009) ‘Paradoxes and Contradictions in EU Democracy Promotion in the Mediterranean: The Limits of EU Normative Power’, Democratization, 16(1), 39–58.

Index

A Abbas, Mahmoud, 21 Afghanistan, 1, 9, 64, 67, 105, 126, 134, 161, 192 agonistic pluralism, 41, 43, 53 Ahmadinezhad, Mahmoud, vii, 5, 58, 63, 67–9, 71–2, 74, 195, 200 Albanianism, 140–1, 146, 149, 153 Albanian national Renaissance, 140–1, 145, 148–9, 151 Albania, viii–ix, 1–2, 4, 6, 53, 140–4, 146, 148–52, 155–7, 192, 198, 200 Algeria, 32, 83–4, 129–30, 132, 135, 162, 175 al-Ghannoushi, Rachid, 135, 197 Al-Qaeda, 126, 161, 185 America, ix, 7, 67, 129, 162–3, 165, 167, 170–2, 181, 199 see also United States anti-immigration parties, 133 Arab Human Development Report, viii, 33 Arab world, vii, 2, 81–6, 88, 94, 96–7, 128–30, 136, 171–3, 178, 192, 198–200 Arafat, Yasser, 111 Armenia, 47 Association Agreement, 18, 108–9, 112, 140, 142, 156 Austria, 40 authoritarianism, 3, 20, 60, 128, 173 authoritarian regimes, 1, 6–7, 11, 18, 41, 109, 129–30, 178, 198 B Badawi, Abdullah, 136 Bahrain, 129–30 Balkans, ix, 1–3, 8, 141–2, 146–7, 151–2 basic needs, 6, 113, 116–19 Bayat, Asef, 58, 61, 74, 135

Berisha, Sali, 148–50, 152, 157 Britain, viii, 63, 68, 74, 120, 164 see also United Kingdom Bush, George W, 6–8, 33, 64, 118, 163, 169–72, 174–8, 180–3, 185, 197, 199 C Carter, Jimmy, 165 Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), 47, 164, 166 China, 167–8 Christian, 81, 132, 137, 146, 153 Democratic Party, 22, 132 civil society, 6, 12–13, 15, 23–4, 26–7, 29, 45, 60, 66, 69, 103, 106, 108, 114, 116, 137 activists, 22, 30 actors, 27, 41, 49, 108 organizations, 13, 27, 45, 67, 108, 110 Cold War, 40, 47, 59, 135, 147, 157, 164, 168, 176 post-, 116–17, 157, 165, 174 see also post-communist comitology system, 106 Congress, ix, 65, 165 Croatia, 142 Cyprus, vii, 45–6 Northern, 46 Republic of (RoC), 41, 46 D democracy, vii–ix, 1–8, 10–20, 22, 26–33, 35, 40, 42–4, 47, 52–3, 58–74, 95, 103, 106, 108, 111–13, 115, 117, 119, 121, 128–9, 134–7, 141, 144, 154–5, 161–3, 170–8, 180–2, 186, 192–202 assistance, 102, 109 aversive, vi, 30, 60, 68, 73, 118

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Index building, 5–6, 74, 103, 105–6, 108, 110–16, 118–21 illiberal, 128 Islamic, 5, 8, 60, 196 liberal, vi, 3, 11–12, 16, 40, 43–4, 52–4, 87, 113, 116, 118, 128 promotion, vii–ix, 1–2, 5, 8, 11, 13–5, 17–9, 23–6, 28–30, 32–3, 42, 49, 59, 102–3, 105, 107–8, 114, 128, 163, 170–2, 174–5, 180, 182, 192–3, 197, 199, 202 radical, 15, 35, 68, 73 secular, 5, 60, 196 democratic, vi, 3–6, 10–20, 22–3, 25–6, 28–32, 35, 40–1, 43, 48–51, 53–4, 59–62, 64–7, 69–70, 72, 74, 104–5, 107–9, 111, 113–14, 117–20, 127–8, 130, 134, 137–8, 141–4, 146–8, 151, 154, 156, 172–5, 178, 180, 192–4, 197–8, 200, 202 ethos, 10–11, 23, 103 Party (DP) / parties, 22, 25, 111, 148–9, 157, 172 democratization, vi–viii, 2, 4–5, 7, 11, 14–15, 24–5, 28, 31, 41–4, 46, 50, 52–4, 58, 64–5, 69–70, 73, 102, 106–7, 115, 119–20, 127, 143, 163, 169, 172, 178, 193–6, 199–200 dominate / domination, 23, 89, 92, 125, 129, 142, 162 / ix, 8, 74, 83, 85, 115, 163, 165, 172, 174, 185 Dulles, John Foster, 165 E Ebadi, Shirin, 66, 71, 73 economic, vi, 7, 10, 18, 22, 29–30, 33–4, 36, 40, 44–6, 52, 54, 66, 68, 71, 73–4, 103, 107, 109–11, 116–18, 121, 144–5, 148, 150, 155, 158, 163, 165, 167–8, 170–2, 177–81, 183–4, 195, 200–1 development, 33, 106, 112, 116, 182 policies, 23, 29–30, 32, 54 economy, 52, 66, 151, 154, 167, 178–81 global, 10, 18, 166–7 market, 23, 25, 29, 40, 145

205

Egypt, vi, 1, 4, 10–12, 18–21, 24, 26, 28–9, 32–6, 84, 105, 126–7, 129–30, 132, 162, 169, 173, 175, 177, 192–3, 199–200 elections, 6, 8, 12, 16–17, 52, 62, 69, 72, 82, 103–5, 107–10, 112, 115, 120–1, 129–30, 150, 162, 173–4, 180, 197 presidential, 21–2, 70 elite, 4, 6, 27, 41–2, 45, 51, 84, 108, 140–5, 147–52, 154–8, 162, 171, 174, 185, 198 engagement, 1–4, 6–8, 15, 53–4, 59–60, 64, 68, 73, 82, 87, 91, 119, 175–6, 185, 192–4, 196–9, 201–2 Erbakan, Necmettin, 135, 197 Euro-Atlantic orientation, 151 Euro-Mediterranean, viii, 20, 30, 109 Parliamentary Assembly (EMPA), 107 Partnership, 36, 109 European, vi, viii–ix, 1–2, 5, 10–11, 14–15, 17–19, 22, 30, 32–3, 40–1, 46, 49, 52, 70, 72–3, 81, 83–5, 97, 103, 105, 107, 109, 113, 117, 120–1, 135–6, 140, 142, 149, 155, 162, 166, 195–7 Commission, 11–13, 15, 19–23, 30, 32–3, 46, 48, 54, 102, 106–7, 109, 120–1 Council, 102–3, 105–6, 109, 112 Instrument for Democracy and Human Rights (EIDHR), 12–13, 19–20, 106, 108, 121 Neighbourhood and Partnership Initiative (ENPI), 25, 106 Neighbourhood Policy (ENP), 8, 18, 23, 33, 109–10 Parliament, 22, 102, 106–7, 117 Union (EU), vii–ix, 1–32, 34, 40–2, 44–7, 49–55, 58–60, 62–5, 68, 71–3, 81–2, 89, 96–7, 102–21, 137–8, 140–5, 154–6, 163, 176, 192–202 F Fatah, 21, 104, 110–11, 113, 120, 136, 138, 176, 200 Fayyad, Salam, 110

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Index

Feminism / feminist, 95 / vi, 61, 70, 80, 88, 95 Ferrero-Waldner, Benita, 12, 63, 104 Foucault, Michel, 14, 86–7, 193 France, vi, 40, 63, 120, 169 freedom, 7–8, 14–15, 31–3, 45–6, 60, 64–7, 71, 85, 93, 96, 116, 118, 127, 144, 161–3, 168, 170–2, 176, 178, 181–6, 199 agenda, ix, 7, 163, 169–72, 174–85 of association, 13, 135–6 of expression, 13, 31, 63, 133, 157 of movement, 18, 110, 115, 144 of speech, 16, 40 fundamental freedoms, 12–13, 106–7 G Ganji, Akbar, 61–2, 64–5, 68, 71, 73, 196 Gaza / Gaza Strip, 17, 21, 32, 80, 91–3, 98, 104–5, 110, 112, 114, 120, 136, 200 gender, 45, 80–1, 83–5, 87–8, 91–2, 94–5, 98, 113 Germany, 34, 40, 63 globalization, vii, 19, 42, 52–4 Gore, Al, 135 governance, 11, 14–15, 19, 24, 26–9, 31, 104, 113, 132, 141–8, 154, 164, 192–3 good, 13, 25, 104, 177, 180 techniques, 20 transnational, 14 Greece, 41, 46, 142, 148, 151, 156, 165 Gül, Abdullah, 46 Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC), 168 H Hamas, 9, 21, 82, 93, 96–7, 103–5, 109–13, 119–21, 125, 130, 136–8, 161, 173, 176, 185, 192, 194, 197, 199–200 Hamgar¯ay¯ı-yi Junbish-i Zan¯an (the Coalition of the [Iranian] Women’s Movement), 70 Hedayat, Bahareh, 70, 73 Hizbullah, 9, 80, 82, 88–9, 97, 136, 161, 173, 176, 185

human rights, ix, 5, 12–20, 25–6, 28, 32–3, 35–6, 51, 58–60, 62–3, 65–7, 69–73, 94, 102, 105–6, 108, 115–16, 120, 127, 138, 141–2, 154, 194–5, 200–1 discourse, vi, 19, 155 European Convention on, 135 European Court of, 46, 135 promotion, vi, 59, 73 Hussain, Saddam, 126 I Ibrahim, Anwar, 135, 197 ideological repertoires / lenses, 144, 154 imperialism / imperialistic, 61, 63–4, 67–8, 74, 88 / 163 anti-, vii, 5, 58, 64, 66–7 India, 167 interests, ix, 3, 7–8, 10, 12, 19, 25, 31, 59, 64, 85, 108, 114–15, 118–21, 127, 131, 135, 141, 152, 156, 158, 161, 163–6, 168–76, 183–5 conflict of, 163, 170, 172, 184–5 national, 7, 162–3, 165, 167, 170, 172, 174–5, 184–5, 199 International Monetary Fund (IMF), 46, 54 Iran, Islamic Republic of, vii, 1–2, 4–5, 58–69, 71–4, 86, 88, 114, 125–6, 128, 133, 136, 138, 161, 164–5, 167–8, 177, 185, 192, 195–7, 200–1 Iraq, 1, 64, 66–7, 74, 84, 88, 105, 126, 134, 164, 168, 171, 173–5, 177, 180–1, 183, 192 Islamic, vi–viii, 2, 5, 7–8, 30–1, 34, 41, 55, 60–2, 66, 70, 79, 80–3, 86–90, 92, 95–7, 113–14, 119, 125, 131, 135–6, 149–52, 157, 161, 165, 173, 178, 185, 196 Conference Organization (ICO), 149–50, 152 radicalization, 10 theology, 31 Islamists, 1–3, 6, 22, 33–4, 50, 87, 92, 106, 112–13, 118–19, 126–34, 137, 161–2, 174–6, 185, 192, 194–5, 197–200, 202

Index Islamist, vii, 1, 5–6, 45–8, 51–3, 61, 70–1, 74, 88, 94–5, 104, 126–9, 131–4, 136–7, 174–5, 178, 194–6, 198–200, 202 democrats, 6, 125, 131, 135, 137, 192, 197–8, 200 dilemma, 134, 163, 170, 172, 184–5 forces, 22, 30 groups, 2–3, 7, 80, 88, 94, 112, 127, 131, 133–4, 136–7, 161–3, 173–6, 178, 184–5 movements, 1–3, 5, 9, 21, 52, 82, 84, 88, 95, 117, 128, 130, 161, 175, 179, 199–200 opposition, 135, 174 parties, 1, 4, 82, 129, 132, 194 Islam, viii, 4, 31, 36, 58–9, 61, 74, 80, 86–8, 92, 94–7, 114, 145, 149, 152–3, 157–8, 196, 202 political, vii, 1–2, 5, 9, 40, 42, 52–3, 59–60, 72, 89, 113, 161–2, 174, 178–9, 181, 184–5, 192–4, 196, 199–202 Israel, 5, 21, 32, 65, 67, 74, 79, 81, 83, 88, 93, 96, 103, 109–12, 115, 119–21, 125–7, 136–7, 163, 169, 173–4, 196–7, 199, 201 see also Jewish state Italy, 142, 148 J Jewish state, 137 see also Israel Jibh-i Sabz (the Green Movement, Iran), 58, 72–4 jihad, 79, 87, 91, 93 Jordan, 32, 126, 129–30, 164, 175 Justice and Development Party (AKP), 45–9, 51–2, 55, 131–2, 134, 175, 185, 194–5, 199 K Karroubi, Mehdi, 58, 69, 72, 75 Khatami, Seyyed Muhammad, vii, 59–63, 69, 73–4, 133, 136, 195, 201 Khomeini, Ayatollah, 185

207

Kurdistan Worker’s Party (PKK), 47, 51 Kuwait, 129–30, 134, 175 L Lebanon, vii, 1, 4, 23, 32, 72, 80, 82, 88–90, 95–7, 134, 161, 164, 173, 196 liberalism, ix, 3, 16, 117, 129, 193 neo-, 163, 177 liberalization, 10, 23–4, 117, 179–80, 192 economic, 10, 22, 29, 178 liberal values, 114, 119 liberty, 33, 108, 170, 177–8, 182–4, 186, 199 M Macedonia, 142 Malaysia, 135–6, 197 mardums¯al¯ar¯ı (literally, government by the people), 60–1 martyr, 82, 89–93 masculine / masculinity, 83, 91, 96, 196 / 83–4, 97 Middle East, vi–ix, 1–3, 5–10, 31–3, 96, 102–3, 105–6, 108, 110–11, 113–21, 127–8, 161, 164–73, 176–81, 192, 199, 201 broader / wider, 18 / 2–3 conflict, 102–3, 111 see also conflict, ArabIsraeli / Palestinian-Israeli and North Africa (MENA), 7–8, 13, 107, 109, 114, 116–18, 161–6, 168–75, 177–80, 182, 184–5 Peace Process (MEPP), 109 military bases, 163, 168, 174 Mish’al, Khalid, 104 Modernity, viii, 27, 35, 58, 80–9, 93–4, 97, 145, 178 Modernization, 24, 26–7, 29, 41, 54, 83–4, 86, 88, 163, 178, 182 thesis, 7, 163, 177–8, 182, 185, 199–200 Morocco, 10, 32, 129, 134, 175 Mosaddegh, Mohammed, 164 Mothers for Peace, 64, 67–8 Mousavi, Mir-Hossein, 58, 69–75

208

Index

Mubarak, Hosni, 21, 36, 127, 130 Muhammad, Mahathir, 135 Muslim Brotherhood, 4, 21–2, 24, 31, 33–4, 36, 130, 173, 193, 199 Muslim, vii–viii, 21, 31, 34, 41, 58–9, 61, 67, 74, 80–4, 86–9, 91, 94–7, 113, 126, 146–7, 149, 153, 156–7, 175–6, 193–4, 196–9 see also Shi’a and Sunni N National, vii–viii, 7, 24–6, 35, 42, 44, 52, 54, 63, 66, 68, 71–2, 79, 81, 83–6, 88, 90–2, 96–7, 104, 120, 126, 132, 136, 141–2, 144–6, 148, 151–2, 154–5, 157, 162–3, 165, 167–75, 180–2, 184–5, 198–200 Democratic Party (NDP), 25 Peace Council, 64, 66, 68 Unity Government (NUG), 113 neo-conservative, 125, 127 non-governmental organization (NGO), 6, 20, 22, 25–7, 30, 34–6, 47, 55, 64, 67, 70, 106, 108, 114, 119, 197 North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), 47, 154 Nour, Ayman, 22 O Obama, Barak, 7–8, 118, 181, 199 occupation, 74, 79, 82, 91, 93, 96–7, 103, 111–13, 117, 134, 137, 196–7, 200, 202 occupied, 79, 90, 96, 197 nation, 5, 102, 197 territory, 2, 21, 91, 103, 117 oil, 163, 166–9, 174, 199 Oslo Agreement, 121, 125 P Palestine, 1–2, 4–6, 17, 72, 91, 93, 96, 102–6, 108–21, 137, 192, 197, 200–1 Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), 104, 109, 111, 121, 125

Palestinians, 2, 81, 86, 91–3, 97, 103, 105, 109–10, 112, 115, 121, 127, 201 Palestinian, vii, 2, 5–6, 23, 79–82, 86, 88, 90–7, 103–5, 109–10, 112, 115, 117, 119, 121, 125, 136–7, 161, 173, 192, 196–7, 199–201 Authority (PA), 21, 103–4, 109–10, 136–7, 176 -Israeli conflict / Arab-Israeli conflict, 3, 11, 176 / 21, 32, 167 see also Middle East conflict Legislative Council, 93, 197 Reform and Development Plan (PRDP), 110 2006 Parliamentary elections, 82, 103, 130, 173 participation, vi, 15, 19, 65, 69, 87, 94 Patten, Chris, 102, 107 peace, viii, 5, 11, 13, 21, 33, 60, 63–8, 73, 93, 98, 104, 111, 127–8, 162, 169, 171, 178, 182, 195 PEGASE, 110 perceptions, vii, 5–6, 40, 51, 103, 105–6, 110–11, 113–15, 193, 196 polarization, 2, 4, 18, 23, 40–2, 49–50, 52–3, 134, 151, 194, 200 political, vi–vii, ix, 1–6, 9–11, 13–17, 20–2, 27, 29, 32–4, 36, 40–53, 59–60, 62, 68–74, 85, 87–8, 90, 92–4, 97–8, 102–6, 110–13, 115–18, 120–1, 126–34, 137, 140–5, 147–9, 151, 154–6, 158, 161–2, 164–5, 168, 171–3, 175–8, 180, 182–3, 194, 196–8, 200, 202 imagination, 3, 82, 96 post-communist, viii–ix, 7, 140–2, 144–5, 147–8, 154, 156–8, 198 see also post-Cold War power, viii, 4–6, 8, 10–11, 14–15, 18, 21, 29, 32–3, 43, 47–9, 51–3, 55, 62, 64–6, 73, 80, 84, 86, 89, 92, 107, 111, 113, 119–20, 127–9, 131, 133–4, 136–7, 143, 149, 151–2, 156, 161–2, 164–8, 174–7, 179–80, 185, 192–5, 197 practices of, 3, 11–12, 14–15, 19, 24, 28–9, 31–2, 42–3, 52, 54, 141, 164, 180, 193

Index Q Quartet, 104, 109 Qur’an, 94–5 R Rafsanjani, Ali Akbar Hashemi, 61 Rawshanfikr¯an-i D¯ın¯ı (Religious Intellectuals, Iran), 61, 67, 73 Reagan, Ronald, 126, 165 Refah (Welfare) Party (Turkey), 135 reform, viii, 6, 19, 29, 59, 62, 67, 69, 73–4, 106, 108–11, 113, 116–18, 121, 137, 170, 172, 177, 179–80 democratic, 10, 13, 18–20, 127, 172 economic, 18, 40, 54, 163, 177, 179–80 political, 1–3, 6, 8, 19, 45, 102, 106, 112, 116, 120 regional relations, 109 religious tolerance, 6–7, 40, 140–5, 148–50, 152–6, 198, 200 resistance, vii, 5, 41, 79–83, 86–91, 93, 95–7, 111, 125, 146, 176, 196 rights, 16, 24, 26, 28, 34, 40, 42, 45, 49, 60, 69–70, 79–81, 89, 93, 95, 97, 108, 116–17, 180, 200 basic / fundamental, 12, 114 citizenship, 24–5, 112 minorities’, 4, 21 political, 6, 60, 113, 118, 197 rule of law, 10, 12–14, 16, 19, 25, 33, 40, 55, 60, 69, 106–8 Russia, 52 S sanctions, 59, 63–4, 66–8, 70–3, 110, 113, 181, 195, 200–1 Sarkozy, Nicolas, 120 Saudi Arabia, 126, 129–30, 165, 167, 175, 177 security, 2, 6–8, 12, 21, 30, 47, 63, 67–8, 71–2, 90, 104, 106, 115, 126, 140, 142–5, 147–52, 154–7, 163–4, 166, 169, 171, 173–6, 178–80, 182, 198, 200 Senate, 72 Shah, Mohammad Reza, 67, 126, 164–5

209

Sharia, 21, 31 Shia, 175 Lebanese, 81, 86, 90 see also Muslim Social Democratic Party, 132 socially engineer / social engineering, 163 / 7, 174–5, 178, 185 Solana, Javier, 104–5, 121 Soviet Union / Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), 164, 168 state, viii, 2, 9, 13–15, 17, 21–5, 27, 29, 31–4, 40, 42, 45–8, 51–5, 60, 62, 64, 66–74, 85, 89, 95–6, 98, 102–4, 106, 108–9, 113–15, 117–18, 120–1, 127, 136, 141–4, 147–54, 156–8, 163, 165–6, 171, 173, 176, 183, 194, 197–8 apparatus, 24, 26, 136 pseudo, 2, 103 status quo, 51, 163–5, 169, 171, 175, 180, 184 Sudan, viii, 114, 128, 133 Sunni, 80, 147 see also Muslim Syria, 32, 164 T Taliban, 9, 161 Temporary International Mechanism (TIM), 109–10 Tunisia, 32, 129, 135, 162, 197 Turkey, 1–2, 4, 18, 30, 40–2, 44–55, 131–2, 135–6, 150, 165, 168, 175, 185, 192, 194, 197–200 U Union for the Mediterranean, 109 United Kingdom (UK), vi–ix, 135 Independence Party (UKIP), 133 see also Britain United Nations (UN), 98, 181 Court for Crimes against Humanity, 71 Development Programme (UNDP), 25, 33 Peace Plan for Cyprus, 46

210

Index

United Nations (UN) – continued Secretary General, 45 Security Resolutions, 63, 98 United States (US), ix, 1–3, 6–9, 17, 33–4, 49, 62, 64–5, 67, 72–4, 98, 102–4, 111, 115, 125–7, 129, 135–6, 143, 150–2, 157, 161–77, 179–80, 182–5, 192–5, 197–202 see also America W West Bank, 32, 80, 82, 90, 92, 95, 104, 110 West / Western, ix, 1–3, 5, 8, 17, 33, 41, 49, 51–2, 54, 60, 63–4, 67–8,

71, 73, 80–4, 86–9, 93, 96, 110, 113, 117, 121, 126–7, 129, 135–7, 140–4, 150–2, 156–7, 166, 168, 170, 178, 194–8, 200 policy, 1 women’s Alliance, 70 women, vii, 2, 4–5, 21, 23–6, 31, 43, 61, 67–70, 72–3, 79–98, 109, 136, 177–8, 192, 195–7, 200–1 Arab, vii, 5, 81–2, 84, 97 Y Yeltsin, Boris, 52 Yemen, 129, 175

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