Interpreting Islamic Political Parties

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I nterpreting Isl amic Politica l Parties

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I nterpreting Isl amic Politica l Parties

Edited by M. A. Mohamed Salih

INTERPRETING ISLAMIC POLITICAL PARTIES

Copyright © M. A. Mohamed Salih, 2009. All rights reserved. First published in 2009 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN® in the United States—a division of St. Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010. Where this book is distributed in the UK, Europe and the rest of the world, this is by Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited, registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS. 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: 978-0-230-61865-7 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Interpreting Islamic political parties / edited by M.A. Mohamed Salih. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-230-61865-7 (alk. paper) ISBN-10: 0-230-61865-0 (alk. paper) 1. Political parties—Islamic countries. 2. Islamic countries—Politics and government. I. Salih, Mohamed Abdel Rahim M. (Mohamed Abdel Rahim Mohamed) JQ1852.A979I68 2009 324.2’182—dc22

2009001859

A catalogue record of the book is available from the British Library. Design by Scribe Inc. First edition: October 2009 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America.

To Professor Holger Bernt Hansen, Copenhagen University, Denmark Friend, colleague and mentor


Contents

List of Illustrations

ix

List of Abbreviations

xi

Preface M. A. Mohamed Salih

xvii

Introduction M. A. Mohamed Salih and Abdullahi Osman El-Tom 1

2

3

4

5

6

Of Opportunities and Organization: When Do Islamist Parties Choose to Compete Electorally? Abdulkader H. Sinno and Ahmed Khanani Different Settings, Different Definitions, and Different Agendas: Islamic and Secular Political Parties in Indonesia and Malaysia Kees van Dijk Islamic Parties in Indonesia’s Political Landscape and Their Respective Stances on Women and Minorities Mathias Diederich

1

29

51

83

From Parties to Movements: Islam and Politics in the Horn of Africa Stefano Bellucci and Massimo Zaccaria

103

Kuwait’s Islamic Constitutional Movement: A Model or a Warning for Democratic Islamism? Nathan J. Brown

117

One Against All: The National Islamic Front (NIF) and Sudanese Sectarian and Secular Parties Abdel Ghaffar Mohamed Ahmed

129

viii

Contents

7

Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood and Competitive Politics Sami Zemni and Koenraad Bogaert

8

Islamist Parties in Algeria: Toward a Political Professionalization? Amel Boubekeur

9

Islamic Political Parties in Secular South Africa M. A. Mohamed Salih

149

167 191

10 Secularism and Islamism in Turkey: Understanding the 2007 Elections Nuran Savaşkan Akdoğan

207

11 Interrogating Liberal Democracy: The Islamic Movement in Mauritius Sheila Bunwaree

231

12 The Maldives: The Strange Case of Islamic Multiparty Liberal Democracy Paul Moorcraft

249

13 Conceptualizing Hizbollah’s Transformation in Lebanon’s Post–Cedar Revolution: Proxy Client or Structural Path Dependency? Karim Knio

259

Bibliography

269

Notes on Contributors

287

Index

293

I llustrations

Figures 1.1 1.2

Expected Effect of Opportunity and Organization Structure on Islamist Participation in Electoral Politics

40

Cases

43

Tabl es 6.1 6.2 9.1

Distribution of seats resulting from general elections in 1965/1968/1986

135

Regime types in Sudan (1956 to date) and the role of the Islamic Movement

136

South Africa: Islamic political parties’ orientation in respect to major social and political issues

202

10.1 Overview of Islamic rooted parties in Turkey

210


Abbreviations

ABIM AHD AIS AKP AMP ANAP ANC AP BC BLS CAM CFCM CHP CPA CPS DDII DLP DP DPA DRP DSP DUP DYP EIJ ELF EMF EPRDF ESPA FAF FDA FIS FLN

Angkatan Belia Islam Malaysia Al Hidayah Da’wah Movement Islamic Salvation Army (armed wing of the FIS) Adalet Ve Kalkınma Partisi Africa Muslim Party Anavatan Partisi (Motherland Party, Turkey) African National Congress Adalet Partisi Beja Congress Best Loser System Comité d’Action Musulman Conseil Français du Culte Musulman Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi Comprehensive Peace Agreement Communist Party of Sudan Dewan Dakwah Islamiyah Indonesia Democratic Left Party Democrat Party (Demokrat Parti) Darfur Peace Agreement Dhivehi Rayyithunge Party Demokratik Sol Parti Democratic Unionist Party Dogru Yol Partisi Eritrean Islamic Jihad Eritrean Liberation Front Muslim Students of France Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front East Sudan Peace Agreement Algerian Brotherhood of France Federal Democratic Alliance, Darfur based Islamic Salvation Front (al-Jabhat al-Islamiyya lil-Inqad) Front de Libération Nationale

xii

FLN FP FP FPM FPTP GIA GSCP GUPPI HADAS

HaMaS HMI HMS IAF IBA ICF ICMI IDF IDM IFB IFLO IGAD IISS IMM IPNU-IPPNU ISA AIS ISI IUC JDP JP KAMMI KH KPU KUII LSI MAGO

Abbreviations

Front for National Liberation (Jabhat at-Tahrir al-Watani) Felicity Party Fazilet Partisi Free Patriotic Movement First-Past-the-Post Armed Islamic Group Salafist Group for Preaching and Combat Gabungan Usaha Perbaikan Pendidikan Islam (Federation for the Improvement of Islamic Education) Kuwait’s Islamic Constitutional Movement (according to the Arabic acronym for al-haraka al-dusturiyya al-islamiyya) Movement of Society for Peace (Harakat Al Mujtama’ Al Silm) Himpunan Mahasiswa Islam Harakat al Moujtama’ As-Silm (also known as HaMaS) Islamic Action Front Independent Broadcasting Authority, South Africa Islamic Charter Front, Sudan Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals’ Organization Islamic Dakwah Foundation Islamic Dakwah Movement Independent Forward Block Islamic Front for the Liberation of Oromia Inter-Governmental Authority on Development International Institute for Strategic Studies Ikatan Mahasiswa Muhammadiyah Ikatan Pelajar Nahdlatul Ulama-Ikatan Pelajar Puteri Nahdlatul Ulama Internal Security Act Armee Islamique du Salut (Islamic Salvation Army) Abbreviation) Import Substituting Industrialization Islamic Unity Convention Justice and Development Party Justice Party of Süleyman Demirel Kesatuan Aksi Mahasiswa Muslim Indonesia Kyai Haji National Electoral Authorities Kongres Umat Islam Indonesia Lingkaran Survei Indonesia Muslims Against Global Oppression

Abbreviations

MAIL MB MDP MF MHI MJC MLP MMA MMI MMM MNP MNR MPO MPR MSA MSI MSM MSP MUSIAD MYM NAHDA NCP NDA NDI NDP NESC NGO NIF NKK NMP NOP NSP NU NUP OIC OSCE PAGAD PAIC PAN PAS

xiii

Muslims Against Illegitimate Leaders Muslim Brotherhood Maldivian Democratic Party Mustad’afin (the Oppressed) Foundation Himpunan Mahasiswa Indonesia Muslim Judicial Council Mauritius Labour Party Muttahida Majlis-e-Amal, Islamist Pakistani Majelis Mujahidin Indonesia Mouvement Militant Mauricien Milli Nizam Partisi National Reform Movement (Harakat al-Islah al Watani, Islah) Majelis Penyelamat Organisasi Majlis Permusyawaratan Rakyat Muslims Student Association Movement for an Islamic Society Mouvement Socialiste Mauricien Milli Selamet Partisi Association of Independent Industrialists and Businessman Muslim Youth Movement of South Africa Harakat an-Nahdha al-Islamiyya National Congress Party, Sudan National Democratic Alliance National Democratic Institute National Democratic Party National Economic and Social Council Non-Governmental Organization National Islamic Front Normalisasi Kehidupan Kampus National Mandate Party National Order Party National Salvation Party Nahdlatul Ulama National Unionist Party Organisation of the Islamic Conference Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe People Against Gangsterism and Drugs Popular Arab and Muslim Conference Partai Amanat Nasional (Party of the National Message) Parti Islam seMalaysia

xiv

PBB PBR PDI PDIP PDP PDS PFDJ PII PJD PJP PK PKB PKI PKM PKMM PKS PKU PLO PM PMII PMIP PMSD PNI PPP PPPR PSII PSM PT PUI QMM RCD RND RP RPP SAHUC SAPs SARs SCP SNL SNM

Abbreviations

Partai Bulan Bintang (the Moon and Star Party or Crescent Moon Party) Partai Bintang Reformasi (Reform Star Party) Partai Demokrasi Indonesia Partai Demokrasi Indonesia Perjuangan Peoples Democratic Party, Sudan Partai Dua Syahadat People’s Front for Democracy and Justice Pelajar Islam Indonesia Parti de la Justice et du Development Prosperous Justice Party Partai Keadilan Partai Kebangkitan Bangsa (National Awakening Party) Partai Komunis Indonesia Parti Kebangsaan Melayu Parti Kebangsaan Melayu Malaya Partai Keadilan Sejahtera (Prosperity Justice Party) Partai Kebangkitan Umat Palestinian Liberation Organization Parti Mauricien Pergerakan Mahasiswa Islam Indonesia Pan-Malayan Islamic Party Parti Mauricien Social Démocrate Partai Nasional Indonesia Partai Persatuan Pembangunan Partai Persatuan Pembangunan Reformasi Indonesian Islamic League Party Parti Socialiste Mauricien Worker’s Party (Hizb al-’Ummal) Partai Umat Islam Qibla Muslim Movement Rally for Culture and Democracy (at-Tajammu’ min ‘ajl at-taqafah wad-Dimuqratiyya) National Rally for Democracy (at-Tajammu’ al-Watani ad-Dimuqrati) Refah Partisi Republican People’s Party South Africa Hajj and Umrah Council Structural Adjustment Programs Sekolah Agama Rakyat Sudan Communist Party Somali National League Somali National Movement

Abbreviations

SP SPLA SPLM SSDF SYL TKW-PR TNI TPP UGEL UIC UMNO UOIF UP VOC VP WAMY WP

xv

Saadet Partisi Sudan Liberation Army Sudan Liberation Movement Somali Salvation Democratic Front Somali Youth League Indonesia Migrant Workers or Tenaga Kerja Wanita (TKW) Pikiran Rakyat (PR) Indonesian Armed Forces True Path Party General Union of Free Students in Algeria Union of the Islamic Courts United Malays National Organization (Pertubuhan Kebangsaan Melayu Bersatu) Union of Islamic Organizations of France Umma Party Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie (The Dutch East India Company) Virtue Party World Assembly of Muslim Youth Welfare Party


Preface

The ascendancy of Islamic political parties both in domestic and world affairs has become a matter of major concern to both secular and religious-inclined political parties, academics, policymakers, the public, and human rights and democracy activists. This concern could be explained at the backdrop of fear and misunderstanding often fueled by ignorance and lack of informed knowledge on nature, organization, ideological orientation, and Islamic political parties’ relationships with secular and religious political institutions whether in government or opposition. This volume is part of the activities of the research program, Political Parties, Governance and Interfaces, based at the Institute of Social Studies, The Hague, the Netherlands. The focus on Islamic political parties is necessary considering their increasing role in polity and society in the Muslim world, as well as their direct and indirect effect on world affairs. Another factor is the absence of any volume specifically and wholly devoted to comparative Islamic party studies. In particular, this book is a result of an international conference titled “Islamic Political Parties: Movements, Conflict and Democracy” held at The Hague January 21–22, 2008. Supported by the Netherlands Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Institute of Social Studies, the conference included researchers and academics interested in the study of Islam and democracy, policymakers, nongovernmental organizations, and democracy and human rights activists from Islamic and non-Islamic organizations. Conference deliberations were greatly enriched by the wisdom and insights of Louk de la Rive Box, Rector, the Institute of Social Studies; Edwin Keijzer, the Netherlands Ministry of Foreign Affairs; Professor Holger Bernt Hansen, the Chair of the Board of Directors of Danida (Denmark); Christine Engel Christensen, Director of the Middle East and North Africa Division of the Danish Ministry of Foreign Affairs (Denmark); Wajid Shamsul Hasan, advisor to the late Benazir Bhutto, now Pakistan High Commissioner to the United Kingdom; Mohammed Saad Muhsen al-Saadi, Assistant General Secretary, Islah Political Party (Yemen); Ahmed al-Yemeni, Naseej-Community Youth Development Initiative (Yemen); Honorable Samira Chaouachi, Deputy, Party of Peoples

xviii

Preface

Unity (Tunisia); Al-Tayib Zain al-Abdin, General Secretary of the Sudan Inter-religious Council (Sudan); Annie van de Pas, the Netherlands Institute for Multiparty Democracy (NiMD); Leif Manger, Research Director, UNIFOB Global, University of Bergen, Norway; Bas de Gaay Fortman, Faculty of Law, University of Utrecht, the Netherlands; and many other colleagues who supported this effort whose names cannot possibly be mentioned in the limited space available to the preface. I am most grateful to the many colleagues whose opinions I sought or asked to review various chapters in order to gain extra quality assurance, in addition to the critical and valuable assessment and comments we received from the Palgrave’s anonymous peer reviewer. Our thanks go to Malika Basu, then PhD Fellow at Institute of Social Studies, The Hague, the Netherlands, for shouldering the organizational aspects of the conference and for her unfailing support, which contributed to its successful conclusion. Abdullahi Osman el-Tom provided an excellent synthesis of the conference deliberations, which have been incorporated into the “Introduction.” On behalf of the authors and I, many thanks to Leslie O’Brien and Erik Hoff of Goldenwest Editing in California, for English editing, for indexing, for sharp commentaries, particularly when we failed to see the obvious, and for harmonizing our diverse understanding and projections of English. This volume and the conference from which it emanated could not have succeeded without the support of Yvette Daoud, Embassy of the Netherlands in Bratislava, Slovak Republic. At the time of conceiving the idea of the conference, she was the Advisor for Relations with the Islamic World and the Director for Middle Eastern Affairs at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Kingdom of the Netherlands. We are grateful to Ms. Daoud who recognized the importance of the knowledge the conference would generate, and we were blessed with her encouragement and invaluable support. The result is this volume, placing Islamic political parties rightly within the domain of comparative politics.

Mohamed Salih The Hague, The Netherlands January 2009

I ntroduc tion

4

M. A. Mohamed Salih and Abdullahi Osman El-Tom

Parties are indispensable political organizations through which people

channel commonly shared values, beliefs, and ideas of governing and ordering priorities. Once political parties gain power; preferably, in free and fair elections, they can control the state and the resources and personnel of the government individually or in coalition with other political parties. As instruments of collective action, argues Weiner, political parties are the creation of the political elite in a bid to control the resources and personnel of government to implement an ideology or a political program.1 From this perspective, Islamic political parties that entered competitive politics are no different from other political parties in that all parties struggle to gain power and to control the government and its resources. Moreover, much like other political parties, they have various types of organizational structures, ability to mobilize financial resources, provide support and goodwill, recruit cadres, select or elect officers, and, in some cases, develop procedures for internal control and management.2 However, Islamic political parties are different from other political parties, including, for example, confessional Christian political parties, which recognize Roman law as a source of law. Islamic political parties espouse creating a society that adheres to, or is at least influenced by, Islamic teachings and values derived from the sources of Islamic legislation or law (Sharia). In Islam, there is neither distinction between ethics and law nor distinction among the social, economic, political, and religious functions of Islamic political parties beyond the political activities in which they engage. A common denominator among political parties that call themselves Islamic, whether radical or moderate, is that their adherence professes an Islamic identity with a conscious and deliberate objective of advancing an Islamic way of life as well as serving the interests of the Muslim Umma (community of believers). Nevertheless, moderate and militant Islamic political parties differ in their responses to whether Muslim societies should be governed

2


by secular laws and jurisdictions or adhere literally and strictly (applying fundamentalist principles or calling for a return to the fundamentals of Islam) to the Koran and teachings of the Prophet Muhammad.3 This is a major difference between the two with far-reaching implications for the nature of the state, whether it is strictly Islamic and ruled by an Islamic constitution with all its social economic and political ramifications or secular. It also has similar far-reaching implications for the position of women in society and in respect to human rights issues (polygamy, stoning to death for adultery, inheriting an equivalent to half of what a brother inherits from the parents’ inheritance, and an evidence brought to court by two women witnesses is equivalent to that of one man). Another major difference between moderate and militant Islamic political parties is their position vis-à-vis hudud (or amputation of limbs for theft beyond certain value), which is not condoned by moderate Islamic political parties. Therefore, the point of departure of this volume is that Islamic political parties constitute the most tangible institutional manifestation of diverse schools of political Islam, ranging from the most militant to the moderate. The contributors to the volume illustrate that Islamic political parties advocate diverse and at times contradictory ideological orientations and responses to major concerns in the contemporary Islamic world with regard to social justice, human rights, and the position of women and minorities. They explore Islamic political parties’ responses to as well as confrontation or cooperation with secular political parties and how these relations are shaped by differences in ideology and the socioeconomic and political contexts within which they operate. For realizing this ambition, the volume includes country and cross-country comparative studies covering large parts of the Islamic world (Algeria, Egypt, Indonesia, Lebanon, Malaysia, Mauritius, Maldives, South Africa, Somalia, Sudan, and Turkey). The cases of Jordan, India-Pakistan, Tunisia, and Yemen are treated at length in this introduction to capture the diversity of historical, social, and political issues that militated Islamic political parties’ emergence into competitive electoral politics and their political behavior both in government and opposition. The entry of Islamic political parties into democratic competitive politics raised more questions than answers. The most intriguing question is, Can Islamic political parties be trusted? Moreover, can they be both Islamic and democratic or are they vying to access power and control government, resources, and personnel of government only to create an Islamic state? Are Islamic political parties different or just like secular political parties? How and why? With these questions in mind, this volume intends to elucidate the evolution, current development, and role of Islamic political parties in contemporary polity and society in the Islamic world. It attempts to explain the increasing presence of Islamic political

Introduction

3

parties as actors in democratic competitive politics and their responses to major contemporary social, political, and economic issues.

Evo lu tio n o f I sl amic Poli ti c al Parti es This section offers a background on the emergence of Islamic political parties. It is divided into at least three broad historical periods: colonial, independence, and the end of the Cold War (includes post-1990s development, including the current democratization process).

Islamic Political Parties during the Colonial Period The emergence of modern institutional Islamic political parties is recent and can be traced to the colonial past of the Islamic world and most commonly the Muslim struggle for independence. In most Muslim countries, debates and negotiations took place among Muslim political elite and scholars on what type of state should succeed the colonial state. Moreover, how much should the modernization or westernization process be allowed to challenge the traditional social forces? The debate on the nature of the state and Western-versus-Islamic values culminated in two types of struggle. The first was the struggle for the soul of the Muslim Umma and prevalence of Islam as a way of life, foremost and for some more militant ideologues, the only permissible source of legislation (Sharia, literally Islamic law). The second struggle was for independence and self-rule. The two struggles are inseparable, and in both struggles, Islam was used as a source of piety and an ideology of national liberation.4 However, not all Muslim societies were hostile to modernization and some cooperated with colonial rule. As will be illustrated in this chapter, some Islamic political parties and organizations were allowed limited space for conducting social welfare activities that were considered apolitical in nature. For example, in Indonesia (see Chapter 3 by Diederich), the Sarekat Islam Party was formed in 1912. Considered one of the first mass Islamic political parties in Southeast Asia where Islam played a pivotal role, Islam served as a link cementing the sentiments of national unity against Dutch colonialism. Accordingly, Islam was the most obvious means of both establishing national unity and disassociating the Indonesians from the Dutch ruling elite. Founded by H. Samanhoedi in Solo in 1911, Sarekat was ‘“the first politically based Indonesian nationalist organization to evolve.” Under the leadership of H. O. S. Tjokroaminoto, Agus Salim, and Abdoel Moeis, it was a pioneering organization, which “embarked upon a political program calling for self-government” and “complete independence.” Unfortunately, Sarekat Islam met a quick demise because of its interest in Marxist ideas, which resulted in conflicts

4


and division among the party leadership. The party disintegrated in the 1920s, its founders, Soekarno and Tjokroaminoto, created the Indonesian National Party (PNI) in 1927. The chapters on Indonesia elaborate on the political struggles of moderate Islam in Indonesia and in Chapter 2 by van Dijk, compare Indonesia with Malaysia from the colonial period through their current political development. In India, the Muslim League, probably the first modern Muslim political party in the Indian subcontinent, was founded during the British Colonial rule at the auspices of the annual All India Muhammadan Educational Conference held in Shahbagh, Dhaka, in 1906. Initially, the Muslim League was not hostile to British rule and supported its 1905 decision to partition Muslim Bengal from India. In fact, the first article of the Muslim League’s inaugural charter advocatedpromoting a feeling of loyalty to the British government among Indian Muslims.5 This illustrates that the frictions and suspicion that marred the relationship between the Muslim and Hindu political elite had already existed during the struggle for independence. For the Hindus, independence was meant for a united India. For the Muslims, independence meant independence from British colonial rule as a prelude to creating an independent Muslim state. However, the Muslim League changed its attitude from friendly to hostile against British rule when British colonial rule reversed its 1905 decision to partition Muslim Bengal from India and joined the independence movements without relinquishing its stance on the creation of an independent state. After several failures to reconcile Muslim and Hindu political elite, Muhammad Iqbal put forward the demand for a separate Muslim state in India under the Two Nation Theory, according to which he pronounced that Hindus and Muslims are different nations, with different religions. The 1940 Lahore Resolution formed the principles under which the partition and the emergence of independent Pakistan as a Muslim state were founded. Not all Muslims championed the Muslim League’s agitation for independence; for example, the Indian Union Muslim League was pro-Indian unity. The All India Muslim League was disbanded in 1947 and was succeeded by two separate Muslim political parties, the Pakistan Muslim League and the Indian Union Muslim League. Mohandas Gandhi and Jawaharlal Nehru accepted the partition in fear of civil war. Much ink and paper have been consumed in narrating the upheavals of the partition, including the war between India and Pakistan and the ongoing saga in Kashmir. What is relevant to this book is the evolution of the All Indian Muslim League and its role in the independence of Pakistan and the use of Islam as an ideology of national liberation. In Egypt, for example, the Muslim Brotherhood emerged as a nationalist Islamic movement vying to oust the colonial state and build an Islamic state or at least a state conscious of the role of Islam in society and

Introduction

5

by doing so invoking the authenticity of the religious text.6 The brotherhood emerged as a reaction to or inspired by a subtle wave of modernization and creeping Western values in Egyptian polity and society. Hassan al-Banna established the Muslim Brotherhood (between 1927 and 1928) as a movement against British colonial rule and together with other Egyptian intellectuals such as Sayyid Qutb perceived Western modernity as a threat to Egypt’s Islamic identity.7 While the majority of the political parties espoused a secular liberal ideological orientation, the Muslim Brotherhood based its political creed and struggle on the promise of creating an Islamic state ruled by the teachings of Islam. Three factors contributed to the radicalization of the Muslim Brotherhood: (1) the rejection of the Muslim Brotherhood’s application to register as a political party in conformity with Egypt’s 1923 Constitution, which prohibited the registration of religious political parties; (2) its mobilization capacity increased as it became known for its ability to hold large demonstrations, which were seen as a threat to the secular establishment. As a result, (3) it was able to attract a considerable following and influence among the educated elite and university students, thus preparing the next generation of radical Islamists;8 including a sizable number of the politically vocal urban population. More important, the Muslim Brotherhood benefited from the fragmentation of other political parties and their degeneration into several splinter groups, including the Wafd and Young Egypt (Misr al-Fatah). This situation continued until the late 1940s when the Muslim Brotherhood grew in popularity but remained banned from electoral politics. By the late 1950s, Sayyid Qutb abandoned liberal nationalism in favor of a militant struggle calling for the need for the violent overthrow of the Egyptian State to create a state-based on Islamic values, shura (consultation) and Sharia.9 Externally, the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood recruited fighters to join the 1948 Palestinian-Israeli war in support of the Palestinian cause. One such external influence of the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood is the creation of the Muslim Brotherhoods of Sudan, Yemen, Kuwait, Jordan, Palestine, and many others, which emerged during the same period.10 Internally, the Muslim Brotherhood began clandestine operations to undermine government authority, including attacks on government buildings and installations. The climax of the brotherhood’s clandestine operations inside Egypt was the assassination of Prime Minister Mahmud Fahmi Nakrashi in December 1948. The Egyptian government could no longer ignore the Muslim Brotherhood’s strength and the dangers of radicalizing it even further. As part of the appeasement policy, the Muslim Brotherhood was tolerated and even legalized as a political organization but not a political party. This delimitation of the Muslim Brotherhood’s activities relegated it to a political organization not eligible to contest elections.11

6


If the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood prides itself on being the inspiration for the most Muslim movements in the world, including a large number of surrogate organizations in the Middle East, Sudan’s Muslim Brotherhood should pride itself on being the most successful organization in terms of electoral politics and state capture both through legitimate and illegitimate means. Born in the embryo of the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood, it was able to recruit a following among Sudanese students studying in Egypt. While the Sudanese Muslim Brotherhood was established by El-Rashid al-Tahir, Babiker Karar, and other members of the Muslim Front in 1947, two years later (1949), Sudanese students established the Islamic Liberation Movement (harakat al-tahrir al-Islami), which although influenced by the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood, preferred to keep its independence, also in fear of the colonial power’s crackdown.12 Upon returning to the Sudan, the Muslim Brotherhood of the Sudan was founded at Khartoum University in 1954/1955 by some lecturers and students as an intellectual movement not interested in diluting its intellectual content by opening itself to the general public. The Islamic Charter Front (ICF) was formed as a political wing to contest elections after the October revolution of 1964 that ended the first military rule in independent Sudan (1958–1964).13 As a mass organization, ICF was backed by a number of intellectuals, including its mentor, Dr. Hassan al-Turabi (then the dean of the Faculty of Law at Khartoum University), armed with the teachings of Sayyid Qotb and Hassan al-Banna, the founding fathers of the Muslim Brotherhood movement and its expansion throughout the world.14 Like Sudan’s Muslim Brotherhood, the Jordanian Muslim Brotherhood was an offshoot of the Egyptian Brotherhood but differed markedly in its pronounced rejection of violence, loyalty to the Jordanian monarchy, and working within the established political order. According to Quintan, its relationship with the Jordanian regime was established when the movement was first founded in Jordan on November 19, 1945. The Jordanian regime granted the movement legal status in January 1946 as a charitable society. The king was a personal associate of the Jordanian Brotherhood’s founder, Abdul Latif Abu Qura, and included the movement’s secretary, Abdul Hakim Adin, in the government’s cabinet, proclaiming that Jordan is in need of the brotherhood’s efforts.15 However, the Muslim Brotherhood’s loyalty to the Jordanian monarchy was tested following the Arab defeat in the 1967 Arab-Israeli Six-Day War, the occupation of the West Bank, and the presence of a large number of Palestinian refugees in Jordan. The Palestinian liberation movements (known as fedayeen) began to behave and act like states within the Jordanian state, using it as a military base from which they hijacked airplanes and attacked Israeli settlers. Jordan became a victim of Israeli reprisals against Jordanian cities and large urban centers, which developed into an

Introduction

7

open war, involving Syria and Iraq against Jordan and in support of the Palestinians.16 The role of Islamic movements in Algerian polity dates back to the precolonial period and continued well into the anti-imperial struggle and agitations for independence and self-rule. French colonialists feared the possible reemergence of Islamic rebellion and the rise of Islam as rallying points for anticolonial rule (Ottaway et al). The colonial government prohibited by law large gatherings of Muslims as well as banned Muslims from carrying firearms. Muslims were required to denounce Islamic law before they could become full French citizens. Islamic charitable trust lands were confiscated and made government property and Koranic schools were considered breeding grounds for anticolonial rule and therefore treated with suspicion at best or closure at worst.17 However, French anti-Islamic policies backfired and encouraged the emergence of new orthodox Islamic teachers, such as Abdel Hamid Ben Badis, who preached against the Marbouts and cultic saints for their apparent political neutrality vis-à-vis the major upheavals confronting Algerian society.18 In contrast with Egypt, where British colonial rule was more tolerant to Islamic revivalism, which was crucial for the ensuing debate on major social and political issues, the French colonial experience in Algeria was quite the opposite. It is little wonder then that Islam had become an ideology for national liberation during Algeria’s agitation for independence. Although the leaders of Algeria’s war of independence were socialists advocating a secular political program, they could not resist the mobilizing power of Islam calling the fighters mujahideen (fighters of a holy war) and those who killed for the cherished goal of independence shuhada (singular shaheed, or martyr).19 Internal political rivalry among Algerian independence leaders was based on ethnic cleavages and divergent convictions in respect to the compatibility of Islam and socialism. David and Marina Ottaway lament, “Boumediene’s opposition to Ben Bella’s policies was veiled behind a pseudo-religious argument over the compatibility of Islam and Marxist Socialism. This issue had been raised by the conservative religious leaders, who contended that socialism was contrary to the teachings of Islam.”20 After gaining self-rule, the Algerian leaders (Ben Bella and Houari Boumediene) imposed Arab Socialism as the ideology of the official ideology and yet declared Islam the religion of the state, established a Ministry of Religious Affairs with the authority to establish mosques, religious schools, train Imams (prayer leaders), and even control the content of Friday Prayer sermons. Chadli Bendjedid introduced Islamic family law21 and established an Islamic university (Universite Emir Abdelkader des Sciences Islamiques) as a concession to the Islamists who became very vocal in their critique of the government. Government leniency toward

8


some radical Egyptian scholars who were allowed to migrate to Algeria and militant Imams was a major factor in strengthening the position of Islamists in society.22 In subsequent years, the Algerian Islamist movement was emboldened (see Boubekeur’s chapter in this volume), leading to the emergence of the Islamic Salvation Front (FIS), which radicalized the role of Islam in Algerian polity. This matter will be dealt with in the section on post-1990s Islamic political parties in this introduction. The emergence of Islamic political parties during the colonial period was epitomized by their struggle for independence, which signaled an early contestation between different schools of political Islam within these parties, debating questions about the nature state after the attainment of independence and self-rule. Islam in general and Islamic political parties in particular played an important role in shaping political destinies of many countries, but mostly espoused pragmatism to the extent that some cooperated with colonial rule.23 On the majority however, most political organizations, parties, and movements opposed colonialism and championed the struggle of self-rule. As will be explored further, some of these political parties and organizations continue to influence politics and society in the Muslim world well into the postindependence epoch, while others have declined and even ceased to exist.

Islamic Political Parties from Independence to the Cold War Most Islamic countries became independent under democratic rule. A few years after independence, they were ruled by the military, military socialist regimes, one-party states (Pakistan, Bangladesh, Syria, Sudan, Egypt, Iraq, Tunisia, Libya), guided democracies (Indonesia), or nondemocratic monarchs, sheikhs or sultans (the Gulf States, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Jordan, Morocco, and Libya at the eve of independence). The Muslim states of Central Asia were under Soviet influence in which the formation of political parties was banned in accordance with the dominant communist ideology. The Islamic world seemed to have moved from what Tachau (1994) called the “liberal era” during the closing period (1950s and 1960s) of colonial rule to totalitarianism. By the mid-1960s through the 1980s, most Muslim populations worldwide lived under totalitarian regimes. During the 1970s and 1980s, the Muslim Brotherhoods, political organizations, social movements, and philanthropic organizations emerged in response to at least two prominent crises in the least-developed Muslim countries (Sudan, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Somalia, Mauritania, Yemen, and Jordan).24 These crises are (1) economic, as exemplified by low to negative economic growth and (2) livelihood, including poverty, unemployment,

Introduction

9

and lack of adequate public amenities. Apart from a few less authoritarian states with majority Muslim populations, the majority of the states, including the oil rich and those considered part of the Asian Tigers (Indonesia and Malaysia) suffered governance crises or severe governance deficits. The governance deficits included economic mismanagement, corruption, abuse of power, and human and civic rights violations. This period was also characterized by the strong influence of the Iranian Islamic Revolution of 1979 on world affairs and the rise of Islamic insurgency. According to Abdelnasser, the Islamic Revolution of 1979 in Iran had far-reaching impact, direct as well as indirect, throughout the region. of the influence of the Iranian Revolution was obvious in the manner in which various Islamic groups and organizations throughout the Muslim world began to uphol the banner of Islam as a political ideology and program in their quest for controlling the state power.25 In contrast, some radical Islamic, opposing the Iranian Revolution, such as the Society of Muslims (Jama’t al-Muslimin), thought it contradicted the organization’s philosophy of isolation and emigration from society and its belief that it was the only true Islamic movement. In addition, the organization was opposed to bridging gaps between Sunnis and Shiites and had its own reservations toward the Shiite doctrine. However, argues Abdelnasser, the Holy Struggle (al-Jihad) organization firmly supported the Iranian Revolution and considered it an Islamic experience that should be seriously studied.26 In the same vein, the Pan-Malaysian Islamic Party (PAS) was formed in 1951 because of an internal split within the dominant United Malays National Organization (UMNO) Party. PAS rose to new heights under the leadership of the radical nationalist and Islamist intellectual, Dr. Burhanuddin al-Helmy, who led the party between 1959 and 1969. It gained an unprecedented victory by winning control of the states of Kelantan and Trengganu for the first time and became the first Islamic party in Asia to win power through democratic and constitutional means. Not even the Jama’at-e Islami of Pakistan or the Ikhwan’ul Muslimin of Egypt managed such a feat.27 Inspired by the Iranian Revolution, PAS was radicalized in its opposition to the established order by calling for the revival of the Ulama institution. In 1984, PAS stepped up its critique against ethnonationalism and blamed it for the decline of the Muslim Umma on the whole and the Malay-Muslims in particular. Nationalism, for this new generation of PAS leaders and intellectuals, was thoroughly secular and modern. It belonged to the world of the here and now, and the profane sphere of realpolitiks, which was responsible for sowing the seeds of discord and chaos (fitnah and mihna) in the world. PAS radically restructured and reoriented so that it could play this role.28

10


In 1984, a number of PAS leaders were arrested and detained under the Internal Security Act because their speeches and religious sermons posed a threat to national security and racial harmony. Those arrested included Ustaz Abu Bakar Chik, Ustaz Bunyamin Yaacob, Ustaz Latif Muhammad, Ustaz Ghazalli Hasbullah, Mahfuz Omar, and Muhammad Sabu. The Kelantanese PAS leader Muhammad Sabu was detained because of his inflammatory speeches against Christian missionary groups that were active in the country and which he claimed had been trying to convert Malay-Muslims. Another PAS leader who was meant to be detained but managed to escape was the outspoken Ustaz Ibrahim Mahmood (also known as Ibrahim Libya).29 In a sense, the future radicalization of some Malaysian Islamic political parties and groups in the post-9/11 era cannot be treated in isolation from these early agitations, which inflamed the passion of Jihadist and other groups, not only in Malaysia but also in other parts of the Muslim World.30 In a way, they also produced the dialectics of radicalism and jihad among the moderate sectors of Muslim populations in the post-1990s developments toward democratization. It is fair to argue that, during this period, Islamic political parties usurped characteristics similar to those of Islamic resurgence outlined by Esposito (1998, 165), whereby (1) Islam is a total and comprehensive way of life and integral to politics, law, and society; (2) the failure of Muslim societies is due to their departure from the straight path by following Western secular ideologies and values; (3) the renewal of society requires a return to Islam; (4) to restore God’s rule and inaugurate a true Islamic social order acceptable blueprint for Muslim society; and (5) although the westernization of society is condemned, modernization as such, is not. From independence to the end of the Cold War can be referred to as an experimental period during which various schools of political Islam from the militant to the moderate began to create the political and social institutional basis for political engagement with the secular state. Some even experimented with responsible opposition while others joined secular political parties in coalition governments.31 The experiences gained from this period have proven indispensable in the post-1990s democratic resurgence in the Muslim world.

Post-1990s Islamic Political Party Developments An upsurge of Islamic political parties’ activities occurred with the end of the Cold War and the commencement of the so-called third wave of democratization, which opened the political space for citizen participation. Vali Nasr recognized that, since the early 1990s, political openings in a number of Muslim-majority countries—all admittedly outside the

Introduction

11

Arab world—have seen Islamic-oriented (but non-Islamist) parties vying successfully for votes in Bangladesh, Indonesia, Malaysia, Pakistan (before its 1999 military coup), and Turkey.32 The notion of Muslim democrats introduced by Nasr is useful in distinguishing between Islamists political parties with their insistence on (1) rule by Sharia and the view that (2) democracy is not deeply legitimate, but at best a tool or tactic that may be useful in gaining power to build an Islamic state. In contrast according to Nasr, Muslim democrats acknowledge the need for (1) enshrining Islam in politics, though they do wish to harness its potential to help them win votes; and (2) the integration of Muslim religious values—drawn from Islam’s teachings on ethics, morality, the family, rights, social relations, and commerce.33 Late into the 1990s, the Arab world joined Muslim democracy, combined in some cases with Islamist tendencies such as the cases of Hamas in Palestine, Hizbollah in Lebanon, the National Islamic Front (NIF) in the Sudan, and FIS in Algeria. Islamic political parties seem to have begun to reconcile old-held resistance of democratic politics and are entering into the realm of competitive electoral politics. They based their struggle on the essentialist claim that they represent Muslims and not political organizations divided by ideology, class, race, or creed. However, in reality, they rarely adhere to this normative credo and are often divided along the very lines they portend to negate. Even the claim that they represent Muslims is challenged by their division and adherence to various schools of political Islam, ranging from the moderate to the most radical. Islamic political parties have commonly emerged during what Islamists refer to as times of great upheavals, which require challenging the prevailing secular regimes and ideologies to transform the established political, economic, and social order. Their overarching objective is to invoke Islamic morality and ethics and steer the Muslim Umma back into the fundamentals of Islam or to protect broader Muslim interests against real or perceived injustices. In this respect, Islamic political parties represent the institutional face of political Islam and share its overall goals, with Islam offering the ideological overture and moral and ethical creed that justifies their entry into competitive democratic politics. For example, unlike Egypt’s Muslim Brotherhood, which was radicalized after the 1967 Arab defeat in the Six-Day War, the Jordanian Brotherhood was resentful of the presence of active Palestinian liberation fronts such as the Palestinian Liberation Organization and others inside Jordan, which threatened the independence of Jordan. This granted the Muslim Brotherhood the opportunity to champion the Palestinian cause without directly confronting the royal family. Another real-world event, which contributed to the radicalization of the Jordanian Muslim Brotherhood was the introduction of Structural

12


Adjustment Programs, better known as SAPs. Although the poor sectors of the Jordanian population experienced hardships as a result of the introduction of the economic reform policies of the 1990s and the government’s withdrawal of subsidies (food, medicine, health, water, and education), the Muslim Brotherhood did not incite violent acts such as the case in Egypt.34 Wiktorowicz (1999) reports that in the 1989 and 1996 riots, which erupted over subsidy reductions, the Muslim Brotherhood was careful not to criticize King Hussein, focusing its attacks on the cabinet and not the system of power or legitimacy. The brotherhood actively worked to ease tensions and looked to the king as an unbiased arbiter during the crisis, publicly praising his wisdom and political acumen. In 1992, the Muslim Brotherhood was transformed into an Islamic party by establishing the Islamic Action Front (IAF), which acted as a political wing in preparation for contesting the 1993 elections. While the Muslim Brotherhood won twenty-two seats in the 1989 elections, the IAF won only sixteen seats in the 1993 elections. Amwai (1994) explains the democratization process and Sahliyeh (2005) explains the decline of the Muslim Brotherhood–IAF votes because of the introduction of “one person, one vote,” which curtailed its electability. The IAF built alliances with Christian and leftist political parties, and candidates are testimonies to the IAF pragmatic nature. The June 2003 elections confirmed the decline of the IAF where tribal candidates and candidates of conservative social forces achieved a decisive victory by capturing eighty-four parliamentary seats. The IAF won only twenty seats, described as the lowest achievement in its political history. A major cause of the rift between IAF and the government was the charge that without the monarchy’s intervention in the 2003 parliamentary elections and the replacement of the 1993 Election Law with Election Law No. (34), 2001, which favored the secularists and royalist supporters, it would have won the majority of votes. Two of the provisions undercut the IAF electoral support: Article (8a)stipulates that candidates should not have any other nationality. This means that the Palestinians can no longer vote. Article (8k) stipulates that candidates should not be members of any non-Jordanian political entity, party, or movement, which also undercut the Palestinians, particularly Hamas supporters, who traditionally supported the Muslim Brotherhood and by extension IAF. Three observations explain why Jordan’s Muslim Brotherhood-IAF had not resorted to violence: (1) Notably, it was initially developed as a philanthropic rather than a political association. (2) It was tolerated by the monarchy to which they paid homage. (3) And, when it decided to enter electoral politics, it maintained a duality whereby the IAF became the institutional face, with the brotherhood acting in a typically moderate political Islamic fashion. As the contradictions between politics and

Introduction

13

religion intensifies, for example, the current debate on reforming Election Law No. (34), 2001, yet again, so will its oppositional posture. In the 2007 general election, 885 candidates (out of whom 199 were women) contested the elections. According to the Jordanian election law, a minimum of six seats are guaranteed for women, nine for Christians, and three for the Circassian and Chechen minorities. Twenty-two Islamic candidates contested the elections under the IAF ticket, winning only six seats (compared with seventeen seats in the 2003 elections), which shows the decline of IAF popularity. The outcome of the electoral system reforms and the 2007 elections would determine whether the Muslim Brotherhood–IAF’s hunger for power would transform them into the familiar patterns reminiscent of the more confrontational Islamic political parties elsewhere in the Middle East. In contrast to the Jordanian Muslim Brotherhood and IAF, its offshoot, the FIS of Algeria emerged with a clear oppositional posture against the one-party rule. As Takeyh (2003, 2) laments, “The conventional breakdown of the authoritarian state took an innovative departure in the case of Algeria. The opposition came eventually to be dominated by the forces of tradition, as the Islamists not only proved adept at mass mobilisation, but offered a vision that seemed compatible with pluralism and political representation.” This could be explained because of popular resistance to President Colonel Chadli Benjedid’s introduction of political and harsh economic reforms. A new constitution was promulgated in 1989, and Algeria became a multiparty state. The Islamists, led by FIS, became a political force to reckon with under the new democratic dispensation. It is not unique to FIS that Islamic political parties often present themselves as the main alternative to the authoritarian and corrupt secular political establishment, a claim that resonates with some Muslims. FIS called for national elections. In the 1992 elections, the FIS received more than 2 million votes; 1 million fewer votes than in 1990 (3.26 million votes) but the non-Islamist vote was so badly fragmented that FIS was well on its way to a stunning electoral victory after the first round. The hard-liners in the military panicked, suspecting that the president had made a deal with the Islamists. In early January 1992, the military forced Benjedid to resign, cancelled the second round of elections, declared martial law, banned the FIS, and set up a transitional government.35 The FIS reaction to the cancellation of the elections was swift, declaring war on the government.36 The 2002 elections illustrated Algerian society as divided into at least three main ideological blocs: (1) a nationalist group backed by between 25 and 30 percent of the population—officials, state workers, and rural voters—that reliably votes for the National Liberation Front (Front de Libération Nationale-FLN), or other

14


government-endorsed parties; (2) an Islamist bloc that commands the loyalties of some 15 to 20 percent; and (3) a Berber-nationalist bloc that has the support of another 10 to 15 percent. Political allegiances within the remainder of Algerian society were scattered among small groups of democrats, regionalists, and independents. No single bloc had a majority, and none could easily govern without some support from at least one of the other blocs (Quandt 2002, 18–19).37 However, in reality, FIS boycotted the elections and the emergent moderate Islamic-oriented Movement of National Reform (el-Islah in Arabic) founded in 1999 took first place over the Movement of Society for Peace, with the FLN maintaining the dominant majority. Obviously, the Islamists must have realized that the civil war had turned the public against them, and what they could do is to stay the course against the contention that peace is subservient to justice.38 In 1999, although the government of Algeria signed a peace agreement with the Armee Islamique du Salut (AIS) or Islamic Salvation Army the military wing of FIS, the Armed Islamic Group (GIA), and the Salafist Group for Preaching and Combat (GSCP) rejected the amnesty; both have continued their violent struggle.39 In common with Egypt, once the largest Islamic political organization or party moderated its position and decided to renounce political violence, new and more violent Islamic groups emerged (i.e., GIA and GSCP in Algeria and Tanzim al-Jihad, the Jihad Organization and Al-Jama’a al-Islamiyya, the Islamic Group, in Egypt). In both cases, a large number of the Muslim Brotherhood and FIS followers joined these radical organizations. Algerian radical Islamic political parties and organizations believed that peace is subservient to justice and therefore rejected amnesty and continued on the path of jihad, an issue that will be explained in the concluding sections of introduction. Apart from the NIF (Sudan), which came to power through a military coup, the other three political parties have either ruled in coalition with secular governments (Jordan) or were banned by the secular state (Egypt and Algeria). Although their promise to reorder the secular establishment has so far failed, they succeeded in forcing their opponents to respond with their own version of a tolerant Islamic political group or more moderate state-sponsored Islam. Although it is difficult to generalize from these few cases, it is fair to conclude that the colonial government’s attitude toward the emergence of Islamic political parties and the counterresponse of Islamic political parties (such as the Muslim League’s position on the British promise of the partition of Muslim Bengal from India in 1905) was not hostile. The Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt, Yemen, Jordan, and Palestine and Sarekat Islam in Indonesia were tolerated. However, and for constitutional reasons, the Egyptian, Jordanian, and Yemeni Muslim Brotherhoods were

Introduction

15

refused registration as political parties. While the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood continues to contest elections by filing independent candidates, the Yemeni Muslim Brotherhood established the Yemen Congregation for Reform (Islah) Party and the Jordanian Muslim Brotherhood established as political (party) fronts to circumvent the constitutional prohibitions. During this period, the Islamic political parties and political organizations were fostered by the fact that “real-world events have made religion central in current affairs” (Bellin 2008, 315). As such, two main competing interpretations of the rise of Islamic political parties whereby (1) the rise of Islamic political parties is part of the conservative Islamization process, critical of and vied for to replace the secular state. Conservative Islamization is an ally to equally conservative forces, such as ethnicity and religion, that are, for example, dominant in several Muslim societies where Islamic political parties emerged.40 (2) Corruption, political expediency, and hegemony of the dominant secular political parties resulted in anger among some sectors of the Muslim population who flocked to Islamic political parties as an alternative to the established political order. In this view, the twin crises of hegemony and legitimacy heralded the emergence of an alternative political discourse espoused by the Islamists. These factors coincided with rising aspirations of middle-class professionals once acquiescent under authoritarian rule but who now clamor for democratic rights. As the economic crisis among the poor intensified pressures for a new democratic bargain, reformists hope that steps toward political pluralism and competitive elections will help buy popular acceptance of painful economic reforms.41

Struc ture o f the Book The underlying theme of this volume is our knowledge of Islamic political parties’ practices once they join competitive politics and form government, opposition, or become part of a coalition with other political parties is meager. Our precepts are based on a few cases (Iran, Lebanon, Indonesia, Palestine, Sudan, Afghanistan, Jordan, and Yemen). Even here, reality in some instances defies perception. Islamic political parties portray complex and diverse ideological and institutional manifestations of political Islam, and as such, they range from the radical to the moderate and from the moderate to the quasi-secular. Because Islamic political parties are not monolithic, neither should be our treatment of and attempts to understand their diverse roles and positions through major issues such as women, conflict, and democracy. There is therefore a pressing need for internal dialogue among the Muslims and Islamists and not simply between them and the non-Muslim world. The Islamic world is divided between radical Islamists, moderate Muslims, and

16


secularists, and this means that debating among each other will go a long way toward informing the Western world about diversity there, too.

Comparative Islamic Political Party Politics Sinno and Khanani (Chapter 1) argue that the term Islamist is problematic, as it does not explain much and should be discarded. If we are to heed their suggestion, we will end up with nothing to discuss and will be forced to find a different banner under which to house our Islamic parties and movements. Indeed, Islamic parties are sometimes so diverse that the only commonality among them is that their members happen to be Muslims. Sinno and Khanani also emphasize that by their very religiosity, some Islamic political parties’ cost-benefit analysis often points them to the importance of avoiding rather than acquiring power. It is only in circumstances of majoritarian Islam—when they are assured of wider popular support—that they agitate for power (Lebanon, Malaysia, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Indonesia, Sudan, and to some extent Algeria before the civil war). Brown argues (Chapter 5) that Kuwait’s Islamic Constitutional Movement (known as HADAS according to the Arabic acronym for al-haraka al-dusturiyya al-islamiyya) is integrated into Kuwaiti polity as a political party more than any other Islamist group in the Arab world. In 2008, it descended from a local branch of the Muslim Brotherhood—prepared hopefully for its second parliamentary election campaign in two years. HADAS sent ministers to the government, negotiated with other parliamentary blocs, and ran the most sophisticated election campaigns that Kuwait has witnessed. Indeed, HADAS’s strong party machinery is unusual not only in Arab terms but also is a marked contrast to its rivals in the Kuwaiti political spectrum, all of which are still composed of a collection of prominent personalities with at best a rudimentary organization to back them. The challenge to HADAS, according to Brown, is not from its Islamic stance (as it is committed to a full-party system, a cabinet composed of elected deputies, and a prime minister who comes from outside the ruling family), but from Kuwait’s attempt to combine democratic and monarchical elements that threaten the party’s strategy of long-term political reform. Belucci and Zaccaria (Chapter 4) push this point much further. In their reading, 9/11 created a world that is not conducive to understanding Islam. In a stunning but equally sad revelation, they arrive at the conclusion that in Italy, Islam is simplistically seen as evil and irrational. The authors proceed to challenge this perception by asking, Why is Islam on the rise if it is that bad? They further concluded that to define Islam as evil analytically is practically incorrect because such a characterization will

Introduction

17

not allow for dialogue and peaceful coexistence. Somalia offers us another example where chaos, poverty, and exclusion have bred violence that contributed to the collapse of the Somali state and the latest move toward Islamist jihadist under Islamic court militants. In Somalia, state collapse has been responsible for loss of security, justice, and public services. The collapse of the Somali state has led to the emergence of the Islamic courts, providing security and social services for the Somali people. Similarly, such instances have been argued by Zaccaria and Belucci in Chapter 4 (the Horn of Africa), Knio in Chapter 13 (Hizbollah in Lebanon), and Zemni and Bogaert in Chapter 7 (the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt).

Islamic Parties’ Response to Political Reforms Inasmuch as we celebrate democratic potentials of Islamic parties and movements, we should not overlook situations in which the opposite predominates. Examples abound whereby Islamic parties acted to stifle national democratic processes. In this regard, one does not need to subscribe to Wahabi Islam, which displays notoriety in its opposition to democracy. In Chapter 6, Ahmed exposes the disturbing profile of the Sudanese Muslim Brotherhood, and how it discarded democracy to control the government of Sudan. The Muslim Brotherhood, later renamed NIF, took advantage of democracy to build a formidable organization. Once democracy exhausted its potentials for the brotherhood, it was summarily abandoned. What followed was a sad saga in which the NIF wreaked havoc with Sudan’s infant democracy and took the entire country on a rough ride. In his contribution to this volume, Ahmed, who is much harsher on the NIF, shows that the Sudanese Brotherhood approached democracy with utter contempt. Its drive to gain and control power is evident throughout its history. The brotherhood used every card and every tactic, legal or otherwise and ethical or otherwise. Thus, strategies employed by the NIF included (1) control over key institutions by dubious means, (2) intimidation, (3) suspect alliances, (4) deception, and (5) delay tactics. However, unlike Egypt’s Muslim Brotherhood, its Sudan counterpart benefited tremendously from the fact that Sudan’s two major political parties at the time of independence: Umma and the National Unionist Party42 were religious based, sectarian, and could not restrict the operations or ban the activities of the brotherhood. In other words, it would have seemed odd, if not anti-Islamic for political parties that based their following on Islamic credentials to ban an Islamic political party. The Umma Party had even shared with the Muslim Brotherhood the idea of creating an Islamic Constitution.43

18


The march of Islamic parties and movements toward democracy has not been easy. The Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood also had to quiver on its opposition to a woman as president and settle for the principle of accepting the majority verdict in accordance with democratic principles.(Zemni and Bogaert, Chapter 7). The contextual problem is now confounded by the rise of a totally integrated world in which external forces can be as formidable as internal national dynamics. This is what the Egyptian Brotherhood learned. The brotherhood saw their space shrink because of new government legislation. Taking advantage of the War against Terror, the Egyptian government replaced its antidemocratic emergency law with antiterrorist law that meant little but a change of name. In its campaign for democracy, the brotherhood found itself with the same limited space as it had before (Zemni and Bogaert). Ironically, the NIF of the Sudan sponsored the military coup, which brought it to power in 1989, took place at a time when its political fortunes improved considerably during the 1986 elections.44 The NIF of the Sudan presents a sharp contrast to the Yemen Congregation for Reform (or Islah in Arabic) Party in Yemen, which joined the democratization process in earnest, holding a general conference under the name of Wahda and Salam (Unity and Peace) to prepare itself for engaging in democratic politics. It joined two other parties: General People’s Congress Party and Socialist Party in contesting the 1993 parliamentary elections in April 1993. When the war between South and North Yemen broke out in 1994,45 the Yemen Congregation for Reform Party was part of the coalition government along with the General People’s Congress Party and the Socialist Party. With the defeat of the separatist elements in the south, the Socialist Party withdrew from the government, which was then controlled by the Yemen Congregation for Reform Party and the General People’s Congress Party. The coalition government ended when the General People’s Congress Party won the majority in the 1997 general elections. Yemen Congregation for Reform’s electoral fortunes dwindled in the 2003 and 2006 general elections, but maintained its position as the second largest political party in Yemen.46 This could be seen in contrast to Lebanon. Karim Knio’s attempts to conceptualize Hizbollah’s multiple roles, identity, and evolutionary nature within Lebanese local politics has always presented a controversial debate. He argues that a closer examination of the events that have ravaged Lebanon since the eruption of the Cedar Revolution does not fully corroborate the argument espoused by many structuralists or holistic interpretations. The relative retreat of the Syrian regime from Lebanon in 2005 has further radicalized Hizbollah’s agenda and encouraged it to paralyze all formal institutions in Lebanon until its demands were completely met. This suggests that any analysis that deals with Hizbollah’s transformation process

Introduction

19

must take into consideration the party’s alliance patterns and the conditions under which they were formed. This is ironically reminiscent of the instrumentalist line of analysis previously deemed simplistic and obsolete by many structuralist lines of argumentation.

Women, Minorities, and Islamic Political Parties In Western public imagination, Islam is seen as a prime adversary to women’s rights and is often taken as somewhat responsible for gender inequalities in the Muslim world. A careful examination of current Islamic parties and movements lends only a limited support to this thesis. Conservative brand of Islam certainly displays elements that are crippling to women rights. However, adherence to conservative Islam seems to be the exception rather than the rule, as there is nothing inherently antiwomen in Islam. Indeed, Islamic countries so far have seen three women rise to the highest position of prime minister / president in their countries (Pakistan, Indonesia, and Turkey). The Arab world and sub-Saharan Africa, with the exception of Liberia, are yet to witness women presidents. In some ways, the debate on low status of women in these countries can be shifted away from Islam as such to broader cultural parameters. After all, we are talking about Arab cultures in addition to numerous African cultures and the latter are not necessarily Islamic. In her contribution to the workshop from which this book emanated, Chaouachi persuades us to hail Tunisia as a shining path in the area of women representation in governance. As she states, women constitute 15 percent of the cabinet membership, 22.75 percent of the national parliament, 27 percent of the judicial organ, and 31 percent of local councils (Chaouachi).47 These statistics certainly put many European countries to shame, particularly those at the lower level, such as Malta with 9.2 percent female Members of Parliament in its national parliament.48 Tunisia probably reached this level of political accommodation of women’s issues despite rather than with the assistance of Islamic parties. Nonetheless, Tunisia is a Muslim country that has outshined other Muslim countries in respect to women’s rights. One important revelation from Tunisia is that there is a tendency for historic gains to metamorphose into rights that are difficult to reverse. Over the years, Tunisian Islamic parties tried to roll back women’s gains in the country. So far, they have not succeeded.49 For the past three decades, and in line with international conventions, it has been common among most Muslim leaders to talk about advancement of women in their respective countries. Nonetheless, achievements so far have been embarrassingly modest. Given the relative success of Tunisia, it is opportune to look at it for guidance to see how it succeeded in moving ahead of every other Muslim country in the world. Positive

20


discrimination or, in its more recent term, affirmative action, is a universal principle used as a corrective measure to counteract excessive majority hegemony in democratic systems. As such, affirmative action can make it up for minorities, including women, and can give reprieve where contenders to power do not rest on leveled competitive plains. Affirmative action may also be combined with a quota system. The significance of political will in the pursuit of women’s advancement is demonstrated well in Indonesia (Diederich, Chapter 3). Legislation for affirmative action regarding women’s political representation in party politics generated little positive results. It is best to avoid the temptation to blame Indonesian culture for making it difficult for Indonesian political parties to meet the demand of finding enough female candidates as stipulated by legislation. While the role of culture in this regard is acknowledged, culture is not static and can be modified through wise leadership, but only if it is backed by political will. Lack of political will in advancing women’s causes in Indonesia is chillingly demonstrated by the introduction of counterdemands on women that stifled their progress. These demands, which are often backed by national and regional laws, aim primarily at curtailing women’s presence in the public sphere and are clearly at odds with advancing women’s rights. Diedrich (Chapter 3) argues that, in some provinces, regional parliaments decided to change laws according to conservative interpretation of Islamic principles. Because of these decisions, women were no longer allowed to go out at night. However, many of the (female) factory workers needed to do so for purely economic reasons. In some countries, Islamic parties and movements employed state power to obstruct women’s advancement. This is evident in circumstances in which governments themselves come under control of parties claiming Islamic credentials. Saudi Arabia, Iran, Sudan, Pakistan, and Afghanistan, which has reached notoriety in the field, have all experienced at least a regression in women’s rights. Modest achievements in women’s rights have been recorded in many countries. Tunisia, Lebanon, Egypt, Libya, Turkey, and a few others can boast some positive trends regarding gender equality. Yet, statistics do not always translate into power. Women may sit in parliaments and may even hold ministerial posts, but they remain mere tokens of gender politics. Moreover, women’s portfolios are often relegated to areas with limited influence in the public sphere. We must therefore go behind statistics to understand the reality of power achieved in the process.

Introduction

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Islamic Political Parties and Secularism In Western popular imagination, Islam and Islamic parties and movements are seen as the archrival of democracy. Thus, even when these parties and movements declare their commitment to democracy, they are seen as having a nondemocratic hidden agenda and the questioning of their stated philosophy still prevails. This means that any serious attempt toward a comparative approach must guard against two paradoxes. The first is taking Islam/Islamism as the commonality among entities, while the second pertains to the dilemma of sidelining the socioeconomic context. For example, when confidence and reason prevail, some Islamic political parties do not shy from showing direct borrowing from the West, often denounced as crusaders and enemies of Islam. Boubekeur (in the opening of Chapter 8) quotes Aboujerra Soltani, leader of the Milli Selamet Partisi, as saying, “OK, we are heirs of the Islamic tendency. But today we are inspired by the European Christian democrat experience.… I understand myself as a Muslim democrat.” On the issue of commonalities among Islamic parties, Sinno and Khanani (Chapter 1) come close to throwing our entire project into disarray in their argument over the term Islamist, as described earlier in this chapter. According to Salih’s contribution on South Africa, the Africa Muslim Party has a very secular outlook and a program that is no different from any other political party. If secularism is the antithesis of Islam, as indeed of any other religion, then on what ground has the Africa Muslim Party managed to retain its name and continue its activities as a confessional political party? Underplaying of socioeconomic context is inherent in all methodological comparative approaches. The context very often gets lost in an avalanche of entities that it produces, but it is the context that is more important as alluded to by Salih (Chapter 9), who calls for looking into the factors that lead to the emergence of Islamic political parties and movements. Thus, instead of focusing on structures, dynamics, and objectives of Islamic parties and movements, it may be more fruitful to turn our attention to socioeconomic contexts that underlie these organizations, their diversity and modes of cooperation or resistance to the established secular order. Poverty, dictatorship, lack of development, alienation, absence of democracy, lack of freedom, and countless other deficiencies provide a better common denominator that binds all Islamic parties and movements.

Philanthropy and Islamic Political Parties Recent research on Islamic social movement theory and its application to Islamic social movements provide useful insights into how Islamic political

22


organizations and parties use these institutional arrangements as part of their socioeconomic activities and political networks. The entrepreneurial sprit, business-like tendencies, and ability to manage local political processes in Muslim societies has meant that Islamic political parties adopt broad-based sources of support and resources.50 For example, Clarke’s (2004) work could be used to trace the interfaces between Islamic political parties, social institutions, and movements in secular settings. At best, these institutions (whether political parties or philanthropic organizations) portray what Clarke (2004) succinctly diagnosed as “patron-client” relations. At worst, they become fringe or front organizations supporting deeply entrenched religious causes and directly or indirectly contribute to an emergent Islamic polity. Islamic political parties cooperate with various political and economic actors, such as leaders of Islamic religious sects, trade unions, professional organizations, Islamic banks, Muslim immigrants, and traders, as well as influential sympathetic secular institutions of the state used to serve the party and with it a disenfranchised Muslim public, which lends support at the ballot box. Obviously, the leadership and a large number of the members of Islamic political parties are educated, giving them access to state institutions. With merits of democracy in mind, and in an environment often steeped in oppression, it is not surprising that Islamic parties take to democracy even if that means a sacrifice of a few ideals. After all, democracy confers legitimacy, brings resources, attracts cadres, and opens the corridors of power for these organizations (Salih in Chapter 9 and Sinno and Khanani in Chapter 1). When in power, resources can be amassed, legitimately or otherwise, for the advancement of the cause, as in Sudan, Iran, Pakistan, and Turkey (Ahmed in Chapter 6 and Akdogan in Chapter 10). Indeed, the use of public resources for partisan causes is common among Islamic parties but not necessarily confined to them. As guardians of the moral order in society, Islamic parties and movements often use and occasionally abuse public religious venues for spreading the message. Mosques, madrasas (Islamic religious schools), and religious festivals, including the Hajj, are often used as extensions to party venues replete with a captive audience. In countries with limited resources, this may constitute a tremendous edge against rival secular parties. No wonder Islamic parties and movements often manage to fight way above their weight class making a mockery of the relationship between number of supporters and power in democratic systems. In his study of the South African situation, Salih’s contribution brings this point in succinct reference to the inverse relationship between numerical and political weight. South African Muslims constitute only 1.5 percent of total population, and yet they manage to set and influence local agendas and send large numbers of Muslims to

Introduction

23

the national assembly who are not members of any South African Islamic political parties, but are members of secular political parties such as the ANC (Salih, Chapter 9). With multiple and complex transnational networks, Islamic parties and movements have in recent times benefited from globalization and the opportunities it avails them (Internet, sophisticated websites where the Koran is freely accessible, satellite TV, digital radios, virtual libraries for on-demand Islamic teachings, party programs, policy documents, Islamic dating and marriage websites, etc.). Taking advantage of Islam as a universal religion, Islamic political parties and movements often, as part of the global networking society, attract highly needed resources that cannot be mobilized locally. Globalization is a catalyst for democracy by spreading its universal ideals. At the same time, globalization can also manifest itself into a force that retards local evolution of democratic institutions. External resources available to Islamic parties skew agendas in favor of outside forces and internationalize national dynamics. Moreover, these resources help create an unleveled ground leading to suffocation of rival political institutions. Many Islamic parties owe their survival to their global reach much more than to their internal endeavors. Invariably, that comes at a high price of partial or full alienation from localities, a development, in our view, that contributes to their continuing secularization or at least accepting the democratic rules of competitive politics. Islamic parties and movements present us with both opportunities and challenges for democratic transformation. Indeed Islamic parties and, much more so, movements and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) have been in the forefront in providing services for the poor, as well as championing social justice and political inclusion in society. Still, there is no place for complacency. A formidable challenge to Islamic parties and movements is their vulnerability to demagoguery and extremist elements (9/11 is an example), a tendency against which Islamic parties, except a few, are increasingly guarding against the bid to become a positive force in the democratic transformation of their respective societies.

C o nc lus i on Islamic political parties and political organizations were created in response to similar material problems (poverty, marginalization, corruption, foreign occupation, puritanical purposes, etc.) and not material problems of religious zeal, the creation of a Muslim Umma and the observance of an Islamic way of life. The two cannot be separated. Islamic political parties differ markedly in their political organization, political mobilization, and modes of resistance. Radical Islamic political parties and organizations represent a true manifestation of radical schools of political Islam, which

24


is inherently violent and could be rightly criticized for using democracy as a means to an end. That end is the creation of an Islamic state. Although the more moderate and reformist Islamic political parties seek to unseat what they call the corrupt Western-style secular states, they continue to operate within the established political order (defy nondemocratic practices, stage strikes and demonstrations, boycott elections, etc.) and largely adhere to the norms of the democratic rule. Islamic political parties and political organizations are diverse as are their responses to liberal democratic norms and their dealings with the secular political order. This collective effort and chapters in this volume illustrate that most Islamic political parties originated in Islamic social movements engaged in contentious politics.51 They aim to establish a new social order through collective action to bring fundamental social, economic, and political transformation; represent a broad range of social forces; and cooperate with the institutionalized secular political regimes. The social movement origin of Islamic political parties and political and philanthropic organizations inform the forms of resistance, mobilization, election campaigns, and sources of finance. Generally, these are characteristics common to contentious politics.52 Although established within the sovereign boundaries of the nationstate, Islamic political parties assume a transnational character owing to what they perceive as the universal nature of the Islamic Umma. Muslim Umma (or community of believers) is perceived as borderless, a belief that makes Islamic political parties espouse a global mission transcending national polity and opting for global orientations and actions (i.e., wherever there are Muslims). Islamic political parties represent various institutional manifestations of political Islam inspired by a religious drive to capture power and to control the resources and personnel of the state. Their political activities are premised on the need to create a Muslim state or to propagate a Muslim society guided by Islamic morality, informed by an abrasive engagement in contentious politics vis-à-vis the established secular political order. However, Islamic political party development is not linear (i.e., some evolved from social and liberation movements to institutionalized political parties, while others developed from institutional political parties to violent movements) and often oscillates between peaceful and violent resistance. While some Islamic political parties, as the case studies illustrated, operate within secular institutional politics, others do so with the long-term objectives to subvert the political order that brought them to power (Sudan). On the one hand, they offer the organizational structure or political institution (the party) through which they compete among themselves and against secular political parties to obtain power and control government, resources, and personnel of government or form a legal

Introduction

25

opposition to challenge the secular political parties in competitive politics. On the other hand, they become the medium through which political Islam can transform ideology into practice or into concrete political programs that can be implemented in the real world. Differences in the orientations of political Islam whether quasi-secular, moderate, or militant are reflected in Islamic political parties’ orientations via major contemporary social justice issues pertaining to human rights, the position of women and minorities in Muslim societies, indeed the very essence of liberal political thought. It is hoped that this volume will stimulate further research on the internal structures of Islamic political parties, their sources of finance, and relationships with other civil society and NGOs in the Muslim world and beyond.

N otes 1. M. Weiner, Party Building in a New Nation (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1967), 1–2. 2. Maurice Duverger, Political Parties: Their Organization and Activity in the Modern State (London: Methuen, 1954), xxiii–xxiv. 3. The sources of law in Islam are of two types. Primary sources are (1) the Koran and (2) sunna (Prophet Muhammed’s pronouncements and acts. Secondary sources include (1) ijma, (2) qias, (3) ijtihad, and (4) masalaha. 4. Abdullah H. Ghandhistani, The History of International Muslim Brotherhood (Philadelphia: United Muslim Publisher, 1998). 5. Jalal, Ayesha. Democracy and Authoritarianism in South Asia: A Comparative and Historical Perspective. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994; Ahmed 2006. 6. Francois Burgat, The Islamic Movement in North Africa, trans. William Dowell. Middle East Monograph Series (Centre for Middle Eastern Studies: University of Texas Press, 1997). 7. C. P. Harris, Nationalism and Revolution in Egypt: The Role of the Muslim Brotherhood (The Hague: Mouton, 1964). 8. Frank Tachau, ed. Political Parties of the Middle East and North Africa (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1994), 94–95. 9. Mansoor Moaddel, Islamic Modernism, Nationalism, and Fundamentalism: Episode and Discourse (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005), 217–20. 10. Ghandhistani 1998. 11. Sayyid Qutb 1953, revised in 2000, Richard P. Mitchell, The Society of Muslim Brothers, 2nd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993). 12. Mitchell 1993; Carrie Rosefsky Wickham, Mobilizing Islam: Religion, Activism and Political Change in Egypt (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002). 13. El-Tayeb 1971. 14. Peter K. Bechtold, Politics in the Sudan: Parliamentary and Military Rule in Emerging African Nations (New York: Praeger, 1976), 89. 15. Wiktorowicz 1999.

26


16. William L. Cleveland, A History of the Middle East (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 2004); Y. Sayigh, Armed Struggle and the Search for State: The Palestinian National Movement 1949–1993 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994). 17. However, the Islamic-inspired resistance continued unabated under the leadership of Sheikh Mokani. He was also defeated by the French who had begun to establish their authority in Algeria. 18. Bennoune Mahfound, The Making of Contemporary Algeria 1830–1987: Colonial Upheavals and Post-independence Development (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988). 19. Luis Martinez, Algeria Civil War 1991–1998 (London: Hurst, 1998). 20. Ibid., 177. 21. Ibid. 22. Ibid. 23. Joel, Fetzer and Christopher Soper, Muslims and the State in Britain, France, and Germany (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005). 24. Mohamed M. A. Salih, ed., African Political Parties: Evolution, Institutionalisation and Governance (London: Pluto Press, 2003). 25. Abdelnasser, Walid M. “Islamic Organizations in Egypt and the Iranian Revolution of 1979: The Experience of the First Few Years.” Arab Studies Quarterly 19 (1997), 25–40. 26. Ibid. 27. Noor, Farish, “Blood, Sweat, and Jihad: The Radicalization of the Political Discourse of the Pan-Malaysian Islamic Party from 1982 Onwards,” Contemporary Southeast Asia, 25:2 (August 2003), 205–6. Noor 2003. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid. 30. Abdelnasser 1997; Ghandhistani 1998. 31. Nasr, Vali “The Rise of Muslim Democracy,” Journal of Democracy 16, no. 2 (April 2005): 13. 32. Ibid., 13. 33. Ibid., 14. 34. The Jordanian Muslim Brotherhood’s response to the withdrawal was to scale up operations of its Islamic Centre Charity Society and a large number of Islamic NGOs, which provide health, education, and other services up to the university level. 35. J. P. Andrew et al., “Algeria’s War on Itself,” Foreign Policy 99 (1995): 131–48. 36. Helen Chapan Metz, ed., Algeria: A Country Study, Federal Research Division, Library of Congress, http://memory.loc.gov/cgi-bin/query2/r?frd/ cstdy:@field(DOCID+dz0000), 1993); Daniel Brumberg, “Islamic Elections and Reform in Algeria,” Journal of Democracy 2, no. l (Winter 1991): 58–71. 37. William B. Quandt, “Algeria’s Uneasy Peace,” Journal of Democracy 13 (2002): 15–23. 38. International Crisis Group, “Diminishing Returns: Algeria’s 2002 Legislative Election,” Middle East Briefing Algiers, Brussels, June 24, 2005, 4, 7; Frederic

Introduction

39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44.

45.

46. 47.

48. 49. 50.

51. 52.

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Volpi, Islam and Democracy: The Failure of Dialogue in Algeria (London: Pluto Press, 2003). Freedom House, http://freedomhouse.org/research/freeworld/2006/ countryratings/algeria.htm. Accessed 12 August 2008. Ibid. Ibid. Salih, Mohamed, M. A. African Democracies and African Politics (London: Pluto, 2001). Ibid. In April 1986, in the first free elections held since 1968, the Umma Party won 99 of 301 parliamentary seats, the DUP won 63, and the fundamentalist National Islamic Front (NIF) won 51. Excerpts from a paper entitled, “Yemen Reform Party Rise, Philosophy and Development,” presented by Dr. M. S. As-Saeedi, Assistant Secretary General of Islah Political Party at the Conference on Islamic Political Parties, Movements, Conflict, and Democracy, The Hague, the Netherlands, January 22–24, 2008. Ibid. Excerpts from a paper entitled, “Women and Islamic Political Parties in Tunisia” presented by Honorable Senator Ms. Samira Chaouachi, member of Party of Peoples Unity at the Conference on Islamic Political Parties, Movements, Conflict, and Democracy, The Hague, the Netherlands, January 22–24, 2008. Ibid. Ibid. Wickham 2002; Quintan Wiktorowicz, ed., Islamic Activism: A Social Movement Theory Approach (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2004); Jenine Clarke, “Social Movement Theory and Patron-Clientelism: Islamic Social Institutions and the Middle Class in Egypt, Jordan, and Yemen,” Comparative Political Studies 37 (2004): 941–68. Tarrow, Sidney, Power in Movement: Social Movement and Contentious Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). Ibid.; John, P. Entelis, Islam, Democracy and the State in North Africa (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997), xiv.


Chapter 1

4

Of Opportu nities a nd Organiz ation When D o Is l am ist Pa rt i es Cho o s e to Co mpete E lecto ra l ly ?

Abdulkader H. Sinno and Ahmed Khanani

Today, almost every country with a substantial Muslim population

has at least one Islamist party or organization. They sometimes face the option to participate in electoral competition whether free, flawed, or merely symbolic. Some, such as the Egyptian Ikhwan, the Malaysian PAS (Parti Islam seMalaysia), and Turkish Islamist parties like the now-defunct Refah, actively push for liberalization and fairer elections despite formidable hurdles erected by powerful parties or state institutions that do not wish to see them gain influence. Some, such as Hizbollah and several Pakistani Islamist parties, participate fully and successfully in generally fair elections. The Turkish Justice and Development Party (Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi or AK Parti, or AKP in Turkish and for the rest of this chapter) and Palestinian Hamas have won parliamentary majorities. Some, like the Palestinian Islamic Jihad, are adamantly against elections. Others, such as the Pakistani Jamaàt-e Islami and Hassan Turabi’s National Islamic Front, changed their attitude toward political participation over time. This chapter aims to provide a consistent explanation of the differences among Islamist parties regarding their participation in electoral competition. In particular, it attempts to explain why some are willing to participate in electoral competition while others are not, why some even participate in elections organized by autocratic regimes that manipulate results and only allow the parliament limited powers, and why some have been pushing for fairer elections at great cost to themselves.

30


This chapter argues that two factors jointly explain the decision of Islamist parties or organizations to participate in contested elections: (1) the quality of the political opening and (2) the organizational structure of the Islamist party. Given the opportunity, complex Islamist organizations that are active in civil society, student organizations, the provision of welfare, and other services and Islamist organizations intertwined with complex social structures are much more likely to contest elections than centralized and networked organizations. While this chapter deals exclusively with Islamist parties, it is not their Islamist ideology or discourse that defines them. What makes them a class of comparable cases for understanding their readiness to participate in electoral politics, if given the chance, is the availability of nonparticipatory strategies that could be more advantageous for them to adopt. In that sense, a model that would explain Islamist participation in electoral politics should also explain the participation of other parties with a potential to transform the social order through nonelectoral means, such as communist political parties in Western European countries during the Cold War. Such cases are beyond the scope of this chapter because the interest here is in recent developments in Muslim countries where such organizations tend to be Islamist. Yet it is important to stress that strategy and organization explain the behavior of the Islamist organizations considered, not their Islamism. If Arab nationalist parties still had the potential to undermine Arab regimes in an era of partial democratization and pseudoliberalization, then this chapter may very well have provided a similar analysis about them instead of Islamist parties. This chapter begins with a discussion of existing explanations of Islamist parties’ participation in electoral politics and then develops a unique theory illustrating it with evidence from different Muslim countries. The chapter concludes with a discussion of the significance and policy relevance of the findings.

Th eo r ies o f I sl amist Parti c i pat ion in E l ec to r al Poli ti c s One approach to explain the participation or lack of participation by Islamist parties in electoral politics refers to their ideology or the ideological dimensions of their theology (see Kepel 1994, 193–94; Bukay 2007; Lewis 1996). Ideology is a poor explanatory variable because it is quite malleable when it comes to practices related to a party’s survival, even in the case of parties generally perceived to be doctrinaire. The Jamaàt-e Islami of Pakistan, for example, has shown considerable flexibility in interpreting the ambiguous views of its iconic founder Abu Al-A`la al-Mawdudi on democracy and electoral participation. Different national branches

Of Opportunities and Organization

31

of the Muslim Brotherhood have been pushing for fairer elections and participating in elections rigged against them despite the ideological tradition of isolationism in the writings of Sayyid Qutb who argued in Maàlim fil-Tariq (signposts) that God’s sovereignty leaves no room for systems that promote popular sovereignty. Both sides on the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood’s recent internal debates on issues such as whether a Copt or a woman can lead Egypt invoked religious rulings (Brown and Hamzawy 2008). The Tunisian al-Nahda adopted flexible interpretations of Islamic sources to develop an essentially liberal, nonviolent, democratic, and inclusive perspective (al-Ghannushi 1987). The Lebanese Hizbollah became a willing and successful participant in Lebanese elections because its leadership’s adherence to the concept of wilayat-i faqih (Rule of the Jurist) allows the adjustment of doctrine to evolving circumstances (Hamzeh 2004, 27–43). Indeed, Hizbollah’s participation in Lebanese elections came in the wake of a decision by the Supreme Leader in Iran, Ayatollah Ali Khamene’i, in the early 1990s that allowed Hizbollah to do so and de facto placed in abeyance the dream of establishing an Islamic state in Lebanon (Norton 2007, 98–101). Hizbollah’s decision also came in the wake of extensive internal debates that led at least one fiery cleric to leave the party (Saad-Ghorayeb 2002, 46–58). Another reason not to take ideology too seriously as an explanatory variable is the alliance pattern of Islamist parties when serving in parliament or during their attempts to democratize their countries’ polities. They frequently enough ally themselves with parties and organizations that are ideological rivals or even nemeses for purely pragmatic reasons to diffuse arguments based only on ideology. The Lebanese Hizbollah, for example, allied itself with the Maronite Christian figure Michel Aoun and socialist and communist parties against fellow Muslim Fuad Seniora’s government during the post-2006 political crisis (Norton 2007; Alagha 2006). The Jamaàt-e Islami at one point allied itself with secular parties against the regime of Zia-ul-Haq even though he pursued an aggressive Islamization policy. Both the Jordanian Islamic Action Front (IAF) and Yemeni Islah collaborated with parties from across the ideological spectrum, including communists and socialists to counter measures by their countries’ rulers to restrict freedoms and elections (Schwedler 2006, 110– 14). The Egyptian Ikhwan allied with liberals, leftists, and Arab nationalists to counter the Egyptian regime’s attempt to rig elections in 2005.1 Strategic debates among the leaders of Islamist organizations at key junctures also show a great deal of theological flexibility regarding issues of political participation. The leadership of Hamas, for example, engaged in vigorous debates and consultations about whether the organization should participate in both the 1996 and 2006 Palestinian legislative elections (it only participated in the latter).2 Abassi Madani and Ali Benhadj

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and the factions they represented disagreed on the Algerian Islamic Salvation Front (FIS) participation in electoral politics in the early 1990s, and the inconclusive outcome of their contestation might have encouraged the military coup that ended the democratic experiment in the country (Kalyvas 2000). Leaders of the Jordanian IAF, the political party of the Muslim Brotherhood, even went so far as to argue that it is not desirable for Jordan to become an Islamic state because it is too small, is vulnerable, and needs American aid (Boulby 1999, 124–25). This ideological flexibility should not be surprising because the theological building blocs from the Koran and Sunnah relevant to develop a position on political participation in democratic politics (concepts of rule of God, vice regency and shura) are few and quite malleable.3 Muslim scholars can easily, and reasonably, make arguments both in favor of and against participation in elections. Ideology and theology explain little in terms of Islamist participation in electoral politics. Another explanation of Islamist participation in electoral politics, particularly favored by their critics, is that Islamists compete because they have a hidden agenda of undermining democracy and establishing a theocracy after they gain power through the ballot box.4 The experiences of the past few decades seem to indicate that this argument is incorrect. Only in two cases did Islamist parties that participated in elections support nondemocratic regimes (Pakistan’s Jamaàt-e Islami and the successive political arms of Sudan’s Muslim Brotherhood). The Jamaàt supported Zia ul-Haq and the Sudanese Muslim Brotherhood once supported a dictator and became involved with a coup by junior officers that ended a democratic episode. The Jamaàt later defected from its arrangement with Zia ul-Haq in the mid-1980s and, since, has consistently supported democratic elections and a return to democracy, when Pervez Musharraf, former President of Pakistan, sidetracked elections. There is also strong evidence that at least some Islamist parties such as the Jordanian Islamic Action Front became more moderate after they participated in democratic institutions (Schwedler 2006). The argument that Islamist parties would like to topple the democratic institutions that bring them to power is also not completely internally consistent. Elections bestow both international and domestic legitimacy upon winners. Conversely, a successful Islamist party that abrogates the democratic regime that brings it to power will risk losing part of its domestic support, will forsake the moral high ground and the ability to claim that it represents popular preferences, and will subject itself to possible international sanctions and isolation. Most Islamist parties that compete electorally (with the exception of Hamas, Hizbollah, and some Afghan and Iraqi parties) also do not have independent military means to project power. Acceptance of their influence over the institutions of the state may


33

depend on their democratic credentials for a long time after they win elections (e.g., Turkey). They may be reluctant for people to view them as treacherous and untrustworthy if they abrogate elections after making public theological and practical arguments to explain their own participation in the election they won. Islamist parties must also have a competitive advantage in campaigning to win, an advantage they may lose if they choose other means for seizing power, and would therefore be unlikely to eliminate electoral competition. There is little reason to think that popular Islamist parties will risk all their gains and legitimacy by abolishing the very elections and democratic institutions that bring them to power. A variant of the argument, particularly popular among secularist critics, is that Islamists compete in elections or desire to participate in them to undermine regimes, such as Ataturkism in Turkey that existed before liberalization took place (Hamzawy, Ottaway, and Brown 2007). This is likely true over the long run and expected from parties contesting elections. With the establishment of democratic competition, however, it will be possible to judge the popularity of Islamist parties’ policies, dramatic as they may be, in cyclical elections. There is nothing unexpected or conspiratorial about elected officials desiring and advocating a new social order. This happened quite a few times in Western liberal democracies (e.g., laws bringing racial equality in the United States, weakening of several European monarchies, and adopting devolution in the United Kingdom), and there is little reason to fear it happening in Muslim countries. As Hamzawy et al. (2007) argue, previous Islamist participation in government and the fact that similar fears that accompanied the participation of Christian Democratic parties in European politics were without merit suggest that Islamists in government will not necessarily curtail individual freedoms or women and minority rights. In fact, the entire argument rings hollow because the human rights and freedoms that some fear the Islamists will subvert exist only in vestigial form in many of the countries where they aspire to run in fair elections. It is unlikely that the Muslim Brotherhood would make Egypt less free or respectful of human rights for all than it already is under the Hosni Mubarak regime for example. Some also argue that exhaustion from the high costs of violence and a realization of its futility in achieving Islamist goals in the domestic arena bring groups such as Hizbollah and the Muslim Brotherhood to the parliamentary table (Shadid 2001, Wright 1992). This was certainly not the case with early and consistent Islamist democrats, who never attempted to use force such as most Indonesian Islamist parties, the Malaysian PAS and the Pakistani Jamaàt. Not to mention those Islamists-turned-democrats that did use violence against rivals have already managed to change their own society before participating in elections. The Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood already managed to Islamize Egyptian society substantially

34


by the 1990s and Hizbollah galvanized and empowered the Shiite community in Lebanon, its natural constituency, by the time it first ran for election in 1992.5 Hamas was more popular than Fatah when it participated in its first parliamentary elections in 2006, as the election results show, and it certainly did not abandon armed conflict.6 The explanation of Islamist parties’ participation in electoral competition lies elsewhere. The next section offers a better explanation of the variation in Islamist parties’ willingness to participate in electoral competition.

Op p o rtunity and Organi z at ion Most authors who discuss Islamist party participation in politics consider their decision making unitary. When they consider their organizational structure, they believe it depends on factors such as state persecution (Wictorowicz 2001). However this chapter borrows from Maurice Duverger’s (1959) study of European parties and other studies that join organizational theory and strategic interaction (Sinno 2008) to argue that the structure of Islamist organizations strongly affects their ability to take advantage of political openings and therefore their readiness to participate in elections. More specifically, Islamist organizations and parties choose to participate in electoral competition, depending on the quality of the electoral opening and their organizational ability to benefit from it.

Assumptions To explain Islamist parties’ willingness to participate in elections, it is necessary to make a number of assumptions. First, it is important to disregard the influence of Islamist ideology because Islamist thought is flexible on the issue of participation. It is equally important for Islamist parties to win popular support and lasting influence as to implement aspects of Sharia. In that sense, they are like any other political party with a desire to reshape the social order. Second, it is vital to understand Islamists as strategic actors who take advantage of local opportunities and attempt to reduce the effect of government-imposed restrictions. Third, the strategic calculations involved in the decision to participate in (or defect from) electoral competition can be quite complex and multidimensional. Among the most important considerations Islamist party leaders face are to balance immediate gains with long-term costs and vice versa, evaluate the effect of participation on complex rivalries, balance the need for urgent compromises with the long-term desire of adhering to ideological goals, and assess the merits of alternatives to electoral participation. The debates and discussions that take place among and within Islamist organizations


35

when making decisions about participation reflect this complexity, which makes it difficult to produce simple general explanations, but acknowledging it moves us in the right direction.

Openings and Str ategi es As Gandhi and Przeworski (2007) tell us, authoritarian regimes develop institutions to increase the length of their own tenure. They make complex calculations about the origin and size of the threats to their power and develop the particular institutions necessary to diffuse the threat by soliciting cooperation or co-opting threatening actors. They try to cede as little as possible in the hope of maintaining control over the polity, but not so little as to allow rivals to bring down the regime. They may miscalculate at their own risk, but the goals of the calculation are straightforward. The institutions differ depending on the source of the perceived threat. However, from the perspective of Islamist parties, they often include the possibility of participating in a legitimizing electoral process that is more or less regulated and restricted by the powers-that-be and results in representation in parliamentary chambers, municipal councils, or other governing bodies whose influence could vary from the negligible to the highly meaningful and effective. While the possible types of openings could theoretically vary continuously along the two dimensions of fairness of elections and the quality of representation, we simplify them to two discrete categories in our model. The first category of opening consists of free and fair elections with a strong parliament. Such an opening could occur when an occupier invades the country (e.g., Iraq after the United States invaded), withdraws (British in Malaya), is weakened (Palestinian areas), an autocratic regime collapses (end of Suharto’s regime), or a civil war ends (Lebanon’s Taif Agreement and postwar elections). The second category of openings includes cases in which at least one of the following two conditions applies: (1) elections are restricted or (2) parliament has limited powers vis-à-vis the autocrat. Such openings happen when a vulnerable autocratic regime needs to solicit participation and reduce the size of a potential rival coalition. The scale of a restricted opening depends on the perceived popularity of the Islamist challengers, the number of challengers, the size of the emerging threat to the regime, the political and demographic landscape, the strength and loyalty of the coercive apparatus, international pressure, the alternatives available for the incumbent and the challengers, and the likelihood of a damaging conflict absent an opening. The regime may restrict the elections or the powers of the chambers (legislatures, assemblies of parliaments) to regulate how much influence it is ceding during the opening. For an Islamist party, the calculations involved in choosing to compete in elections depend, in part, on these two factors.

36


If the Islamist party’s leadership expects elections to be generally fair and representation meaningful, then those Islamist parties with substantial support may choose to participate based on whether they feel the electoral system would translate their popular support into enough seats to justify the effort. They may also choose to participate if they project that popular support for their agenda will increase over time. If, instead, elections are restricted by the powers-that-be or parliament is too weak, then the offer to participate is similar to what Selznick (1948, 34) defines as co-option (or co-optation)—“the process of absorbing new elements into the leadership or policy-determining structure of an organization as a means of averting threats to its stability or existence.”7 In this case, co-option is a strategy initiated by the state that consists of offering positive sanctions to threatening Islamist organizations or key individuals within them in return for accepting the norms of interaction it desires (e.g., that all differences be solved in the parliamentary arena or acceptance of the monarch’s authority). Co-option is a cooperative strategy that can result in a cooperative arrangement (henceforth referred to as a co-optive arrangement) that is not self-enforcing: both parties, the co-opter and the co-optee, have to offer something in return for what the other offers for a co-optive arrangement to succeed. The co-opter hopes to reduce risk by co-opting some rival organizations or their leaders. The co-optees could obtain substantial gains from a co-optive arrangement for a number of reasons. The co-optee’s acceptance of the co-optive arrangement might be valuable to the co-opter if it is one of many challengers and could therefore provide a precedent for more important attempts at co-option. A co-optee could also be valuable if it provides two-step leverage over other organizations or groups.8 Another form of two-step leverage consists of co-opting the leaders of an organization instead of the entire organization. This kind of co-option is highly cost-effective because it is much cheaper to co-opt one or a few individuals than an entire organization. Tribal politics sometimes facilitate personal co-optation because of the loyalty tribal leaders generally command among members of the tribe. In addition, an Islamist co-optee might confer legitimacy on the regime, the way the Pakistani Jamaàt helped Zia ul-Haq, the Jordanian Muslim Brotherhood shored up King Hussein for a brief period during the first U.S.-Iraq War (Boulby 1999, 144–47), and the Sudanese Hassan al-Turabi legitimized the government of Jaafar Nimeiri. Two factors differentiate co-option from alliance (the short-term aggregation of resources against a common rival). First, the co-opter generally offers positive sanctions in the hope of producing a co-optive agreement because the acceptance by a lesser organization of the norms of the hegemonic organization without concessions would be tantamount


37

to surrender. Second, the co-opter must be more powerful than the cooptee, who must necessarily accept the hegemonic stature of the co-opter and the applicability of its norms to their future interaction. Either party could defect (not accept to continue to co-opt or to be co-opted), sometimes even after a co-optive arrangement is reached or even institutionalized, if incentives change. Institutionalization, however, generally makes the cost of defection higher. Co-option is costly to the regime. It is costly because resources need to be offered to the co-opted Islamist organization and because power and information need to be shared with it.9 The powers-that-be therefore need to assess candidates for co-optive arrangements carefully. An organization makes a good candidate for co-option if it is powerful enough to disturb the operations of the regime substantially or is likely to do so in the future; not powerful enough to take over the state from within or be capable of eliminating it; and the cost of co-opting it is less than the cost of fighting it.10 Still, co-option could be an attractive strategy for vulnerable regimes, as Jeffrey Pfeffer tells us in his study of the use of this strategy in the corporate world: “Cooption is so often effective because it exposes the coopted representatives to informational social influence, and confronts them with conformity pressures and the necessity of justifying their actions. Cooptation provides labels and expectations that increase identification and commitment to the organization, gives the representatives a stake and legitimate position in the organization, and motivates them to be interested in the organization’s survival and success.”11 Whether it is advantageous or detrimental for an organization to be co-opted depends on the terms of the co-optive agreement (the positive sanctions and the norms adopted), as well as the opportunity cost of forfeiting other means of seizing power. The only kind of co-option that could be safely assumed to have negative consequences for an organization is the co-option of its leaders, not the organization itself—if the leaders are awarded positive sanctions instead of the organization. In addition, early co-optees tend to benefit more than subsequent ones because the regime wants to co-opt the minimum number of rivals necessary to remain in power to lower the cost of co-option, and it therefore might pay a premium to form a minimum organizational quorum. An opening to participate in elections can therefore be attractive for an Islamist organization, even if elections were restricted and elected chambers weak.12 One advantage to accept a co-optive offer is that elections, even if not quite fair, seem sanctified with an almost totemic legitimizing capacity domestically and internationally. Despite American, French, and Israeli attempts to undermine election outcomes before the anticipated FIS

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victory in Algeria and Hamas victory in Palestine, both Islamist organizations were able to claim the higher moral ground because of the decidedly undemocratic behavior of opponents who claim to promote democracy. Accepting to be co-opted could also bring resources to the Islamist organization or ease the flow of resources from donors by reducing the element of state threat to the operations of the organization. The Islamist organization turned party could also benefit from having the state’s coercive resources channeled against ideological rivals. Accepting to participate in restricted elections or other co-optive arrangements is also costly for an Islamist organization. By accepting the norms of the powers-that-be, it becomes associated with an unpopular regime. The Islamist organization also risks internal schisms because some members might be influenced by conservative interpretations of Islamist thinkers such as Abu al-A`la al-Mawdudi or Sayyid Qutb or be attracted to those of intransigent ones such as Abdullah Azzam, Ayman al-Zawahiri, or Ali Benhadj (who compared democracy with kufr, or the rejection of Islam) when it comes to support for democracy.

St ru c tu re o f I sl amis t Org ani z at ion s Four classes of Islamist organizations are identified on the basis of their functional structures. The first category is the centralized Islamist organizations with specialized branches that provide targeted services to segments of the population. The second is the tribal-based and patronage-based organizations. The third is the highly centralized vanguard type. The fourth is the decentralized or “networked” structures. Some organizations may have characteristics of more than one type, and the structures of others may evolve from one type to another over time. Centralized Islamist organizations with specialized branches, such as the Egyptian Ikhwan and today’s Palestinian Hamas, provide specialized services to different segments of the Muslim population. They may build schools and hospitals and provide financial aid to indigent families and students in need. They may provide relief services in case of war and natural disaster. The Muslim Brotherhood, for example, provided services much more effectively than the Egyptian government after the 1992 Cairo earthquake.13 They tend to mobilize support within civil society organizations such as student government and professional syndicates (Wicktorowicz 2001; Wickham 2002). In some instances, they form armed branches that provide a public good such as resistance to foreign occupation (e.g., Ikhwan’s resistance against the British occupation of the Suez Canal and Hizbollah’s resistance against the Israeli occupation of Southern Lebanon) for their communities. They often raise resources to maintain their broad activities from donations by supporters within


39

the country, from expatriates, and from supportive businesses such as Islamic banks and aid from Muslim states and other outside sponsors (Medani 2003). They are often highly bureaucratized, invest in human capital, attract considerable specialized talent over the years, and depend on broad-based financial support. They mobilize support based on their performance in the provision of services as well as their ideology. Patronage-based Islamist organizations, including ones based on tribal and clan ties, also mobilize support on the basis of providing resources and channeling them down the lines of loyalty, as well as on the basis of ideology. The leadership maintains cohesion of the organization and recruits others by meting resources it acquires from foreign patrons, the state, or other sources. In turn, the larger the organization’s membership, the more attractive it becomes to potential sponsors. Ties of patronage consist of exchange of loyalty for resources and are subject to continuous negotiation. The Afghan mujahideen parties of the 1980s were archetypes of such patronage-based parties (Sinno 2008) and so are the Islamist Pakistani Muttahida Majlis-e-Amal (MMA) coalition and several Afghan and Iraqi parties today. A third structural class consists of highly centralized vanguard-like Islamist organizations made up of committed members and do not focus on the provision of services. They are inspired from Sayyid Qutb’s approach of forming countersocieties of believers within the broader Jahili (unbeliever) society; Mawdudi’s focus is on Islamizing elites and sometimes from communist organizational models that were quite popular in past decades. This class would include the Palestinian Islamic Jihad, the Pakistani Jamaàt, and the Sudanese Muslim Brotherhood.14 Such organizations mobilize mainly based on ideology, not the provision of resources and services. They are structurally comparable to non-Islamist organizations such as the KurdishWorkers’Party or Partiya Karkerên Kurdistan (PKK) in Turkey or Lenin’s Bolsheviks. The fourth class of Islamist organizations are networked ones (Wictorowicz 2001). Networks depend on the recruitment of ideologically committed members and do not focus on the provision of services or public goods for a larger constituency. Al Qaeda today is a prime example of the networked Islamist organization.

P redic ti ons Islamist parties choose to participate in electoral competition depending on the quality of the electoral opening and their ability to benefit from it. Figure 1.1 describes this chapter’s predictions. Of course, the issue of electoral participation is moot for Islamist parties in countries without elections such as Tunisia, Syria, or Saudi Arabia.


Organizational structure

s vice l /ser zed e/triba ciali g Spe atrona or p

Cen trali zed /van gua rd

Islamist Party Participates fully

Islamist party may participate

Opportunity and effectiveness of parliament

Op

en

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tio ns

&

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fe c

tiv e

pa

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40

Restricted participation or weak parliament



Islamist party may participate

t en

am rli

n, a ru p p to am ed st w er llo bb t a ru No o or n


Islamist Party Participates but also uses other means to pressure government to make elections more fair or parliament more powerful

Islamist party does not participate

Figure 1.1. Expected Effect of Opportunity and Organization Structure on Islamist Participation in Electoral Politics

In such countries, Islamist parties are likely to pursue political change through confrontation, education, propaganda, social mobilization, or underground politics. Some may still push for electoral participation in spite of overwhelming odds (e.g., the Tunisian al-Nahda).

Service-Oriented and Patronage-Based Islamist Parties The expectation is for Islamist parties that provide social services or benefit from ties of clientage to participate enthusiastically where elections are fair and representation meaningful and to push for liberalization where democratic practices are restricted by the regime. Service-oriented organizations can count on broad popular support because of their ability to provide services, their reputation, and their provision of public goods. Patronage-based organizations can do the same by distributing resources and perhaps leveraging ties of tribal kinship. Their service branches, or networks of solidarity, provide these Islamist organizations with an accurate sense of the number and commitment of voters willing to support them and make participation less risky. Service-oriented organizations also have dedicated cadres who can easily make the transition to effective campaigners and, if successful, to public officials in state institutions.15 Leaders and cadres of service-oriented parties may have already developed an ethos of service that empowers them to do well once they hold public office. The two types of organizations would benefit from representation because the resources they may gain from being in parliament would enhance the effectiveness of the activities that made them popular in the first place and


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would therefore allow them to consolidate and expand their base of support. They would also gain national and international legitimacy and access to the institutions of the state. If an Islamist organization also forfeits militant means to develop a competitive edge in the provision of services, then representation through elections becomes the only way for it to influence the political process. If elections are fair and representation meaningful, service-oriented and patronage-based Islamist organizations, like others, could hope that substantial representation would allow them to play one of four roles in the polity: become the majority party (e.g., FIS, Hamas, AKP), one of the large parties (Hizbollah), a pivotal party for ruling coalitions (MMA), or the legitimizing party in a deeply religious country. They have no reason not to participate in fair and meaningful elections and every incentive to push for such elections when facing reluctant regimes. If elections are manipulated by the regime or if parliament is weak, service-oriented and patronage-based Islamist parties may participate in elections, but would also push for liberalization—they cannot be fully co-opted. They may be even more enthusiastic than liberal parties may, if any exists in the country, to push for liberalization because they would increase their strong competitive advantage in mobilization if they gain the freedom to recruit, to advertise, and to compete without state pressure. They may even resort to protests and other acts of resistance if the state resorts to heavy-handed measures to manipulate elections or to deprive them of an electoral victory. It may not be customary to think of Islamists as the most eager liberals, but evidence from Muslim countries seems to support the view that service-oriented and patronage-based Islamist parties indeed fight hard to make elections more fair and elected chambers more powerful in their countries. The Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood allied with the much weaker Egyptian liberals and leftists and has been actively trying to convince the reluctant Mubarak regime to liberalize.16 The Jordanian Muslim Brotherhood has been actively protesting the manipulation of elections and gerrymandering by the monarchy and its supporters.17 In Iraq, Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani forced the hand of the Bush Administration to go ahead with the election because the patronage and service-based Shia parties he supported were poised to achieve an electoral victory.18 Both Hamas and Hizbollah continue to cling to democratic institutions and support their legitimacy even as they confront their domestic opponents. Turkish Islamists have been consistently trying to push for increased democratic institutions. In summary, service-oriented and patronage-based Islamist parties today are staunch supporters of fair elections and meaningful representation. This is not a statement about the virtue or liberal predispositions

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of Islamists, it is a prediction based on empirical evidence and structural incentives. Conversely, it does not denigrate Islamists to indicate that their liberalism is the product of strong structural incentives instead of liberal thought. Pragmatic politicians are just as likely as idealistic liberals are to drive democratic transitions around the world.

Centralized and Networked Parties A centralized or networked Islamist organization may be indifferent to choice between a co-optive offer from the regime (limited elections or weak parliament) or genuine democratization. A co-optive arrangement with the regime would allow it to be influential well beyond its popular support. The regime would benefit from the Islamic credentials of its Islamist ally to shore up its own legitimacy within the population, and the co-opted Islamist party will gain influence over state institutions and Islamize society through them. Zia ul-Haq’s co-option of the Pakistani Jammat and Nimeiri’s co-option of the Sudanese Islamic Charter Front (the Muslim Brotherhood’s party) are two examples of such co-optive arrangements. The downside of these arrangements, as both Islamist parties discovered, is that their symbiotic relationship with unpopular rulers (they would not have needed to co-opt an Islamist party if they felt they had enough popular support) diminishes their own popularity. When this happens, they defect from the co-optive arrangement either to oppose the regime militarily or to join other organizations advocating fair elections. Advocating the adoption of elections is more attractive if the Islamist party already gave up its militant activities and elections are already accepted as a legitimate way to select leadership in the country. This is indeed what the Jamaàt and Sudanese Muslim Brotherhood did. Still, centralized and networked Islamist parties are not likely to push as hard as service-oriented and patronage-based ones for freer elections because they don’t stand to benefit from them as much and because their structures are better suited to survive the persecution of autocratic regimes. In fact, such structures are often adopted in the hope that they might enable the organization to survive in such an adverse environment. A lack of democratic opening also validates their choice of organizational structures designed for confrontation with the regime instead of structures designed for future possible participation in electoral politics. More important, their membership is more selective and relies on committed cadres. If they do participate in elections, they can only attract voters on the basis of ideological appeal instead of the more potent mix of ideological appeal and long-standing ties available to service and patronage organizations.


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Hizballah, Islah 1993, Iraqi Shia and Sunni Islamists

Jamaaat during democratic episodes Sudanese NIF

Opportunity and effectiveness of parliament

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ct

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Centralized and networked parties are likely to vacillate between choosing co-optive arrangements and fair democratic elections because the comparative advantages of the two options, when available, are not as clear to them as they are for service-oriented and patronage-based ones. Figure 1.2 shows what Islamist parties familiar to us do based on our predictions. The different Islamist parties in Figure 1.2 do participate in the way this theory predicts. Islamist parties that provide services or are based on patronage actively participate in elections in which there are generally open and fair elections and push for fairer elections where they are restricted. Hamas overmatched the Palestinian Liberation Organization in the provision of services and public goods such as resistance to occupation by the time it chose to contest elections. Hamas was particularly concerned with protecting and benefiting from its service organizations as it formulated its electoral strategy (Michal and Sela 2000). Hizbollah has the best-developed network of services in Lebanon (Hamzeh 2004) and has participated in Lebanese elections despite Syrian pressure to cede seats to Syria’s ally Amal (Saad-Ghorayeb 2002, 54). Hizbollah has also been pushing for electoral reforms that would lead to better representation of its share of support among Lebanon’s Shia (Saad-Ghorayeb 2002, 56). Iraqi Shia Islamist parties had every incentive to participate in elections—their highest religious authority (Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani) declared voting a religious duty—and they even pushed the United States to establish an electoral regime.19 Being elected allowed them to become conduits of resources made available through the state and by outside donors by

Restricted participation or weak parliament


s vice l /ser zed e/triba ciali g Spe atrona p or

ia

rl n, a ru p p to am ed st w er llo bb t a ru No o or n


en m t Lybia, Tunisia, Syria, Uzbekistan,...

Figure 1.2. Cases

Hamas, Ikhwan in Egypt and Jordan, Turkish Islamist Parties

PAS Jamaat under Zia Sudanese NIF under Nimeiri Palestinian Islamic Jihad

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dominating ministries, providing security to their constituents in the context of a violent sectarian war and, in the case of the Sadrists, the public good of resisting occupation. The Egyptian and Jordanian Muslim Brotherhoods also have sprawling service networks and actively push for fairer elections and political openings in spite of the restrictions their countries’ regimes put on their activities (Wictorowicz 2001; Schwedler 2006). While the two branches of the Muslim Brotherhood are not themselves political parties, voters know that the candidates fielded under the banner of the Islamic Action Front in Jordan and various allied parties in Egyptian elections are affiliated with the brotherhood. Similarly, in Turkey, Islamist parties such as Refah and Adalet ve Kalkinma Partisi do not provide services independently, but benefit from the tremendous effect of educational institutions, service organizations, and other such Islamic-oriented activities on Turkish society. Islamist parties that do not provide social services on a large scale are less inclined to participate in elections or to push for increased democratization and are more easily persuaded by co-optive offers. The Palestinian Islamic Jihad, which lacked the service organizations of Hamas, for example, did not participate in the Palestinian elections as did Hamas. The Sudanese Muslim Brotherhood and the Pakistani Jamaàt both waffled between support for free democratic elections and co-optive arrangements with autocratic regimes. A broad range of political parties participated in Sudan’s two democratic episodes, which preceded the May 1969 coup that brought Colonel Jaafar Nimeiri to power (el-Battahani 2002). While the larger Islamist Sudanese parties based on patronage ties (Umma and Democratic Unionist Party) did not actively support the Nimeiri regime, the vanguard-like Islamist Sudanese Islamic Charter Front did. The political arm of the Muslim Brotherhood led by Hassan al-Turabi, agreed to join a co-optive arrangement with Nimeiri. Turabi hoped to penetrate state institutions, to restructure his organization, to spread its reach while weakening rivals, and to promote Islamization through state institutions (Hamdi 1998, 18–26). Nimeiri appointed al-Turabi attorney general, decreed Sharia law, allowed the Islamization of the armed forces and the creation of powerful Islamic courts staffed in part by Ikhwan members, and facilitated the growth of Islamic banking that led to the growth of a class of wealthy Ikhwan sympathizers (el-Affendi 1991). Despite these advantages, support for Nimeiri was costly to the Ikhwan, as evidenced by their loss of support in their traditional strongholds—student and professional organizations and labor unions. They lost student elections at the University of Khartoum to a broad coalition in 1979 and lost them at Khartoum and Omdurman Islamic universities in 1984 (el-Affendi 1991, 119–21, 128).


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They were blamed for many of the regime’s transgressions, and the organization suffered from internal tensions as the rank-and-file expressed discontent about supporting such an unpopular regime. When Nimeiri felt that the Ikhwan were becoming too strong, he turned against them, but was overthrown himself in a coup that ushered in a new democratic episode. After the fall of the Nimeiri regime in 1985, Turabi dissolved the Islamic Charter Front and reorganized it into the National Islamic Front (NIF) to contest the 1986 elections. NIF ranked third in the election, and Turabi joined the government. Turabi’s NIF, however, joined forces with the military junta that ended this democratic episode. Some say that NIF was behind the 1989 coup. Either way, NIF and Turabi became intertwined with the government structure when other parties, based on patronage and tribal ties continued to push for a return to elections. While the military leaders and Turabi ultimately parted ways because of Turabi’s attempt to weaken President Omar Hasan al-Bashir, this cooptive arrangement helped establish the junta by giving it Islamic legitimacy and led to a dramatic Islamization of the country. Another nonservice organization, the Pakistani Jamaàt, supported democratization and participated in competitive elections on many occasions during Pakistan’s long history of seesawing between democracy and authoritarianism. It helped mobilize popular opposition to authoritarian rule in 1962 to 1965. In 1969, it led the Democratic Action Committee, which demanded an end to Ayub Khan’s authoritarian rule. In 1977, it served as the main force in the Pakistan National Alliance’s struggle against the Bhutto regime and Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto’s increasingly autocratic rule (Nasr 1995). In addition to pushing for democratization and competing actively during democratic episodes (1951–1958, 1971–1977, 1988–1999), it also supported authoritarian regimes at different times (1969–1971, 1977–1985). The Jamaàt was quite popular in 1977 because it played a leading role in resisting Bhutto’s regime, but the army coup led by General Zia ul-Haq ended serious electoral completion. Zia co-opted the Jamaàt and other Islamist parties by implementing many of the Islamization measures they favored but avoided holding elections they desired. By doing so, Zia acquired Islamic legitimacy in a mostly devoutly Muslim country and divided opposition to his rule. The Jamaàt accepted this co-optive arrangement until its leadership realized that it began to cost the party considerable popular support, at which point it distanced itself from Zia and criticized the extent of his powers, his abrogation of democratic elections, and even the way he implemented Islamization (Nasr 1995; Esposito 1987, 167–76). The Jamaàt could gauge its loss of support from its electoral performance in the restricted election of 1985 in

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which it won only ten parliamentary seats even though the large Pakistan People’s Party boycotted the election. By 1985, the Jamaàt was actively opposing Zia’s rule and promoting a return to democracy. PAS is exceptional in the sense that it pushes for increased democratization and persistently participates in elections without having the benefit of a service organization in spite of practices by the dominant United Malays National Organization (UMNO) that bias elections against the Islamist party. The reason is simple: the Malay state under UMNO provides effective services for the ethnic Malay segment of the population that both parties target, and there are no realistic political alternatives to electoral participation in Malaysia. PAS distinguished itself in the past on an ideological level, but even it seems to be moving toward the provision of services as well.

Ac a demic S igni fi c anc e a nd Po l ic y C o n s equenc e s The intent of this exploratory chapter is to propose a theory of electoral participation by Islamist parties based on knowledge of about ten or so such organizations. While this group of Islamist organizations is likely to be representative of most such organizations, it will only become certain that these predictions generally hold after testing this theory on a comprehensive data set of Islamist organizations. Still, it seems reasonable to share some conclusions about the academic significance of the argument and its relevance to policy. A key insight is that, if correct, Islamist organizations are like any other organizations that disagree with an autocratic regime in regards to their response to co-optive offers or a democratic opening. What matters most are organizational structures, not the particular oppositional ideology the organization adopts. The argument would have applied to communist, Arab nationalist, or other organizations that challenge their countries’ regimes if they were still significant in an era of democratic openings and regimes trying to widen their bases of support. Maurice Duverger’s classic study, Political Parties, implies that this might well have been the case in Europe during the first half of the twentieth century. Sathis Kalyvas (2000) shows how the comparison of the democratic participation of religious parties from different continents, religions, and eras can be informative. From a policy standpoint, the present argument suggests that concerned Western governments should support democratic participation of Islamist parties that are service oriented and patronage based. This is a salient issue with high stakes. French and American support for the military coup that scuttled the Algerian democratic election that was going to bring the Islamist FIS to power in 1992 started a civil war that killed more


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than 120,000 Algerians, motivated terrorist attacks in France, and produced much skepticism regarding France and the United States’ claims of supporting democracy. American and Israeli attempts to reinstate the Palestinian Liberation Organization after it lost the 2006 elections to Hamas led to a damaging Palestinian civil war and the division of institutions between the West Bank and Gaza. These findings also speak to the urgent debate in the West about whether the United States should prod the regime of President Hosni Mubarak of Egypt to allow free elections in which the Muslim Brotherhood and others would compete without restrictions.20 Despite its claim that it has an agenda of promoting democracy in the Middle East, the Bush Administration had been reluctant to pressure the Mubarak regime and others to allow freer elections out of fear that successful Islamists would adopt an anti-American agenda. The cost of supporting strongmen while claiming to want to promote democracy, of course, is to increase popular hostility against the United States in the Muslim world and to risk having U.S. allies overthrown in revolutions that will send regimes on a long-term anti-American trajectory, similar to the Iranian Revolution of 1979. The Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood would likely win fair and free elections in the future, but its political agenda will be more anti-American if the United States keeps supporting the Mubarak regime despite its anti-Democratic stance. An organization geared toward services like the Muslim Brotherhood will likely produce a dedicated, less corrupt, more efficient and more transparent regime than the current one—exactly the kind the United States claims it would like to see in the Middle East. It is also unlikely to do away with elections and democracy because it has a strong competitive advantage in this type of competition over Egyptian liberals, Arab nationalists, Wafd party members, leftists, and the current regime’s supporters. The same argument would apply to service-oriented Islamist parties elsewhere. This argument also informs the decision making of Islamist organizations that consider accepting a co-optive offer from an autocratic regime. The experiences of the Sudanese Ikhwan and the Pakistani Jamaàt show the long-term risks involved in joining such a co-optive arrangement in spite of short-term incentives. The two organizations defected when they realized how much popular support they lost. Supporting a democratic regime is more beneficial in the long term, even for centralized and networked Islamist institutions, despite the lure of immediate gains in the area of promoting Sharia (Islamic law). In summary, it is not ideology, theology, hidden agendas, or exhaustion driving Islamists to become democrats—it is strategic calculations based on advantages that functional structure confers in elections that do.

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N otes 1. For a critique of this cooperation, see Manar Shorbagy, “Understanding Kefaya: The New Politics in Egypt,” Arab Studies Quarterly 29, no. 1 (2007): 39–60. 2. Shaul Michal and Avraham Sela, The Palestinian Hamas: Vision, Violence, and Coexistence (New York: Columbia University Press, 2000); Azzam Tamimi, Hamas: Unwritten Chapters (London: Hurst, 2007), 208–11. The Hamas leadership in Syria, including Khaled Meshal, opposed the group’s participation in the 2006 election but Meshàl’s second in command, Mussa Abu Marzuk and the leadership in the Occupied Territories supported participation, but more so in Gaza than in the West Bank. See Arnon Regular, “Hamas to Take Part in PA Parliamentary Elections in July,” Haaretz, March 13, 2005. For the debate regarding participation in the 1996 election, see Khalil Shikaki, “The Palestinian Elections: An Assessment,” Journal of Palestine Studies 25, no. 3 (1996): 20. 3. For a discussion of the theological building blocks of an embrace of democratic practices in Islam, see John Obert Voll and John L. Esposito, “Islam’s Democratic Essence,” Middle East Quarterly, September 1994, http:// www.meforum.org/article/151. 4. See, for example, Bernard Lewis, “Islam and Liberal Democracy,” Atlantic Monthly, February 1993, 89–98; and Martin Kramer, “Islam vs. Democracy,” Commentary, January 1993, 35–42. See also Ahmad Nizar Hamzeh, In the Path of Hizbullah (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 2004), 112, regarding Hizbollah’s participation in Lebanese elections. 5. See Geneive Abdo, No God but God: Egypt and the Triumph of Islam (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), regarding Egypt. Islamization in Shiite areas of Lebanon became highly visible through wearing Islamic attire, growing beards, and using Hizbollah symbols, starting in the late 1980s. 6. Hamas won 44 percent of the popular vote and 56 percent of the seats in the Palestinian Legislative Council. Fatah won 42 percent of the popular vote and 34 percent of the seats. 7. Selznick, P. TVA and the Grassroots: A Study of Politics and Organization. Berkely: Berkely University Press (1949) is a classic case study of co-option as strategy. See Michael Saward, Co-optive Politics and State Legitimacy (Aldershot: Dartmouth, 1992), for a rare discussion of this important strategy and its general application to international relations and strategic interaction in general. See Abdulkader Sinno, Organizations at War in Afghanistan and Beyond (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press 2008), for a discussion of cooption in conflict environments. Co-option is a widely used strategy that has garnered too little academic attention. 8. See Martin Gargiulo, “Two-Step Leverage: Managing Constraint in Organizational Politics,” Administrative Science Quarterly 38 (1993): 1–19, for a discussion of two-step leverage and indirect co-optive behavior in organizational politics. 9. On the effect of co-option on power within the co-opting organization, see Jeffrey Pfeffer, Power in Organizations (Marshfield, MA: Pitman, 1981), 166 ff.


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10. Some would tell you that organizations other than adversaries could be coopted. This is a loose use of the term and seems to imply alliance more than co-option. 11. Pfeffer 1981, 167. 12. The distinction between open and fair elections on the one hand and cooptive offers on the other is close to the concepts of “unified structures of contestations” and “divided structures of contestation” proposed by Ellen Lust-Okar, Structuring Conflict in the Arab World (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005). See also Jillian Schwedler, Faith in Moderation: Islamist Parties in Jordan and Yemen (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), chap. 2), for a discussion of “political liberalization as a mechanism of political control.” 13. Chris Hedges, “Cairo Journal; After the Earthquake, a Rumbling of Discontent,” New York Times, October 21, 1992, http://query.nytimes.com/gst/ fullpage.html?res=9E0CE0D9133BF932A15753C1A964958260. See also Martin Degg, “The 1992 ‘Cairo Earthquake’: Cause, Effect and Response” Disasters 17, no. 3 (September 1993): 226–38. 14. See Khalid B. Sayeed, “The Jama’ at-i-Islami Movement in Pakistan,” Pacific Affairs 30, no. 1 (1957): 59–68, and S. V. R. Nasr, “Democracy and Islamic Revivalism,” Political Science Quarterly 110, no. 2 (1995): 281–28), for descriptions of the organization of Jamaàt at different stages. See Abdelwahab el-Affendi, Turabi’s Revolution: Islam and Power in Sudan (London: Grey Seal, 1991), 88, 115, on the organization of the Sudanese Ikhwan over time. 15. See Mandy Turner, “Building Democracy in Palestine: Liberal Peace Theory and the Election of Hamas,” Democratization 13, no. 5 (2006): 739–55, on how Hamas cadres made the transition from social service providers to campaigners to municipal administrators. 16. “Egypt’s Brotherhood Calls for Opposition Alliance,” Reuters, June 28, 2005. 17. See Schwedler (2006). See also Hassan M. Fattah. “Jordan Islamists Stir Tensions by Displaying Election Skills,” New York Times, May 12, 2006, http://www.nytimes.com/2006/05/12/world/middleeast/12jordan .html. Hassan M. Fattah and Suha Maayeh, “Islamic Opposition Group Pulls Out of Elections in Jordan,” New York Times, August 1, 2007, http://www .nytimes.com/2007/08/01/world/middleeast/01jordan.html. 18. Alex Berenson, “Iraq’s Shiites Insist on Democracy. Washington Cringes,” New York Times, November 30, 2003, http://query.nytimes.com/gst/ fullpage.html?res=9C0CE4DC123AF933A05752C1A9659C8B63. 19. Noah Feldman, “Now for the Hard Part in Iraq: Order Out of Disorder,” Financial Times, February 1, 2005, http://www.newamerica.net/ publications/articles/2005/now_for_the_hard_part_in_iraq. 20. See, for example, Marc Lynch, “Urgent: Brothers in Arms,” Foreign Policy 162 (September/October 2007): 70–74, and John Walsh, “Egypt’s Muslim Brotherhood: Understanding Centrist Islam,” Harvard International Review 24, no. 4 (2003): 32–37, 2003.


Chapter 2

4

Di fferent Set tings, Di fferent Definition s, a nd Different Agendas Is l am ic and Secu l a r Po li t i c al Parties in Indo nes ia a nd Ma l ay si a

Kees van Dijk

In any attempt to analyze the interaction between secular and Islamic

political parties in nations with a high proportion of Muslim citizens, it is a good idea to compare their performance in two such countries, Indonesia and Malaysia. These two are the only countries in Southeast Asia that have a Muslim majority, although it is higher in Indonesia than Malaysia. In Indonesia, Muslims constitute between 85 and 90 percent of the population. In Malaysia, their preponderance is less clear-cut. According to the 2000 census, Malays (almost without exception Muslims)1 and other indigenous groups made up 65.1 percent of the total Malaysian population of 23.27 million. Chinese composed 26 percent and Indians 7.7 percent.2 The percentage of Muslims, that is (mostly), Malays and Indians, was 60.4 percent (The Straits Times Interactive, August 11, 2001).3 The two countries are neighbors, and through the ages, their inhabitants have influenced each other’s societies, especially in the religious sphere. Malaysian and Indonesian Muslims share with their coreligionists in the rest of Southeast Asia the fact that they are Sunni Muslims adhering to the Shafi’i School of Law.4 Despite such similarities in background, the role and position of Islamic parties in Indonesia and Malaysia are far apart, not least because, in each country, the Islamic spectrum divides differently. Some explanation for this lies in historical circumstances. Compared with the

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long-standing presence of the Dutch in parts of preindependent Indonesia, effective British colonial rule in Malaysia was relatively short. Except in some port towns, it lasted for little more than half a century. Having had the good fortune to be left untouched by the interference of a Western colonial power (and sagaciously not inviting such a power to intervene in domestic quarrels) before the twentieth century, the Malay sultanates survived relatively unscathed. Their domestic Islamic administration also remained intact and was even strengthened, providing a barrier in rural areas against the penetration of Western culture and the new Islamic ideas that developed around the turn of the twentieth century (Kessler 1978, 54). In Malaysia, as Kessler (1978, 59) described for Kelantan, Islamic modernists remained an isolated minority confined to the cities, unable to win much support in the countryside where the traditional religious elite continued to hold sway. In Indonesia, modernist Muslims were much more active in the fields of education and political agitation, which gave them the scope to emerge as an important political factor as early as the first decades of the twentieth century. The consequences remain evident to this day. The main divide in the devout Indonesian Islamic community is between traditionalist and modernist Muslims. In Malaysia, fundamentalist, scriptural Islam and a more moderate stream of Islam are the two main rival streams. Simply by a whim of history in Malaysia, a country with a significant non-Islamic minority, Islam became the state religion, whereas Indonesia, with a large Islamic majority, became a religiously neutral state. One of the consequences of this difference is that the discussions about an Islamic state assumes a different dimension in the two countries. When the prospect of establishing an Islamic state arises in Malaysia, it invariably elicits strong protests from representatives of the Chinese community. Although exceptions are becoming more frequent, leaders of the mainstream Islamic communities in Indonesia nowadays react to suggestions that the country be turned into an Islamic state by testifying their support for the religiously neutral basis of the state, which they regard as a powerful ideological symbol unifying the nation. Any discussions about the relationship between Islam and politics in Southeast Asia will invariably give rise to a number of questions. The first is one of definition. What are Islamic political parties in the Indonesian and Malaysian context? Alternatively, shifting the emphasis a little, what are Islamic political parties in the perception of the observer and of the Malaysian and Indonesian population? The second question concerns the mode of operation. Do Islamic parties function or operate differently than secular or non-Islamic parties? A third question relates to the role of socioreligious organizations. Do they form a support base for Islamic political parties, and in what way do they influence decision making within them?

Different Settings, Different Definitions, Different Agendas 53

The fourth and somewhat related question concerns the role of dakwah, religious missionary activities, in winning members and voters. In view of the present circumstances in the Islamic world, a final question concerns the effect of Islamization on the political system. The last question simultaneously indicates a limitation. The focus of this chapter is on groups that participate in politics. It does not deal with organizations that reject democracy and oppose popular representation and general elections. They may adopt this stance because they favor a caliphate or because their leaders and members concur with Sayyid Qutb’s doctrine that Islam strives to, “abolish all those systems and governments which are based on the rule of man over men” (Wright 2006, 108). Making the argument that elected representative bodies that put the final authority for shaping the legal system in the hands of the people are in contravention of the fact that lawmaking is a divine matter. The expansion of Islamization has imbued such opinions with greater popularity and in Indonesia in recent years such groups as Laskar Jihad (Holy War Army; see Noorhaidi 2005) and Hizbut Tahrir Indonesia have propagated them.

Wh at I s an I sl ami c Poli ti c al Pa rty in the I ndo nesi an C ont ex t? At first sight, the answer of what exactly is an Islamic political party seems self-evident. It is an organization active in politics with a Muslim membership and that has the goal to bring about the advancement of Islam in society and in politics. In the beginning, in Indonesia everything was indeed clear. In the 1950s, the two largest Islamic parties recognized as such by the public, the modernist Masjumi and traditionalist Nahdlatul Ulama (NU), pursued an obviously Islamic agenda. Masjumi began as a political party in November 1945. In March 1946, the NU formally joined it as an extraordinary member (Anam 1985, 129). In the early 1950s, the NU left Masjumi to become a separate political party. Working in conjunction with two smaller Islamic parties, Persatuan Tarbiyah Islamiyah (Perti, Islamic Education Union) and Partai Sarekat Islam Indonesia (PSII, Indonesian Islamic League Party), the goal of Masjumi and the NU was to stamp the Indonesian state with a distinct Islamic identity. In the Constituent Assembly (Konstituante), they urged that the Indonesian Republic be given either an Islamic basis or that the so-called Jakarta Charter (Piagam Jakarta) in the Preamble to the Indonesian Constitution be adopted.5 Their political adversaries, the two largest secular parties, the Partai Nasional Indonesia (PNI) and the Partai Komunis Indonesia (PKI), threw their weight behind the proposal of President Soekarno and suggested the Pancasila instead (Boland 1982, 94–99; Anshari 1981, 83–99).6 Although the wording of the two is almost the

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same, the difference between the two is fundamental. The Pancasila stresses belief in the One and Only God as one of the ideological foundations of the Indonesian state. The Jakarta Charter adds to this the affirmation that Indonesian Muslims are obliged to follow Islamic law. Had the proponents of the Jakarta Charter won their victory it would have turned Indonesia into a semi-Islamic State. National leaders of Masjumi but especially those of the NU—at least part of them—may still have been prepared to compromise, but the Islamic nature of the two parties complicated by the less accommodating attitude of their members and supporters limited the room these leaders’ maneuvering room (Lev 1966, 126–27, 261–62). Such differences in attitude between national politicians, who have to take into account the realities of national and international politics, local leaders, and ordinary members, more motivated by religious sentiments, seem to have been a general characteristic of Islamic parties throughout Indonesia’s recent history. At the end of the 1950s, it was the opinion of the regular members that prevailed in the Constituent Assembly resulting in an impasse. Neither proponents of the Pancasila nor those of the Jakarta Charter were strong enough to gain the required two-thirds majority in the Constituent Assembly. As would happen so often later in Indonesian history, the wishes of the president prevailed. On July 5, 1959, Soekarno, with the support of the army, issued a special presidential decree announcing the return to the first Indonesian Constitution (of 1945) that included Pancasila. In those days, the religious nature of the NU and Masjumi was also quite apparent in their organizational structure. The primacy given to religion implied that room was made to accommodate the opinions of religious experts in influencing and in formulating party policies deemed to be correct. In religious organizations, such a function devolves on a special council. A Majlis Syuriyah, or Majlis Syura, Religious Advisory Council, safeguards the integrity of the party or organization, supervising its actions to ensure that its religious doctrine is honored. Despite its central role, its very existence is a potential source of conflict, as its views may clash with those of the executive board, Pengurus Besar or Tanfidziyah. Since its foundation, a Majlis Syura had functioned on both the national and provincial levels of Masjumi, and since 1956, it has operated on the district (kabupaten/kotamadya) level. Lower levels, the subdistrict (kecamatan) and village branches, had to do without (Noer 1960, 136). In Masjumi, the position of the Majlis Syura was dualistic. In theory, it was, as Noer (1960 135) observed, “an organ of the party to which fatwa’s on specific questions are referred to and whose decisions on religious matters are binding upon the Central Board.” In practice, divergences arose. As in the case of all fatwas, it was possible to contest the decisions of the Majlis


Syura. Conflicts with the central executive board “would be resolved by consultation between both bodies, and the conclusions reached at these consultative meetings would be vested with the highest authority” (Noer 1960, 135). In the NU, the Majlis Syuriyah enjoyed a strong position from inception. Founded as a religious organization in 1926, its most prestigious religious scholars (ulama, kyai) led by K. H. Hasjim Asj’ari filled the council. The kyai, well respected for their mastery of religious knowledge, then and later sat on the national and regional religious advisory boards. Through the pesantren (Islamic boarding schools) they and other ulama owned or managed, they played an essential role in the informal Islamic educational system. Consequently, lower-ranking ulama and ordinary Muslims alike held them in high regard and often turned to them for advice. On lists of the early NU boards, the names of the members of the Syuriah came before those of the executive board (Tanfidziyah), which was composed of persons with no kyai-status. (Anam 1985, 69–70). To remove any lingering doubt, there was explicit mention that the members of the executive board were not ulama (Bukan Ulama) and hence, the implication was, of lesser importance in the community from which the NU drew its supporters (Anam 1985, 78). At congresses, the Syuriah took the lead (Anam 1985, 89). In 1934, there became a formal division of labor between the two boards, with the executive board in the clearly subordinate position. The articles of association ruled that at congresses its member could participate in decision making in matters not concerned with religion. Religious issues were the preserve of the religious experts, the ulama. In other matters, the ordinary members had a say; they could join in (boleh toeroet) the deliberations. The hierarchy was explicit. The president of the executive board was responsible for putting the decisions of the Persidangan Goeroe Agama (Oelama), the session of religious teachers (ulama) into practice (Anam 1985, 89–90). After the NU joined Masjumi, a situation in which a strong executive board dominated by nonreligious experts overshadowed the religious advisory board in which NU leaders were more prominent, confronted its leaders. Mohammad Natsir, Mohammad Roem, and other “Western educated intellectuals” had outmaneuvered NU leaders. They were convinced that such people dominated Masjumi’s policymaking process (Anam 1985, 130–31). Depicting the balance of power in Masjumi, one author observed that the position of NU leaders in the Majlis Syura of Masjumi was indeed strong, but that the status of this body was merely that of a group of advisors whose recommendations were no longer needed (Anam 1985, 182) and whose opinions did not count in determining the course for Masjumi. The ulama saw only one way out. They left Masjumi. It was

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not the first time Indonesian traditional Muslims felt underrepresented and feared that modernists would monopolize the voice of Indonesian Islam. The NU began in 1926 in reaction to such a situation. It would also not be the last time that traditionalists united with modernists in one organization would feel that the latter were the main beneficiaries. Indisputably, discord between the executive and religious advisory board colored relations in Masjumi, but the NU was also not free of such tensions. Significantly, it was its general chair, Idham Chalid, who initially agreed to the return to the Constitution of 1945 and the Pancasila at the end of the 1950s. Despite his acquiescence, eventually his opinion had to give way to opposition from regional party leaders and ordinary members (Lev 1966, 261–65). Later Idham Chalid continued to cooperate with the Guided Democracy government. Politically speaking, he is a NU politician, who certainly did not belong to the inner circle of illustrious religious scholars. He was a “religiously less well-educated ulama” (Burhanudin 2007, 249).7 Anam (1985, 198) considers his election as general chairperson in December 1956 a turning point in the history of the NU. Overstating the point, he writes that the appointment of Idham Chalid showed it was possible to become a leader of the NU irrespective of whether the person had been pesantren-educated. What counted was that such people were “prepared to be obedient and submissive to the leadership of the Syuriyah.” Other observers have taken a different, more realistic view and point out the rivalry, at times a bitter competition, between kyai and politicians after the 1950s (Adnan 1982). Dealing with conflicts in the NU in the New Order, Fachry Ali (1984, 61) writes that the more Idham Chalid and others of this new class in the NU were firmly ensconced in the saddle, the more the position of the ulama of the Syuriah camp as the source of legitimacy was threatened. This is also the opinion of Laode Ida (1996, 54), who likewise indicates the loss of influence experienced by the kyai and Syuriah in the wake of the steady advance of politicians in NU. Soekarno’s interference in 1959 ushered in a period of almost forty years in which the power of the president was paramount, and religion became dissociated from politics with varying degrees of success. Masjumi politicians were among the first confronted with the changing political circumstances. Asked to do so explicitly by Soekarno, they expressed their support for the Pancasila, even though they had bowed their heads to the inevitable; they had to dissolve their party in 1960. President Soekarno left them no option, threatening to ban Masjumi, a number of whose leaders had joined in a regional rebellion, if they did not do so (Noer 1987, 382–87). The NU survived but could hardly profile itself as an Islamic political party in a climate in which Indonesians had to testify their loyalty to the official political ideology—the Manipol/USDEK in


Guided Democracy jargon8–transformed into the object of intense official indoctrination campaigns. Such a task was even more difficult in the prevailing political circumstances in which communism and cooperation between Islam and communism appeared favored by the president. To survive and to share in at least some political power, the NU had to adopt a defensive strategy. In fact, it espoused reticence: “But this did not mean that the NU does not have opinions. As a party it certainly has opinions, they are only not clarified and made public,” its general chair explained (Anam 1985, 228). September 1965 and the suppression of what the Indonesian Army claimed to be a communist coup d’etat promised to be a watershed. Soeharto and the other army officers who assumed power assiduously encouraged religiosity as an antidote to communism. Within months, hope within the Islamic community that the political arena might reflect the resulting revival of Islam waned. One of the first reasons for this was the denial of the request by former Masjumi leaders to reconstitute their party. In fact, the new men in power declared them a party of traitors. Initially, Muslim leaders were also unaware that Soeharto and his fellow generals, who dominated politics in this New Order (Orde Baru), were as suspicious of a viable political role for Islam as Soekarno had been. Realistically accepting that, whatever their actions, they could not surmount such blatant mistrust, Moh, Natsir, and other former popular Masjumi leaders pragmatically turned their backs on politics. Instead, they concentrated their efforts on the Islamization of society. Dakwah displaced politics as their means to reach their aim. In the end, their efforts were successful. Some of the growth of a strict segment in the Indonesian Islamic community so visible today goes back to their activities. Islam continued to develop but outside the political sphere. It is possible to control politics, but dealing with such institutions as the mosque would prove far more difficult. In the 1970s, the incumbent minister of the interior, General Amir Machmud, had already complained about the negative tone of the sermons being given in mosques. He pleaded that they should contain at least a modicum of praise for the government. Around the same time, Masjumi leaders commenced using the idul adha and idul fitri celebrations to vent their criticism of the New Order government. It was not long before student mosques, often at secular universities, became centers for propagating an austere version of Islam. Under the New Order, the Pancasila became sacrosanct. As had been the case with Manipol/USDEK in the first half of the 1960s, in the course of the New Order, the Pancasila became the subject of an immense indoctrination campaign. By sheer accident, the same person, Ruslan Abdulgani, was a leading architect of both campaigns. There was no longer any tolerance for suggesting alternatives, including the Jakarta

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Charter. Economic development and economic progress now paraded as the catchwords of the New Order (albeit spiritual development often appeared in the same section in official documents). Another necessity by which government policy was constructed was that of unity, ignoring the actual differences in class and religious convictions present in society. Ideally, one organization alone should represent each social category. A multiplicity of organizations linked to a specific political or religious creed was no longer acceptable. Despite a plethora of strictures, they only partially accomplished the desired result of the de-ideologization or de-pillarization of political life. In 1973, the surviving Islamic parties, including the NU and Parmusi (whom the New Order authorities tolerated to cater to the former Masjumi supporters but which could operate only under stringent government control) merged. Their unification produced the Partai Persatuan Pembangunan (PPP). Its name contained the two main aspirations of the New Order government: unity (persatuan) and development (pembangunan). Any reference to Islam was conspicuously absent. PPP had no option but to follow the directives of the New Order. Its role was to be a putatively open party, of which in principle non-Muslims could also become members. Its Islamic nature was diluted even more when PPP had to declare that the Pancasila (and not Islam) was its sole basis (azas tunggal) in 1985;9 a step that all other parties and organizations had to take. Most organizations complied. Those that did not were banned.10 Other Muslims had to flee the country because of their opposition to the sole basis principle and the general acceptance of the Pancasila this implied. Among them were Abdullah Sungkar and Abu Bakar Ba’asyir who later founded the Jemaah Islamiyah. For the government, achievement of the sole basis vow was a milestone. In a booklet, Muslims’ Interests Are Best Served in the Absence of Muslim Parties (Indonesian Experience), the incumbent minister of religious affairs, Munawir Sjadzali (1992, 9), wrote that the acceptance of the azas tunggal was proof that “Indonesian Muslims have formally given up the idea of an Islamic state, and so eliminated the possibility of the birth of an Islamic state in Indonesia.” In 1984, the NU dissociated from the PPP and left politics again. Theological differences and worries that its involvement in politics would be detrimental to its activities in the social, religious, and educational spheres played a role in the decision to break with the PPP. Yet, there were now two additional reasons for the NU to return to its original role as a nonpolitical, socioreligious organization, to its Khittah 1926, the slogan it chose itself.11 As had been the case in the early 1950s, NU leaders felt that they had been treated in an extremely unfair manner and that PPP modernist Muslims, that is, politicians from Parmusi, received most of the benefits. They were convinced that, while the NU functioned as the


vote-catcher of the PPP, Parmusi leaders walked away with a disproportionately greater share of the political functions the party could bestow and, for instance, had overrepresentation among PPP members of parliament. Another cause for complaint was that, because of its involvement in PPP, the Tanfidziyah had become the dominant institution in the NU. The intention of reverting to a purely religious organization and restoring the supremacy of the kyai showed in its desire to have the Syuriah paramount again, even allowing it to appoint the members of the executive board. Indeed, the 1984 NU Congress decided to restore the authority of the Syuriah as the “controller, leader and manager” of the NU. The Congress elected the Tanfidziyah, but its composition would also require the agreement of the Syuriah, which also had the power to dismiss the executive board (Ida 1996, 62–63). It was a brave attempt, but the new structure did not end the conflicts between the advisory and executive boards. In 1994, then general chair of the NU, Abdurrahman Wahid, suggested doing away with the Tanfidziyah altogether (Tebba 1995, 84). Despite this, PPP remained the only Islamic political party of the New Order; others were prohibited. It performed this function under trying circumstances and was no match for the government party, Golkar, which won an overwhelming majority in all general elections under the New Order, always winning more than 65 percent of the votes. In 1997, it even gained almost 75 percent of the votes (Kristiadi, Legowo, and Harjanto 1997, 166). To achieve such results, Golkar had to count on the prestige of Islamic religious leaders. Among them were members of the Nahdlatul Ulama who were free to be active in any party they wanted after 1984. Moreover, the Golkar party machine had intimate links with two Islamic mass organizations. One was the Mathla’ul Anwar (Source of Light), after the NU and its modernist counterpart the Muhammadiyah, the third largest Islamic organization in Indonesia with its own network of schools (see Rosidin 2007). The other was Gabungan Usaha Perbaikan Pendidikan Islam (GUPPI, Federation for the Improvement of Islamic Education; see Cahyono 1992). In both cases, a confidant of President Soeharto, Alamsyah Ratu Perwiranegara, played a key role. With respect to the Mathla’ul Anwar, he was instrumental in forging the link (Rosidin 2007, 217). Devoid of many of its Islamic symbols, PPP had no option but to take up the challenge posed by Golkar and of the only other political party allowed, the Partai Demokrasi Indonesia (PDI, Indonesian Democratic Party).12 Its name carried no reference to Islam and early in its existence, it had to drop the Ka’bah as its party symbol and adopt a more neutral star instead. At the end of the New Order, it even had to stand helplessly by as one of its most important campaigners, the immensely popular singer Rhoma Irama defected to Golkar.

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In May 1998, the fall of Soeharto signaled the end of the New Order. The Reform Period (Reformasi), which came in its wake ushered in a radical departure from the past. Between 1959 and 1998, government control of the political system had been intense and censorship reigned supreme. Now, almost everybody, including the government, called for reforms and stressed freedom of speech and association. Now everyone was free to speak out in favor of the Jakarta Charter or the establishment of an Islamic State. What also made a great impression in Indonesia and abroad was that radical hard-liner Muslims had the chance to air their opinions and to set up their own organizations. Some of these groups had already been active under the New Order, provided their members and leaders did not become too vocal and steered clear of politics. After May 1998, these groups suddenly found their voices and by staging demonstrations and mass meetings made sure, they received notice. One of the consequences of these developments was a more expansive outward Islamization of society, a trend that had already set in under the New Order and an advancement of strict Islam in society. However, the political sphere did not reflect this new reality. The circumstances of the Reform Period allowed the setting up of a seemingly endless string of new political parties without any government restraint on what they stood for and who sat on their boards. There was even a Partai Reformasi Sopir Sejahtera Indonesia (Paressindo), a reform party for taxi drivers and private chauffeurs. Only a few proclaimed an Islamic base. Two of the main figures of the early Reform Era, Amien Rais and Abdurrahman Wahid, each founded parties that emerged as important players in the political field. Both men were very popular and had sound religious credentials. Amien Rais had been general chair of the Muhammadiyah from 1995 to 1998. Abdurrahman Wahid held the same position in the Nahdlatul Ulama from 1984 to 1999. Their functions in the Muhammadiyah and the NU show how important the role of the executive boards of these two largest Islamic socioreligious organizations in Indonesia had in fact become. At the very least, it indicates that, where politics was concerned the members of their executive boards took pride of place. They were the ones who captured the public imagination and acted as spokespersons and emblems. Members of the Syuriah played a less conspicuous role. In July 1998, Abdurrahman Wahid founded the Partai Kebangkitan Bangsa (PKB, Party of the Awakening of the Nation). In August 1998, Amien Rais’ Partai Amanat Nasional (PAN, Party of the National Message) began operating. Both parties were simultaneously Islamic and non-Islamic. PAN is closely associated with the modernist section of the devout Islamic community; PKB with its traditionalist counterpart, but their leading politicians have their eyes set on a wider target. Adhering to the tradition of


the past, they stressed that PAN and PKB are open parties, emphasizing their inclusive nature. PKB wanted to involve members of the Christian community. Choosing the word Bangsa (Nation) and not Ummat (Islamic community) to indicate deliberately that PKB was a party for all Indonesians and not just devout Muslims. Amien Rais said explicitly that PAN was a “miniature Indonesia” (see Van Dijk 2001, 310–15). Among its most prominent leaders were Dr. Christianto Wibisono, a Protestant, and Dr. A. M. Fatwa, one of Indonesia’s New Order Islamic political prisoners. The basis of the PAN, as with PKB, was the Pancasila, which also listed nationalism as one of its characteristics and stressed that it was a democratic, open party.13 The intention that PAN and PKB should be open parties reflected the convictions of their founders. The circumstances of the day reinforced their nationalist, inclusive views. In the weeks after the fall of Soeharto, it seemed that there was grave danger of bitter ethnic and religious conflicts tearing Indonesia apart. In a number of regions, people of different ethnicities and religions clashed. In others, regional feelings deepened, most markedly in Aceh, the northern part of Sumatra, where a separatist movement had been active for decades. In Jakarta, confrontations between groups of demonstrators holding different political and religious opinions and between them and the security forces turned nasty. It was imperative to reach a new national consensus, and in the eyes of politicians such as Amien Rais and Abdurrahman Wahid, Pancasila formed a unifying force. Some other parties also adopted the Pancasila as their stated basis but simultaneously stressed their exclusively Islamic character. Abdurrahman Wahid’s uncle and longtime rival, K. H. Yusuf Hasyim, founded the Partai Kebangkitan Umat (PKU, Party of the Awakening of the Religious Community). It also took the Pancasila as its basis, but its aim was to become the political vehicle of the NU community. In the listing of its board members, the Syuriah took pride of place, followed by the Tanfidziyah. PKU was one of approximately ten parties that looked to the traditionalist community for support, indicating how divided the Nahdlatul Ulama elite was. Modernist Muslims also failed to rally around one single party. One of the rivals of PAN in the modernist community was the Partai Bulan Bintang (PBB, Crescent Moon Party), which had also acknowledged the Pancasila as its basis. Its general chair was Yusril Ihza Mahendra the Indonesian Minister of Justice and Human Rights from August 2001 to October 2004. At the launch of the PBB, he singled out its name and the existence of a Majelis Syura to highlight its Islamic nature (Mahendra 1998, 20). Other new Islamic parties no longer mentioned Pancasila. They opted for Islam as their ideological foundation. Among them were some with names that left no doubt about their Islamic background. Like, Partai

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Dua Syahadat (PDS, Party of the Profession of the Faith) and Partai Ka’bah, or referred in their name to the Ummat or Umat, the religious community, among them Partai Umat Islam (PUI) of Dr. Deliar Noer and the Partai Nahdlatul Ummat, of which Idham Chalid was one leader. Most of these parties were of little account (see Mustaib and Basumin 1999; Wangge 1999). Special mention should be made of the Partai Keadilan, later Partai Keadilan Sejahtera (PK Sejahtera, Prosperity Justice Party), founded in July 1998. The party officially got its start in Jakarta during a mass meeting in the square of the Al-Azhar Mosque on August 9, 1998. According to the party’s own account, some fifty thousand people, mostly young, attended the meeting (Sekilas 1998, 16). When it was founded, the PK Sejahtera recognized the Pancasila as its basis, but to all intents and purposes, it is an Islamic party, which propagates a strict fundamentalist form of Islam. The PPP, or what remained of it, changed course. It returned, as described in a commemorative volume to its Khittah 1973, the Right Track of 1973 (Sulaiman 2003, 105). The party now acknowledged Islam, no longer the Pancasila, as its basis, and reinstated the Ka’bah as its symbol. True to this new direction, some PPP leaders branded PKB a party of infidels (Van Dijk 2001, 313).14 Its new general chair Dr. H. Hamzah Haz left no doubt that he preferred the Jakarta Charter to the Pancasila. Between 2001 and 2004, he was vice president under Megawati Soekarnoputri, who, as a daughter of Soekarno, was a staunch advocate of the Pancasila. This did not prevent Hamzah Haz from speaking out, explaining that he made his pleas for the Jakarta Charter as a politician not as vice president. During the 2002 sessions of the Indonesian People’s Congress (MPR, Majlis Permusyawaratan Rakyat), PPP under Hamzah Haz with the support of PBB strove for inclusion of the Jakarta Charter in the constitution. The effort failed. Leaders of the Muhammadiyah and NU spoke out against the amendment and the PK Sejahtera failed to support it. Formally, PK Sejahtera takes the position that Islamic law and an Islamic society should be instituted only when the members of that society themselves are convinced that this is the right way to proceed; hence, the importance it attaches to dakwah, missionary activities, among Muslims. PPP and PBB are relatively small parties and no match for the big players, Golkar, PDI-P and PKB. During the general election of 2004, Golkar received 21.6 percent of the votes, PDI-P 18.5 percent, PKB 10.6 percent, PPP 8.1 percent, PK Sejahtera 7.3 percent, PAN 6.4 percent, and PBB 2.6 percent.15 Outside the People’s Congress support for the Jakarta Charter or an Islamic state may also be small. An opinion poll conducted by the Lingkaran Survei Indonesia (LSI, Indonesian Survey Circle) in 2006 found that 70 percent of Indonesians were in favor of the Pancasila. Only


11 percent said they preferred an Islamic political system similar to the sort found in the Middle East (The Jakarta Post, August 25, 2006). Prospects of Islamic parties may actually be quite bleak. According to another survey published a few months later by the LSI, only 9 percent of Indonesian Muslims would vote for an Islamic party and 43 percent favored a secular party (The Jakarta Post.com, October 16, 2006). Politics no longer seems in step with society (if it ever was). The findings do not reflect the increasing Islamization of society or record much appeal emanated by religious groups, which propagate a fundamentalist form of Islam. The same LSI survey that revealed the lack of attraction toward Islamic political parties indicated that hard-line Islamic organizations actually fared better than did some Islamic political parties. Seventeen percent of the respondents supported the Jemaah Islamiyah, 16 percent the Majelis Mujahidin Indonesia (MMI, Indonesian Mujahidin Council, founded by Abu Bakar Ba’asyir), and 7 percent the Hizbut Tahrir Indonesia (The Jakarta Post.com, October 16, 2006). Other surveys, although their results may say as much about unease in society lamenting a perceived moral decline than about the strength of fundamentalism, indicate substantial support for the enactment of Islamic criminal law. Yet another LSI survey indicated that half of the Indonesian population agreed that people engaging in illicit sex should be stoned to death. More than half of the male respondents and 24 percent of the female agreed with the fact that Islam allows a man to have up to four wives. One-third of the respondents disapproved of a woman being head of state (The Jakarta Post, March 17, 2006).16 In the Indonesian context, the definition of an Islamic political party is vague and mainly a matter of association. For decades, their scope remained limited. For instance, they could not plead the case for promotion of Islamic law. On paper, there is a tendency in Indonesian Islamic parties to give preference to their Syuriah and its religious experts rather than their executive board, but in actual practice, this relationship is often the reverse. Their support comes from the devout Islamic community, but during the New Order, Golkar reached out to this segment of society. In the opinion of Yusuf Hasyim, Golkar was “greener,” that is, “more Islamic,” than PDI, hence it presented an alternative for the NU who did not want to vote PPP (Hasyim 1998, 211). At present, in an atmosphere in which following the prescripts of Islam is becoming important in the lives of an increasing number of people, PDI-P fulfils this function. A sign of the times appeared on election posters—Megawati initially appeared with her hair uncovered; later depictions show her wearing a headdress. Recently, in August 2007, PDI-P officially launched its Islamic wing, Baitul Muslimin (House of Muslims).17

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Wh at I s an I sl ami c Poli ti ca l Pa rty in the Mal ay s i an C ont ex t? As stated at the outset, Indonesia and Malaysia are culturally and religiously close to each other but also far apart. Their political systems developed under different political circumstances. In Indonesia, for most of the time, Islam has been taboo as a political topic. That nowadays parties striving for an Islamic state or the Jakarta Charter are few and do not have a great affer may cause an observer to wonder whether the campaigns propagating the Pancasila did not have a lasting effect. In Malaysia, people never were and are not afraid to talk about an Islamic state. The government did not impose sanctions prohibiting them to do so. Islam, and concomitantly an Islamic state, is one of the focuses of political debate in Malaysia. It forms an essential element in the debate between the two largest Malay political parties, the United Malays National Organization (UMNO) or, in Malay, Pertubuhan Kebangsaan Melayu Bersatu, claiming more than 3 million members in mid-2003, and the Parti Islam seMalaysia (PAS, All-Malaysia Islamic Party) said to have more than nine hundred thousand members. UMNO has always been the senior partner in a coalition of Malay, Chinese, and Indian parties that governed the federal Malaysian state since independence in 1957. From the beginning, it remained in control of most of the individual states. With the exception of one or two states in the federation, PAS has always been an opposition party. It became, as one journalist said, “the only firm enemy of UMNO” (Jam 1991, 190). PAS is clearly an Islamic party. Being an Islamic political party is the essence of its existence. It hammers away at this point in such a way that one 1990 overview of the political parties in Malaysia mentions as one of the characteristics of PAS that it “claims to be the only Islamic party around” in Malaysia (Election 1994, 16), with UMNO as its secular rival. Nevertheless, UMNO is also Islamic, and its politicians would be greatly displeased if they heard UMNO categorized as a secular party. Exemplary for the difference between the two are the appeals by UMNO politicians in the past and at present not to mix politics with religion. They did this in the run-up to the 1959 state elections, and these calls echo with a certain regularity today reiterating the creed, not to use religion for political ends. They also try to convince the Malay population not to be misled by the kopiahs, serbans, and jubbahs, apparently afraid that such articles of clothing associated with Islam donned by PAS leaders do actually make an impression (Simandjuntak 1969, 108). UMNO came into being shortly after World War II borne from dissatisfaction with a British proposal for a new Malay political structure. The Malay detested two aspects especially of this British plan to form a Malay Union. The proposed equality of citizenship of the Chinese and


the Malays, the former perceived as a threat to the political position of the Malays. They were already no match for the Chinese in the economic field and feared that they might lose out in politics if Chinese had equal citizenship status. Malays, as the later prime minister, Datuk Seri Dr Mahathir bin Mohamad, wrote in 1970, consider themselves “the rightful owners of Malaya” (Mahathir 2003, 1). The implication was that the Chinese had to pay a price for living in Malaysia. They had to acknowledge that Malays should receive preferential treatment in the economic and educational fields. The new role the British wanted to assign to the rulers of the states was the other controversial issue at stake. Malays considered this a degradation of the position of the sultans in the individual states. Protest groups combined forces. In March 1946, UMNO, the United Malays National Organization (and not the United Malayans or Malaysians National Organization) began. The initiative came from Datuk Onn bin Ja’afar, Chief Minister of Johor. He and other members of the traditional ruling elite dominated the party in its initial years (Simandjuntak 1969, 42–43; Turnbull 1980, 233–34). Five years later, PAS appeared on the scene. It developed from what Kessler (1978, 26) calls “the defection from the UMNO of its religious wing.” Its founders were ulama, who teamed up with radical and leftist Malay nationalist politicians. Its origins lay in the Persatuan Ulama se-Tanah Melayu (All-Malayan Association of Ulama), which had been set up as a special organization within UMNO in 1950 specifically to decide on religious matters. By the following year, the association had already left UMNO and merged with another organization, Hizbul Muslimin (or the party of Muslims). The resultant new organization was named Persatuan Islam se-Malaya (later se-Tanah Melayu), the All-Malayan Islamic Association, sometimes referred to in older English literature as the Pan-Malayan Islamic Party (PMIP). During the following three years, it remained politically neutral and concentrated on religious activities. Its members could support any political party they wanted. In 1955, PAS became a political party in its own right (Milne and Mauzy 1992, 164–66). It combined a strong scriptural religious disposition with chauvinist Malay sentiments, presenting itself as the champion of Islam and Malay culture and tradition. PAS was born out of a remarkable merger. Hizbul Muslimin cooperated closely with a radical Malay party, Parti Kebangsaan Melayu Malaya (PKMM, Nationalist Party of the Malayan Malays). One of the founders of PKMM was Dr. Burhanuddin al-Helmy, a modernist Muslim with a sound religious educational background (Kessler 1978, 58; Memoir 1993, 35). He had also been the leader of the equally radical Parti Kebangsaan Melayu (PKM, Malay Nationalist Party), described by one author as “an extreme left-wing Malay party” (Simandjuntak 1969, 48).18 PKM strove for the unification of Malaysia and Indonesia, and dismissed UMNO as

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a party of aristocrats (Turnbull 1980, 235). Burhanuddin al-Helmy and his political friends from the Malay Nationalist Party formed a distinct group in PAS, made up of “radical (and often quite secular) nationalists” (Kessler 1978, 172). Burhanuddin al-Helmy would head PAS from 1956 until his death in 1965. In the early 1960s, in accordance with the spirit of the age and the political views of Burhanuddin al-Helmy, PAS propagated a society based on the Koran and Hadith, but at the same time stressed its anticapitalist, anti-imperialist, and anti-Western principles in its attacks on UMNO policies (see Al-Helmi 1988). Relations between the two parties, and consequently also between PAS and the UMNO-dominated federal government, deteriorated, finally culminating in the arrest of Burhauddin al-Helmy and twelve other PAS leaders under the Internal Security Act in 1965. Briefly, after the shock of the anti-Chinese riots in Kuala Lumpur in May 1969 that cost the lives of at least 196 people, PAS and UMNO cooperated, although it was only in 1973 that this relationship was formalized (Memoir 1993, 24–25, 87–96). PAS became a member of the Barisan Nasional (National Front) headed by the UMNO President Tun Abdul Razak. In 1978, PAS withdrew from the Barisan Nasional. It did so after, in reaction to the political turmoil in the state, the federal government dissolved its Legislative Council and placed Kelantan temporarily under federal control. The rift between PAS and UMNO widened in the late 1970s and early 1980s, which coincided precisely with the period in which Malaysia was experiencing a revitalization in religious feelings about Islam. In PAS, those in favor of highlighting its scriptural Islamic nature gained more influence for three reasons for this. (1) The rival of PAS, UMNO had begun to present itself as a champion of Islam; (2) cooperation with UMNO had cost PAS dearly in the general election of 1978; and (3) the Iranian Revolution of 1979 inspired some of its leaders, especially the younger ones, through its Dewan Pemuda (Youth Council) as their vehicle, to put even greater stress on Islam and Islamic law. The turning point came at PAS Congresses in 1982 and 1983, when a younger, more radical generation took over leadership (Memoir 1993, 25, 114; Liew Chin Tong, n.d.). On paper, the Dewan Ulama (Council of Ulama) or, as it became known after 1983, the Majlis Syura Ulama, is the most important institution in PAS. One author observed that “the concept of kepimpinan ulama (leadership by ulama)…is central to the identity of post-1982 PAS” (Liew Chin Tong, n.d.). Others agree that the supremacy of the Council of Ulama is what distinguishes PAS as a religious party from the secular UMNO (Jam 1991, 34–35). In theory, its advisory function is limited to religious matters. At times, its members tend to interpret


their responsibility broadly and are not loath to give their opinion on such political matters as PAS joining the Barisan Nasional (Jam 1991, 36, 187). Tan Sri Dato Mohd, Asri bin Haji Muda, the Yang Di Pertua Agung (president) of PAS from 1965 to 1983, wrote that in PAS it is the Council of Ulama that makes the important decisions (Memoir 1993, 112).19 In practice, much depends on the personality of the presidents of the executive board and the chiefs of the Ulama council, enhanced by the charisma and religious fame they happen to enjoy. In the first years of PAS existence, the politicians were in charge. The ulama were “generally uninvolved in the party machine but intermittently influential upon it” (Kessler 1978, 172). Their role has become all the more evident since Haji Nik Abdul Aziz Nik Mat became chief of the Ulama council, the party’s Mursyidul Am (usually translated as spiritual leader) at the end of the 1960s. He is the face of PAS. However, his authority is not absolute. In 1977, Nik Abdul Aziz Nik Mat came under attack for his decision to expel Datuk Haji Mohamad bin Nasir from PAS for having accepted the position of chief minister for Kelantan in a Barisan Nasional–led state administration. Recently, in June 2005 (after PAS had fared poorly in the 2004 general elections), the chief of PAS Youth, Salahuddin Ayub, attacked the party’s Religious Council for its conservative policy and for not speaking out on matters related to science and technology. He also pleaded for a quota of young ulama on that board. Augmenting the prominence of Nik Abdul Aziz Nik Mat is the fact that he has been chief minister of Kelantan since 1990. Throughout its history, PAS has had its largest following in the states of Kelantan, Terengganu, Kedah, and Pahang. In the first general election of 1959, PAS was victorious in Kelantan and Terengganu. In the second general election of 1964, PAS consolidated its position in Kelantan but lost Terengganu. In 1974, while cooperating with UMNO in the National Front, the chief ministership of Kelantan went to Mohamad bin Nasir, who was dismissed from his post as chief minister by his own PAS in 1977. When he refused to go, the party expelled him. In 1978, UMNO politician Datuk Haji Mohamed bin Yaacob succeeded Nasir. PAS regained power in Kelantan in 1990, and Nik Abdul Aziz Nik Mat again became chief minister of the state. He was the first ulama to hold such a position (Jam 1991, 34). Born in Kota Bharu in 1931, he went to India in 1958 to study at the Dar al-Ulum in Deoband in Uttar Pradesh, a well-known religious school at which Maulana Ilyas, the founder of the Tablighi Jama’at, had also studied. After this, Nik Abdul Aziz Nik Mat moved on to study Arabic at Al-Azhar University in Cairo, Egypt. True to this educational background, he propagates a strict, fundamentalist interpretation of Islam.

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PAS again became the ruling party in Terengganu in 1999. It regained control of that government just as prime minister and leader of UMNO Mahathir was waning in popularity among the Malay population. Malaysians were feeling the consequences of the Asian economic crisis, and, to the surprise of almost all Malaysians, in September 1998, Mahathir sacked his “crown prince,” Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim, minister of finance since 1991 and deputy prime minister since 1993, for “moral misconduct” (engaging in homosexual acts). Datuk Seri Abdul Hadi Awang, deputy president of PAS, became chief minister of Terengganu.20 Educated at the Islamic University in Medina and at the Al-Azhar University in Cairo, Abdul Hadi Awang is as strict in his religious beliefs as Nik Abdul Aziz Nik Mat. He won notoriety because of his so-called Amanat Hadi, also known as the Hadi Decree, a speech he delivered in April 1981. In it, he said that UMNO members were infidels and that those killed fighting UMNO died a martyr’s death. PAS lost the state to UMNO again in 2004, when the latter scored a resounding victory.21 When PAS gained control in Kelantan and Terengganu, it tried to impress stricter Islam on society there. They promoted an Islamic dress code for women, including enforcing the wearing of a tudung, or kerudung, the Malay-style headscarf leaving the face uncovered. They launched campaigns protesting the depiction of unveiled women on billboards and advertisements and even shop-window dummies in dress shops.22 Supermarkets had to make separate checkout counters for men and women. Stores did not enforce the rule, but in January 2008, Nik Abdul Aziz Nik Mat announced that supermarkets that did not make customers queue at separate counters faced fines of RM 1000. In buses, there were separate sections designated for men and women; although not many seemed to bother observing this. Unisex hairdressers, those with male and female clients, had to close. April 2002 saw a proclamation of segregation even on Ferris wheels in Kelantan, with an exception made for non-Muslims and members of the same nuclear family. The entertainment sector received special attention. Where it could, the PAS banned karaoke bars, snooker halls, discos, “un-Islamic” traditional and modern music and dance performances. In theory, although recently an easing of the rules was observed, makyong, dikir barat, wayang kulit, and other traditional performances are taboo, either because of their Hindu elements, as in the case of the shadow plays, or because of the way dancers and singers dress and behave. Most controversial in both PAS-held states were efforts to introduce Islamic criminal law, including its most severe aspect, hudud, sentences for crimes mentioned in the Koran, which “require public punishment of convicted offenders that include the public mutilation of limbs, rajam (radjm) or stoning to death, crucification, and lashing” (Othman 1995,


31). Defending the public stoning of rapists, Nik Abdul Aziz Nik Mat once said that Islam required this and that it “is for the people to see the pain…if punishment is done quietly there will be no end to the problem” (The Straits Times Interactive, January 12, 2003). In Kelantan, a revised Kelantan Syariah Criminal Enactment Bill derived from fundamentalist Islamic legal views passed in November 1993 (see Ismail 1995). The bill’s passing was such an important event that an annual Penal Code Day was announced (Metzger 1996, 222). In Terengganu, PAS took a similar step after it came to power. A Rang Undang-undang Jenayah Syariah (Hudud dan Qisas), Syariah Criminal Enactment (Hudud and Crime Revenge Restitution) Bill, was passed by the Terengganu Legislative Council in July 2002. Neither state could implement the acts. The constitution of Malaysia stipulates that criminal law is the preserve of the federal government. In the eyes of UMNO politicians, the enactment of the two bills was proof that PAS was trying to expand its support by stirring up religious sentiments. They spoke about exploiting religion for political gains. Strict Islam may indeed have its appeal. One nationwide survey conducted by Patricia Martinez of the Asia-Europe Institute of the University of Malaysia in 2005 found that 77 percent wanted a stricter implementation of Islamic law. More than 50 percent were also in favor of its severest form, hudud sentences (The New Straits Times Online, August 21, 2006). UMNO presents a different religious image to that of PAS. After 9/11, its leaders deliberately portrayed PAS as Taliban-like, presenting themselves as the advocates of a modern, tolerant Islam.23 UMNO rejects the hudud sentences and many of the other initiatives taken by PAS to control the way people dress and are entertained. Yet it all remains a matter of degree. PAS legislation is not always enforced. UMNO-governed states do have some Islamic legislation, making un-Islamic behavior punishable. Sentences are handed down for the consumption of alcohol, kissing, and touching in public, and, especially for khalwat, defined in the Johor Administration of Islamic Law Enactment of 1978 as persons of a different sex, who are not husband and wife or close relatives, being in “retirement or in close proximity or in suspicious circumstances in any place” (or in simpler terms: an unmarried couple being together in an enclosed space). In raids on hotels from midnight December 31 until the early morning of January 1, 2008, for instance, the religious police in Kuantan, the capital of Pahang, arrested thirty couples for khalwat and another five Muslim men for drinking alcohol (The New Straits Times Online, January 2, 2008). The federal government developed guidelines setting out how foreign artists performing in Malaysia should dress and behave on stage. As was the case with Golkar in Indonesia, criticism and verbal attacks by Islamic groups and parties, and the general trend toward an Islamization

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of society has given the Islamic side of UMNO greater prominence over time. When the Malaysian Constitution was drafted, shortly before the country became independent on August 31, 1957, the Malay UMNO leaders considered any mention of Islam in the constitution mainly of a symbolic nature. They stressed that the proclamation of Islam as the religion of the federation did not imply that Malaysia was not a secular state (Jusoh 1991, 21–22). As they wrote to the chair of the Commonwealth Constitutional Commission, Lord Reid, in 1956, that Islam was the religion of Malaysia should in no way lead to the presumption that the state would be nonsecular (Hasyim 1993, 41). This contrasts sharply with the opinions of present-day UMNO leaders. They do sometimes speak about Malaysia as an Islamic state, earning UMNO severe criticism from leaders of the Chinese community, to whom the idea of an Islamic state is abhorrent. According to its Articles of Association, one of its aims of UMNO is to “uphold, defend and develop Islam, the official religion of the state and to respect the principle of a religious nation” (Perlembagaan UMNO, Art. 3.2). In its rivalry with PAS, its leaders also stress the importance of Islam and Islamic values, linking these to the needs of a modern society. This can and does spill over into a quarrel, at times taking the form of an unpleasant exchange of abuse between PAS and UMNO about what exactly constitutes an Islamic state. Mahathir stressed that Muslims should use their intellect and profit from the insights of scientists and other secular experts in shaping Islamic society. They should not mindlessly follow the opinions of narrow-minded (PAS) religious scholars. Consequently, in recent years the government started a campaign to get rid of the PAS-controlled private primary and secondary Sekolah Agama Rakyat (SARs), the People’s Religious Schools, alleged breeding grounds of extremism and ignorance. It did so by temporarily halting the per capita grants SARs were receiving and simultaneously stepping up the amount of religious education in public schools. In line with his attacks on SARs, Mahathir also left no doubt that he despised students who confined their studies to religious subjects only. Because there were so many of these students, the likelihood was high they would remain jobless and stir up dissension. The upshot of their concomitant agitation was that the Malay community would split into a plethora of groups and sects, which could only weaken Islam. Mahathir and other UMNO leaders did their utmost to convince the Malay population and politicians abroad that Malaysia is a modern Islamic state, if not indeed a model for other Islamic countries. They tried to explain that Malaysia is in fact one of the few Muslim countries in the world in which the economy, democracy, and religion flourish, and all three at the same time. In May 2002, when he visited the United States


and Europe, Mahathir went to great lengths to explain that Malaysia was not a moderate but a fundamentalist Islamic country where the basic Islamic tenets were adhered. “We are not moderate Muslims. We are fundamentalist…that is we are steadfastly holding to the fundamental Islamic teachings,” he said (The Straits Times Interactive, June 21, 2002). PAS was unimpressed. Nik Abdul Aziz Nik Mat spoke about a negara Islam segera, an instant Islamic state, suddenly proclaimed and without having to adhere to fundamental Islamic rules. Mahathir’s successor, Datuk Seri Syed Abdullah bin Haji Ahmad Badawi, has continued this policy. He comes from a family of religious scholars; his grandfather and father were among the founders of PAS (Liew Chin Tong, n.d.), and UMNO underlines his credentials as a person well versed in Islam. In August 2007, Badawi told parliament that Malaysia was a negara Islam, an Islamic state (though some preferred to translate this as a Muslim country), not a theocracy. Islamic principles govern the country, but it was also a parliamentary democracy, he said (The Straits Times Interactive, August 28, 2007). Shortly after becoming prime minister, Badawi gave the emphasis Mahathir already placed on the Islamic foundations of Malaysian society and their compatibility with modern times a personal touch by promoting the idea of Islam Hadhari (derived from hadharah). Translated by himself as “civilizational Islam” (The New Straits Times Online, April 12, 2005), Islam Hadhari stresses a tolerant, progressive, and modern Islam. Islam, expatiating the concept, Badawi (2004) said, it “makes it compulsory for Muslims to embrace knowledge in all fields.…Islam demands the mastery of science and technology and the enhancement of skills and expertise” and “will make the Muslim community less dependent on others” (see also Badawi 2006). As expected, Nik Abdul Aziz Nik Mat, Abdul Hadi Awang, and other PAS leaders spoke out against this. In the state of Kedah, PAS even launched a Fight the Danger of Islam Hadhari campaign. The propagation of Islam Hadhari prompted one PAS leader, Mohd Abdul Wahid, to declare that the National Front was “much worse than the Jews” (Berita Harian Online, April 12, 2005). As the hudud controversy indicates, PAS wants to go much further than UMNO in its efforts to create an Islamic society. It insists, for instance, in the closure of all non-Islamic banks. Presenting that the federal government allowed non-Islamic banks to operate alongside their Islamic counterparts was one of the indications of the un-Islamic nature of UMNO. In October 2001, Haji Nik Abdul Aziz Nik Mat even appealed to Muslim civil servants to resign. As Malaysia’s economic system was based on usury, which was haram, their salaries came from a government that was also haram. Similarly, Abdul Hadi Awang put any obstruction of hudud legislation by the federal government on a par with opposition to Islam.24

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In Malaysia, two parties dominate the competition for votes in the Malay Muslim community. One, PAS presented itself as an Islamic political party from its birth. This translates not simply in the formulation of its policy but also in the role given to its religious council in deciding party affairs. UMNO started as a secular party and has remained so, but in the course of time has come to present itself as a party for which the promotion of Islam is close to its heart. PAS and UMNO collide on the issue of how to give substance to an Islamic society and state. They represent different interpretations of Islam. In the confrontations between their politicians, this is abundantly clear. Nevertheless, there are points at which their policies seem to overlap. While UMNO has heightened its own Islamic stance, recently PAS, especially in its opinions on entertainment, has had to temper its austere stand. As early as March 2003, the Kelantan administration lifted the ban on shadow plays if the performances removed un-Islamic elements. To attract tourists, the Kota Bharu Tourist Information Center even started to stage wayang kulit (albeit in its new de-Hinduized version), rebana ubi, rebana kercik, and dikir barat performances in public places in mid2006. Only a few months earlier, in January 2006, Nik Abdul Aziz Nik Mat announced that the state government would categorize snooker and billiards as sports and no longer as entertainment. This would pave the way for the opening of snooker centers in Kelantan. In October 2004, PAS organized a pop concert in the national capital, Kuala Lumpur. All the artists were male. Men and women in the audience sat in separate enclosures. The New Straits Times noted that the “people sat sedately.” The organizer, Muhaimin Sulam, explained that the aim of the concert was “to show that there is entertainment in Islam” (The New Straits Times Online, October 5, 2004). Later, there were pop concerts staged under the same conditions in Kelantan. They received the seal of approval by Nik Abdul Aziz Nik Mat. He even attended one of them. The concerts were just one sign that something was changing in the party. The general election held in March 2004 resulted in a painful defeat for PAS, and some of its younger leaders wanted to present a more moderate image. They made similar concessions for karaoke outlets and discos. Nik Abdul Aziz Nik Mat did not to oppose dancing provided there was no liquor served, men and women were kept apart and the women dressed decently.

S u p p o rt and P ropag anda When comparing the performance of secular and Islamic political parties it is important to do so in a way that the latter can use Islamic institutions to reach out to potential voters. In Indonesia, these institutions seem to be more important in the performance of Islamic political parties than


in Malaysia.25 Historical factors that go back to colonial times are partly responsible, but differences and changes in the way successive Indonesian and Malaysian governments reacted to politics after independence have left their mark as well. In the 1950s, a political system took shape in Indonesia that resembled its former colonizer, the Netherlands. This involved the compartmentalization of society along sociopolitical lines. Each denomination had its own political party and associations. There was one important difference from the Dutch. In Indonesia, political parties were not the only groups to form the kernel of such a denominational “pillar” to which labor and farmers’ unions, women’s and youth associations and a variety of other groups were linked. In the secular pillars, those served by the nationalist PNI and the communist PKI, a direct organizational relationship existed. In the Islamic pillars, this was not the case. There, the two largest socioreligious organizations formed the backbone, which date from before World War II: the Muhammadiyah and the Nahdlatul Ulama. Although other factors intervened, this difference had important consequences. The Muhammadiyah, which left Masjumi the previous year (Syaifullah 1997, 228), complete with its own network of educational institutions, hospitals, and orphanages remained intact when Masjumi dissolved in 1960. Its women’s association, Aisyiah; young women’s association, Nasiatul Aisyiah; youth organization, Pemuda Muhammadiyah; and students’ union, Ikatan Mahasiswa Muhammadiyah (IMM, founded in 1964), survived with it, as did the Himpunan Mahasiswa Indonesia (MHI, Indonesian Student Union), an independent but ideologically close student organization. Similarly, the Nahdlatul Ulama continued to function as a socioreligious organization when the four Islamic political parties still permitted in Indonesia merged into PPP in 1973. From that moment, the Nahdlatul Ulama no longer existed as a political party, but its basic structure, that is, its network of religious boarding schools (pesantren) and the network of kyai and ulama, which had always been the Nahdlatul Ulama’s strength, remained intact. Its affiliated organizations Pemuda Ansor (Ansor Youth); its women’s association, Muslimat; and its student unions, Ikatan Pelajar Nahdlatul Ulama-Ikatan Pelajar Puteri Nahdlatul Ulama (IPNU-IPPNU) and Pergerakan Mahasiswa Islam Indonesia (PMII) also continued to pursue their programs. In both instances, survival did not guarantee the freedom to operate without any restrictions or government interference. In the early 1960s, the Muhammadiyah and its organizations had to go about their work in a hostile environment, in which they even became the target of a fierce PKI campaign. Under the New Order, the NU faced other impediments. Ulama and their pesantren could not provoke the government by their statements or action. Thus, NU had to tread carefully. They

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also faced pressure from government to come out in support of Golkar. In other cases, ulama received incentives to do so. Nevertheless, the fate of the Muhammadiyah in the 1960s and of Nahdlatul Ulama under the New Order were less than that experienced under the New Order by PKI and the organizations directly under its aegis, which were all banned. Their members faced prosecution, imprisonment, and death. Admittedly, PKI and its members were the victims of far greater inimical outbursts and cruelty than Masjumi and its leaders and supporters had ever been. However, this should not obscure the fact that until the end of the New Order one of the characteristics of both the NU and the Masjumi remained that they could build on two socioreligious organizations with long histories and firm roots in society. This left their leaders and members the room essentially to continue striving for their ideals through other channels upon the curtailment of their political freedom, even when pushed out of politics altogether. In Indonesia, the end of the New Order did not usher in a return of the political structure of the 1950s, when Masjumi and the NU presented themselves as Islamic political parties. Amien Rais and Abdurrahman Wahid, respectively, general chairs of Muhammadiyah and the Nahdlatul Ulama, were both immensely popular and went on to found PAN and PKB. Amien Rais’s reputation as one of the faces of Reformasi did not pay off. The general election results of PAN were far below expectations. PKB fared a little better. Part of the reason for their relatively poor performance may have been that PAN and PKI both explicitly supported Pancasila and were founded not as Islamic but as “open” parties, inviting Christians to join or at least reaching out to them. This estranged some of their potential voters in Muhammadiyah and Nahdlatul Ulama circles (Asyari 2007, 222–23).26 Another reason that has to be taken into consideration is that where politics is concerned, the traditional role of ulama and kyai as persons of authority in villages and neighborhoods to whom ordinary Muslims look for advice is eroding. There was evidence of this during the presidential election of 2004 when two of the most important candidates, Megawati Soekarnoputri and General (Ret.) Wiranto, played what they assumed an Islamic trump card and turned to well-known NU leaders to enhance their chances of gaining office. Megawati selected as her vice presidential candidate Hasyim Muzadi, the general chair of the Nahdlatul Ulama. Wiranto formed a ticket with a chair of the NU, Salahuddin Wahid, who like his brother, Abdurrahman Wahid, was a wellknown and respected ulama. Wiranto also had the support of PKB. These appeals to the Nahdlatul Ulama community helped neither Megawati nor Wiranto win the race for the presidency. Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, a relative outsider, became president. His candidate for the vice presidency was Jusuf Kalla, a Golkar leader.27


The one-step-removed structure that characterized Indonesian Islamic political parties never gained favor in Malaysia. PAS and UMNO have their youth and women’s wings (and UMNO has a young women’s department), but these are an integral part of the party structure. One of the few times UMNO drew on an independent organization to enhance its Islamic image was in 1982 when Mahathir, who had become party leader and prime minister the previous year, invited Anwar Ibrahim to join UMNO. Anwar Ibrahim’s credentials were well suited to the task. In the 1970s, he was one of the founding members of the Angkatan Belia Islam Malaysia (ABIM), the Malaysian Islamic Youth Force. Under his leadership, ABIM spearheaded the advance of Islam among students and was in favor of a rather strict Islam. In this case, however, Anwar Ibrahim brought along his name but not any extra sources of support. In fact, his entry into UMNO left ABIM in disarray with many of its members shocked and dismayed by Anwar Ibrahim’s defection (see Anwar 1990, 74–77). The possibility of falling back on independent religious organizations, which was, and to a certain extent still is, present in Indonesia can be an asset. This is most likely to occur in the periods in-between election campaigns. Ostensibly, on the grounds of law and order, especially to avoid any violent clashes between supporters of different parties, the governments of Malaysia and Indonesia allocate only a brief span of time to election campaigns. On the eve of the 2004 general elections in Indonesia, political parties had three weeks to campaign. In Malaysia, the campaign period for the 2004 general election was extremely short, eight days. Having independent religious organizations to fall back on opens the possibility of turning religious gatherings into political events between elections. An example of how such a mechanism works is provided by the 1997 visits to pesantren and istighotsah (communal prayers) by Abdurrahman Wahid and Soeharto’s daughter Siti Hardiyanti Rukmana (better known as Tutut). At such events, Abdurrahman Wahid introduced Siti Hardiyanti Rukmana as an ideal candidate to succeed her father as president of Indonesia. In Malaysia, PAS must operate in a politically adverse climate and could benefit from such an alternative arrangement to fall back on. In July 2001, the federal government made it impossible for PAS to hold ceramah, public religious-cum-political rallies, as it decided to withhold issuing the police licenses required for all public assemblies under the Police Act. Initially, PAS took the ban with a grain of salt, but after fighting broke out after the police tried to break up one such public gathering in Baling in Kedah, attended by some three thousand people in February 2002, they enforced the ban more rigorously. The repeated attacks on the government and UMNO politicians were one reason for the ban. However, this was probably not the only consideration. By banning the holding of ceramah, the

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government is simultaneously striking at an important source of money for PAS. Probably even more importantly, UMNO leaders are well aware that such ceramah are an important PAS asset. Explaining a propaganda offensive in Terengganu in January 2008, Datuk Rosol Wahid, UMNO liaison secretary in the State, called attention to PAS strength in ceramah and talks (New Straits Times Online, January 25, 2008). PAS is restricted in the propagation of its views in even more ways. The People’s Religious Schools, SARs, bulwarks of PAS, are under attack. Mosques are another institution in which federal and state governments try to make their influence felt. In mosques, rivalry between UMNO and PAS communities can be quite intense. In the eyes of some ulama, as one Malay author regretting the disunity among Malay Muslims noted, “the mosque has transformed into a battleground” (Zamani 2002, 54). Authorities complain that PAS uses Friday sermons to incite mosquegoers, to slander the government, and to spread lies. In their turn, they are not loath to take action. In October 2002, Kuala Lumpur announced that monitoring religious lectures given in mosques during the Fasting Month (Ramadan) would be monitored. State governments also warned that video- and audio-recorders would tape controversial Friday sermons. On the eve of the 2004 general elections, similar actions to prevent mosques becoming an anti-UMNO political platform took place. In Pahang, a state where it was expected that PAS could win, UMNO Youth warned that it would form special teams to monitor whether political statements were made in mosques during the Friday sermon or lectures. Each team would be equipped with a tape-recorder to provide proof of any such transgressions. Making matters even more difficult, for a time there was a prohibition against PAS selling its periodical, Harakah, to nonmembers. It also had to cut the publication of Harakah from twice weekly to bimonthly.28 In contrast to this, UMNO made an enormous effort to propagate Badawi’s Islam Hadhari concept. An Islam Hadhari information campaign, complete with a website (www.islamhadhari.net), is under way. National and local institutions devoted to the Islam Hadhari concept have been set up. Such government measures mean that PAS is restricted in its dakwah activities and it has to turn to the Internet and the distribution of cheap VCDs (Video Compact Discs) and audiocassettes. Once again, we have to contrast the present-day situation in Indonesia with that in Malaysia. In Malaysia, the government sets the boundaries of PAS scope. In Indonesia, whatever limitations there were on missionary activities under the New Order, disappeared with the inception of the Reform Era. In the new, freer atmosphere, emerging new Islamic groups entered the stage to engage in a form of dakwah unthinkable under the New Order, and did so enthusiastically. These new opportunities contributed considerably to the


growth of the PK Sejahtera. The history of PK Sejahtera provides an apt illustration of the new form dakwah has taken. The party developed from Kesatuan Aksi Mahasiswa Muslim Indonesia (KAMMI, the Action Front of Indonesian Muslim Students), which in its turn had been founded by some sixty religious missionary groups [Lembaga Dakwah Kampus, Campus Dakwah Institutes] active in universities all over Indonesia. This nationwide network of religious student activists, which had assumed a concrete shape only in the latter days of the New Order, provided a solid basis on which to build for people often described as Muslim or dakwah (religious propaganda) activists, who wanted to champion the ideals for which KAMMI was striving in the political field as well. Their efforts assumed a solid form when a group of some fifty of them founded the Partai Keadilan in July 1998. Their leaders also felt strongly about one of the main activities of KAMMI members, the dissemination of the faith. They view the Partai Keadilan (Sejahtera) not just as a political party. It is a special dakwah vehicle. By linking it with the well-known phrase amar maruf, nahi munkar (order what is reputable, forbid what is disreputable), it is stressed that dakwah is the essence of being a good Muslim (Sekilas 1998, 22; see also Van Dijk 2005). Some of its success lies in the fact that PK Sejahtera is and wants to remain a cadre party. Numbers are immaterial; it is the dedication and quality of its members that counts. With its up-to-date approach, it makes good use of modern media, producing VCDs and audiocassettes to disseminate its ideas. PK Sejahtera definitely regards dakwah as very important as it (as was ABIM) maintains that the realization of an Islamic legal system is a gradual process, in which citizens will gradually feel freely and fully convinced about accepting a more farreaching Islamization in the field of law (Kebijakan n.d., 8). Listing the characteristics of an Islamic political party is more difficult than it sounds. In Indonesia, PK Sejahtera, set up in the early and chaotic days of the Reform Era, is an Islamic party, even indeed a fundamentalist Islamic party, but one which has a non-Islamic ideology as its stated base. PAN and PKB are Islamic parties sharing the same semisecular base because paramount in the thoughts of their founders was the need to stress moderation—a goal not always well received in the groups from which they traditionally recruit their voters. In Malaysia, UMNO is a secular party, which is very much engaged in propagating Islamic values. Its strategy and program reveal that the Islamization of society is blurring the distinction between secular and Islamic political parties, not only in Malaysia but also in Indonesia. Since the early 1980s, in response to a growing appeal of Islam and in an effort to counter the competition from Islamic rival parties, secular parties had to show they also have Islamic ideals at heart. Confronted with such a change in policy by their secular adversaries, Islamic parties in their turn can venture to become

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more radical, as happened to PAS in the early 1980s when Mahathir gave UMNO an image that is more Islamic (Liew Chin Tong, n.d.). Islam has become a concrete political issue that cannot be ignored even by political parties, which usually are categorized as secular.

N otes 1. Constitutionally, being Malay implies being a Muslim. Article 160 (2) of the Malaysian Constitution defines a Malay as “a person who professes the religion of Islam, habitually speaks the Malay language, [and] conforms to Malay customs.” 2. In the 1940s and 1950s, the Malays made up just 49 percent of the population. Leon Comber, 13 May 1969: A Historical Survey of Sino-Malay Relations (Singapore: Graham Brash (Pte), 1988), 89). In 1931, it was as low as 45 percent. Asrul Zamani, The Malay Ideals (Kuala Lumpur: Golden Books Centre, 2002), 24. From the perspective of Malays, it was important that the share of the Chinese in the population of Malaysia dropped with the inclusion of Sarawak and Sabah into the territory of the federation and excluding Singapore. 3. The percentage of Buddhists was 19.2 percent, Christians 9.1 percent, and Hindus 6.3 percent. 4. Again, in Malaysia legislation leaves no doubt about this. The Selangor Administration of Islamic Law Enactment (Art. 36) of 1989 states that the state’s mufti “in issuing any fatwa…shall ordinarily follow the accepted views (qual muktamat) of the Mazhab Syafei.” 5. On June 1, 1945, Soekarno suggested that the Pancasila should serve as the foundation for the planned Indonesian state. Opposition raised in Islamic quarters was talked out in a committee of nine, of which Soekarno and the future vice president, Mohammad Hatta, a devout Muslim, were also members. The result was the Jakarta Charter, agreed upon on June 22, 1945. After Indonesia had become independent on August 17, 1945, Soekarno and Hatta succeeded in convincing Islamic leaders that, to accommodate the inhabitants of non-Islamic regions of Indonesia, the Pancasila, and not the Jakarta Charter, should be included in the Indonesian Constitution. 6. During the general election of 1955, PNI had gained 22.3 percent of the votes, Masjumi 20.9 percent, Nahdlatul Ulama 18.4 percent, and PKI 16.4. Herbert Feith, The Indonesian Elections of 1955 (Ithaca, NY: Modern Indonesia Project, 1971; 2nd printing), 58. 7. Burhanujdin, Jajat. Islamic knowledge, authority and political power. The ‘ulama in colonial Indonesia. Leiden PhD dissertation. Leiden: University of Leiden, 2007; In fact, Idham Khalid was an alumnus of the Pesantren Modern Gontor. Choirul Anam, Petumbuhan dan perkembangan Nahdlatul Ulama (Jatalu Sala, 1985), 197. Later, he came to be called a K. H. a Kyai Haji. 8. Manipol, or Manifesto Politik, is the name given to Soekarno’s August 17, 1959 speech, Penemuan Kembali Revolusi Kita (The Rediscovery of Our Revolution) in which he unfolded his ideas about the course the political struggle in Indonesia was to take. USDEK is a recapitulation of those principles that


9.

10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

15.

16.

Soekarno advanced a few months later. The acronym stands for Undangundang Dasar 45 (The Constitution of 1945), Socialism á la Indonesia, Demokrasi Terpimpin (Guided Democracy), Ekonomi Terpimpin (Guided Economy), and Kepribadian Indonesia (Indonesian Identity). Up to that moment, the political parties and Golkar Law of 1975 had forced political parties to accept the Pancasila as their basis but still allowed PPP to mention Islam as its other basis. The best known of these organizations are PII (Pelajar Islam Indonesia, Indonesian Islamic Students) and HMI MPO (Majelis Penyelamat Organisasi), the Council of the Rescuers of the Organization, that is, of the HMI (Himpunan Mahasiswa Islam, Islamic Student Union). Significantly, “a return to 1926” had first been proposed at a Nahdlatul Ulama Congress in December 1959 after the turmoil caused by the return to the Constitution of 1945 and the Pancasila by a representative from Mojokerto. He had remarked that the political role of the Nahdlatul Ulema ceased to exist and that it had been taken over by individuals. (Marijan 1992, 132). PDI and PPP were founded around the same time. It was a merger of all existing non-Islamic parties, including two Christian ones. Its largest and most important component was the Partai Nasional Indonesia (PNI, Indonesian National Party) founded by Soekarno. In the last days of the New Order, an alternative would be founded, one that far overshadowed PDI: PDI-P (Perjuangan, Struggle), headed by one of Soekarno’s daughters, Megawati Soekarnoputri. It developed from an immensely popular, but in fact illegal, rival party to PDI recognized by the New Order authorities into one of the main players in domestic politics. PAN adopted a general advisory council (Majelis Pertimbangan Partai). PKB did not shed the old habit. In the composition of its board, the Dewan Syuro came first, the Dewan Tanfidz second (Mustaib and Basumin 1999, 8, 48–49). PKB’s Dewan Syuro was chaired by Abdurrahman Wahid. PPP had an Advisory Council (Pimpinan Majelis Pertimbangan Pusat) and an Executive Council. A. R. Mustain and G. Yudarson Basuminm, eds. Profil dan Visi 100 partai Era Reformasi (Jakarta: Kipas Putih Aksara, 1999), 101. When PPP began, it had an Advisory Council and a Majelis Syuro (mentioned after the Advisory Council). In 1984, a reorganization of the party structure lead to abolishing the Majelis Syuro. Even when it still existed, the actual authority of the Majelis Syura seemed weak. Politics and internal political conflicts, not religious issues, were what dominated party strife. After 1998, no Majelis Syura was reinstated. Instead, it added a Majelis Pakar (Council of Experts) to the party structure. A splinter group of the PPP founded in January 2002 by a popular preacher, K. H. Zainuddin, Partai Persatuan Pembangunan Reformasi (PPPR, Reform United Development Party) renamed Partai Bintang Reformasi (PBR, Reform Star Party), gained 2.4 percent of the votes in April 2003. A year later, a new survey by the same institute found that the percentage of people supporting such opinions dropped somewhat. Now 34 percent of those interviewed agreed with amputating the hands of thieves and 43

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18. 19.

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22. 23.

24.

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Kees van Dijk percent agreed with stoning people who committed adultery. A little over 20 percent were against a female president. Thirty-three percent favored “Islamic values in politics,” with 57 percent against. The Jakarta Post.com, June 10, 2007; The Straits Times Interactive, June 10, 2007. Among the members of the Advisory Council of the Baitul Muslimin are Syafi’i Ma’arif, between 2000 and 2005, the general chair of Muhammadiyah, and Said Agil Siradj, a chair of the Nahdlatul Ulema executive board. The colonial government banned PKMM and Hizbul Muslimin after the Emergency in 1948. Significantly, Mohammad Asri, who headed PAS after the death of Burhauddin al-Helmy, left it in 1983 to join UMNO in 1988 (Memoir, Memoir politik Asri: meniti arus. Bangi: Penerbit Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia, 1993. After the death of its president, Datuk Fadzil Mohammad Noor, in June 2002, Abdul Hadi Awang was first appointed acting president and in September 2003 president of PAS. The ruling coalition headed by UMNO won twenty-eight of the thirty-two seats in the state’s Legislative Council, the PAS only four, a reverse of the 1999 election result. PAS merely held on to Kelantan, where it had held forty-one of the forty-three seats in the state’s Legislative Council. This time it won only twenty-four of the forty-five seats. The ban on shop-window dummies, issued by the Municipal Council of Kota Baru was rescinded by the Kelantan administration. PAS leaders for their part equate the UMNO with Jews and communists and use such terms as ulema barua, stooge ulema, to describe religious leaders who supported UMNO. UMNO barua seems a very popular term in PAS circles. PAS even circulated a VCD with this title. In February 2008, Nik Abdul Aziz Nik Mat said that UMNO members were “orang utans,” people who did not understand Islam. PAS published its ideas about an Islamic state in November 2003. NonMuslims were given the choice of whether to be tried under hudud or under the existing penal code. One of the other points was that the prime minister had to be a Muslim, but that other functions in the executive, legislative, and judiciary branches were open to non-Muslims. Malaysia would remain a parliamentary democracy and not be transformed into a theocratic state. The blueprint rejected discrimination based on religion, race, or gender and guaranteed that individuals and communities would have the freedom to express their cultural and traditional heritage. Zamani (2002, 72–74, 77) laments that private charity as part of dakwah is almost absent in Malaysia (but he is convinced that with the conversion of Chinese to Islam, there will no longer be any race problems). He mentions ABIM as one of the exceptions. The PK Sejahtera may field non-Muslim candidates in general elections in non-Muslim regions. This is unquestionably an indication that the PK Sejahtera takes a pragmatic approach to earthly matters. Moreover, it is definitely in keeping with the trouble party leaders take to convince society that their party will acknowledge and protect the religious freedom of non-Muslims.

Different Settings, Different Definitions, Different Agendas 81 27. In the first round, Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono obtained 34 percent of the votes, Megawati Soekarno 26 percent, and Wiranto 22 percent. In the second round, Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono obtained 61 percent of the votes and Megawati Soekarnoputri 39 percent. 28. On the Internet, Harakah became a daily (www.harakahdaily.net).


Chapter 3

4

Isl ami c Pa rties in Indon esia’s Poli ti ca l La ndscape and Their Respective Stances on Women and M inor it ies Mathias Diederich

B

efore analyzing the stances of the Indonesian Islamic political parties on women and minorities, it is important to examine, briefly, Indonesia’s contemporary history. The country became independent shortly after the end of World War II. The first Indonesian president, Soekarno, organized the first free parliamentary elections in 1955. After this event, the decline of Indonesian democracy began.1 Soekarno started to limit political freedom and kept doing so until his successor, Soeharto, came to power in the mid-1960s. Soeharto, as shown in this chapter, was even more merciless in this respect. During the Soeharto era (orde baru = New Order, from the mid-1960s to 1998), a tremendous amount of literature arose regarding the relationship between Islamic groups and the Indonesian government. While foreign scholars could treat this matter freely, their Indonesian colleagues had to express themselves more carefully. The same holds true for Indonesian Muslims’ differing opinions on the relationship of Islam and the state. The state philosophy Pancasila dominated the official discourse of the government, especially during Soeharto’s orde baru, which emphasized treating the five officially recognized religions in the same way and no special role granted to Islam, the religion of the majority of the Indonesian population. A crucial point in this context has always been whether the so-called Piagam Jakarta (Jakarta Charter) should be part of the Indonesian constitution. The Piagam Jakarta stipulates that Indonesian Muslims be obliged to live according to Sharia. Neither the first

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Indonesian president, Soekarno, nor his successor, Soeharto, accepted the Piagam Jakarta. For forty-four years, from 1955 to 1999, Indonesia did not experience democratic elections. The Soekarno government started to limit the number of parties in the 1950s already. In 1960, Soekarno disbanded the prominent Islamic party Masyumi. When Soeharto came to power, he continued to curtail political freedom. Not only by banning parties, such as the Communist Party, but also reducing them through forced mergers. From 1973 onward, there were only three political parties in Indonesia; one of them was Soeharto’s political vehicle Golkar, which did not even claim to be a political party. Until 1983, Golkar did not feel the need to admit individual members, as the government had clientelistic relationships with many types of professional organizations, the armed forces, and civil servants, which in return voted en bloque for Golkar. As to its two remaining competitors, the United Development Party (PPP) and the Democratic Party of Indonesia (Partai Demokrasi Indonesia, or PDI), they were toothless mergers of the remaining Islamic parties and the remaining nationalist-Christian parties, respectively. These two parties existed in order to make the Indonesian citizens and the outside world believe that democracy was alive in the country. However, they did not have the slightest chance of gaining political power. Much more developed than democracy was rampant corruption and nepotism. The government replaced accountability to the voters by intensive propaganda for the Indonesian state philosophy Pancasila, which bordered on brainwashing. Instead of fair elections, there was a routine of tedious and endless repetitions of Pancasila instructions for civil servants, schoolchildren, and university students. Conformity with Pancasila became the yardstick for any political activity in Indonesia and the government saw to it that it was the only institution to define on a case-to-case basis for what Pancasila stood for. The state philosophy, originally designed, in Indonesian history, to unify heterogeneous ethnic groups, became only an overwhelming argument for the political objectives of the government. The intelligence service was used to monitor political activists of different backgrounds, including the students. On campus, starting in 1978, the normalisasi kehidupan kampus program (normalization of campus life, or NKK) was introduced for this purpose. It was effective in controlling student activities while emphasizing that the campus should be a place for studying rather than an arena for political discussions. In 1985, the Indonesian government went so far as to force all political and social organizations in the country to adopt the Indonesian state philosophy Pancasila as the sole basis (asas tunggal) of their organizations. The latter steps aimed at further reducing the attractiveness of the remaining Islamic party, PPP, and the traditional Islamic mass organizations,

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Muhammadiyah and Nahdlatul Ulama (NU). While NU and Muhammadiyah still served to a limited degree as substitutes for political parties and managed to remain very popular in Indonesia, PPP lost its appeal due to the government’s tight grip. The party was forced to accept nonMuslims as members (Dijk 2008) and was no longer allowed to use the Ka’abah as its party symbol. It is not surprising that a considerable number of Muslims were unwilling to accept these restrictions. Nevertheless, they had to limit themselves to resistance in an indirect manner. Some Muslims reacted to the orde baru (or the New Order) politics in the late 1960s by establishing the Dewan Dakwah Islamiyah Indonesia (DDII, or Indonesian Council for Islamic Predication). The driving force of this new body was Mohammad Natsir, the former leader of the Masyumi Party. Natsir turned to dakwah after he realized that the New Order would not allow him to develop his political career further. The experienced politician who had even served as prime minister under Soekarno commented on his step in the following way: “We are no longer conducting dakwah by means of politics, but engaging in political activities by means of dakwah. The result will be the same” (Hefner 1997, 82).

Fro m the Dak wah Movement to Party Politics Natsir was not the only one to react to the New Order politics. The NKK had a significant and surprising side effect. On campuses, alternative religious-political currents started to develop from the early 1980s onward. The al-ikhwan ul-muslimun (Muslim Brothers) was an important source of inspiration for them. Although almost all Indonesian Muslims are adherents of Sunni Islam, the Iranian Revolution also contributed to this development. That an Islamic revolution had been successful in the twentieth century impressed the students. On- and off-campus mosques, as one of the few places where gatherings were mostly tolerated, were turned into headquarters of seemingly apolitical dakwah2 activities by students. Dakwah groups emerged on campus, and some developed their own dress codes and specified rules for interaction among themselves, for example, the Al-Arqam. Study circles (halqah or halaqah) opened in large numbers and the so-called usrah-structure developed.3 The word usrah, derived from Arabic, literally means family but indicates here some kind of cell-structure typical for the early dakwah groups and is even a direct linguistic offshoot of the al-Ihwan ul-Muslimun organizational structure. Out of these groups emerged the Lembaga Dakwah Kampus (Campus Dakwah Institute; Azyumardi 169, 182) a kind of loose umbrella organization for the dakwah groups. In many Indonesian universities, the establishment of the local Lembaga

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Dakwah Kampus branch dates back to the 1980s. The dakwah groups not only discussed religious and to a certain extent political matters; they also developed dakwah bi-l-hal activities4 near the campus. They hoped that their experiences and achievements would enable them to take over political responsibilities after the end of Soeharto’s New Order. In the end, they also counted on the support of the communities they served. It is unclear why the Soeharto government allowed most dakwah groups to develop quite freely.5 Maybe he did not perceive them as a threat to his regime. However, it is beyond any doubt that an open confrontation with the government was out of the question at that time. The dakwah activists developed the spirit of a group operating underground and compared themselves with the unwavering adherents of Islam in the early days (Kholid, 105). However, the situation changed even during the New Order when President Soeharto started to court the Muslims in the country from the 1990s onward. He engaged in various activities to show his support for their interests by financing the construction of mosques through various channels for example. Soeharto personally undertook the pilgrimage to Mecca and allowed the establishment of ICMI (Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals’ Organization).6 Despite these concessions, there was no real prospect of political freedom and ICMI could only attract some of the critical minds: Muslims of diverse backgrounds, for example, dakwah activists, and liberals such as NU’s leading figure, Abdurrahman Wahid, refused to join.

Political Development after S o eharto’s Resi gnati on When Soeharto’s successor Habibie allowed the establishment of new political parties in 1998, this was a landmark on the way to Indonesian democracy. The new parties were not even obliged to use the Pancasila as their ideological basis anymore. The reformasi era began. As, at least according to official figures, more than 85 percent of the Indonesian population professes Islam, and given the low average age of the voters, the dakwah movements hoped to gain a considerable number of votes. Despite some efforts to join forces, several parties claimed to represent the dakwah groups in 1998/1999. The ideas of the dakwah activists turned out to be too diverse, and personal ambitions came into play as well. Additionally, among the numerous other parties that sprang up, a large number showed a clear affinity to Islam or at least declared Islam to be a guideline for them. Some of those parties took advantage of existing organizational structures and well-known protagonists like the PKB (Partai Kebangkitan Bangsa, or National Awakening Party), which gained the


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support of large parts of the NU and its leading figure, Abdurrahman Wahid. Dr. Amien Rais, the head of the Muhammadiyah, flirted with a number of new parties but eventually decided to establish his own party, the Partai Amanat Nasional (PAN, National Mandate Party). However, Amien Rais did not want PAN to become a party for Muslims only and tried to attract non-Muslims with a secular approach, while at the same time aiming to win the full support of adherents of the Muhammadiyah.7 Competition in the Islamic camp was fierce, more so as Islam gained a very positive image during the last years of the Soeharto presidency. Most viewed Islam as the equivalent of purity, that is, the opposite of corruption, which had made the life of Indonesians so difficult during the Soeharto era. At the same time, the dominant view of Islam was as a moral category whose protagonists, for example, Amien Rais and Abdurrahman Wahid, managed to play a role in bringing Soeharto down. Even Soeharto had hardly been able to ignore opposition’s claims based on Islamic principles, as he could not control all religious authorities.8 However, many Muslims were also likely to vote for secular parties, for example, the nationalist Partai Demokrasi Indonesia Perjuangan (PDIP, or Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle) led by Megawati Soekarnoputri and Golkar, which eventually turned into a party. The latter represented the old regime, but it still had an excellent network and strong financial backing.

Sta nc es o f I nd onesi an I s l a mic Parties on Wome n Megawati Soekarnoputri, daughter of the first Indonesian president, Soekarno, spearheaded the democracy movement and later became Indonesia’s fifth president. She was extremely popular, not only because her father had been the founding father of the Indonesian nation but also because she had shown more courage in challenging Soeharto than many male politicians. Megawati deserves special attention in this chapter, as it was her political ambitions that put Muslim politicians’ regard for women in power to the test as the question of a female head of state arises. In 1996, two years before Soeharto finally stepped down, Megawati had been the chairperson of the PDI, the third political party besides the ruling Golkar and the Islamic PPP. Megawati started to use her position as party leader to criticize the Soeharto government openly, something quite unusual in Soeharto’s Pancasila democracy. As she showed no intention of stopping and gained more and more supporters, Soeharto became nervous. He had toppled Megawati’s charismatic father Soekarno and was now afraid that nostalgia could make Megawati too strong a challenger for his ambitions to stay in power. Therefore, he decided to force her to

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step down as PDI chairperson. As Megawati did not want to give in and refused to step down, Soeharto gave orders to storm PDI headquarters. This conflict claimed many casualties, and the world thus became aware of the Indonesian struggle for democratization; the event made Megawati a hero of the movement. In the eyes of many, she was bound to be Indonesia’s democratically elected president after the expected collapse of the regime. Soeharto’s reaction to Megawati’s challenge infuriated many Indonesians and they started to glorify her even more. However, in 1998, when Soeharto finally left office and the time came for democratic elections, Megawati was not the only one who wanted to become the next president. However, for the other ambitious politicians, it was hard to compete with her because of her enormous popularity. At this point, quite a number of male candidates for the presidency started to play the Islamic card, claiming that, despite Megawati’s undeniable merits for the democratization movement, a woman could of course not be the head of a nation with a large majority of Muslim citizens.9 To discredit her further, it was even questioned whether she was a real Muslim as her grandmother was a Hindu and her own affiliation to this religion was said to be still strong. It was and is indeed out of the question for many Indonesians to have a non-Muslim as first representative of the state. Interestingly, both Islamic mass organizations, the Muhammadiyah and the NU, issued fatwas stipulating the political rights of women and even their right to political leadership.10 Another organization, the Kongres Umat Islam Indonesia (KUII), which encompasses a large variety of Muslim organizations had done the same. However, after Megawati had thrown her hat into the ring, the KUII changed its attitude at its congress in November 1998, where they decided that the next president of Indonesia had to be a male Muslim (Findeisen 2007, 193). Apparently, the KUII decision did not impress the Indonesian electorate as Megawati’s party won a large majority during the 1999 parliamentary elections, showing that the Indonesian people could very well imagine a female president as their representative. As the elections decided on the composition of the lower house (DPR) only, Megawati had not achieved her goal yet. Although she reemphasized her ambitions, hinting at the impressive electoral victory of her party, she did not become president. Instead, because of what many considered shady horse-trading behind the scenes, NU’s leading figure Abdurrahman Wahid became the fourth Indonesian president in October 1999. It is important to point out that the electoral process was in accordance with the new laws enacted after Soeharto’s downfall. However, many Indonesians felt that to deny Megawati the presidency was unfair. This first experience with the new democracy was a frustrating one. The Islamic politicians managed to agree on a candidate, but at the same time,


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it was obvious that the majority of the members of parliament (MP) who had voted for him did not wholeheartedly back him. Even worse, the Islamic parties had obtained only a small number of seats in parliament and depended on the Golkar party’s MP votes, the representative of the old Soeharto regime. Cooperation with the old regime to avoid Megawati’s presidency was a high price for the Islamic parties. It is no wonder that early perception of the beginning of Indonesia’s adventure in democracy was a failure in the eyes of many observers (Zainal 2003, 294). Megawati came in second but did not give up her political ambitions. She stood for vice president a day later and was elected. It may sound surprising, but the result of the elections for the vice presidency was not a complete setback for Abdurrahman. It was even in several ways beneficial for him. He was certainly more flexible than other high-ranking politicians when it came to cooperation with a female counterpart.11 In addition, many Indonesians felt that with the vice presidency Megawati had at least obtained a good position after all the hardships she had gone through. Therefore, Megawati being part of the government, Abdurrahman could expect at least some understanding from her supporters. Finally, Megawati’s new position entitled her to become president in the case of Abdurrahman’s resignation or death. Abdurrahman could use this scenario as security for his own presidency, discouraging his political rivals in the Islamic camp from demanding his resignation because it obviously entailed the consequence of having a female successor. In fact, many of Abdurrahman’s political rivals in the government just like him had weak political backing. Therefore, both Abdurrahman and his rivals were dependent on each other. None of them could be interested in having new elections since they were risking the loss of their newly gained positions. However, this interdependence did not help improve the government’s performance. On the contrary, one of the reasons for this was precisely Abdurrahman’s dependence on a rainbow cabinet, which consisted of ministers from a large number of parties. Many of them had obtained their positions because of their support for Abdurrahman’s presidency. A considerable number of the ministers were inexperienced and had to represent the interests of their respective parties. At the same time, the people suffered under the Asian crisis and expected the new government to solve their problems fast. To tackle urgent problems, Abdurrahman Wahid undertook risky political maneuvers. He also sacked various ministers in short intervals without warning, resulting in loss of face for the respective politicians and the parties they were representing. Given the high value that is attributed to harmony in Indonesia, Abdurrahman’s steps constituted unpardonable taboos.

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Abdurrahman Wahid’s presidency ended in 2001. He had lost the support of his rainbow cabinet as he had infuriated too many influential people and proved unable to handle Indonesia’s political fate. Since the boat was sinking, the Islamic parties with the exception of Abdurrahman’s own PKB, helped impeach Abdurrahman Wahid although they knew that a woman, Megawati, would succeed him. Megawati was sworn in, in July. Hamzah Haz of the PPP, who had been among those who strongly opposed Megawati’s presidency for religious reasons in the late 1990s, took office as her vice president. This example shows that in the case of power struggles influential Indonesian politicians used Islamic principles as long as they were convenient for their purpose. When Abdurrahman’s presidency turned out to be a failure, they stopped insisting on principles and decided to accept a female president. This example also shows that Islamic principles can become a sort of burden for their protagonists as in some cases these principles may not appeal to the majority of the electorate. In the Indonesian case, not less than 57 percent of the voters in 1999 were female and many of them developed strong solidarity for Megawati.

Qu es tio n o f Wo men Work in g N ig h t S hif ts and Over s eas Many women were economically and socially in an unfavorable position during Soeharto’s New Order. As the Green Revolution changed the situation in rural areas tremendously, many Indonesians left their villages and began to settle in bigger cities under poor conditions. Given their large number, entrepreneurs took advantage of their situation and hired them for low-paying factory work. Very often, in a city like Jakarta, a factory worker’s single salary was insufficient to cover the expenses of a married couple, let alone a family with children. Consequently, both partners tried to find jobs in factories. Often, however, women were preferred as factory workers to men and the husband (and children) started to become financially dependent on them. This in turn did not correspond to Islamic principles in the eyes of many Indonesian Muslims according to which the husband is the breadwinner. This inversion of roles was common for Indonesian migrant workers as well. When the number of Indonesian migrants to the Arabian Peninsula skyrocketed in the 1980s, it was due to strong demand for female domestic workers (tenaga kerja wanita–pembantu rumah tangga, or TKW-PR). They not only earned considerable foreign currency for the Indonesian state but also secured the survival of whole villages in poor rural areas.


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During the Soeharto era, many Muslim politicians and scholars did not consider these facts when they defended matters such as the Islamic inheritance law according to which sons receive twice as much as daughters.12 Azhar Basyir’s and Azhari’s anachronistic statements in favor of the law are revealing in this respect. According to these scholars, the wife certainly has no obligations regarding the household budget (Abdillah 1995, 108). By the time statements of this kind were made, wives had not only developed an important role for the budget of their extended families but also for the budget of the Indonesian state, especially because of remittances of female domestic workers in U.S. dollars. After Soeharto’s resignation, professional activities, night shifts, and labor migration became the focus of attention of the new Islamic political parties. When it comes to factory work, it was stated that night shifts should only be allowed for women if they were accompanied by a close male relative (muhrim) on the way to work (after dark) to guarantee their safety. For the TKW-PR, several Muslim politicians turned a blind eye on the economic situation the women and their families faced. They demanded to stop them from going overseas all together as the TKW-PR could not be accompanied by a muhrim and therefore failed to meet their religious obligations.13 In several Indonesian provinces, women felt the consequences of these political demands. This was because of more regional autonomy, which became a political reality in the post-Soeharto era. In some provinces, regional parliaments decided to change laws according to a conservative interpretation of Islamic principles. Because of these decisions, women could no longer go out at night.14 However, many of the female factory workers needed to do so for financial reasons. In some cases, their husbands were apparently unable or unwilling to meet what conservative Muslims perceived as their religious obligations. The outcome of this new polity seems formalistic and absurd at the same time: Those women who do not abide by the law start to face serious problems with the authorities and risk losing their honor in the eyes of society. Their way to work used to be quite safe in most cases. Streets were usually crowded in the cities even after dark. Depending on the area, sexual harassment was unlikely to happen. However, it was after the new laws came into force that the way to work became risky for women. Authorities started to question women who dared to walk the streets at night. Women who tried hard to make ends meet suffered deprivation not only of a fundamental human right, the freedom of movement, they were also publicly exposed and disgraced, thus encouraging other citizens to scapegoat them as prostitutes. It seems that some of the smaller Islamic parties had given up on the Piagam Jakarta during the early years of reformasi because they realized

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that there would be no majority. Instead, they tried to change Indonesian law according to what they consider proper Islamic law on a step-by-step basis (Abuza 2007, 31). However, without support from other parties, the Islamic parties would not be able to push through with their agenda. An example from the Eastern Indonesian province of South Sulawesi illustrates the kind of motivation that can be the driving force for these alliances. Buehler (2008) shows in his study on recent political developments in South Sulawesi that other parties and their representatives support the efforts of the Islamic parties for financial reasons. He explains that, for example, the influential Golkar Party helped monopolize the sale of alcoholic drinks and the collection of zakat in the hands of the regional government. What the leading party in this part of Indonesia was in fact doing under the guise of Islamic purity, was to gain an important share of these financial resources. In return, Golkar supported other bills, which were even more important to the Islamic parties.

N o minatio n o f Female C andid at es f o r I ndo nesian Par li ament A particularly interesting example for both the stances of Islamic parties on women and on minorities is the question of female representation within the Islamic parties themselves. This chapter analyzes the question of internal democracy by referring to the Indonesian elections of 2004. According to the new electoral law, all parties were to nominate 30 percent female candidates for parliament (DPR). This new law took into account underrepresentation of women among Indonesian politicians. In the case of the Islamic parties, implementation varied. Many did not come up with a sufficient number of female candidates just like many secular parties. Some parties, such as the Prosperous Justice Party (Partai Keadilan Sejahtera, PKS) and the Partai Amanat Nasional (PAN), accepted the quota but expected their female candidates not to neglect their household obligations. In some cases, parties simply ignored the law, as failing to abide by it did not entail any legal consequences for the parties. Others were not in the position to find a sufficient number of well-educated female candidates who were willing to run for office, especially in rural areas. Some Islamic parties, for example, the PKS and the PKB, nominated a sufficient number of female candidates but very few of them obtained seats in parliament. The reason for their failure is simple: In many cases, several female candidates had to compete for the same seat. In other cases, they received a poor ranking in the internal list of the party, which made it almost impossible for them to run successfully. At the end of the day, the secular parties had a higher percentage of women in the DPR than the


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Islamic parties did. During the last full legislation period of the orde baru, between 1992 and 1997, the percentage of female MPs was higher than at any time after Soeharto’s resignation (Findeisen 2007, 220). How could the parties disregard or even ignore this even though more than 50 percent of the Indonesian electorate is female? The case of the PKB may explain how complicated the internal life of a political party in Indonesia can be. The differences between PKB’s progressive platform that championed empowerment of women and minorities and the rough reality of day-to-day politics became apparent. Even before, as leading figure of the NU, Abdurrahman Wahid had “made significant contributions to the question of how Islam can flourish in tandem with democracy, civil society, human rights, and women’s rights” (Abuza 2007, 112). However, he and his close allies within PKB had been facing difficulties convincing the rather conservative NU clientele to accept that in politics, the interests of all Indonesian citizens and their day-to-day life was more important than what they perceived as overprecision on questions related to Islamic principles.15 To explain how under these difficult circumstances, Abdurrahman Wahid pursued his agenda and how he legitimized his views requires a closer look at the early days of the PKB. Abdurrahman wanted to close the ranks of the party and to gain as much support as possible without giving up on his own convictions. Therefore, Abdurrahman Wahid claimed that Wahid Hasyim, his father and former popular NU representative, already had “put the Indonesian unitary state above anything else, including Islam” (Mietzner 1999, 181). By doing this, he tried to foster his own liberal progressive thinking by legitimizing it with dynastic patrimonial principles. This seemed promising as family tradition was important within the NU.16 Ironically, a member of his own family, his younger brother Salahuddin Wahid, contradicted him. According to him, Wahid Hasyim had championed a Muslim president and there was important written evidence for this. Salahuddin Wahid thus publicly questioned his own brother’s trustworthiness regarding statements about their own family.17 Similarly, to secure the support of as many NU members for the PKB as possible, Abdurrahman Wahid had to provide key positions within his new party to conservative male NU members (Mietzner 1999, 177), who in turn, would not favor and sometimes do not even understand his progressive political ideas. Abdurrahman Wahid and his opponents found themselves caught in a vicious circle. They could not succeed without each other but were unwilling or unable to form a successful team. Randall (2006, 392) states, “a clue for the social character of a party may lie in the nature of the social institutions or organizations into which it is historically and/or actually linked.” The specific constellation of the

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PKB-NU ties reveals that these links of a party with an organization can be a blessing and a burden at the same time. The PKB attracted a large portion of the adherents of the NU, but along with them came NU’s clientelistic structures. As Gunter and Diamond (2003, 177) argue, clientelistic structures of political parties “may contain the seeds of their own eventual destruction,” as these structures easily develop into overt corruption. In the case of the PKB, an additional factor must be accounted for: its traditionally cumbersome, male-dominated, and opaque forms of decision-making. Decisions within the party derived not from democratic principles alone but also depended on the acceptance of PKB’s Islamic syuro (or shura in Arabic) consultative council, just like in the NU. A group of male experts had the final say regarding conformity of party decisions with Islamic law. This constellation within the party is not likely to favor ambitious female politicians. As the example of the PKB shows, internal conflicts were hard to avoid in many parties. The representation of female candidates could have become a key question for the female electorate, and, in fact, the question was a heated topic debated before the 2004 elections. However, the matter apparently did not stop political parties from ignoring the demands of the National Electoral Authorities (Komisi Pemilihan Umum—KPU). Clientelism within the male-dominated parties turned out to be more important than the question of empowerment of Indonesian women.

Sta nc es o f I ndo nesian Is l ami c Parti es on R el ig io us and E thni c M i nor i ti es As was explained earlier, Islam had a very high standing in Indonesian politics after Soeharto’s resignation. It was all too obvious that the protagonists of some new Islamic parties believed in the reemergence of the old cleavages of the 1955 elections by claiming to be the rightful heirs of the Masyumi. This was the case for the Partai Bulan Bintang (PBB, or the Moon and Star Party), several other small parties that vanished in the meantime, and the PPP. The latter also claims to represent NU and the dakwah movement. There were two reasons many Islamic parties favored the Masyumi as their historical legitimization. The Masyumi was a symbol for political martyrdom and unity of the Muslims at the same time.18 The PK (Justice Party, which later became the already-mentioned PKS, Prosperous Justice Party) even championed the caliphate as the ideal form of state in a remarkable form of political nostalgia,19 while it claimed to represent the dakwah movement, too. It is understandable that the previous parties were less attractive to the religious minorities in Indonesia as they championed Islamic purity,


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while those that were politically active favored nationalist parties. In turn, given the low number of non-Muslim citizens in Indonesia, one might think that the Indonesian political parties were not too interested in gaining the support of the religious minorities either. However, the Christian minority in Indonesia is by far wealthier and better educated than the average population and therefore represents a potential source for campaign funding and technical support for the parties. It is interesting to note that the role of non-Muslims in Indonesian society is in many ways similar to the role of other non-Muslim minorities in the Middle East. In both cases, minorities faced accusations of collaboration with the colonial powers in the past and turned to nationalist parties rather than Islamic ones. As Noth (1996, 689–90) explains, Christians among the Arabs tend to support nationalist politics too, the more so as prominent Pan-Islamic ideas are unappealing to them.20 It seems that they show this kind of commitment to be considered good fellow-citizens in the nation-state. At the same time, many of the non-Muslim Arabs have good contacts with the outside world, as their families can afford to finance their studies abroad. In fact, many families within the non-Muslim minorities, often because of the support of the colonizers, have traditionally been in touch with Western educational institutions, be it in the former colonies or in the motherland. Because of their high standard of education, well-established international networks, and growing wealth, many hold key positions nowadays, even in government. Some affluent and influential Coptic families in Egypt are examples of this development. At the same time, they are not always encouraged to gain too much personal profile as they belong to a minority, which is not supposed to run the state. One of the reasons for these persistent restrictions in the political arena is the close relationships between the non-Muslim minorities and the colonizers in the past (Pink 2005, 733, 739). Pink (2005, 739) emphasizes that today the position of classic Islamic law regarding the dhimmis, that is, Jews and Christians as non-Muslim minorities, is disused in the Middle East. However, she adds, the dhimmi-concept is usually not publicly questioned either, because of the said historical ties between the minorities and the colonial powers (which may arouse suspicion), knowing the obvious challenge this would prompt in Islamist circles. Pink (2005, 740) elaborates in this context why, in many Middle Eastern countries, non-Muslims are not supposed to become judges, heads of states, or soldiers and why these positions are for Muslims only. Lack of expertise regarding Islamic matters or mistrust in their unconditional support of Islamic principles are reasons frequently stated to deny nonMuslims positions as head of state or judge. As to the armed forces, the

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concept of jihad would disallow non-Muslims to join, as non-Muslims per se cannot be expected to adopt and support this Islamic principle. In Indonesia, the situation was slightly different when it came to the armed forces. While other Christians were not facing restrictions in that sense, Indonesians of Chinese decent could not join the Indonesian Armed Forces (TNI). This was a setback for the professional development of the ethnic Chinese, as the TNI always had a high reputation among Indonesians and offered career opportunities. Many of the Christians in Indonesia are of Chinese decent. In the past, they have seen discrimination in many ways, but this was because of their ethnic background more than because of their preferred religious affiliation. Discrimination of the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia and discrimination of non-Muslims in the Arab world have similar roots in at least one aspect: There remains resentment among many Indonesians against their ethnic Chinese citizens because of the ethnic Chinese merchants who cooperated economically with the Dutch during colonial times. Many Chinese Indonesians could not attend public universities despite good academic performances in high school. Given their difficult position and limited opportunities in Indonesian society, many of them tried to earn enough money to study abroad. A considerable number of welleducated Indonesians of Chinese descent benefited from this kind of investment. Similarly, to the non-Muslims in the Arab world, the pattern of ethnic Chinese education abroad and successful reintegration into the national job market continues. Their average income is higher than that of other Indonesians. This is one of the reasons why mutual mistrust between Indonesians of Chinese descent and other Indonesians, so called pribumis, is obvious. In addition, Soeharto had the reputation for allowing businesspeople of Chinese descent to gain control of an important share of the Indonesian economy. Political parties have to deal with these tensions. It is all too clear that a positive attitude toward the Christian minority and especially the Chinese minority might rebuff parts of the electorate, which lacked prosperity and wealth during the Soeharto era. At the same time, as was explained earlier, political parties seek the expertise, international experience, networks, and the funds of this group as well. Regarding the stances on non-Muslim minorities it is important to take a closer look at the prominent Islamic parties that performed sufficiently well after Soeharto stepped down (PKB, PAN, PBB, PPP, PK[S]). Among these parties, PKB and PAN stand out. As mentioned earlier in this chapter, they are secular parties in various respects. PAN’s platform in 1999 did omit any reference to Islam and emphasized its pluralistic attitude. The very popular NU figure Abdurrahman Wahid, who championed similar ideas,


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led the PKB. At the same time, both parties benefit from their close ties to Islamic organizations. This constellation confused a considerable number of voters as the basis of NU, and Muhammadiyah did not agree with PKB’s or PAN’s liberal ideas. Abdurrahman Wahid’s liberal attitude had been quite consistent over the years and many admired and respected him. However, his ideas seemed too radical: a non-Muslim president and the reestablishment of the banned Communist Party were acceptable for him, although he knew that among NU followers antagonism toward communism was strong.21 Abdurrahman’s visits to Christian churches, his suggestion to establish diplomatic ties with Israel, and his strong advocacy for a liberal form of Islamic law further irritated parts of NU. As to Amien Rais and PAN, many Indonesians quite openly questioned their stand on plurality. Amien Rais had been the protagonist of political Islam for a long time and gained much popularity as the head of the Muhammadiyah. After Soeharto stepped down Amien Rais emphasized his political ambitions and considered taking over the chair of the Islamist PBB, which had tried to court him. When he established his own party and favored pluralistic views, this move came as a surprise to many Indonesians. Amien Rais could not convince the electorate; those who admired him as a Muslim leader missed a clear commitment to the Muslim faith, whereas those who supported pluralistic views had other options like the PDI-P. The latter were inclined to believe that Amien Rais’s change of ideas was due to opportunism. PAN was able to attract prominent non-Muslims as party representatives and sponsors of PAN’s activities but some were disappointed and discontinued cooperation, as they felt abused. When it comes to the acceptance of non-Muslims as party members, there is an obvious difference to the early times of the Indonesian democracy. Whereas in the 1950s, members of the Islamic parties had to be Muslims, this was not the case after Soeharto’s resignation. PAN and PKB accepted non-Muslims as members and answered questions regarding a potential non-Muslim head of state affirmatively. The PPP and PBB accepted non-Muslim members as well but less enthusiastically. The PKS also accepts non-Muslims as members and tries to attract them especially in areas where their numbers are high, like Papua. However, at the same time, the PKS, just as the PBB and PPP, ruled out the possibility of a non-Muslim head of state. These stances clearly mark non-Muslims as second-class citizens and therefore automatically limit the attractiveness of these parties for adherents of other religions. As to PBB, it even considered redistributing the wealth of Indonesians of Chinese descent and championed affirmative action to favor smaller Muslim-owned businesses (Abuza 2007, 22).

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C o nc lus i on Using minorities and women as yardsticks for political attitudes, it becomes apparent that the stances of different Islamic parties in Indonesia show similarities only to a certain extent. This finding is not surprising, given the large number of Islamic parties that continue to coexist in Indonesia. These parties in turn represent particular groups among the Muslims in Indonesia, a country that outnumbers every other country in the world in terms of Muslim citizens. Sometimes, political strategies rather than solid ideological backgrounds influence stances. However, this pattern exists within secular parties as well. It is noteworthy that the Islamic parties of the twenty-first century are more open to accept non-Muslims as political partners than their forefathers were, in the early days of Indonesian independence, fifty years ago. Formalistic approaches of smaller Islamic parties have had a surprising effect in some of the Indonesian provinces. This effect seems disproportionate to the share of votes these parties obtained. It shows that the parties are committed and persistent when it comes to their ideas of Islamic politics. They pursue their goals even if implementation of these goals brings hardship for the day-to-day lives of economically underprivileged fellow Muslims. They also do not shy away from alliances with political parties from different camps even though the latter may prioritize material objectives. Indonesia has gone through a series of debates about Islamic principles and their implementation in a nation-state with citizens of diverse religious beliefs. However, as in the Middle East, statements on controversial matters, for example, a female presidency or a non-Muslim head of state, are usually not formulated in a straightforward way unless the political situation makes this unavoidable or recommendable, like in the case of Megawati’s candidacy. On the one hand, Muslim politicians risk discrediting Islamic principles if they, for example, bluntly acknowledge the possibility of a nonMuslim head of state, while on the other hand, they risk their democratic credentials if they deny it. Courageous political figures like Abdurrahman Wahid who openly questions taboos regarding Islamic principles are rare and risk being misunderstood or marginalized. Party platforms usually do not contain clear positions regarding these matters. Statements are, if ever, found between the lines (Diederich 2008). It is mostly due to academic studies such as Arskal Salim (1999), persistent journalists such as the API (1999), or the ones of the Kompas (1999, 2004) group that parties were eventually forced to formulate positions on sensible issues like these. Whereas in most countries in the Arab world a continuous discussion on these matters is not always possible, in Indonesia this is much more the case. The new atmosphere of political freedom in Indonesia opens for these debates and challenges the parties to take positions.


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N otes 1. One of the most detailed analyses of these events is Herbert Feith, The Decline of Constitutional Democracy in Indonesia (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1962). 2. Dakwah (da’wah in Arabic), is seen by some as equivalent to the word mission in the Christian religion. Others tend to understand this term as a continuous and renewed spread of the faith among believers to strengthen their ties to Islam. There is a political dimension to this difference, especially in Indonesia: The former President Soeharto decided to limit missionary activities after Muslim groups complained. See Robert Hefner, Civil Islam (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000), 107–9). Some said that the Christian missionaries used material assets to proselytize. 3. An expression that is widely used to define dakwah; groups in this context are harakah or harokah (movement), but definitions for this term vary considerably. Therefore, this chapter does not use the term. Harakah must not be mistaken for halqah or halaqah (study circle) either. 4. Propagation of the faith by means of practical activities, unlike dakwah bi’l lisan (literally: dakwah by tongue). 5. See He-Man: Kebijakan negara dan fundamentalisme Islam Indonesia. (www .munindo.brd.de/artikel/artikel_04/art04_islam_fundametalis_indonesia .html). One of the exceptions is certainly Soeharto’s crackdown on the AlArqam in the mid-1990s. 6. Mimbar Ulama 173 (June 1992): 34–42, lists nineteen different achievements to illustrate support for the Muslims by the Soeharto administration. 7. Although he stepped down as head of Muhammadiyah, he still used organization facilities to run his campaign. For details, see Marcus Mietzner, “Nationalism and Islamic Politics: Political Islam in the Post-Soeharto Era” in Reformasi Crisis and change in Indonesia, ed. Arief Budiman, Barbara Hatley, and Damien Kingsbury (Monash: Monash Asia, 1999), 173–99. 8. When it came to democratic principles, the president turned critics down more easily with reference to Asian values. As was explained already, Soeharto also based his power on the particular form of Indonesian democracy, the Pancasila democracy, which he himself designed according to his needs. 9. The issue of a female head of state is a topic of hot debate in the Islamic world. This question has prompted many fatwas in different countries in the past, especially when women dared to run for a presidency. Wiebke Walther, “Die Situation von Frauen in islamischen Ländern,” in Der Islam in der Gegenwart, ed. Werner Ende and Udo Steinbach, 5, revised edition (Munich: C. H. Beck, 2005), 656. Often, the Muslims in favor of this idea refer to the surat al-naml in this context. It describes the achievements of Sheba, a successful female head of state. Those who oppose the idea quote the surat al-nisa, which they interpret as describing men’s superiority to women in this domain. There are also hadiths, which support the latter interpretation. Fauzia Amelia and Yuniyanti Chuzaifah, Apakah Islam agama untuk perempuan? (Jakarta: Center for Language and Culture / KAS, 2003). 10. Ibid. 37.

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11. Hamzah Haz, the runner-up, would have been much more troublesome for Abdurrahman Wahid, as he was a longtime rival in the NU who would have done everything to challenge the new president. 12. The discussion on the inheritance law in Indonesia is indeed very interesting. However, it is not the focus of this article and therefore limited to one additional observation. For many wealthy people, the theoretical discussion on the law was far from reality. As Andrée Feillard, “Indonesia’s Emerging Muslim Feminists: Women Leaders on Equality, Inheritance and Other Gender Issues,” Studia Islamica 4, no. 1 (1997): 83–111, points out, the 2:1 principle in favor of male heirs was circumvented in many Indonesian families. Donations to daughters during the lifetime of their parents compensated for the unequal treatment of the children after the parents’ death. These donations even favor female heirs as they would obtain half of their share before the parents died. People did not question Islamic principles on inheritance openly but did not act according to them during their day-to-day activities. This pattern can also be observed in other countries like the Sudan. 13. For details, see Mathias Diederich, “Indonesians in Saudi Arabia: Religious and Economic Connections,” in Transnational Connections and the Arab Gulf, ed. Madawi Al-Rasheed (New York: Routledge, 2005, 128–46. 14. According to legal experts, these laws are unconstitutional as it is for the national parliament to decide on these matters. However, as there are no strong advocates of these ideas in the national parliament, and because the new laws are in the eyes of many based on Islamic principles, there is insufficient objection to stop them. 15. Recently, discussions on the acceptance of the so-called Islam Liberal Network and the Ahmadiyya within PKB and NU indicate again that other protagonists and adherents of PKB and NU do not necessarily support the ideas of Abdurrahman Wahid and his followers. Moreover, outside NU and PKB, there is disagreement among Muslims regarding the way Islam Liberal and Ahmadiyya should be treated in Indonesia. For the recent development regarding Ahmadiyya in Indonesia and its implications for society, see Leena Avonius, “The Ahmadiyya and Freedom of Religion in Indonesia,” ISIM Review (Autumn 2008): 48–49. 16. The example given above shows clearly how absurd pragmatism in politics can become. At other occasions, Abdurrahman Wahid also stressed utterances of his two grandfathers—both founding fathers of the NU and admired by the adherents of the organization up to the present day—to discipline leading NU protagonists and to underpin his own pluralistic positions with an almost sacred authority (see Mietzner 1999, 180–81 for details). 17. Ibid. 18. Ironically, the Masyumi was a creation of the Japanese colonial power in October 1943. The Japanese designed it as an umbrella organization for the different Islamic organizations in Indonesia, the Muhammadiyah, and the NU, but they did so to serve their own political interests. After Indonesian independence, internal rifts between modernist and traditional Muslims prompted the withdrawal of the NU. As was explained earlier, Soekarno


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eventually disbanded Masyumi in 1960 and unintentionally created the symbol of political martyrdom. 19. While the PKS developed a new strategy and a new image for the 2004 elections by highlighting a national agenda, the profile of other Islamic parties, such as the PBB, remained unchanged. As Lipset and Rokkan pointed out, some political parties are fixed on the image they develop at the beginning of their existence. It is difficult for them to gain support from other political cleavages (quoted in Vicky Randall, “Political Parties and Social Structure in the Developing World,” in Handbook of Party Politics, ed. Richard Katz and William Crotty [New Delhi: Sage, 2006], 298). Given the large number of young voters in Indonesia, PBB’s stagnant emphasis on its image as representative of the Masyumi may lose even more appeal in the future. 20. Some pan-Islamists even reject the idea of a nation-state altogether, as they see it as a Western concept imposed on them in the past by colonial rulers. They see the idea of the Umma as the only acceptable basis for a state. 21. During the political turmoil in the mid-1960s, a large number of communists, many of them ethnic Chinese, lost their lives. Many adherents of the NU participated in the killings, as they believed they would save the nation from a communist revolution. Many Indonesians up to the present day perceive communism as extremely dangerous.


Chapter 4

4

From Parties to Movements I sl am and Po litics in the Ho r n o f Af r i ca

Stefano Bellucci and Massimo Zaccaria

Islam in the Horn of Africa, mainly Somalia, Ethiopia, and Eritrea, rep-

resents cultural and political issues. The contemporary history of political Islam in the Horn is similar to that of other sub-Saharan African countries. The attitude vis-à-vis political Islam of postcolonial governments in this region has been ruthless. Therefore, in the Horn of Africa, Islam has found other ways to manifest politically. That is, their transformation into movements and their penetration of society throughout organizations providing services and support. A variable, with respect to the Horn of Africa, to consider carefully is the weight of the diasporic element within the social structure. Important developments in the social history of the region occurred within diasporas, which has been expressed as the “diasporic State” by Ruth Iyob, in which “identity of diaspora populations is forged in struggles for political, economic and social survival” (Iyob 2000, 661). Close relationships with the Middle East and Gulf States (including Iran) especially influenced the Horn, more than probably any other region of sub-Saharan Africa. At the same time, the Horn of Africa has been participating in the formation of the global “Islamic culture,” since the time of Prophet Muhammad.1 The Islamic revival occurred in the 1980s, following a short but intense period during which secularism (especially military-driven) prevailed on Islamism, initiated with Italian colonialism, and carried out by both military and Marxist regimes during postcolonial times. Both endogenous and exogenous elements contributed to the process of re-Islamization of politics in the Horn.

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H is to ry o f S ub mi ssi on Islam in the Horn of Africa benefited from its vicinity to Mecca and Medina. Egypt has been another religious pole.2 Since its foundation, Al-Azhar in particular has been the primary school of Islamic thought to some of the most famous religious figures of the Red Sea and in Harrar, from where Islam propagated.3 The link with Egypt has been important also for the Coptic Church, the other foremost religion in the region.4 In the nineteenth century, the long-lived relationship between local and external religious institutions, both Islamic and Christian, was reinvigorated by the development of modern transportation. Egypt in particular pushed quite hard to increase its influence in the region. Muhammad Ali conquered Hijaz and Sudan between 1811 and 1821, precisely to secure Egyptian control over the Nile and the Red Sea. For the same reasons, in 1865, Khedivè Ismail extended its power in Suakin and Massawa. The opening of the Suez Canal only reinforced the Egyptian hegemonic attitude toward other nations in the region. By 1875, Egypt controlled Zeila, Guardafui, and Harrar. Sudan is another country of fundamental importance for the propagation of Islam in the region. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, Khatmiyya spread into the Horn. As proof of the intimate relationship with the Arabic peninsula, Ahmad ibn Idris al-Fasi invited Muhammad ‘Uthman al Mirghani (1793–1853) to Ethiopia and then to Sudan to broaden the influence of Idrisiyya. Once back to Arabia and after the death of Ahmad ibn Idris, Muhammad ‘Uthman al-Mirghani decided to create its own tariqa, Khatmiyya also known as mirghaniyya.5 His son Hasan went to Sudan to represent him and his tariqa.6 This way, the region of the Horn came in contact with so-called neo-Sufism. At the end of the nineteenth century, the relationship between this branch of Islam and Italian colonialism in Eritrea and Somalia became a matter of great ambiguity and paradox. On the one hand, Italy introduced a new administrative form of government based on direct rule. On the other hand, they prevented Islamic leaders from participating, as religious leaders, in the colonial secularist system of direct rule—that is, as colonial officers. The only way Islamic leaders had to bypass the Italian ban was to operate undercover within associations, professional unions, cultural organizations, and other similar entities. Barred from political parties, they found other ways to enter political life. Cultural and religious movements and civil society organizations were the main avenues for Islamic political activism, which constitutes a fundamental character of political Islam in the Horn until today. Colonial powers were hostile toward any attempt to give Islam a political voice. The British (in Somaliland), Italians (in Eritrea and Somalia), and French (in Djibouti) administrators developed measures to prevent

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political Islam from gaining visibility and social recognition. However, despite numerous attempts to curb Islamic activism, it was rather difficult for Europeans to put an end to the endless reorganization of Islam within civil society. During decolonization, European powers pushed Africans to adopt systems of government and forms of state similar to theirs. Liberal democracy and secularism were the two pillars upon which the nationstate was born in Africa. With the only exception being Ethiopia (an absolute monarchy), this period constitutes a phase of intense political activity. Numerous parties were formed in Eritrea (not yet annexed by the Ethiopian Empire), in Somalia, and in Djibouti. The British particularly encouraged the formation of parties; however, all of these political organizations were secularist. For about a century, until the 1980s, political references to Islam were never overt and remained fuzzy.7 The ar Rabita al-Islamiyya (Muslim League) was formed in Keren in December 1946. Despite its religious ideology, the Rabita never promoted an overtly Islamic agenda, but diluted it within its social and cultural agenda. Furthermore, political factionalism, which dominated the period of independent struggle in Eritrea, contributed as well to the shadowing of Islamism within the League. In 1947, Muhammad ‘Umar Qadi established the National Moslem Party of Massawa, while ‘Ali Muhammad Musa Rad’ay formed the Muslim League of the Western Province (Erlich 2007, 1087). The Islamic character of these two political parties remained subordinate to a series of cultural considerations. Similar levels of moderate politics exist in the Somali Youth League (SYL). Among its founders were two important religious figures: Abdulkader Sekhawe Din and Hajji Muhammad Hussayn (president of the SYL from 1957 to 1958). These organizations displayed their secular character in any possible manner (from party programs to public encounters; Marchal 2004, 117). Another would-be Somali Islamic party was the Somali National League (SNL). However, albeit its connections with the Islamic Somali Association in Aden, in its manifesto, the SNL was able to omit all reference to Islam in politics (or political Islam; Lewis 1958, 255). The Islamic state, Sharia law, shura, democracy, and other issues, which characterize Islamism today, were remote from the programs of Islamic organizations of the time. From the 1940s to the 1980s, Islamic political organizations were de facto included into all-embracing secular movements, although their identity remained Islamic. Islam was used to differentiate these groups from others present in the national political spectrum (socialism, afro-socialism, pan-Africanism, etc.) and to attract Muslim political support.

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I s l amic Awak eni ng After a few years, one by one, all the countries of the region (including Sudan) saw the end of the democratic experience. Authoritarian regimes abolished all political parties and were hostile toward all forms of social activism they could not control. Religious organizations found two ways to overcome restrictions to political parties: (1) transform themselves into social movements or civil society organizations, which were not supposed to claim any share of formal power or (2) choose to reorganize themselves outside national borders. In the first option, the new movements learned from the highly adaptive political strategy of the Muslim Brothers (al-Ikhwan al-Moslemoon) of Egypt and their political pragmatism that allowed them not only to survive but also to gain slowly increasing influence within society. The Muslim Brothers were not a political party, but they were able to organize people and have a say in the political arena. In the case of exile (the second option chosen to override internal restrictions); Islamic organizations abroad exploited the classical channel of intraregional and international communication. Islamic movements abroad also used the complex mechanisms, architectures, and structures of the diasporic state. After all, diasporas are historically one of the key elements of the cultures in the Horn (Iyob 1995). Egyptian influence in the politics of the Horn involved both secularist and Islamic sections of society. Since the mid-1940s, branches of the Muslim Brotherhood of Egypt moved southward to spread their doctrine (Abdel 1997). Egypt was particularly interested in Eritrea, rivaling in this respect with Ethiopia, which considered the former Italian colony part of its territory. Muhamad Sa’id Nawd formed the Eritrean Liberation Front (ELM) based on secularist ideas and Western-style democracy in November 1958. The ELM was the first Eritrean national liberation movement, and the Eritrean diasporas in Sudan played a key role within it (Faddab 1994). Relations between the Muslim Brotherhood and Gamel Abdulnasser were quite difficult and tense. However, one of Abdulnasser’s main objectives was to make Cairo the center for all African liberation movements. Since 1957, a great number of African liberation movements had their siege, or a cell, in Egypt. Nationalist activists from places such as Uganda, Kenya, South Africa, Algeria, Mozambique, Guinea-Bissau, Angola, Namibia, and Zimbabwe, to name a few, all found a home in the Egyptian capital (Hunwick 2007, 98). Inspired by the Conference of Bandung (1957), Abdulnasser himself organized the Afro-Asian People’s Solidarity Conference.8 Sawt al-Arab (Radio Cairo), which broadcasted in Arabic, Hausa, Fulfulde, Tigrinya, and many other African languages, gave voice to the revolutionary ideology of these groups’ leadership. The message spread by Radio Cairo had a significant effect especially on young generations.


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As far as Islamism is concerned, Cairo was where the link between young activists strengthened. It was where pan-Arabism met with pan-Africanism, during the 1950s and 1960s, and where the Islamic revival began. The key element for the Islamic movement was the unification of the Umma (Hunwick 1997, 35). According to a reliable source, in 1955, Abdulnasser decided to assist the formation of a united community of Eritrean activists in Cairo (Erlich 1994, 130). Among the measures adopted at this time were scholarships granted to Eritrean students to study at the University of al-Azhar. The majority of students who benefited from this program were Eritrean from the lowlands, therefore presumably Muslims (Erlich 1994, 131).9 Saudi influence contributed to reinforcing the Islamic tendency in some sections of the ELF. Two currents soon appeared within the movement: one secular and the other more religious. Between 1982 and 1985, the government in Riyadh tried to coordinate the most conservative elements within the ELF. The results were unimpressive. In 1969, a process began of deep change within the political leadership of the region. Siyyad Barre in Somalia, the Derg in Ethiopia, and Nimeiri in Sudan introduced important social reforms in their respective countries. Marxist and socialist ideals greatly influenced these efforts, which did not allow for political pluralism. These regimes were hostile to political Islam and pushed religion into a more private sphere. In 1975, Siyyad Barre promulgated a new family law in which men and women both received equal inheritance rights, provoking outrage among religious men, resulting in the execution of ten of these religious men and the complete prohibition of political parties. The organization of Islamic opposition took place abroad within the diaspora. Political instability together with poor economic conditions contributed to push an increasing number of people from the region. As far as Eritrea and Ethiopia are concerned, the Muslim community contributed the most to migration. Not only did students and intellectuals choose to go abroad but also the phenomenon involved all sections and classes of society. Some calculations show that, at the beginning of the 1990s, approximately seven hundred fifty thousand Eritreans (about a quarter of the population) were living outside the national borders. About onehalf million moved to Sudan; Kassala became one of the main centers of Eritrean political activity abroad. Among the one hundred thousand Eritreans who found refuge in the Middle East, particularly in the Gulf region and Djibouti, are many of the most ardent Muslim political activists (Pool 2000, 129).10 Similar movements of people from Somalia are evident as well. Yemen and the Saudi peninsula were favorite destinations for Somalis who fled their country during Siyyad Barre’s regime and the civil war in the

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1990s that followed its capitulation. In this instance, most people chose to migrate mainly for economic reasons. Since the 1970s, the booming economies of oil-rich countries, which were more open to Muslim influxes, employed many workers from the Horn. This traditional diaspora eastward continued throughout the 1990s. Since the beginning of the 1980s, the different diasporas from the Horn encountered political realities in which Islam played a fundamental role—such as in the Gulf countries. Continuous crises at home contributed to prolonging the period of residence in host countries. This meant that young people entered educational institutions in countries that did not teach separation between state and religion, and where many schools were in fact Islamic based or run by Islamic charities and organizations. The ideological decline (decline of communism) facilitated the promotion of an atmosphere of growing Islamic political awareness. The creation of an Islamic public order, however, did not mean the formation of Islamic parties. Nevertheless, it contributed to the regional introduction of so-called radical, or extremist, political views. Many saw as the next step forward the establishment of an Islamic state if, in due course, measures were not taken to prevent it. At the beginning of this Islamic awakening, protagonists of this revival were loosely connected organizational networks. Political positions developed from these networks allowed some to gain substantial financial backing from private and public funding, especially from Saudi Arabia, the Gulf States, Iran, and the diasporic Umma. Studying the situation in the Wallo region of Ethiopia, Abbink (2007, 74) found that a “local Muslim [who] had gone to Saudi Arabia or another Arab country, established contact with a private religious financier or organisation, and brought back the funds to start a mosque or a madrasa.” The same findings could extend to Eritrea and Somalia. Education was one of the sectors of civil society in which Islamic organizations were particularly active. Since colonial times, various Islamic schools preferred to remain independent from the colonial system of education because of collaboration with Christian missionaries. This tradition or attitude continued throughout the decades. Generous funds have been available for students who wanted to study abroad in institutions such as universities or technical schools. The Islamic University of Medina, created in 1961, has been one of the main destinations for students from the Horn region.11 Since the beginning of the 1980s, the Organisation of the Islamic Conference (OIC) has been active in setting up international Islamic universities around the world. In 1967, the African Islamic Centre—currently International University of Africa—opened in Sudan to provide training in Arabic and Islamic studies to young African students. It was already


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active at the Omdurman Islamic University. In Mbale, the Islamic University of Uganda opened in 1988, while in Chad, the King Faisal University of N’djamena opened in 1991. The collapse of Somalia moved the responsibility to manage services (including education) toward the private sector. Several Islamic nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) entered this activity. The Saudi World Assembly of Muslim Youth (WAMY) elaborated on the so-called Project for the Preparation and Development of Education Curriculum in Arabic for the Somali people. Most of the teaching in these schools was in Arabic. Teachers were usually Somali who studied abroad, especially in Egypt, Sudan, and Saudi Arabia (Renders 2007a, 54). In some cases, schools were part of internationally recognized networks, and this helped young Somali who wanted to specialize abroad (Renders 2007b, 25). Health was another sector in which Islamic organizations were particularly involved. The health system was one of those benefiting the most from the Islamic revival in the region throughout the so-called Islamic humanitarianism (Salih 2002, 7). Islamic NGOs represent the most tangible outcome of the religious activism fostering Islamization or re-Islamization of society in Somalia and more generally in the Horn region. The collapse of secular regimes left a vacuum that a new wave of Islamic political actors was eager to fill (Salih 2004, 180).

At temp t at I nstituti onali z at ion By the end of the 1980s, Islamic grassroots movements and social organizations were already quite visible in public life in the Horn region. However, a major event precipitating the transformation of Islam into a sensitive issue was the advent of the Islamic regime in Sudan in 1989. The foreign policy of Khartoum in the region was ambitious, seeking to sustain the actions and activities of reformist Islamic movements. Islamic revolutionary Sudan represented both an ideological and logistical base for Islamic activists in the Horn. The Popular Arab and Muslim Conference (PAIC) took place in Khartoum for the first time in 1991. The PAIC was the instrument used by the Muslim Brothers in Sudan (and their leader Hassan al-Turabi) to group together various heterogenous Islamic organizations worldwide. PAIC members met again in 1993 and 1995 (Hunwick 1997, 43–45; De Waal 2004, 193–34). Sudanese activism provoked a breakdown of diplomatic relations between Eritrea and Sudan. The Eritrean Islamic Jihad (EIJ) was a member of the PAIC and outlawed by the Eritrean government. Sudan supported some of the ELF factions of Abdallah Idris. These movements were openly critical of the People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ), considered too secular. Furthermore, some of them, such as the

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EIJ began to envisage in its programs implementation of the Islamic State for Muslim Eritreans (Pool 2000, 192–93). The newly formed Eritrean government, led by Issayas Afeworki, responded both politically and militarily to such activities. With regard to Sudan, Asmara adopted a policy of reciprocal retaliation hosting the exiled National Democratic Alliance, the Sudanese coalition opposed to the Islamo-military government. In Ethiopia, Sudan supported the Islamic Front for the Liberation of Oromia (IFLO). At the same time, Saudi Arabia opened its doors to meetings between the Ethiopian Islamic opposition (the IFLO), the Oromo Liberation Front and the United Oromo Peoples Liberation Front (Huliaras 1995, 243). For Islamic movements in the region, Sudan and Saudi Arabia do not represent only financial sources, these two countries constitute political or social models (Pirio 2007; Ofcansky 2007). The influence that these two countries could exercise on Muslims in the Horn is probably even more dangerous for local governments and the West than the material support Khartoum or Riyadh could grant to so-called terrorist organizations. However, the Saudi kingdom and the Sudanese republic constitute two different styles of Islamic State: Wahabite Saudi Arabia is more conservative, while Sudan is definitely more modernist and based on the Ikhwan philosophy. It is imperative not to confuse the advent of so-called radical Islamic groups with terrorism. Indeed to talk of political Islam in the Horn merely in terms of security is a superficial exercise. Political Islam in the Horn constitutes a vast phenomenon that researchers and scholars are only beginning to explore. In this regard, the ruling Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF) of Meles Zenawi allowed certain freedoms of expression to the different Ethiopian religious communities. Initially, the Ethiopian Government allowed the formation of religious political parties. Conversely, Islamic NGO activities did not receive as much scrutiny at this time as during the Derg regime. This is why financial support continues. Religious organizations were able to increase their visibility and presence in society, especially among Muslims. Signs of change for contemporary Islam in Ethiopia show in the growing of a vibrant Amharic-language Muslim press, as well as by the increasing interest of a number of local researchers in the rediscovery of an “Islamic history of Ethiopia” (Zewde 2000, 1–26). Islamic awakening came with recognition of its importance in the establishment and development of Ethiopian culture. The island of Christianity seems to have finally opened its ports. The vibrant political climate of 1991, with the electoral victory of the EPRDF, seems similar to that of 1974, when Emperor Haile Selassie was deposed, and Ethiopian Muslims took to the streets to voice against a


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ruler who praised himself and his dynasty as the defenders of Christianity in Africa. Therefore, the Islamic revival in Ethiopia took the form of an institutional Islam that claimed recognition for its participation in the history of Ethiopian statehood. So far, the agenda of Islamic-based parties in Ethiopia is concentrated on lobbying for a cultural recognition of Islam as part of the Ethiopian culture rather than establishing an Islamic state in regions where Islam constitutes the faith of the majority of the people (Hussein 2003, 74–75). Interestingly, what happened in Ethiopia was an increase of competing attitudes among the different Muslim communities (divided as they were by ethnic and language cleavages). On another level, local Islamic syncretism was challenged by new versions of Islam (called by different observers as revivalist, reformist, radical, revolutionary, etc.), which were influenced and informed by external forces from the Middle East and Sudan. This created a controversy in Islamic Ethiopia over who was representing the “true Islam.” In general, the contemporary Islamic reformists criticize what they call “popular Islam” and pursue the establishment of an Islamic society purged of local or “traditional” customs. However, from an organizational point of view, contemporary revivalists or reformists have not yet found a way to organize themselves into political organizations or movements. This is probably because of the authoritarian character of Ethiopian democracy or, because their modernist message is rejected by local Muslims. The result of this competition has been, according to Abbink, a steady deterioration in the toleration of differences and a rise in religious tensions inside the Ethiopian Muslim community and in its relations with other Ethiopian religious communities (Abbink 2007, 78–79).

S o mal i C as e Historically, Somali peoples competed against their powerful Christian neighbors. Yet, Islam has never been a factor for cultural discrimination in Somalia. This occurred for two reasons: The syncretistic character of Somali Islam12 and the predominance customs always had over Islamic laws. The importance of customs over Sharia originated historically from the fact that Islamic congregations have generally been tributaries of clan organizations. Local notables, sultans, clan elders, and bureaucrats of Barre’s regime have always kept a certain distance from the jama’a (Islamic congregations). Their Islamic demands where seen as an external Arab influence not pertaining to true Somali culture. By the early 1990s, the situation was radically different. Diasporic politics and social relations provoked a deep transformation within Somali

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society and religious attitudes. In 1991 to 1992, the Islamic Union (alItehad al-Islami) grew strong and occupied various cities and villages in the northeast. A situation of conflict arose with the Somali Salvation Democratic Front, the hegemonic political force in the region. Under the leadership of Hassan Daher Aweys, the influence of al-Itehad turned southward toward the border with Ethiopia. By 1999, the Islamic movement was present in Wadajir (a neighborhood of Mogadishu), Hiran, Marka, and Kisimayo, near the border with Kenya. In the same period, Muslim Brothers, the Union of Islamic Youth (Wuhdat al-Shabab alIslami), and the Alliance of Traditional Ulema (Majma al-Ulama) also mobilized to gain some political space. Somaliland (the auto-proclaimed independent territory of northwest Somalia) experienced a similar process of revival and expansion of political Islam. By the mid-1990s, the Somali Islamic Union Party was strong enough to oppose the Somali National Movement, which fought against Siyyad Barre and conquered the local capital Hargeisa in 1991. The Sellefia, an Islamic movement stoutly supported by Khartoum, was able to set up its own army to fight in Borama against the troops of President Ibrahim Egal. Somali Islamic organizations were powerful not only in political terms but also in real terms; they had militias and could guarantee order. In order To spread into the complex Somali environment, they forged political and opportunistic alliances with local warlords, for example, in Mogadishu with Mohamed Farah Hassan (Aidid) and Ali Mahdi. After Mahdi, Aidid used al-Itehad to fight against Ethiopian incursions. Saudis and others from oil-rich Gulf countries also supported the movement. By 2000, the relationship with Mahdi and Hussein (son of Aidid who died in 1996) deteriorated. However, al-Itehad was by then a powerful reality in Somalia. The complex strategy of alliances adopted by Islamic movements demands a deeper analysis on the nature of political Islam in Somalia. After all, they were not simply armed factions. Initially, their vocation was jihadist but also missionary. In a collapsed state, such as Somalia, politics represent an ephemeral objective, while relief is a more significant issue. In this regard, Islamic organizations are traditionally in a much better political position than any other actor in this area. The reason for the success of Islamic movements in Somalia lies in the relationship of trust they create within society. They acted as charity organizations, and at the same time, they were able to maintain order and basic justice (clan leaders on the contrary became warlords and Somali society views them as economic predators). On these grounds, they attempt to produce a political discourse based not only on religion but also on some sort of nationalism, or religio-nationalism, based on a shared Somali cultural identity that


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is deeply Muslim and able to transcend clan divisions seen as the cause of fatal factionalism. The Union of the Islamic Courts (UIC) is simply the last product of rising Islamism and political consciousness in Somalia. This phenomenon represents the heir of the unifying process and Islamic discourse. It reflects the deep changes in Somali society. First, it constitutes a phenomenon that is both urban and political (a real difference between this movement and the previous Islamic organizations in Somalia). The UIC grouped together various Islamic courts or judges already active in various neighborhoods of Mogadishu between the late 1990s and 2005. The Union formed between 2005 and 2006 to resist increasingly hostile warlords. Second, the Union received widespread support from the population especially in the urban centers, and thanks to this support (and to external financing), their militias managed to unify, surprisingly and suddenly a large chunk of Somalia in a matter of a few months. By spring 2006, warlords from around Mogadishu had abandoned their positions completely. After seventeen years of institutional vacuum, the port and the airport reopened. However, the courts’ militias did not reach Baidoa, where the Transitional Federal Government resided. Although they initially attempted to introduce Sharia, they suddenly desisted.13 The Union adopted another strategy to keep and reinforce its political control. The UIC renounced its religious call, at least for the time being abandoning the establishment of a future Islamic state in Somalia. For the first time in almost two decades, a new Somali state was in the making. However, the Inter-Governmental Authority on Development (the regional international organization), immediately opposed the formation of unitary national government, which had always given its full support to the Transitional Federal Government (recognized as the legitimate representative of the Somali nation by Western powers). The effort by the UIC to unify Somalia under the banner of a common Islamic faith died, by military means in December 2006. The Ethiopian army and aviation attacked the UIC militias and invaded Somalia, with the full support of the United States. Once again, Mogadishu and the rest of Somalia plunged into chaos.

C o nc lus i on Islam is one of the most important identity factors in the societies of the Horn of Africa. However, apart from Somalia, it remains difficult to decipher the history and dynamics of political Islam in the region. In Ethiopia and Eritrea, the Christian economic elite suppressed Islam, whereas in Somalia the heads of clans, the warlords supported by the United States and Ethiopia took up this role. The aim of this chapter was to identify the

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historical roots and ascertain the strands of reason behind the difficulties Islam encountered in seeking to function as a political party. As with all criteria for identity (ethnicity, race, religion, culture, etc.), Islam has sought outlets and opportunities to affirm its power within the societies of the Horn of Africa. This chapter aimed to highlight the paradoxical nature of the policies adopted by the various external powers that sought to involve themselves in the region from colonial times onward (Italy, Great Britain, and the United States, particularly, but also Egypt, France, and the former USSR). Irrespective of the style of government these powers as well as internal elites (particularly the Christian holders of political and economic power) used in the region, they always ostracized Islam. This has been so especially in Somalia, where together with the actions of the habitual powers there has also been an internal division between Muslims, determined by their clan identities and by the different economic interests of the various clans. So-called radical Islam has actually brought a project of national and social unity, which in a number of ways alarmed the established power structure (often based on an economy developed by various warlords) and external powers. They do not want to see the establishment of a Muslim state and power base that could put in question the economic and social control exercised by the former. Furthermore, there is a palpable fear that this message of Muslim pride and assertion could spread to other countries in Eastern Africa and perhaps even to the Arabic peninsula where the Somali diaspora is largely located. In Africa today, with the current general democratic atmosphere introduced since the end of the cold war, the first step toward gaining power is the establishment of a political party. Power is only achievable through party politics. However, it seems that this approach is not the proper one regarding a universal political approach to Islam, against which the West is always willing to promote an uninhibited policy of denying any power legitimacy to any attempts at establishing a Muslim political party at a national level (in Somalia) or provincial level (in Eritrea and in Ethiopia), one created on the tenets of modern Islam or universal Islam following, in practice, the teachings of the Muslim Brotherhood.

N otes 1. The founding myth of Islam in the Horn of Africa precedes hegira. 2. At the beginning of the Mameluc period, Al-Azhar was home to a Riwaq alJabartiyya, guest scholars or students coming from the Horn of Africa. 3. H. Erlich, Cross and the River, 39–40. 4. For a thousand years, the election of the Pope of the Ethiopic Orthodox Church took place in Alexandria, Egypt.


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5. Tariqa—road, path, or way—is the Muslim spiritual path toward direct knowledge (ma’rifah) of God or Reality (haqq). In the ninth and tenth centuries, tariqa meant the spiritual path of individual sufis (mystics). After the twelfth century, as communities of followers gathered around sheikhs (or pirs, teachers), tariqa came to designate the sheikh’s entire ritual system, which was followed by the community or mystic order. Eventually tariqa came to mean the order itself. In Sudan, as in much of the rest of Africa, Sunni Islam has been characterized by the formation of tariqas as religious brotherhoods. The oldest tariqa of Sudan is the Qadiriyya, which was introduced from the Middle East in the sixteenth century. The Khatmiyya, or Mirghaniyah, was founded by Muhammad Uthman al-Mirghani in the early nineteenth century. Khatmiyya is one of the most powerful and best-organized tariqas of Sudan together with the Mahdiyya, which helped to establish an independent state in the Sudan that lasted from 1884 to 1898. The Mahdiyya and Khatmiyya tariqas formed the basis for the political parties that emerged in the Sudan in the 1940s and have continued to play a dominant role in the nation’s politics in the postindependence period. See Ali Salih Karrar, The Sufi Brotherhoods in the Sudan (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1992). 6. Khatmiyya has been particularly successful in the northern and eastern parts of the Sudan. At the beginning of the twentieth century, one of its branches was able to exercise great influence in Eritrea, which was then under Italian rule. 7. In Sudan, the Umma Party and the National Unionist Party, which both referred to the prominent families of Mahdi and Mirghaniyya, did not contest the secular character of the Sudanese political system. 8. Afro-Asian People’s Solidarity Conference, Cairo, December 26, 1957, to January 1, 1958. 9. Estimates are that in this period between 300 and 700 CE, Eritreans were involved in this process. 10. At the referendum of 1993, thirty-seven thousand Eritreans from Saudi Arabia alone participated. 11. The university was internationally oriented with foreign students well above 50 percent. 12. Consider Islamic syncretism as a sign of tolerance. It prevented the establishment of any kind of Islamic totalitarianism in Somalia. 13. In order not to upset the syncretic character of Somali culture, as well as to not attract too much external attention to Somalia because Sharia is at the center of a long debate between Islam and secular forces (including Western powers).


Chapter 5

4

Kuwait’s Isl amic Constitutional Movement A M o del o r a Wa r ni ng f o r D emo cratic Isl a mi sm?

Nathan J. Brown

Kuwait’s Islamic Constitutional Movement (known as HADAS accord-

ing to the Arabic acronym for al-haraka al-dusturiyya al-islamiyya) integrated as a normal political actor more than any other Islamist group in the Arab world has. In 2008, at a time when Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood leaders were dragged before military courts, Hamas parliamentary deputies languished in Israeli prisons and Jordan’s Islamic Action Front veered toward confrontation with the government, Kuwait’s HADAS— descended like these other movements from a local branch of the Muslim Brotherhood—prepared hopefully for its second parliamentary election campaign in two years. HADAS sent ministers to the government, negotiated with other parliamentary blocs, and ran the most sophisticated election campaigns that Kuwait has witnessed. Indeed, HADAS’s strong party machinery is unusual not only in Arab terms but also is a marked contrast to its rivals in the Kuwaiti political spectrum, all of which are still composed of a collection of prominent personalities with at best a rudimentary organization to back them. Kuwait has the most democratic political system in the Gulf; its parliament is arguably one of the most sustained democratic experiments in the Arab world. The Sabah family rules Kuwait under the terms of a 1962 constitution that allows for a freely elected parliament with real legislative and oversight authority. The parliament’s willingness and ability to assert independence has varied over time, but in recent years, it

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has been increasingly assertive. Kuwait’s parliamentary experiment would seem to provide many opportunities to show the possibilities of a democratic Islamist movement. And it has done so—within limits. HADAS and the Kuwaiti political system more generally are currently discovering the nature of those limits, and this may lead some to question both HADAS’s participatory approach and the Kuwaiti political order.

E vo lutio n o f H AD AS The Kuwaiti branch of the Muslim Brotherhood was formed in 1952 as the Islamic Guidance Society; following a short period of repression, the organization formed again as the Social Reform Society when the country gained independence in 1961.1 From its beginning and through the 1980s, the Kuwaiti group learned much from the parent Egyptian organization. Formal organizational ties existed (until broken in 1991), but the model of the Egyptian organization—with its networking activities and organizational efforts—proved far more influential than any formal ties. The Brotherhood ran candidates for Kuwait’s parliament, scoring modest successes.2 However, for its first three decades, the Islamic movement, like its counterparts in other Arab countries, concentrated mainly on cultural and religious issues. Partly for that reason, the Brotherhood stood strongly against the various leftist and nationalist movements that seemed far too secular (and sometimes too supportive of governments like Egypt’s, which harshly repressed their own Islamic movements). Its role as a bulwark against the left led the Muslim Brotherhood into a more cooperative relationship with the government and the ruling family. When the Emir of Kuwait closed down parliament in 1976, the Brotherhood equivocated, unlike other political forces that condemned the move. Parliament returned in 1981, and the Muslim Brotherhood again won a few seats. These deputies struck a more confrontational pose toward the government than their predecessors had done. Indeed, the Kuwaiti parliament as a whole became a difficult body for the government to manage, resulting in a second suspension of parliament beginning in 1986. This time the Brotherhood made its stand clearer, participating in (although hardly leading) efforts to call for the restoration of parliament. The 1990 Iraqi invasion and occupation of Kuwait permanently changed the Brotherhood’s political role, resulting in the creation of HADAS. During the occupation, the Brotherhood helped organize resistance among those who remained in Kuwait. The formation of this resistance led to a shift in the leadership of the movement: younger activists, many of whom remained in Kuwait during the occupation, gained stature at the expense of the older generation and those who had fled. Immediately after the Iraqi withdrawal, younger Muslim Brotherhood

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elements who led the resistance formed HADAS. At the same time, the Brotherhood broke its international links with the Muslim Brotherhood, which, in its eyes, had given insufficient support to the cause of Kuwaiti liberation. The younger generation also attempted to develop political language that had broader appeal. While other Islamist movements dithered about the formation of a political party (and some, like Egypt’s Muslim Brotherhood, continue to demur), there appears little controversy among Kuwaiti Islamists about the matter. Criticisms of the move from what might be viewed as the Islamic right—based on rejection of democratic politics or participation in a nonIslamic system—were made gently and then dropped, perhaps partly because Salafi groups (traditionally aloof from regular politics) followed the Brotherhood into participation in parliamentary elections in the 1980s. HADAS’s status as a proto-party, with a distinct organizational identity separate from the broader Muslim Brotherhood movement (which now has left the political field to HADAS), allowed it to develop a clear set of electoral strategies. The movement’s lack of formal legal status slightly hampered their organizational ability. Even if the law does not recognize it, HADAS has a clear organization and set of governing structures. Its general membership (open to those who are recruited and undergo a probationary period) forms a “general assembly,” but day-to-day matters are directed by a secretary general, a secretariat, a technical office (a vaguely named body that activists acknowledge plays a critical decision-making role), and an eight-member political bureau. A parliamentary committee, consisting of HADAS parliamentarians and other leaders and experts, governs the parliamentary bloc’s activities. In this way, HADAS deputies remain under the watchful eye of party leadership. The result is that, unlike other blocs, HADAS is more than the sum of a few leading personalities. The Muslim Brotherhood found that the decision to form HADAS was rewarded with electoral success. In most of the post-invasion elections, Islamist forces did fairly well. Before the formation of HADAS, the Muslim Brotherhood generally held at least one seat (four in 1985) in the fiftymember parliament. In 1992, the Muslim Brotherhood faced electoral disaster since the international movement had not clearly supported the liberation of Kuwait from Iraq. Yet HADAS increased the movement’s share—it won between four and six seats in each post-invasion election, except for 2003, when it won only two; often its close allies added another seat or two to its parliamentary bloc. Still, two factors sharply limited the rewards of electoral success. First, even if it won six seats—as it did when it realized its greatest success in 2006—HADAS remained a small minority in parliament. Any legislative achievements depended on forming coalitions with a disparate assortment of deputies from various ideological orientations—Salafi, liberal,

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nationalist, and “service deputies” (who gained office primarily on their ability to secure benefits for their constituents). Second, the parliament’s prerogatives were limited. While parliament can pressure specific ministers, block initiatives, and squeeze more benefits from the government through grandstanding, its ability to control policy is limited and its tools are crude. Kuwait’s parliament exists in the context of a constitutional monarchy in which members of the ruling family control many critical positions and the cabinet acts as if it is more answerable to the amir than to the people’s elected representatives.3 Since parliament reconvened in 1992, HADAS has been part of an on-again, off-again parliamentary coalition that successfully used constitutional prerogatives to pass legislation and question ministers. Such parliamentary prerogatives provoked the amir to suspend parliament in the past, and so, they had rarely been used. However, for all it boldness, the new confrontational strategy had limits. First, HADAS’s potential allies could also be bitter rivals. Liberals, for instance, often feared Islamists more than they resented the ruling family, making it possible for the ruling family to divide and rule the opposition. Second, even when various members of the opposition could come together, they generally found that parliament had more negative tools than positive ones, permitting only the blockage of any government action without enabling the creation of a constructive agenda. Parliament could bring down a minister but not compel the government to adopt a specific policy. Thus, as much as it has accomplished, HADAS still found itself standing outside the central structures of political power, pursuing its goals by harassing the government rather than forming it. Therefore, supporting the government occasionally became an experiment. Like any player in the political process, HADAS had to make difficult tactical choices, and its gradual success came largely because HADAS was generally judicious in building alliances and careful in picking battles. With the government and the ruling family, HADAS has striven to position itself simultaneously as an opposition movement and as a party accepting gradualism and the limitations of the Kuwaiti political system. Like other Islamist forces, HADAS has to balance between building a broad Islamist coalition and competing (especially with Salafi and Shiite political forces) to write an Islamic agenda and even for votes. Like liberal and more secular forces, HADAS has to find a balance between forming broad opposition coalitions and challenging those who have a very different vision for Kuwaiti society. In 2003, HADAS won only two parliamentary seats. This setback, coupled with the feeling that HADAS was at a crossroads after having discovered the limitations of its post-1992 participation strategy, led to a turnover in the party’s leadership. A new generation came to assume control of the


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party, drawn chiefly from those who had been active on behalf of the Islamic bloc in Kuwaiti student politics. The new secretary-general of the movement, Badr al-Nashi, had led Kuwaiti students abroad; the new head of its political office, Muhammad Dallal, had been a student leader inside Kuwait (and clashed with the regime in the 1980s over student demand that parliament reconvene). The new leaders drew on real assets—they were skilled in democratic politics and careful strategists and tacticians. They were also—in the eyes of some critics—politicians first and Islamists second. Unlike their mentors, the new generation infused their discourse with political claims more than religious ones. The new leadership of HADAS built a comprehensive vision of political reform. HADAS would now use its political weight not simply to make incremental changes in legislation and policy but also to press for reform of the Kuwaiti system in the direction of building a constitutional monarchy. The Islamic Sharia was still a part of its platform, but it became a less prominent element and HADAS demands less ambitious. While the party pressed hard for political reform, it was satisfied with a more gradual approach toward harmonizing the country’s legal framework with Islamic tenets. As part of this reorientation, in 2005 and 2006, HADAS threw in its lot with a coalition pursuing a confrontational strategy toward the government, uniting with erstwhile rivals to press hard for electoral reform. When the government reacted by escalating the confrontation, dissolving parliament, and calling for new elections, HADAS and its partners scored an impressive victory, with HADAS itself winning six seats. After the election, Kuwaiti political observers proclaimed that the opposition was now the majority; an untenable situation in any parliamentary democracy, because any opposition movement winning an electoral majority would cease to be an opposition and instead form the government. The new parliament did pass electoral reform but the opposition coalition soon dissolved. Moreover, parliament’s confrontational approach in 2006 and 2007 deeply frustrated the ruling family. The new electoral law, which HADAS had enthusiastically supported, was destined to be used much sooner than its authors had anticipated. Still it did not lead to the results HADAS expected.

The N ew L aw The Kuwaiti constitutional system combines a freely elected parliament with a strong executive branch. The parliament has a strong legislative role; it can also question and remove confidence from individual ministers. While it cannot remove confidence from the prime minister or the cabinet as a whole, it can refuse to cooperate with them, forcing the amir

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to dismiss them or call for new elections. The prime minister, who has always been a leading member of the ruling Al Sabah family, is required to bring one member of parliament into his cabinet and has sometimes invited more. The family holds top positions closely. In the past, parliaments would occasionally move to question individual ministers, but in recent years, the ruling family is no longer considered sacrosanct and the questioning comes fast and furious. Lack of coordination among deputies stemming from a weak party system hampered parliament’s ability to act coherently in support of a positive agenda. In 2005, HADAS joined hands with rival political groups to press for a new electoral system that would address this problem. When that effort produced a full-scale confrontation between parliament and government, the alliance pushed forward. In 2006, the amir reacted to the pressure by dissolving parliament and calling for new elections. Instead of defeating the opposition, however, the amir’s action handed the alliance a resounding victory. HADAS gained its largest share (six of fifty seats) and the combined opposition forces formed a majority. The opposition coalition soon dissolved over ideological and even personal rivalries but not before forcing through its cherished electoral reform, which reduced Kuwaiti electoral districts from twenty-five to five. HADAS hoped the larger districts would reward well-organized parties (of which it is the only one) and recast elections from neighborhood contests to ideological competitions favoring groups with broad programs. According to the new law, Kuwaitis in each of the five districts could vote for four candidates, and the top ten vote getters in each would gain seats in parliament. Opposition activists found it difficult to cooperate after passing the electoral reform, but the path was no easier for the government. Accustomed to dominating parliament by divide-and-rule tactics, Kuwait’s rulers found that they could still divide, but they had far more trouble ruling. The government found it difficult to muster a majority for any of its efforts and complained that various groups in parliament seemed locked in a rivalry over which one could criticize more ministers. Kuwaitis began to trade rumors that a new dissolution was ahead—this time leading not to new elections but to a suspension of parliament (as the ruling family had done twice before). The amir only fueled such speculation by denying the rumors: When he declared that an unconstitutional suspension had never crossed his mind, Kuwaitis commented that, by saying so, he was considering it. Ultimately, the amir decided not to suspend parliament (or at least decided not to do so immediately) but to opt for early elections. HADAS therefore swung into electoral mode, competing on the terms it had helped design. It was a considerable shock, therefore, when it lost half its parliamentary seats.


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P repar ing f o r Elec ti ons HADAS had been positioning itself to capitalize on the new electoral law from the moment it passed. The new party leadership could take credit for rejuvenating HADAS after a setback at the ballot box in 2003 and was widely regarded as tactically astute and competent. With independent resources and consultants, the party built new media capabilities and conducted election simulations, anticipating how voters would approach the new ballot. Perhaps most significantly, HADAS struck a less confrontational pose against the government. As tensions between parliamentarians and cabinet ministers escalated, the party positioned itself as a group standing above the fray. Reading the public mood as holding parliament and the government equally responsible for the gridlock, it accepted a ministry and toned down its rhetoric. In the confrontations that emerged, HADAS tried to pose as a responsible mediator, neither too pliant nor too quick to embarrass the government. Mindful that women could now vote (despite the opposition of many Islamists), the party tossed aside any reservations and formed a women’s organization to appeal to the new voters. Since, uniquely among Kuwaiti parties, HADAS top leaders are not members of parliament, it explored prospective candidates seriously, abandoning those, it felt weak. Thus, when a frustrated cabinet reported to the amir in March 2008 that it could no longer work with a parliament it found obstructionist and obstreperous, HADAS sprang into action. Its overall campaign theme was “responsibility,” suggesting that its deputies would place national interests above party or personal ones and not act impetuously. Stressing its traditional campaign themes of accountability and anticorruption, HADAS also pursued a gentler approach to the Islamization of laws, rather than immediate application of Sharia. Adjusting to the fact that most Kuwaiti voters were now women, HADAS developed a platform offering support for divorcees, new mothers, and those married to non-Kuwaiti citizens. It did not advance any female candidates—although some party leaders clearly hope to do so in subsequent elections—but it showed that it had adjusted ably to the extension of the franchise. HADAS adjusted to the new electoral system in other ways. Districts were now five times as large and, with women added to the voting roles, the number of electors per district now stood at ten times what it had been. Rather than campaigning door-do-door in small neighborhoods by visiting all-male diwaniyyas (traditional evening gathering places), HADAS candidates took to the media. The country’s press and television stations were awash in electoral propaganda. Barred by the municipality from erecting signs for the first time, candidates showered Kuwaitis with

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tissue boxes, T-shirts, baseball caps, car visors, pens, and juice boxes emblazoned with their party message. HADAS seemed ideally suited to this new campaign. It had deep pockets, sophisticated media consultants, and a well-honed message. HADAS allowed each district to spin its campaign themes in a particular way. In one district with a very mixed population, for instance, the HADAS candidate stressed national unity and downplayed his Sunni and Islamist credentials so as not to alienate Shiite voters. HADAS deliberately refrained from nominating a full slate of candidates. Although each voter could select four candidates under the law, HADAS nominated no more than three per district. This enabled the party to form confidential vote-swapping alliances in which it instructed a given number of its voters to support some rival candidates in return for a similar pledge from its partner. In view of HADAS’s politics, the most logical trades would take place with Salafi candidates. Negotiations with the Salafi continued up until the end of the campaign but ultimately bore no fruit, blocked by a combination of conflicts between principles and personalities. Therefore, HADAS had to turn at the last minute to independent candidates for a collection of tactical vote-swapping arrangements.

The S etbac k Despite a law tailor-made for its purposes and two years of preparation, HADAS saw its share of seats in Kuwait’s parliament cut in half. Most post-election punditry focused on the triumph of tribalism and sectarianism and for good reason. Two of Kuwait’s five electoral districts saw returns dictated almost entirely by tribal identities. While supporters of the electoral reform intended that new districts be too big for tribes to manage, large tribes showed themselves able to use primaries even more effectively than they had in the past. HADAS’s ideological politics found less purchase in such districts. When its nominees lost in tribal primaries, the party’s fate was sealed. Two HADAS incumbents—one the deputy speaker of the parliament—were soundly defeated. The party also fared badly in a third district with a heavy Shiite population. In the run-up to the election, the government clumsily managed to stir up tribal and sectarian identities. Two Shiite deputies who had praised Ìmad Mughniya, a Hizbullah leader killed in Damascus in February who was implicated in some violence in Kuwait in the 1980s, found themselves hauled in for questioning by prosecutors. The move backfired as Kuwaiti Shia, feeling politically excluded, subdued deep divisions and rallied around the two parliamentarians. Although barred by law, tribal primaries had operated as an open secret in past elections, and this time, the government tried to shut some down by force, resulting in shocking clashes between tribal members and police


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Tribalism and sectarianism explain only a portion of HADAS’s failure, however. In the district mentioned earlier with the heavy Shia population, Sunni Islamist candidates of different orientation (including some Salafis far more suspect in Shia eyes) outperformed HADAS. The HADAS candidate finished eleventh, disappointing party leaders confident he would squeak by. In HADAS’s most successful district, where two of its candidates won, the party only narrowly escaped humiliation: Its longest-serving MP, who had won every race he entered since parliament was restored in 1992, finished tenth; HADAS’s other candidate, a fresh face running for the first time, finished eighth. Four factors explain HADAS performance in these districts. First, many Kuwaitis cited personal weaknesses in the candidates HADAS nominated. Kuwaiti voters are still accustomed to the older electoral system, in which they had personal relationships with the parliamentarians representing them and therefore looked more to personality than to party. HADAS has far more freedom to select candidates than Kuwait’s other parties, which suggests that party leaders made tactical mistakes. Second, while HADAS’s sophisticated media strategy probably helped its candidates, contrary to expectations, the 2008 elections were still more about individuals than parties. Party leaders noted that groups of families would often intentionally vote as blocs to sway candidates in their direction. In short, the old methods that relied on direct contact with voters rather than mass appeals proved far more important than expected. Third, HADAS deputies faced difficult allegations of corruption. Kuwaiti campaigns are rich fields for rumors spread through diwaniyyas, leaflets, SMS messages, and blogs. Kuwait is also awash in both oil money and politicians with extensive business interests. In 2006, the opposition groups rallied around a common cause of electoral reform, but in 2008, they ran against each other. This provided fertile ground for accusations and innuendoes, substantiated, or not. In addition, HADAS faced last-minute corruption allegations they struggled to fend off. Although HADAS was not the only target of such negative campaigning, it was particularly vulnerable. Its anti-corruption rhetoric made it particularly important that its own candidates appear above reproach. While other Islamist movements could draw on extensive social service networks, HADAS’s strong (if informal) association with the Social Reform Society, the Kuwaiti Muslim Brotherhood’s charitable arm, may have proved a liability when other parties levied the charge (which HADAS denied) that it was using charitable funds for a political campaign. Finally, HADAS’s strategy of standing above the fray may have backfired. Its leaders describe their softer touch on Islamic issues as a product of principle as well as strategic considerations. Peaceful, gradual, and gentle persuasion, they argue, is not only a more effective route toward

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Islamization but also more in keeping with religious values than hectoring. Yet many religious Kuwaitis find this approach opportunistic, and Salafis in particular charge that the movement privileges politics over religion. A party that bases its appeal on religious principles faces an inherent trade-off between motivating core constituents by sticking to its guns and appealing to less committed groups by soft-pedaling essential ideology. By tilting too much to the latter, an Islamist party in the Arab world also opens itself up to the criticism that it is pursuing an accommodation with the government. The most recent elections in Morocco and Jordan punished Islamists who sought to present an accommodating face. HADAS may have suffered a similar problem in the recent parliamentary voting, and Kuwait’s Salafis may have been the beneficiaries.

The Af ter math In 2003, HADAS suffered an even greater setback than it did in 2008, winning only two seats. This led senior party leaders, many of them party founders, to step aside in favor of a younger generation of activists. The turnover appeared to pay off handsomely in 2006, when HADAS gained six seats. The reversal of 2008 did not trigger panic. Instead, party leaders focused on fine-tuning their strategy rather than abandoning it. Its leaders suggested that it would likely take several steps to repair its standing. It would select candidates who project a more youthful image in central districts and others likely to perform well in the leading tribal primaries. In this respect, HADAS still may find that the new electoral system rewards it over the long term. With its strong organization and disciplined operations, it is simply better positioned to analyze and adjust and far less wedded to particular personalities than any other bloc. Party leaders seem to feel that it can correct course. However, they also worry that the more radical Islamist voices, particularly Salafis, might drag HADAS into battles that it would rather avoid, forcing it to choose between cooperating with others (including the government) and demonstrating its Islamist credentials. Kuwait’s constitutional deadlock limits what HADAS can accomplish. The government regards parliament as an obstructionist nuisance. The prime minister, a leading member of the royal family, has always assembled a cabinet that made polite nods to powerful parliamentary blocs but does little to build a true majority government. The party system is weak, and non-elected ministers have the right to vote in most parliamentary matters. Many deputies can be brought into the government camp by providing services to their constituents. On ideological as well as personal grounds, parliament is subject to deep divisions. Historically, parliamentary divisions allow the government to act without assembling a reliable


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majority. Parliament can only express its will with blunt instruments, most notably launching formal questioning of particular ministers (or later, withdrawing confidence in them). Parliament has shown increasing enthusiasm for this tool in recent years, bringing down several ministers, and even ruling family members have not found themselves immune from questioning. It is here that the rise of Kuwaiti Salafis will likely prove most significant. In general, Arab Salafi movements seek to encourage lifestyles they deem in keeping with the early Islamic community; they claim to hew very closely to the Koran and place Sharia at the forefront of their agenda. In most countries, they eschew formal politics.4 In Kuwait, Salafis contend for parliamentary seats, and in 2008, one group went so far as to create a party of its own. While Salafis adopt HADAS tactics, they refuse to compromise their religious beliefs for political gain. In May 2008’s elections, some Salafi firebrands who fared well immediately issued pugnacious statements vowing to use the parliamentary powers they had won. The result will likely be a parliament even more splintered than it was in the past among Salafis, other Islamists, Shia, tribal deputies, liberals, and nationalists. It will be a system with the illusion of political progress. This pattern has frustrated Kuwaitis and begun to discredit democracy in the Gulf. More ominously, it also alienates the ruling family, which has lately begun to float rumors that it will suspend parliament for a trial period as a prelude to constitutional reform. Such an unconstitutional step, unthinkable in the 1990s out of concerns that it would jeopardize the American security guarantee, is now a credible threat. The United States sees its influence waning, and shows a profound lack of interest in Kuwaiti democracy. Kuwaiti voters, anxious for international protection for their democratic experiment may rue the headlines that followed the 2008 elections—focusing on the triumph of Islamists and the failure of women to win a seat—which made the resulting parliament a less attractive hero in its battles with the monarchical system. HADAS has a clear long-term solution to Kuwait’s constitutional deadlock: It supports a full party system, a cabinet composed of elected deputies, and a prime minister who comes from outside the ruling family. The 2008 elections dealt this vision a setback that could be far more serious than the party’s short-term losses. By voting along tribal and sectarian lines, Kuwaitis undermined any step toward a party system. In the previous parliament, clear Islamist, liberal, and populist blocs emerged and tried to develop a joint program through a “bloc of blocs” that actually constituted a parliamentary majority. Yet the bloc of blocs disintegrated as each went its separate ways, and none seem eager to revive the experiment. The deep rivalry between HADAS and the Salafis, along with

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the election of a large number of independent Islamists, makes it unclear whether a viable Islamic bloc can even emerge. HADAS is threatened by the rise of more pugnacious political forces in Kuwait, and its loss of seats may be the least of its problems. The 2008 elections will probably only deepen a political deadlock rooted in Kuwait’s attempt to combine democratic and monarchical elements that threatens the party’s strategy of long-term political reform. In less than two decades, Kuwait’s HADAS managed to become the most normal and integrated Arab Islamist party. Its leaders are frustrated because they feel that they have become more democratic than the political system in which they operate and perhaps more than their society is prepared to accept. Kuwaiti democracy is indeed faltering, not because the Islamists are challenging it, but because they have not found a way to create the consensus needed to govern.

N otes 1. The early history of the Muslim Brotherhood in Kuwait is covered well in two studies: Falah Àbd Allah al-Mudayris, Jamaàt al-Ikhwan al-Muslimin fi al-Kuwayt (Kuwait: Dar al-Qurtas li-l-Nashr, 1999); and Sami Nasir al-Khalidi, Al-Ahzab al-Islamiyya al-Siyasiyya fi al-Kuwayt (Kuwait: Dar al-Naba’ li-l-Nashr wa-al-Tawzi`, 1999). The account in this chapter derives from a series of interviews with Muslim Brotherhood leaders carried out in Kuwait in 2006, 2007, and 2008. 2. Professor Michael Herb of Georgia State University compiled comprehensive information on Kuwaiti elections; it is available at www2.gsu.edu/~polmfh/ database/database.htm. 3. On Kuwaiti politics, generally, see Mary Ann Tetreualt, Stories of Democracy (New York: Columbia University Press, 2000); Jill Crystal, Oil Monarchies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995); and Michael Herb, All in the Family (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999). 4. On Salafi preference for avoiding formal politics, see Quintan Wiktorowicz, Islamic Activism: A Social Movement Theory Approach (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2003).

Chapter 6

4

One Aga inst All The N atio nal Is l amic Fro nt (NI F ) a nd S ud anes e Sectar ian and Secul a r Part i es

Abdel Ghaffar Mohamed Ahmed*

As the largest country in Africa, Sudan is characterized by geographical

diversity, which is reflected in its multicultural, multiethnic, and multilingual population. During the closing decades of the twentieth century, the country felt the burden of dealing with complex religious and political issues while striving to resolve its ethnic, cultural, and economic dilemmas and preserve its dignity. However, despite the various agreements that recently attempted to address the country’s multiple conflicts and settle the civil unrest in the different regions, such as the Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA) to the Darfur Peace Agreement and the East Sudan Peace Agreement, stability has so far not been achieved and the political landscape is more fragile than ever before.1 It is within this context that this chapter endeavors to address the relationship between the sectarian and secular political parties and the Islamic Movement and its political front, the National Islamic Front (NIF), regarding control of the political arena. The political scene in modern Sudan began to take shape during the late 1930s and early 1940s, at a time when the national feeling against the Anglo-Egyptian association reached its height and the colonial power had begun to accept the idea of self-determination, starting with an offer * This chapter was facilitated by the Micro-macro Issues in Peace and Capacity Building, a joint project between CMI, Bergen, Norway, and Ahfad, Khartoum, and Juba universities, in Sudan. Comments by Liv Tonnesson on an earlier draft were of great help and highly appreciated.

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of self-rule. The political parties that emerged during this period represented elitist groups originally organized under the umbrella of the Graduate Congress (see Kheir 1948). This historical experience, more than any other factor, affected the way in which the political parties were organized and consolidated their structure (see Panebiano 1988, 49–50). Since their early emergence on the political scene, the sectarian parties had the support of the main traditional leadership of the Ansar and the Khatmiyya sects; hence, Islam came to be a major factor in shaping the daily interaction of the parties with the public throughout the country. The answer to some of the most puzzling problems of modern Sudan may be found through an understanding of the effect of Islam on Sudanese politics, which has roots dating back to the Islamic states of the fifteenth century. In the past few decades, the Islamic Movement in Sudan assumed different names and developed a variety of organizational structures at different points in time.2 The strategy behind these changes has been based on the realization that the Islamic Movement does not represent the multitude of groups that advocate Islam as a guidepost for everyday life in Sudanese communities. Such groups include Ansar el-Sunna, the Republican Brothers, and other minor Sufi groups, in addition to the leaders of the traditional major sects. None of these groups subscribed to the rather militant political Islam that the Muslim Brotherhood advocated at an earlier stage and the NIF later propagated, nor did they accept the means the movement used to achieve its goal of establishing an Islamic state in the country. The use of the term Islamic Movement refers to those who organized themselves into a political party that advocated the takeover and Islamizing of the Sudanese state through all possible means, including force. The relationship between the Islamic Movement and other political parties changed over time, ranging from alliances to direct opposition and confrontation, which at times deteriorated into violence.3 From the perspective of the Islamic Movement, the rules of the game were defined by how much other parties were willing to accept the prominence of the Islamic Sharia law as a guiding principle in governing the country and shaping state and societal relations. This arises from the fact that northern Sudan has been integrated into the Muslim world since approximately the eighth century.4 One of the most important developments in Islam that gave form to the religious practices among Sudanese Muslims is the prevalence of Sufism. As practiced by the Sudanese, some of the salient aspects of Sufism were the emphasis on ecstatic and place-oriented rituals, which resonated with earlier traditional practices, and the transmission of religion from a master to his students, which is consistent with the traditional passing of authority and oral transmission of knowledge. The contrast that sometimes is made between Sufi and orthodox Sunni Islam, which prevails throughout

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most areas of the Muslim world, does not apply in the case of Sudan. The Sudanese Sufis, and especially the leading families among them, which came to dominate the political scene, saw no contradiction between their Sufi practices and their adherence to Sunni Islam. They were able to make a peaceful merger between traditional and orthodox practices.5 It is not easy to generalize about Islam as practiced in the Sudan today because it is highly complex and diverse. For part of the population, Islam is mainly seen as an integral part of their historical heritage. For others, it takes on a broader meaning and serves as the basis for their connection with the wider Islamic world. Values and practices associated with Islam are pervasive throughout Sudanese life and are shared with the wider Islamic world. These range from the notions of haram (forbidden), halal (permitted), and baraka (divine blessing) to ideas about the danger of the evil eye and power, and what it means to be spiritual, moral, or even magical.6 Those who are inclined to essentialize Islam, especially the dogmatic Muslims who insist that there is one true Islam, sometimes regard the actions and beliefs of the public in Sudan as deviating from real practice. The various dimensions of Islam mentioned above influenced daily life within the different communities in central Sudan since the early stages of the process of Islamization and Arabization. Islam even gained authority during the emergence of the Sudanese Islamic Kingdom of the Fung and the Fur and later during the Mahdist state (see Theobald 1951; Holt 1958; O’Fahy and Spaulding 1972; O’Fahy 1981; Spaulding, 1985). The present relations between the organized and politicized Islamic Movement in Sudan with other sectarian and secular contemporary parties have been built over the decades on the adherence of such parties to what the movement considers true Islam. This is why Islam and the modern structure of the Sudanese state tend to be closely related. Islam provided an important foundation for the development of a centralized state and has been critical to the definition of the modern Sudanese political system (Voll 2000, 153). On the basis of such a foundation, the Islamic Movement attempted to invoke the heritage and authoritarian history of the Islamic kingdoms of central and western Sudan and the Mahdist state and to use Sufist notions without openly acknowledging them. It has not been difficult for the Islamic Movement to infiltrate other parties, either sectarian or secular, or the military regimes that came to power since independence in 1956, including the current regime, which is seen by many Sudanese as reminiscent of the Mahdist state under the Khalifa.7 However, to reach its goal of transforming the state into its envisaged model, the Islamic Movement had to devise opportunistic strategies that allowed it to dispose of any serious opponent, such as the Communist Party of Sudan (CPS), and to create and dissolve alliances with sectarian and secular parties and military regimes until it could eventually rise to

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power and enforce its own authoritarian rule. Guided by its ideologue al-Turabi, the movement realized that it had to do things in stages and to view the process of gaining power as a lengthy one in which the exploitation of the “ballot box democracy with its limited opportunities is none the less an important stage towards the final goal” (Warburg 2003, 207). Asked about the reconciliation between his party and Nimeiri’s regime, Turabi was quoted in al-Majallah (June 19, 1986) as saying, We reconciled with Nimeiri because he had seen our strength in the July movement. We knew what he wanted from the reconciliation and we did not expect anything from him. Our intention then was to build a wide base and an encompassing Islamic movement while avoiding any open move that may antagonize him because he wants power today and tomorrow and we want to inherit the social, political and economic future of the nation (umma). We were mobilizing the masses in rural areas and establishing banks, not for the sake of money but for the sake of applying our theories and transferring services to the South. We were doing this while others were not paying attention. (‘Ilaish 2005, 19)

In the meantime, the Islamic Movement used intimidation as a major tool for bringing the sectarian and secular parties under control, knowing that the parties could not publicly oppose the use of Islamic principles to establish a system of governance for the state. It was obvious that if these parties objected to the application of Islamic principles, they would risk losing their public support since most of their constituency came from Muslim groups with Sufi leanings. However, now that the CPA is in place and the Islamic Movement, under the name of NCP, must share power with the Sudan Liberation Army/Movement (SPLA/M), a secular party of mainly non-Muslims, the Islamic Movement is working laboriously toward creating alliances with the traditional sectarian parties to ensure its emergence as a leading force in the general election planned for 2009.

Isl amic Movement, Knowledge and Power Knowledge has been associated with the maintenance of power, and power, to use the words of one traditional Sudanese tribal leader, is like a stick. “If you throw it away someone can pick it up and beat you with it.”8 The Islamic Movement realized this since it began its efforts to reshape Sudanese society according to its vision. For al-Turabi, its ideologue, as well as for its other leaders, knowledge about the country was the first essential tool for gaining power (‘Ilaish 2005). However, this knowledge would have to rest on a more complex foundation than the common beliefs, values, and categories of perceptions that constituted the cultural background of Sudanese society. These issues had to be confronted

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and reshaped by other essential factors, such as the situation of the public and the imperatives and necessities of maintaining a state. In practice, this meant that these leaders had to learn everything that would be strategically important for ruling the country. This implied learning from the challenges faced by previous states that attempted to apply Islamic principles. There were lessons to be learned, for example, from the reasons that the Mahdist revolution failed to maintain a state based on Islamic principles, and from the history of the leading religious families and the role they played in shaping Sudanese society. These lessons constituted the guidelines for what to do and what not to do. Much of this historical knowledge was decontextualized and reinterpreted according to the framework and categories of understanding the public in Sudan. This knowledge, which is perceived through stereotypes, was necessary to provide reliable information about the population in different regions of the country and to serve as useful guidelines for social conduct. It must be acknowledged that the Islamic Movement has devoted time and energy in providing such information (see El-Affendi 1991, 2008; Sidahmed 1997; Warburg, 2003).9 As early as the 1920s, the traditional sectarian political parties realized that their tribal and religious-based constituency was threatened by the emergence of an elite who aspired to transcend the tribal and religious boundaries they viewed as detrimental to the development of Sudanese society. The sectarian parties believed that this new elite’s call for equality among all people in the country would have a negative effect on the parties’ economic dominance. Military cadets and civilians, who were influential in establishing the White Flag League organization, were pioneers in the modern history of the country in their call for a Sudanese identity that transcended tribal and religious boundaries and emphasized equality and justice. This in effect antagonized traditional leaders and the dominant religious families to such an extent that they called the group “riff-raff” and said that they occupied the lowest strata of society (Kurita 1997; E. Ahmed 2007; Vezzandini 2007).10 This was the start of the rift between the secular and sectarian parties and the Islamic Movement, which has persisted in various forms up to the present day.

Po l itic a l Asc endan c y of the NI F Sudan has been governed by a number of regimes that fluctuated between systems of multiparty parliamentary democracy and military dictatorships supported by minor political actors. Under all these systems of governance, the Islamic factor played a significant role either in a latent manner, as in the sectarian loyalties that gave the mainstream parties their power base, or in an overt manner, as in the various experiments of Islamic constitutions and legalization. Some of the most obvious examples

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of Islam’s encroachment into politics include the drafting of the Islamic constitution in 1968 following the ban on the CPS, which was believed to be the main party that might openly oppose such a move, Nimeiri’s enactment of what is called the Sharia laws in 1983, the execution of Mahmud Mohamed Taha in 1985 on charges of apostasy for having opposed these laws, and the affirmation of such laws later in 1991 after the 1989 rise of the NIF to power. Although in the earlier stages of this process the Islamic Movement was a minor pressure group, it always managed to use its power of intimidation against the sectarian parties, knowing that they could not publicly oppose such a move without losing the support of their constituency. At the same time, the Islamic Movement, under the name of the Muslim Brotherhood, designed various strategies that would enable it to assume power in the country. Its first step was to build a strong power base among the labor organizations and students in high schools and universities, and consequently, it had to find ways of competing with the CPS, which already had a strong power base among these groups. Its most effective strategy was to adopt almost the same organizational structure that its opponent in this arena was using—namely, building small, clandestine cells and infiltrating other groups to learn what they did and how to counter their possible future moves.11 Efforts were also directed toward recruiting members from among young students at different levels of the educational system. To realize these objectives, prominent members of the movement were posted to schools in remote rural areas. These areas represented the power base of the traditional parties and were located far from the urban population from which the CPS, the movement’s main opponent, derived a comparative advantage and which it depended on for support.12 The Islamic Movement was carefully fostering its advance into the main political arena in the capital. It spent considerable time building its support among students in high schools and universities as well as rural communities without being in a hurry to contest the general elections. For this reason, it did not field candidates under its own banner during the 1953 general election nor did it gain a seat in the 1958 election. Table 6.1 below shows the movement’s performance in the last three multiparty elections in which it participated after rigorous planning. The controversy over an Islamic constitution became the arena for competition between the Islamic Movement and the sectarian parties, as well as a point of conflict between the movement and the secular elements in society. The struggle started as early as the 1960s when the country began its quest for a permanent constitution. The first signs of conflict over a constitution were not generated by the Islamic Movement but rather by the sectarian parties led by the Umma Party (UP). The Technical Committee, entrusted with the task of preparing the draft, came up with three options:

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Table 6.1. Distribution of seats resulting from general elections in 1965/1968/1986 Y/P

Umma

NUP

ICF/ NIF

SCP

PDP

South

Beja

Nuba

Indep.

1965

76

54

5

11

3

—

10

—

14

1968

72

101

3

2

—

25

3

2

10

1986

99

63

51

3

—

—

—

—

—

In 1965, Islamic Charter Front (ICF) had three territorial constituencies (seats) and two graduates; Sudan Communist Party (SCP) had 11 graduates. In 1986, National Islamic Front (NIF) had 28 territorial constituencies (seats) and 23 graduates; SCP had two territorial seats and one graduate. South includes 15 seats for SANU and 10 for the Southern Front. Source: Compiled from Peter K. Bechtold, Politics in the Sudan: Parliamentary and Military Rule in Emerging African Nations (New York: Praeger, 1976); and Atta El-Battahani, “Multi-Party Elections and Predicament of Northern Hegemony in Sudan,” Multi-Party Elections in Africa, ed. Michael Cowen and Liisa Laakso (New York: Palgrave, 2002).

(1) a full Islamic constitution totally committed to the Sharia and its various obligations; (2) a constitution with Islamic orientation but not as strict; and (3) a nonreligious, or secular, constitution. The first was proposed by the Islamic Charter Front (ICF), which was the name adopted by the Islamic Movement at the time; the second was proposed by the National Unionist Party (NUP), and the third by the southern Sudanese representatives on the drafting committee. Although the UP and NUP were intimidated by the propaganda of having an Islamic constitution, they were not as keen as the ideologically committed and outspoken ICF, which spearheaded the campaign. However, the UP and NUP could not openly oppose such a proposal and hence worked hard to dilute its Islamic content. The real opposition to the proposal came from the southern Sudanese parties and the CPS (Sidahmed 1997, 95–112).13 Although both the southern Sudanese parties and the CPS were united in their rejection of an Islamic constitution, their motives and arguments naturally differed. For the southerners, the question was rather simple: an Islamic constitution would question the very political right of non-Muslims and amount to an enforcement and imposition of another religion. For the CPS, the issue was rather complicated, particularly with reference to the political circumstances at the time in which the CPS14 was dissolved on charges of atheism. For the CPS to oppose an Islamic constitution would naturally be portrayed by its adversaries as a rejection of Islam as such. Therefore, the campaign of the CPS against the draft constitution was extremely cautious and rather apologetic (Sidahmed 1997, 109). The position of the CPS was pragmatic rather than ideological, arguing that Islam is noble; however, what was being questioned by the CPS was the honesty of those who advocated an Islamic constitution and abused

Table 6.2. Regime types in Sudan (1956 to date) and the role of the Islamic Movement Type of Regime

Parliamentary

Military

Parliamentary

Military

Parliamentary

Military/Islamist

Period

1956–1958

1958–1964

1964–1969

1969–1985

1985–1989

1989–

Party/person in power

Coalition: The Umma Party and the Democratic Unionist Party

Abboud Military and technocratic support


Numayri Socialists first, Liberals and Sufis


Bashir NIF and its militias

Leading Islamic Movement

The Muslim Brotherhood


The Islamic Charter Front


The National Islamic Front

The National Congress Party (1991–) the Popular National Congress (2000–)

Isla mic Movement in the political system

Minor pressure group in opposition

Minor pressure group in opposition

Political organization in opposition

Political organization in opposition (1969–77) and in power (1977–85)

Political party in opposition (1986–88) and in power (1988–89)

Political party in position (1991–99) and in opposition (2000–). National Congress in power and Popular Congress in opposition.

Source: Adapted with slight modification from Tonnessen (2005).

10.1057/9780230100770 - Interpreting Islamic Political Parties, Edited by M. A. Mohamed Salih

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the sacred name of Islam in pursuit of worldly matters. Following the ban of the CPS in 1965, the Islamic Movement began concerted efforts to develop a broader base of support and to attract as many sympathizers as possible. It established the ICF as an umbrella organization to bring together all those who supported the adoption of an Islamic constitution. The ICF gradually became stronger and more active, offering an alternative ideology as well as opting for pragmatic strategies for dealing with different political regimes. It increasingly prioritized loyalty to the system and gained influence within the existing po litical order under both military and parliamentary regimes. These pragmatic strategies are important for explaining how the movement moved from being a minor player to a major political force within Sudanese society and why it was catapulted into the centre of the Sudanese political maelstrom. With the signing of the CPA in 2005, the Government of National Unity was established and the Sudan Liberation Movement (SPLM) became a junior partner in the government along with minor representation by the National Democratic Alliance (NDA).This did not change the nature of the control that the Islamic Movement had over the system of governance. However, in 1989 the Islamic Movement chose to exit from the current political order and establish its own after it failed to gain full power through the ballot box or establish a system of governance based on Islamic principles through collaboration with the authoritarian regimes in the country (see Hirschmann 1970; Tonnessen 2005). According to its leaders, their efforts failed because of the fundamental lack of change in the group of political parties that composed the parliamentary regimes, so that the movement found itself stuck in endless opposition. The movement attempted to seize power through a coup d’état, claiming that parliament was about to amend the Islamic laws passed by Nimeiri’s regime and that the current government of Sadig al-Mahdi had initiated peace talks with the SPLA/M, which could lead to the annulment of these laws. To halt this unwanted development, the movement argued that it had to seize power through military means, using its cadre in the National Armed Forces, other sympathizing elements and the party militia.

N I F R el atio nship with and Respon se to S ec u l a r a nd S ec tar ian Poli ti c al Parti es In its ascent to power, the Islamic Movement continued to change its strategies, just as it changed its name for pragmatic reasons to attract the largest possible number of members and sympathizers. It relied on the adherence of the public in northern and central Sudan to Sufi Islam, whereby no individual, civil society organization, or political party can be

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vocal in their opposition to Sharia laws. The strategies used by the Islamic Movement throughout the various stages of its development, as well as its relationship with the other national parties, may be summed up under five main categories, some of which have already been briefly mentioned earlier. These include (1) intimidation, (2) control of key institutions in society, (3) alliances, (4) deceptive moves, and (5) delay tactics. The other parties responded to these strategies in a variety of ways— from attempting to pacify and marginalize the role of the Islamic Movement to allying themselves with the movement on some issues and for certain periods of time. This is clearly demonstrated by the events during the period referred to in Sudanese political history as the Third Democracy. However, behind all this lies, the fear of traditional national political parties that they will be outmaneuvered by the Islamic Movement’s ability to attract the support of the rural public and thus erode their constituency. The strategy of intimidation was obvious when the ICF proposed the Islamic constitution. None of the parties would speak out directly against such a proposal, except for the southern Sudanese representatives who are non-Muslims. Even the CPS, who for ideological reasons opposed the Islamic Movement’s agenda, was apologetic in its stance. The Islamic Movement used this leverage to advance its ideas and attract the support of religious leaders and their followers outside of the two main religious sects. This strategy was so successful that after the downfall of Nimeiri’s regime the Islamic Movement was able to halt any attempt to annul the Sharia laws. Efforts to control key institutions in society were directed toward the economic sector first. The Islamic Movement, with support from other quarters in the Muslim world, introduced the Islamic banking system. This was the most effective tool in giving the movement the financial means to attract support and to buy influence among different labor, student, and other civil society organizations. It was also able to use funds provided by these banks to build a very effective media platform, which it used to disseminate information and attract new recruits to its ranks. This enabled it to discredit its opponents when it needed to do so.15 Second, its attention was directed toward the armed security forces to which the movement assigned some of its active, young, and educated cadre. It is through these two key institutions that it was able to take over and establish its Islamic state later in 1989, and to start putting its Civilization Project16 into action. Once in power, it made sure that no individual or group would interfere with the implementation of its project. To accomplish this, it opted for a policy of replacing those in the civil service, security, armed forces, or any other key institution that might not be trusted with those of its own cadre. It emphasized loyalty rather than qualifications to

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strengthen its grip on the state apparatus. This policy became known as tamkin (see El Affendi 1995, 44–48, 165). Attempts to make alliances with the main traditional national parties took different forms. One major aspect was to work from inside these parties and ensure that it could influence their decision-making processes. A number of national figures in the traditional parties acknowledged at certain points in time their close relationship with the Islamic Movement. During the mid-1960s, the ICF was able to create a strong front in parliament, which enabled it to ban the CPS. Later on, it became a key player in the National Front, which it formed with the Umma Party, and the Democratic Unionist Party (DUP) in opposition to Nimeiri’s military regime (see Khalid 1990; Sidahmed 1997; Lesch 1998; Salih 2001; Warburg 2003). However, after spending eight years opposing Nimeiri’s regime, it ended up being the only supporter of that very regime during its last years, based on the argument that the regime was implementing the Sharia laws, which could be used for building its own power base.17 Nevertheless, when Nimeiri’s regime collapsed it managed to maneuver itself back into the power game by striking an alliance with the traditional parties before engineering the coup d’état that carried it to its position as sole power holder. The Islamic Movement has proven to be a master of deception in its dealings with the traditional sectarian as well as secular parties. Even though it stands in polar opposition to the CPS, the movement learned from the way the CPS organized its clandestine activities and emulated this during the different stages of its organizational development. It also went into rural areas on the pretense that it was only an educational association interested in raising educational standards and fighting illiteracy in these areas, so as not to raise any suspicion of its political ambitions. It was able to post most of its active cadre to these rural areas to recruit young students to its ranks, an activity that ultimately brought such high dividends that this generation of young members became the leading force behind the coup d’état. It was also able to deceive other parties by making public addresses on certain issues in which it suggested one line of action while discreetly carrying out another. Other parties might have done the same at other points in time; however, the NIF turned out to be a master of the game. This became very clear when, in 1985, it pretended to oppose reserving constituencies for the “graduates” in the elections, while at the same time, and after conducting a thorough survey of migrant workers in Arab countries, it asked its members in the diaspora to register under the names of different regions and vote accordingly. As the National Islamic Front, the name it assumed after 1985, the Islamic Movement pretended all the while to reject reserving seats for “graduates,” but in the final hour, it agreed to allow it. By then, the NIF was the only party that had laid the groundwork for winning those seats, and

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it was so successful that it became the third bloc in parliament. However, the most successful of its deceptive strategies was the way it managed to disguise the nature of its relationship with the army officers who led the coup in 1989. It was an act that not only deceived the national sectarian and secular parties but also those regional political actors who were thought to be closely following events in Sudan.18 Now that it has assumed power, the Islamic Movement, under the name of the National Congress, is forming and dissolving alliances with different political actors continuously. Its strategy is to create a state of confusion among its opponents by playing them against each other. The movement has different teams of negotiators who contact different parties or influential individuals within these parties and attempt to recruit them to their side. However, it always ensures that any decision taken during such negotiations should not be implemented at the agreed upon time, and it works to frustrate and weaken the position of those who signed the agreements. This is in addition to paying money to individual leaders whose support it wants to attract using the funds generated from the oil sales that it fully controls.19 In this way, it has been able to ensure that it can effectively play a divisive role among any opposition forces it may encounter (cf. ‘Ilaish 2005).

Fro m N atio nal I sl am i c Front (N IF ) to N atio nal C o ngr s s Party (N CP) Although all indicators during the early months of 1989 showed that a coup was in the making, and the NIF announced more than once that, such a move would come sooner rather than later, all the other parties seemed taken by surprise. The quick takeover and the arrest of leading figures in parliament, the armed forces, and the security forces deprived these parties of any immediate organized response. This was followed by the deceptive move of the NIF in its attempt to show that it was not behind the coup. The new regime used violent means to intimidate any group that may have the potential to engage in a countermovement, especially from among the civil society organizations, and at the same time, it used the NIF militia to maintain its stronghold rather than depend on the armed forces and the police in whose names it ascended to power.20 The SLPA/M and the CPS were the only national political actors who did not fall for such a ploy. However, the SPLA/M had little influence on the political scene in the central and northern parts of the country, while the CPS, which had been weakened since the failure of its coup attempt in 1971, was targeted by the NIF militia, severely repressed, and hence unable to organize any effective opposition.

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Only after the NIF claimed responsibility for organizing the takeover and declared its intention to realize its Islamic Civilization Project did the sectarian and secular parties begin to consider organizing an opposition front to dislodge the new government. Since it was not possible to organize the activities of such a front inside the country, most of the national political leaders had to go abroad to do so. It was only then that these parties were able to establish the NDA as an umbrella organization, which brought all the sectarian and secular parties together and started to operate from both Asmara and Cairo. It began with civil opposition and attempted to establish some bases inside the country. However, since the NIF had made clear its unwillingness to negotiate with any force that did not carry arms, the NDA had to organize a military wing under the leadership of the army officers who had been removed from their positions during the coup but who continued to claim that they were the legal military command.21 Once the SPLA/M joined the NDA did the regime in Khartoum view the NDA as a force to be reckoned with. The Umma Party joined the NDA for a short while but later withdrew and initiated its own negotiations with the regime. With the Asmara Declaration (1995) in place, the SPLA/M entered into a series of negotiations with the regime, attempting to a smooth the way for a democratic transition. It was thought that the SPLA/M was acting as well on behalf of the NDA, but it later transpired that this was not the case. It was at a point of entering in negotiations with the SPLA/M that the NIF (now the National Congress Party, or NCP) was able to divide the opposition and start to deal with each faction separately. The political scene became fragmented and the opposition ineffective after the signing of the CPA in 2005, which detached the SPLA/M from the NDA. Other agreements with opposition factions in western and eastern Sudan were also part of the NIF strategy to divide and rule, drawing on all possible means to attract the support of influential figures in the national political parties and the rebel groups by using the oil money it accumulated over the past few years.

S ec ta r ia n and S ec ul ar Poli ti ca l Pa rties Respo nse to N IF / NCP There is no strong evidence to suggest that sectarian political parties were initially hostile to the emergence of the NIF, considering that they were members of the National Front, which in the 1970s, opposed the Nimeiri government and attempted to topple it by force when its forces (trained in Libya) invaded Khartoum. However, a few years after this the secular Sudanese Socialist Union, the party that Nimieri created to help him maintain his power grip cooperated with the NIF to the extent that

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Turabi was appointed legal advisor to Nimieri’s regime. In fact, it was during this period that Turabi, with the help of some Sufi members of the regime, successfully convinced Nimeiri to introduce his Sharia in September 1983. Paradoxically, the NIF and its leadership emerged triumphant when the Nimeiri regime collapsed in 1985. The NIF electoral fortunes improved tremendously, winning seats by positioning themselves as the kingmakers in Sudanese political milieu by joining coalition governments with one or the other of the sectarian political parties who occupied the first and second place in parliament. However, fearing an impending repeal of Sharia because of an agreement reached by the SPLA and the DUP (named the Kokadam agreement after the Ethiopia town where the agreement was reached), Turabi and the NIF actively collaborated with the military coup and the Revolutionary Command Council of the National Salvation government. NIF influence within the government was evident in its policies and in the presence of several NIF members in the cabinet, with Turabi as its ideologue. The response of the sectarian political parties was swift. They joined the SPLM and northern political parties in creating the NDA as an allembracing umbrella for opposition against NIF rule. The NDA also included regional movements such as the Federal Democratic Alliance (Darfur based) and the Beja Congress Eastern (Sudan based). The response of the sectarian political parties to the Islamization program of Sudanese polity and society espoused by the NIF (code named the Civilization Project, or al mashruu al-hadari in Arabic) was not uniform. While the Umma Party opted for deepening its Islamic rhetoric under Sadiq Al-Mahdi, its leader, calling for Islam al sahwa, or the Islam of renewal, the NDU opted for repealing Sharia and ensuring the return of Sudan to a more secular form of Government. These divergent views came to a head when the south–north peace negotiations between the SPLA/M and Khartoum government started in 1989. Sadiq Al-Mahdi returned to Sudan hastily and started his own negotiations with the regime, while Al Mirghani, the leader of the Sudan Democratic Union, stayed abroad leading the NDA together with other secular parties. Obviously, the sectarian political parties whose ideological edifice is based on Islam could not challenge the NIF ideological tenet lest it could be accused of abandoning Islam, which is the justification for their popularity among die-hard disciples and look as if they are giving away their historical achievements. As mentioned earlier, the NIF used this issue of Islam as an intimidating force against both sectarian and secular parties. From this perspective, it could be argued that the struggle for power between the dominant political parties in the Sudan is more about the control of the state and the resources of the state rather than a struggle

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between secularism and Islamism. In typical political party theory, the NIF and the sectarian political parties are political instruments created by the elite to control power and expand their own vision of whose “Islamic family” values prevail.

C o nc lus i on The response of the sectarian and the secular political parties to the NIF (now NCP) is weak and confusing. This is mainly because these parties lack organization and have no clear vision of the future or program of action to counter the NIF’s proposed Civilization Project and its aspiration of establishing an Islamic state in Sudan. In addition, over the years, these parties have not been able to recruit new members to their ranks while the Islamic Movement continued to bring most of the younger generation into its fold. That most of the opposition’s able leaders either were out of the country for a long time or kept in detention for extended periods deprived these political parties of the ability to take any serious initiative to dislodge the Islamic Movement or weaken its grip on power and wealth. The rebel groups, including the SPLA/M, which became a partner in the Government of National Unity after the CPA, continued to emphasize their regional inclinations and become comfortable with the organizational as well as personal gains that they feel they made. The crisis in Darfur and the feeling of disappointment due to delays in the peace process are leading to ongoing instability in the country. So far, the NIF finds itself in a very comfortable position vis-à-vis other parties and is able to maintain its position of power. Because the NIF controls the key institutions in the country, it may take the other parties a long time to weaken its grip on power and wealth.

N otes 1. The complexity of the situation in Sudan has been addressed by a number of scholars. For a discussion of this issu, see Abdel Ghaffar M. Ahmed, “Multiple Complexity and Prospect for Reconciliation and Unity: The Sudan Conundrum,” in The Roots of African Conflicts: The Causes and Costs, ed. Alfred Nhema and Paul Zeleza (Oxford: James Currey, 2008). 2. The history and development of the Islamic Movement in the Sudan has been addressed in a number of publications in both Arabic and English. Most prominent among these are Muddather Abd al-Rahim and al-Tayyeb Zein al-Abddin, Al-islam fi al-Sudan, buhuth mukhtara (Khartoum: Dar al-asala lil-sahafa wa al-nashr, 1987); Abdelwahab El-Affendi, Turabi’s Revolution: Islam and Power in Sudan (London: Grey Seal, 1991); and Abdel Salam Sidahmed, Politics and Islam in Contemporary Sudan (Surrey: Curzon Press, 1997). Also see Gabriel Warburg, Islam, Nationalism, and Communism in a

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Traditional Society: The Case of Sudan (London: Frank Cass, 1978); and Warburg, Islam, Sectarianism, and Politics in Sudan since the Mahdiyya (London: Hurst, 2003). Mekki (1986, 15) explains the stages of the naming process as follows: The Islamic Movement first appeared on the scene on August 12, 1954. Later it appeared on the political scene under a variety of names such as the Islamic Constitution Front, 1955 to 1958; the Islamic Charter Front, 1965 to 1969; and the National Islamic Front, 1985 to 1989. Internally, among its members, it continued to be known as the Islamic Movement, while among university students, it adopted the name the Islamic Front. In addition to Mekki’s comments, it should be noted that at present the movement has split into three factions: (1) the National Congress Party, which is in control of the government; (2) the National Popular Congress, which is the opposition party led by al-Turabi; and (3) the core of the Muslim Brotherhood, which was the driving force behind the establishment of the movement in the early 1950s and which is trying to distance itself from the other two factions. 3. Using violence rather than peaceful debate became one of the major methods used by the Islamic Movement to intimidate its political opponents. As early as the mid-1960s, violence became one of the tools used by the organized militia of the Islamic Movement. It reached its height after the NIF takeover of the government in 1989. The security forces, which are mainly trained party militia, carried out all forms of violent acts against other political rivals. See El-Affendi (1995). 4. The process of Islamization and Arabization of Sudan was gradual, which started as early as the seventh century. “The spread of Islam was mainly due to the peaceful intercourse of the traders and the penetration of Arabs who settled and intermarried with the people of the Sudan.” Yusuf Fadl Hassan, The Arabs and the Sudan: From the Seventh to the Early Sixteenth Century (Edinburgh: The University Press, 1967), 18. Also see H. A. MacMichael, A History of the Arabs in the Sudan (London: Frank Cass, 1922; second impression 1967); and J. Spencer Trimingham, Islam in the Sudan (London: Frank Cass, 1945; reprinted 1965). 5. The social history of northern Sudan has been influenced by the introduction, spread, and development of the Sufi sects. A number of studies have dealt with this topic. Most important among them is John Obert Voll, “A History of the Khatmiyya Tariqah in Sudan” (PhD thesis, University Microfilms, A XEROX Company, Ann Arbor, Michigan, 1971); Karsani, A. Al MajdhubiyyaTariq: Doctrine, Organization and Politics in Majdhubiyya and Al Mikashfiyya: Two Sufi Tariqas in Sudan, ed. M. W. Daly (Khartoum: Graduate College Publications No. 13, University of Khartoum, 1985): 1–97; and Osman, Abdullahi Mohamed. Mikashfiyya: Sufi Tariqa in Moden Sudan in Al Majdhubiyya and Al Mikashfiyya: Two Sufi Tariqas in Sudan, ed. M. W. Daly (Khartoum: Graduate College Publications No. 13, University of Khartoum, 1985); 100–146. and Neil McHugh, Holymen of the Blue Nile: The Making of an Arab-Islamic Community in the Nilotic Sudan 1500–1850 (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1994). Even the Mahdist state in Sudan, whose name might indicate association with Shia Islam, is in fact part of the

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7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

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Sunni order. See Sadig Al-Mahdi, Yasalawonaka ‘an Al- Madiyya [They Ask You about Mahdism] (Lebanon: Dar al-Ghadayya, 1975). For analysis of the roots of Islam in Sudan and the Islamic response to indigenous traditional beliefs, see Mansour Khalid, Al Fajir Al Kazib: Nimeiri and the Distortion of the Sharia (Cairo: Dar al Hilal, 1986), 304–49. Religious leaders, especially in rural areas, are mostly poorly educated; yet, they are the ones who decide on all aspects of the daily lives of members of their communities. In most cases, they combine what they think of as Islamic practices with local traditional beliefs. In fact, this applies to the most sophisticated leaders of traditional religious sects. Many of the traditional practices in Sudanese communities such as drumming and dancing have been integrated into and accepted as genuine Islamic practices, which do not contradict with their faith. The similarity between the present NIF domination of the political scene and its use of violence to maintain its grip on power recalls the history and behavior of the Mahdist regime under the Khalifa Abdullahi. See A. B. Theobald, The Mahdiyya: A History of the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan, 1881–1899 (London: Longmans Green, 1951); and Holt (1958). This parallel between the power and the stick is reputed to be drawn by the late traditional Chief (Nazir) Babo Nimir of the Missiriya of Southern Kordofan. The wisdom of this man as a traditional leader and manager of power relations is documented in Francis Deng, Mading. The Recollections of Babo Nimir (London: Ithaca Press, 1982). These three studies provide a detailed analysis of the attempts made by the Islamic Movement to take over the state apparatus and the kind of effort it put forth to understand the dynamics of the social systems in rural and urban Sudanese communities. The movement devoted most of its organizational experience to influencing the educational system in the country, thereby directing the thoughts and aspirations of the younger generations. The religious leaders and other prominent individuals who controlled the economic institution during the early days of the Anglo-Egyptian rule of the Sudan opposed the rise of the new and modern elite, which challenged their dominance of Sudanese society. This was expressed openly in their opposition to the revolt against the colonial powers, as seen in their attitude toward the leaders of the 1924 revolution (see the previously mentioned studies). In recent years, a number of prominent political figures who held leading positions in sectarian and secular political parties and supported the NIF military regime announced in the media that they have always been members of the Islamic Movement. Assigning a number of the young graduates of the Islamic Movement to work as schoolteachers in remote areas is a case in point. This strategy yielded fruit in the election of 1986 when the NIF managed to gain most of the constituencies in western Sudan, a region that had always been regarded as a closed constituency for the Umma (Mahdist) Party. The election results confirmed the strong support for the NIF, winning fifty-one seats and becoming the third major party in parliament after the Umma with ninety-nine seats and

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13.

14.

15.

16.

17.

18.

19.

20.

Abdel Ghaffar Mohamed Ahmed the DUP with sixty-four seats. Mohamed, M. A. Salih, African Democracies and African Politics (London: Pluto, 2001), 93. Abdel Salam Sidahmed’s gives a detailed account of the process of establishing the Islamic constitution. The reference to the fact that intimidation was used as an effective tool to pacify any opposition from the different parties on the political scene still applies today. It is interesting to see that the current SCP members go out of their way to prove that they are also devout Muslims. The charge was initiated following a debate among university students in which an assumed member of the CPS was accused of defaming one of the wives of the Prophet. The Islamic banking system established during the 1970s gave the NIF a sound financial basis. By 1989, economic and financial companies under its direct control gave it the power to control the media and dominate the political scene (Warburg 2003, 212). The security forces, a major pillar of the regime, prided itself on owning most of the effective companies in the country. Its director claimed that he did not even need a budget from the treasury since he could run the force using the income generated by the companies controlled by the force. Through the Civilization Project, the NIF sought to lead Sudanese society toward what it envisaged as the true Islam of the early days of the spread of the Islamic message. It planned to change the day-to-day behavior of individuals and to restructure the state system in a manner that reflected adherence to basic Islamic principles. In 1986, Turabi was quoted as saying, “Numeri reconciled with us after he saw our might in our attempt to force him out of office in 1976. We knew exactly what we wanted from him and we were not expecting much in dealing with him.…We were not in need of something from him.…We were working to build an extended Islamic Movement and trying to avoid whatever may antagonize him. He wanted power today and tomorrow and we want to inherit the social, political and economic future of the nation. We were working towards the mobilization of the rural masses and building financial institutions, not for money but for allowing us to apply our theory and to transform services to the South while others are not paying attention” (El Majallah, Saudi Arabia, June 29 1986). To ensure that no party would doubt its claim that it was not involved in the coup, the NIF arrested and detained for a short time its ideologue and leader al-Turabi along with the leaders of the other sectarian and secular parties and the civil society organizations. The Egyptian government, which followed events in Sudan with great interest, was led to believe that such a move was not engineered by the Islamists, and Egypt went out of its way to convince other Arab countries to support the new regime. There is no transparency regarding the oil revenues. Even the Ministry of Finance at the national level has no control over how much is received from oil sales or how proceeds are spent. The minister of environment is the sole commander in charge of this fund. Some detailed accounts of the kind of violence encountered by those whom the regime regarded as possible opposition organizers appeared in a number of

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national and international publications. See for example, Markz Al Nadeem (2003), a human rights nongovernmental organization based in Cairo, which carried detailed interviews with Sudanese refugees subjected to harsh treatment before they were able to escape from the country. 21. The commanders of the National Armed Forces insisted on calling themselves the Legal Command and tried to regroup and organize forces along the Sudan-Eritrea border. They joined the NDA and became its fighting force. The problem they faced is that once they no longer held official leadership positions in the army, the rank and file did not accept their claim to authority.


Chapter 7

4

Egy pti an Muslim Brother hood and Competitive Politics Sami Zemni and Koenraad Bogaert*

Most Western observers tend to look at the phenomenon of political Islam as if it were a butterfly in a collection box, captured and skewered for eternity, or as a set of texts unbendingly prescribing a single path. This is why some scholars who examine its core writings proclaim Islam to be incompatible with democracy—as if any religion in its origin was about democracy at all. —Graham Fuller (2002: 50)

W

ith its electoral gain of eighty-eight seats in the legislative elections of 2005, the Muslim Brotherhood (MB) once again reestablished itself as the main Egyptian opposition movement. After a decade of repression and relative marginalization, the MB renegotiated its paradoxical participation in Egyptian politics in a rapidly changing regional and international context. At the same time, the MB also reviewed its ideological outlook. While the movement stayed true to its commitment of nonviolent political action, the movement is still not legal under Egyptian law. To understand the ideological and political changes as well as the moving strategic options of the Muslim Brotherhood, it is necessary to take * The authors would like to thank Mohamed Salih, Joshua Stacher, and Brecht Desmet for their valuable comments on earlier drafts. Sami Zemni is a professor at the Middle East and North Africa Research Group, Centre for Third World Studies, Ghent University. Koenraad Bogaert is a PhD candidate at the Middle East and North Africa Research Group. Address: Middle East and North Africa Research Group, Centre for Third World Studies, Universiteitsstraat 8, 9000 Ghent, Belgium. E-mail: [email protected] and [email protected]. This PhD fellowship is funded by the Research Foundation Flanders.

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into account the systemic limits of participation—largely laid out by the ruling elites in power—as well as the local, regional and international context in which the movement operates. Simultaneously, this chapter will look into the internal ideological debates of the movement that are reflective of its internal sociological evolution (generational divide, internal factions, etc.) as well as its relationship to other Islamist movements and parties (jama’a islamiyya, al-wasat, for example). For academic as well as policy-oriented reasons, it is equally important to address the possibilities of inclusion of the MB and the opportunities of their integration in the formal political landscape of Egypt. First, analysis of the MB’s inclusion in competitive politics offers the possibility to discuss the limits and possibilities of overall (democratic) reform in Egypt. Second, as the MB is arguably the most popular and the oldest of all Islamist movements, its integration into a competitive participatory political order could become a blueprint for other movements in neighboring countries.1 Finally, since 9/11, it has become obvious that “the nature of the relationship between the West and political Islam has become a defining issue for foreign policy” (Emerson and Young 2007, 1). There is indeed an emerging “Islamist question” arising within Western public debate, referring to whether Islamist parties (especially the MB) are ready to play a democratic role in politics. This question is the topic of frequent, passionate debate between believers and nonbelievers; between those that see Islamists as a potent force for the modernization and democratization of the Arab world (Burgat 1995, 2003; Kepel 2002) and those that see in them as a sort of local Islamic fascism that will democratically capture power, only to cancel it afterward (Berman 2003; Khalil 2006). This chapter will take a much more pragmatic and academic stance toward the issue. Instead of positing any assumption of what Islamist parties in general or the MB in particular is or is not, this chapter will instead focus on what the movement does and says in relation to the pressing topic of political reform. Indeed, Islamist ideology has always been a poor predictor of political behavior. In this way, this chapter hopes to draw some conclusions on the opportunity of the MB entering competitive politics. This chapter’s objective is twofold. First, the chapter will analyze MB’s successful participation in the legislative elections of 2005 by showing how the MB capitalized after decades of repression on the gradual reforms of the political system. To understand this success, the chapter begins with a short historical overview of the MB’s evolution in Egyptian politics since the beginning of the 1970s. Second, the chapter undertakes examination of whether the MB could be a democratizing force in Egyptian politics. By studying the current ideological and political program of the MB, this chapter asks whether the movement has undergone (and to what extent) an ideological adjustment.

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Th e MB between Par adox i c al Op p o s itio n and Repressi on The Muslim Brotherhood is the oldest Islamist movement in the region, and, while the movement is firmly rooted in modern Egyptian history, its relationship with the Egyptian regime looks like a jigsaw puzzle. The Muslim Brotherhood effectively became a major player in Egyptian politics after Anwar Sadat’s arrival to power.2 In a “publicly secret deal,” Sadat granted the MB access to Egyptian society after years of Nasserite repression, asking in return for its support against other oppositional groups. Sadat wanted to counter both the growth of violent and revolutionary Islamist groups as well as the resistance of leftist (mainly, Nasserite) elements who opposed his reforms. The MB allied with the regime in its fight against Islamist violence that grew exponentially throughout the 1970s (Auda 1994; Kepel 1985). Mamun al-Hudeiby, the then–Supreme Guide of the movement, wrote in his Preachers and No Judges (duat wa la qudhat) an ideological response to Sayyid Qutb’s more radical and violent prone ma’alim fi-l tariq. The current generation of MB ideologues still refers to al-Hudeiby’s work as a reaffirmation of traditional MB policies and ideas, much more than a radical refutation of Qutb’s ideas3 (see also Stacher 2008). While officially remaining illegal, the political power and public presence of the MB grew stronger during the 1980s as it set out to become the major oppositional force in the country. By the 1990s, the MB found itself embedded deeply within the Egyptian public space. The movement controlled the most important professional syndicates, had several MPs in parliament (as independents in alliance with the New Wafd Party in 1984 and al-‘Amal and al-Ahrar parties in 1987), was present in civil associational life, ran numerous nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), and controlled student unions and thousands of mosques throughout the country (Rachwan 1996). The increasing influence of the MB was the result of a gradual process of liberalization set in motion by a regime in search of more international and national legitimacy. Especially after the murder of President Sadat in 1981, Hosni Mubarak followed a strategy of appeasement. However, this process of authoritarian tolerance only lasted as long as the regime felt weakened. After the movements unexpected electoral success in the 1980s (Stacher 2008) and an alleged murder plot against Mubarak in Addis Ababa in 1995, the regime stepped up its repression and tried to curtail the functioning of the MB as well as all other potential political opposition. This process of “deliberalization” (Eberhardt Kienle 2000), which started at the beginning of the 1990s, “can be viewed through a matrix of regime crackdowns on civil and political liberties that have limited political expression and a perpetual state of emergency” (Stacher

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2004, 216–17). The government used the Emergency Law and the 1992 Terrorism Law to restrict the freedom of movement of MB members. From June 1995 onward, numerous prominent figures faced arrest and jail so that they could not compete in the following elections. As Joel Campagna noted, “Egypt’s Supreme Military Court sentenced 54 leading members of the Muslim Brotherhood to prison terms ranging from 3 to 5 years with hard labor. The trial marked the culmination of a turbulent fouryear period which witnessed a deterioration of the state’s tolerance for the outlawed Brotherhood. [It] represents the first prosecution of members of the organization by a military court since 1965, when Nasser… sought to crush the Brotherhood” (1996, 278). Against the opposition’s protest, the NDP-led government closed down the MB’s monthly liwa al-Islam and intervened openly and covertly in the professional syndicates’ elections to counter the success of the MB. It seemed as though the Egyptian political system had shown the limits of its pluralization. Leaders of the syndicates such as Issam al-Aryan and Mohammed Sa’ad from the doctor’s syndicate or Mukhtar Nawh and Khalid Badawi from the lawyer’s syndicate were prohibited to move from representing their professional interests to representing national interests (Wickham 1997). It seemed as if the modus vivendi between the state and the MB had reached its limits as the division of labor between syndicates and parliament started to shift the balance of power in favor of the former (Roussillon 1994). Furthermore, the regime regained control of tens of thousands of mosques by prohibiting imams to do Friday sermons (khotba’s) without the approval of the Ministry of Awqaf. Finally, the regime gradually broke down the alliance of the MBs and the al-‘amal (Labor) party and prohibited the formation of a new Islamist party (al-Wasat). The Hizb al-’amal (labor party) shifted gradually from a leftist-socialist frame of reference toward an Islamic one through the work of party ideologue Adil Hussein and his nephew, Megdi Hussein, the director of the party’s weekly al-cha’ab (The People). This ideological shift and the so-called al-tahalluf al-Islami (the Islamic alliance) had detractors as well. Internal strife and dissidence between the two sides began in the 1990s and continues, the discord politically manipulated further by the regime. While no major MB member joined the party, it was becoming obvious that the al-cha’ab weekly was becoming a launching pad for harsh criticism of the government and the political establishment. The newspaper focused its criticism on scandals of corruption and bribery, the normalization campaign with Israel, and the upholding of Islamic norms and values. This meant that the newspaper regularly sparked heavy criticism on art (books, sculptures, paintings, etc.) seen as offensive to Muslim sensitivities.4 In the end, the government decided to “freeze” the newspaper and set out to dismantle the party itself. Through consecutive forms of


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manipulating the internal dissent within the party as well as controversial interpretations of the law on parties by the party committee, the government finally banned the Hizb al-’amal in September 2000, ending nearly all its activities.

Th e MB between Vio l e nc e and D isse nt The outlook of political Islam has undergone many changes over the past decade. While the Brotherhood experienced major changes (as shown in “the MB danger for democracy?” an Islamist centrist party Al-Wasat (literally “the center”) vied for legal recognition, while violent movements like the gama’a islamiyya or members of the jihad organization revised some of its central positions and tried to transform into a political party (under the leadership of lawyer Muntassir al-Zayat).5 The Wasat founding members left the MB to form their own political party. This is not unique, as other MB members regularly left the ranks of the movement, disgruntled over its course of action. However, in most of the cases, those who left sought refuge in one of the violent radical groups as a means to counteract the MB’s politics of appeasement. The founding fathers of the Wasat, however, sought to organize a political party that was pushing toward more moderation and liberalism, toward increased political mobilization and less religious zeal. A group of youths, called jeel al-sebi’neit (the generation of the 1970s)—mostly from within the ranks of the professional groups such as engineers, doctors, or lawyers—left the realm of the MB in 1996 to establish their own party (Ramih s.d.). Within the general deliberalization process that was under way, the result was negative. The government rejected Ramih’s official applications in 1996, 1999, and 2005. Finally, in 2000, the Ministry of Social Affairs granted NGO status to the movement. Of the seventy-four founding members in 1996, sixty-two were former members of the MB. As the party licensing committee stipulated that former MB members would not be granted a party, many of these youths rejoined the MB. Two years later, however, Abu al-A’la al-Maadhi was applying anew with no more than twenty-four ex-MB members out of ninety-three founding members. This concluded the split between the group and the MB. The Wasatiyya trend, as Raymond Baker coined it, slowly emerged in the 1980s with the writings of a group of intellectuals as diverse and different as Yusuf al-Qaradawi, Tariq al-Bishri, Muhammed Salim al-Awwa, and Muhammed Imara. While these thinkers and publicists diverge on many matters, they all seem to rally around the idea that a new Islamic civilization project is necessary to meet the demand for democratic freedoms and development. It is within “Misr: lil thaqafa wa al-hiwar (Egypt:

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for culture and dialogue),” the NGO that was established and tolerated by the regime that the main ideas of the trend were developed and discussed further. By the end of the 1990s, the MB was, according to numerous observers, effectively weakened and withdrew partially from the public and political debate while focusing instead on Da’wa in which more rigid and scriptural piety were promoted. This was reminiscent of the growing hegemony of Islamic vocabulary and its symbols in Egyptian public life. “Instead of challenging state power directly, the Muslim Brotherhood and other reformist groups are, involved in the gradual appropriation of the public space, creating new models of political leadership and community to the policies and practices of state elites” (Wickham, cited in Ghadbian 1997, 103). Furthermore, the state responded to the growth of Islamism by attempting to re-Islamize politics through instrumental use of religion. The media, education, and sources of legislation were used to counter the challenge of Islamism. All this added up to what Asaf Bayat called, “the Egyptian Islamist passive revolution” (Bayat 2007). The MB’s seventeen seats in the 2000 elections (a surprise to the movement itself) came without a clear platform. Only sixty candidates stood for seats. Independent local activists were able to gain much more from the growing unpopularity of the NDP, and they took advantage of obvious MB influence. Nevertheless, the MB survived the regime’s crackdown through its well-entrenched presence within civil society. It was only after 9/11 and the new political openings after 2004 that the MB made its spectacular comeback.

MB ’s E l ec to r al S uc c es s The eighty-eight seats won in the 2005 legislative elections were testimony to a changing Egyptian political landscape that became increasingly prone to an agenda of change. Indeed, the constant lack of regime legitimacy amid the growing national and international pressure to democratize, convinced the ruling NDP to introduce several reforms. The results of the 2000 elections made it clear to the regime that the ruling party had to reinvigorate itself. Mixed with the question of his succession, President Mubarak, set out to reform the party structures and push for a greater role for his son Gamal Mubarak (and his technocratic followers), which prompted critics to see a succession à la syrienne in which a “hereditary republic” or “monarchic republic” was in the making. Concomitant legislative reforms, especially the amendment of Article 76 of the Constitution allowing for multicandidate presidential elections and the respect for civil liberties, created a newly emerging political landscape in the years 2004 to 2005. Several political parties were open to internal debate and


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realignments, sometimes bolstering those parties or sometimes leading to dissident politicians creating their own party.6 The MB was also subject to an internal debate on the future of the movement, its tactics, and its program. The internal ideological fragmentation that had been visible since the late 1990s became largely public. Even more novel was the growth of civic protest movements such as the Kifaya (Enough) movement, in which MB members were not welcome, or the Workers for Change group (related to the Kifaya movement). For the first time in a long time, during the years 2005 to 2007, workers, university students, judges, and journalists mobilized to reveal their disgruntlement with the regime. The strikes and sit-ins that began in the Ghazl al-Mahalla textile factory in 2006 took off after it became apparent that the mobilization momentum of the Kifaya movement had diluted. However, the MB stayed largely absent from the protest scene. The MB was probably the most efficient in reaping the benefits of this changing political atmosphere. Riding on the growing public hegemony of the Islamic jargon and the internal changes of the movement—covering both its ideological program as well as its tactics—the movement positioned itself as the major oppositional force within Egyptian politics. The MB launched its “reform initiative” on March 3, 2004, well ahead of the elections. While the initiative received much attention and discussion by both opponents and supporters, the regime answered with a classic round of arrests of MB members. The MB saw this as a sign of a deep regime crisis and a critical loss of legitimacy of the governing elites. As it stretched its hand out to the ruling NDP to position itself as a partner in reform (instead of a competitor), the MB tried to follow a parallel course until the end of the year. However, as the regime completely ignored the movement, the MB decided to challenge the government more directly by organizing several demonstrations and sit-ins between March and May 2005. The government replied again with a new round of arrests and the renewal of the Emergency Law on April 30. Only American pressure appeased the relationship between the regime and the MB. The MB was, much like other parties, interested in competing in the legislative elections of 2005 because upcoming reforms suggested that presidential candidates were becoming tied to the percentage of seats a party gained. Although the possibility to delegate a Muslim Brotherhood member as a presidential candidate in future elections is still highly improbable, the MB accepted a constructive role toward the ruling NDP, which meant that it accepted to downplay its potential effect by fielding candidates in only one-third of the constituencies. The MB wanted to show that it was not out to challenge the NDP’s two-third majority. The MB ran the elections under its decades-old slogan, “al-Islam huwa alhall” (Islam is the solution) and reaped the benefits of its organizational

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efficiency, its integration into Egyptian civil society, and the image of its candidates as morally accountable and incorruptible.7 The MB, according to numerous observers, had an elaborate but transparent and efficient way of selecting candidates and had a well-organized support structure in their respective constituencies. The results of the legislative elections after the flawed presidential elections of September 2005 made the MB the largest oppositional faction in parliament.8 The MPs made it clear that although the NDP majority would make it impossible for them to control legislation, the movement would take up its task seriously. Using all possible parliamentary legal means, the MB representatives are active on all levels and intervene on numerous national and international subjects. All this activity was appeared to upset the ruling NDP because the short-lived reform period ended in spring 2006. First, to counter the growing success of the MB, they postponed local elections for two years. Second, numerous rounds of new arrests were organized against members on all levels of the movement since March 2006. Finally, the legislative elections obliged the NDP to change its tactics to secure its power base. As the number of seats won in 2005 (311 seats or 71.9 percent) were a historic nadir for the ruling party (Kassem 2006), President Mubarak announced new constitutional reforms to deepen democracy. To give these political reforms a democratic legitimacy, the nation adopted the thirty-four amendments to the Egyptian Constitution by referendum on March 26, 2007, after approval by the People’s Assembly the week before. This came barely two months after the first public release of the proposed amendments. Amnesty International described them as “the greatest erosion of human rights in 26 years.”9 The amendments to three constitutional articles stand out as examples of the undermining of human rights and were the subject of heated debates in the Egyptian media. First, to counter the critique that the regime would not renounce the state of emergency, which gives the president unlimited power over parliament, changes were made to Article 179 that cleared the way for the replacement of Emergency Law 162 of 1958 with a new antiterrorism law. Many opponents believed changes to Article 179 would turn Egypt into a police state under the pretext of fighting terrorism and fear that the new antiterror legislation would be even more draconian than the Emergency Law. According to some opponents, it opened possibilities for an even more stringent crackdown of opposition forces like the MB. Second, amendments to Article 88 eliminated judicial supervision of future elections, allocating this role to an independent commission. The amendments also foresee elections occurring in one single day instead of the current arrangement in which they have to take place in three separate stages. The three-stage procedure was a decision made by the Egyptian


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Supreme Court in 2000 to give the judicial apparatus opportunity to oversee the elections and preserve adequate judicial control over the electoral process. As a result and because of extensive juridical supervision, the elections of 2000 and 2005 may be the most “transparent” in Egyptian history. However, with the MB winning seventy-six seats in the first two rounds of the 2005 legislative elections, the regime had to come out strong in the third and final round to protect its majority. MB candidates could win only twelve seats in the third and final stage of the elections. Because of the improved juridical control and increasing international media coverage after 9/11, the regime was compelled to intervene more outside the ballot box to manipulate results and obtain its two-thirds majority. Bribery, police force, and even brutal repression prevented many (non-NDP) constituents from casting their vote for an opposition party (Shehata and Stacher 2006). However, at the same time, their impudent reputation and lack of commitment to the democratization process burdened NDP. The third amended article that caused a lot of controversy was Article 5. It now reads, “citizens have the right to form political parties in accordance with law. It is not permitted to pursue any political activity or establish any political parties within any religious frame of reference (marja’iyya) or on any religious basis or on the basis of gender or origin” (Brown, Dunne, and Hamzawy 2007, 11). This reference to marja’iyya is important for understanding the position of the Muslim Brotherhood in Egyptian political reality. In other words, this means that the establishment of a political party like the Parti de la Justice et du development (PJD) in Morocco or even the Christian Democrats in Europe would be in conflict with the Egyptian Constitution (Brown et al. 2007). These last amendments triggered anger within the MB ranks because of the way the government mixed religion with politics. The ruling party used slogans such as “your vote is a duty before God” to mobilize constituents to cast their votes in favor of the amendments.10 Therefore, many opponents saw the proposed amendments as a political maneuver by the NDP to consolidate its monopoly on political life and underwrite the autocratic rule of the Mubarak family. This makes clear that the debate on the participation of the MB in competitive politics is not so much an issue of the movement’s ideological positions. Quite the contrary, the role the MB plays in Egyptian politics is, until now, foremost dictated by the leverage given by the regime. The constant acceptance/ repression policy of the regime is testimony of the imbalance in power between the two sides. According to Alain Roussillon, [Mubarak’s political system is not able] to tolerate the political autonomization of any group that is susceptible to mobilize outside the confines of the political class itself. From this point of view, the major sin of the Brethren is not only that they posit themselves as an alternative majority

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(with which the system could accommodate itself as long as they would pledge allegiance to the “real power”), but more so that they constitute themselves around a principle. Islam is the solution that is other, if not opposed, to the one around which the legitimacy of the regime from the 28th of July revolution is constituted.11

However, this being said, it is still important to analyze much closer the current ideology and actual political program(s) of the MB to understand better the changing nature of Islamist politics.

Th e MB : Danger f o r D emoc r ac y? During 2004, numerous debates in the Egyptian press reflected concern over the MB’s participation in the elections and its possible political integration. Supporters and opponents of the MB’s integration debated the movement’s democratic credentials.12 To assess whether the MB undertook an ideological aggiornamento, this section looks into the current documents produced by the MB that serve as the actual basis of their political action such as the Reform Initiative of March 2004, the electoral program of 2005, and the new political platform that was leaked to the press before being completely finished. For the first time, and with the goal of showing that the MB could possibly become a responsible political party, the MB promised in the beginning of 2007 to publish its political platform. Since then, there have been numerous postponements of the official publication,13 but a 128-page draft of the platform sent to some fifty or sixty Egyptian intellectuals for comment was leaked to the press14 and aroused intense debate. For both Egyptian as well as international observers, what type of party the MB is and what exactly it stands for are important. Even though the MB ran the 2005 elections under the slogan of al-islam huwwa al-hall, it has also clearly incorporated the idea of participatory politics as the central strategy for genuine reformation of Egyptian politics. This participation begs the question of how the MB views itself and what type of movement or party it aims to be. The question is not just a technical or hermeneutic one but touches on the self-definition of the movement and how it sees its participation within the Egyptian political landscape. In accordance with the movement’s founder Hassan al-Banna, since then the MB used to defines itself in the following terms:15 Al-Ikhwan: (1) Is a salafi da’wah because they are calling people to return to the pure sources of Islam: the Book and the Sunnah. (2) Is a Sunni way of thought, because they adopt the traditions of the Messenger of Allah (PBUH) in all matters and especially in matters of ‘aqeedah (belief) and ‘ibaadah (worship) inasmuch as they are able to do so. (3) Is a true tasawwuf 16


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because they realize the importance of virtue, purification of the heart, cleanliness of the self, persistency of action, a spirit of forgiving, a love of Allah, and collective enjoining of the good. (4) Is a political organization because they demand the reformation of the government, amendments to its foreign policy, the development of honor, and prestige among the subjects and the defense of the nationhood to the last limit. (5) They are a physically trained team because they care for health and well-being. Their faith is that a strong believer is better than a weak believer. (6) It is an institution of culture and knowledge. Al-Ikhwan are in reality, schools of culture and knowledge, training institutes for the body and the soul because, in the eyes of Islam, the acquisition of knowledge is the duty of every Muslim male and female. (7) It is a commercial firm because Islam orders the earning of money by lawful means. (8) It is a social system because it attends to the maladies of the Islamic society, discovers their cure, and attempts to keep the nation healthy.17 The question remains whether today the MB sees itself as a civic political party like all others or whether it sees itself as the representative of Islam. Has the MB evolved from a dakwah-agenda to a more politicized stance? This debate was present in the beginning of the 2000s. In an interview with one of the authors of this chapter, Abu al-Ala al-Madhi from the al-Wasat party clearly stated that the older generation within the MB still regarded dakwah as the basis of a holistic social action and mobilization logic. Therefore, he wanted to create a political party. While he has nothing against dakwah, he considers it unimportant for social and political action.18 The 2004 and 2007 reform platforms showed that the MB, while still operating within an Islamic frame of reference, has openly opted for a democratic vocabulary and has made clear that it is ready to establish itself as a genuine political party. As some may state, “the Brotherhood is a political organisation first and foremost and an Islamist only secondly” (Stacher 2008). Especially the reference to the state as a civil state where the ruler is chosen by the people instead of referring to a socalled divine position of the highest authority in the country underlines the possible democratic engagement of the MB. “Civilization denies the holiness and priesthood of the country and keeps its legitimate Islamic reference, Islam places limits and rights. It is a state that combines both religion and state. So the nation has the right to appoint the ruler, control him, and depose him if its benefit requires that, for he is a civil governor and it is a civil state.”19 Even so, among many secular observers, especially in Western countries, tension prevails between the Western conception of a secular and liberal democratic political order and “the Islamic method [that] has a Shari’ah that represents a way for establishing progress, development and reform, and that defines the lawful and the unlawful in legislations, dealings, sayings and actions.”20 According to the MB’s program

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of 2004: “[this Islamic method] connects politics with morals and makes our ways noble and, consequently, our ends noble too. The Shari’ah specifies the individual, collective and social duties and represents perfection for man, a system for the ruling, a fort for the community and an authority that follows the restrictive ordinance of the Almighty. Islam requires a state to practice and protect it and to follow its method, just like the liberal solution also requires the same.”21 The platform still veils itself in an ideological vagueness that urged observers to question the so-called gray zones that create doubts whether Islamists movements might be advocating democracy for purely strategic or instrumental reasons (Brown et al. 2006). At the same time, these gray zones give present authoritarian regimes an excuse to ban Islamist movements from political participation (Brown et al. 2006). However, the MB (like other Islamist parties) states that it does not see the necessity to elaborate in detail on its program, as long as it cannot legally run in open and fair elections. The party platform draft was an expected extension of the changes that took place since the MB launched its famous reform program in March 2004. Nevertheless, it still raised some doubts about the movement’s political views and strategies. In August 2007, the MB released a comprehensive policy platform that could be a prelude to the establishment of a formal political party, although the MB stays ambivalent about this intention (Stacher 2008). And while the 2007 platform contains a full social economic program and calls for a civic state, three specific issues continuously arose in debates within the Islamist group (conservatives versus reformists) and within the public media. This proved controversy still existed around the true objectives of the MB. On three of the outlined gray areas (Brown et al. 2006; Stacher 2008), namely, the implementation and position of the Sharia, the position of women and the rights of minority groups, the MB still faced a lot of skepticism. First, because the MB sees itself as a civil party with a religious foundation (marja’iyya), the Egyptian regime quickly responded, rejecting any party with a religious frame of reference. Still, the MB argued that it is not out to establish a religious state or government, but instead it will press for a civil state under a general Islamic authority. While this is a move away from the idea of hakimiyya (which stands on the idea of the sovereignty of God), it is still unclear how this idea would be implemented in reality as the MB still claims to push for implementation of Sharia. To justify this objective, the movement represents itself as a defender of the Egyptian Constitution where Article 2 states that “Islam is the religion of the state. Arabic its official language, and the principal source of legislation is Islamic jurisprudence (Sharia).”22 How “civic” or “religious” such an order would be is not always clear.


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Second, the implementation of Sharia was one of the major points of discussion within the Egyptian press in late 2007. The MB stated that not only was Sharia one of the main goals of its political action, it also proposed to establish a Supreme Council of Clerics that would control whether the parliament’s legislation is in conformity with Islamic teachings. The council would be an autonomous legal authority elected democratically by the religious establishment. Regarding the role of the Supreme Council, the draft platform remains vague. The program calls for the formation of a council of senior religious scholars, chosen in national elections, “to give consultancy to parliament and presidents.”23 The council’s advice on decisions made by the government and parliament, as the text describes, is the “recommended one,” suggesting veto power.24 Vague formulations like this lead to many interpretations. The passage on the religious council suggests that its recommendations would be binding and not merely advisory in matters in which Sharia is explicit (Brown and Hamzawy 2008). The party platform stresses that parliament could overrule the Supreme Council but not in issues governed by “proven texts” of Islamic law.25 Nevertheless, many within the MB deny that the objective should be the installation of a religious state and underwrite the importance of a civic state. MB Secretary General Mahmoud Ezzat stated in an interview on the MB’s website that “what was mentioned in the program was just a mechanism that the Legislative Assembly and the president can takes [sic] to apply the constitution, through asking a certain organization to give the best sharia view to help them issue a legislation which is in line with the constitution. But the legislative Assembly is the only body—according to the MB program—that has the right in legislation.26 The question remains however whether the Brotherhood’s political program can restore the unity within the MB and resolve confusion over the exact competencies and powers of a religious council and its position within a democratic civic state. Finally, another major point of discord within the movement and a point of harsh criticism from outsiders is the proposal to bar non-Muslims and women from the presidency. According to the MB, a Christian cannot become president because Egypt is a Muslim country and has Islam as its religion, as is expressed in its constitution. At the same time a women cannot be president because the post’s religious and military duties “contradict with her nature, social and other humanitarian roles.”27 The document emphasizes the equality between men and women but mostly in terms of their human dignity and points also to women’s role in the family. This perspective is recognizable from earlier documents like the MB’s political programs on the eve of the legislative elections in 2005 and the Shura Council elections from June 2007. Following the harsh criticisms in the public debate about this opinion, the MB eased off its position

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quickly, indicating that barring women and Christians from the presidency is only the official position of the movement leaving the final decision to democratic elections (Brown and Hamzawy 2008). The Supreme Guide of the MB, Mahdi Akef, still declared that the position on women and Christians was a final decision but at the same time acknowledged that the MB doesn’t possess a monopoly on interpretations of Islamic law, stating that “some religious jurists take different stands on this point, but that is our position.”28 He also reassured the movements’ criticasters that with this position, “we bind only the Muslim Brotherhood and not all Egyptians on what they are to believe. The ballot boxes will decide” (Brown and Hamzawy 2008, 17). These points of contention were heavily criticized both by insiders and outsiders of the movement. Especially Issam al-Aryan, member of the MB political bureau, and Dr. Abu Al-Futtuh, member of the Supreme Guide’s administration, opposed the idea of a religious state. There appeared to be open discord between prominent members of the movement in the discussions regarding the leak of a draft to the media. The internal discussions within the movement seem to be a sign of growing confidence in open debate. For the first time since the rupture in the 1990s that led to the creation of the al-Wasat Party, there were divisions in the MB between several contrasting visions. “The first vision was associated with First Deputy Guide Muhammad Habib, who defended the controversial elements in the draft platform” (Brown and Hamzawy 2008, 7). Although Habib sides with Ezzat on the point that a religious council would not have compulsory power over the People’s Assembly, Habib stressed that “the MB program will not be a secular program. We have our constants and principles which are based on not separating the state from religion and the state is civilian with an Islamic source of authority.”29 Other MB members, mostly led by Guidance Bureau member ‘Abd al-Mun’im Abu al-Futuh, indicate that the controversial positions espoused did not represent a consensus within the Islamist movement (Brown and Hamzawy 2008). Because of these three controversial themes, the debates virtually ignored the rest of the document. As Brown and Hamzawy noted, “Indeed, perhaps the most notable feature of the platform debate was the way the vast majority of the document completely escaped public scrutiny. The platform devotes far more attention to social and economic issues than to the role of the Ulama Council or the gender of the head of the state” (Brown and Hamzawy 2008, 5). Nevertheless, the MB’s parliamentary interventions in the first year after the elections proved to be dominantly oriented toward a socioeconomic agenda and a fierce attack of government policies that had nothing to do with Islam as such (Masoud 2008). Currently, the dominant MB ideological standpoint on socioeconomic issues leans more toward


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a right-wing, economically liberal position. It would be worthwhile to investigate the movement’s occasionally dubious position toward worldwide neoliberal globalization, the current wave of massive labor strikes, and their attitude toward more leftist oppositional groups instead of solely focusing on the movement’s reference to Islam. Overall, some observers acknowledge that over the past few years, the MB established itself as an influential political actor and has become both institutionally pragmatic and committed to peaceful reform (Stacher 2008).

The MB: Toward a Post-Isl amist Movement? The recent changes in the MB’s ideology and strategy made it clear that they are moving more in the direction of hizbiyya and ta’adudiyya principles. Some observers might think that this entails a shift into the political direction of other parties in the Arab or Muslim world such as the Moroccan PJD, the Turkish Adalet Ve Kalkınma Partisi (AKP), or the Indonesian Partai Keadilan Sejahtera (PKS). The MB, however, still differs from these post-Islamist parties. Firmly opting for political action, they left the road of the dakwah and stopped presenting themselves as the “only true representatives of Islam.” While the Wasat party elaborated its project on the much vaguer concept of Islamic civilization, which includes minorities, the MB still struggles with the possible contradictions between their holistic Islamic worldview and the necessarily fragmented political action. Whether post-Islamism is in itself a failure of Islamism as some analysts see it (Roy 2002, 2006) or a decline (Kepel 2000) is not really the issue here. What is important is that the aforementioned parties clearly opted for a political trajectory while the MB is still struggling with these evolutions. While some consider the PJD, AKP, or PKS as the cradles for a new Islamic-democratic movement, the MB’s political ideology still falls short on several of the issues discussed. Nevertheless, there has been some clarification of ideological gray zones (Brown and Hamzawy 2008) up to and including their view on the position of women and minorities. Although many observers still criticize the MB’s vision, they are clear about the importance of adhering to democratic procedures. The Brotherhood’s chances of gaining approval from the Political Parties Committee are severely limited. The committee rebuffed the recent civil party installed by the Islamist lawyer Mountasir al-Zayat. Even if the MB adopted a political program without any religious references, they would still probably face rejection because the committee would not consider the party novel, innovative, or different from any other legal political party. Nevertheless, by issuing an official party platform the MB tried to counter the Egyptian regime labeling them as an “Islamist threat,” while at the same time the group intended to clarify the vagueness surrounding

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their political, economic, and social visions of Egyptian society. The question whether Islam or Islamist parties are compatible with democracy is not necessarily the right one to ask as Bayat (2007) and Masoud (2008) argue. If one examines merely the discourse of the MB, then the movement seems a proponent of democratic reform. “But Western observers are wary of taking the MB at its words” (Masoud 2008). The symbiosis between actual discourse and real intentions leads to a seemingly endless debate and therefore may be not the only one in which to engage when studying democratization. What scholars on democratic transition and transitology need to consider is that the authoritarian government hems in all political opposition forces in Egypt. It is becoming more obvious that “for the ruling NDP, the results will prove useful in justifying its unwillingness to implement political reform. Having an atrophied secular opposition and an inflated Islamist one is in the interest of the regime. ‘If not us, then the Islamists will rule Egypt,’ the regime’s apologists will say. This excuse was the pretext for the lack of reform for more than two decades; it will be the justification for the lack of reform in the future” (Abaza 2006, 15). Looking back at the difficult relationship between the Egyptian regime and the MB, one is tempted to conclude that the moderation of those who govern favors the moderation of its opposition (Ferrié 2008). The opposition under authoritarian rule has few options as its weakness calls for a degree of moderation. Moderation therefore, can be as much a consequence of internal party evolution as well as the adjustment of the movement to the external political constraints. Under these circumstances, it looks like not all the democratic vows in the MB will debunk the Egyptian regime’s willingness to hold on to power.

N otes 1. Conversely, the integration of the Muslim Brotherhood could also signal an influence of other Islamist experiences such as the Turkish AKP or the Moroccan PJD. 2. The MB was evidently a major player in Egyptian politics from its foundation to its official interdiction after the alleged murder plot against President Nasser in 1954, but it became a powerful force from the 1970s onward. 3. Brecht De Smet (MENARG) in an interview with Issam Al-Aryan, March 10, 2008. 4. The biggest and most mediatized campaign was against the republication of Syrian novelist Haider, Banquet for Seaweed. Ultimately, the campaign was geared against the Ministry of Culture. 5. Finally, in 2007, the Egyptian jihad organization also took a first step toward the repudiation of violence as a political means, which caused the wrath of


6. 7.

8.

9. 10. 11.

12.

13.

14.

15.

16.

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Ayman al-Zawahiri, former leader of the movement and today seen as alQaeda’s number 2. Nasserist dissidents created the Karama party while Ayman Nour created the Ghad Party. Whether this is always the case is another question. Magdi Khalil, for example, disapproves of this image and stipulates that the MB members that are part of the professional syndicates have also been corrupt. Khalil, “Egypt’s Muslim Brotherhood and Political Power: Would Democracy Survive?” Middle East Review of International Affairs, 10, no. 1 (2006): 44–52. Nevertheless, many observers tend to overrate the success of the MB. With a turnout of less than 25 percent for the legislative elections, it is difficult to predict the overall following of the MB. http://news.amnesty.org/index/ENGMDE120082007. Al-Ahram Weekly, political paradox, April 12–18, 2007, http://weekly .ahram.org.eg/2007/840/eg1.htm. Alain Roussillon, “Pourquoi les frères musulmans ne pouvaient pas gagner les élections: Les limites de la pluralisation de la scène politique égyptienne,” in Contours et détours du politique en Egypte. Les élections législatives de 1995, ed. Sandrine Gamblin (Paris: Le Caire, L’Harmattan-Cedej, 1997), 101–27. Original in French: “à tolérer l’autonomisation politique de tout groupe susceptible de mobiliser en dehors de la ‘classe politique’ elle-même. De ce point de vue, le péché capital des frères est non seulement de se présenter comme une majorité alternative—ce dont le système pourrait s’accommoder pour peu qu’elle fasse allégeance au pouvoir ‘réel’—mais surtout de se constituer autour d’un principe—‘l’islam est la solution’—autre, sinon opposé à celui autour duquel se constitue la légitimité du régime issu de la révolution du 28 juillet.” See, for example, the debate between Saad Eddin Ibrahim (in favor of the MB’s political participation) and Magdi Khalil arguing against the MB. For an overview of his arguments, see Khalil (2006). The reason for the delay is unclear. Some observers think that there is too much internal strife and criticism on the platform’s text while others think that the MB opted to become “less defiant” of the government as this is launching a new campaign of arrests targeting well-known members of the MB (such as Mahmoud al-Ghozlan, the head of the MB platform committee). Masr al-yawm published the draft on its website in two parts, http://www .almasry-alyoum.com/article.aspx?ArticleID=71826 and http://www .almasry-alyoum.com/article.aspx?ArticleID=71861. The goal, creed, central ideas of the MB is summarized succinctly by Abderrahim Lamchichi, Islam et contestations au Maghreb (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1989). (1) Islam is a total order that regulates all aspects of life. It is religion, party, and government. It is science as well as idea and law. (2) It is the duty of every brother to bring society unto the right path through preaching and through moral pressure to transform the state into an Islamic one. (3) The reinstallment of the caliphate (that was abolished by Ataturk in 1924). The mystical path.

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17. Al-Banna, Hassan, The Message of the Fifth Conference, http://www.prelude .co.uk/mb/banna/fifth.htm. 18. Interview with Sami Zemni, Cairo, May 11, 1999. 19. The Muslim Brotherhood’s Program (2004), http://www.cmputex.info/ Article.asp?ID=811&LevelID=&SectionID=78. 20. Ibid. 21. Ibid. 22. http://www.egypt.gov.eg/english/laws/Constitution/chp_one/part_one .asp. 23. New MB political platform bans Christians, women from presidency, sets up Islamic clerical power, http://www.ikhwanweb.com/Print.asp?ID=14344& LevelID=&SectionID=78. 24. Ibid. 25. Ibid. 26. http://www.ikhwanweb.com/Article.asp?ID=14456&SectionID=78. 27. New MB political platform bans Christians and women from the presidency and sets up Islamic clerical power, http://www.ikhwanweb.com/Print .asp?ID=14344&LevelID=&SectionID=78. 28. Egypt: Islamist Draft Manifesto Stirs Controversy, http://www.ikhwanweb .com/Article.asp?ID=14803&LevelID=2&SectionID=154. 29. Habib admits errors in party’s platform, http://www.ikhwanweb.com/ Print.asp?ID=14397&LevelID=&SectionID=78.

Chapter 8

4

I sl ami st Parties in Alg er ia Toward a Po litical Prof essi o na liz at i o n?

Amel Boubekeur

Ok we are heirs of the Islamist tendency. But today we are inspired by the European Christian democrat experience. Islamist is a highly pejorative term in Europe. Our movements are not well understood. I understand myself as a Muslim democrat. Our specific Islamic values are indeed universal. I even think that we can be a model for Europe’s transforming identity. —Aboujerra Soltani, leader of the MSP party Talking about Islamism is the sign of Europe’s ignorance. It is my right to refuse this imported distinction between secular parties considered as democratic and so-called religious parties which should be democratised. Islamic political thought does not make a distinction between Islamic parties and non Islamic ones. The West is able to develop democratic tools such as parties, institutions, parliaments and I can adopt and use these tools. But it does not mean that I am going to give up my Islamic culture and its philosophy in order to imitate imperialist and rogue states which called themselves democracies. —Abdellah Djaballah, former leader of the MNR party

These two quotations reflect the diversity of Algeria’s Islamist move-

ments.1 Algeria has a range of different Islamist tendencies, illustrated by different strategies toward the state, civil society, and external partners such as the European Union. This chapter will focus more specifically

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Amel Boubekeur

on the two major Islamist political parties in Algeria, the Movement of Society for Peace (Harakat al Moujtama’ As-Silm, Hamas/HMS/MSP) and the National Reform Movement (Harakat al-Islah al Watani, Islah/ MNR). After a clandestine founding in the 1970s, these parties became parts of the official Algerian opposition in the 1990s. The Algerian government began the process of enfranchising some Islamist movements after the revolutionary Islamist strategies’ failure, notably illustrated by the Islamic Salvation Front (al-Jabhat al-Islamiyya lil-Inqad—FIS), banned by the Algerian regime in 1992.2 These two parties, the MSP and MNR, now have a new capacity to adjust their ideology to the daily concerns of civil society, leaving behind their former revolutionary posture. It is clear how Islamism as a social movement is today one of the most important forces of change in the region, having spread to different sectors such as trade unions, associations of women, young people, students, and even networks of businessmen. It is important to consider these dynamics of changing Islamism in the European-Mediterranean (Euro-Med) region today, and its implications for the European Union, as a process and not just as a political project limited in time.3 The challenge of including Islamist movements in EuroMed relations is not just about the need for the EU to rethink its relations with some specific political actors. It highlights the need for the EU to propose a democratization program that is more credible for Arab civil societies as a whole, a credibility challenged by some of the difficulties encountered by the Barcelona Process, which marked its ten-year anniversary in November 2005.

M S P a nd MN R: H isto r i c al Bac kground The Movement of Society for Peace (Harakat Al Mujtama’ Al Silm, MSP) The Movement of Society for Peace, originally the Movement for an Islamic Society (Hamas) and currently led by Aboujerra Soltani, was created in 1990. Its history links closely to that of its founder, Mahfoudh Nahnah. Born in 1938, this teacher of Arabic started his preaching activities by the end of the 1970s and was an opponent of President Houari Boumedienne’s regime. In 1977, he carried out sabotage operations by demolishing electricity pylons and received a fifteen-year prison sentence. Pardoned by the next president, Chadli Bendjedid, Nahnah reportedly made a commitment to military security services to be more moderate in his preaching. Rumors abound that he has also promised to abstain from any association with Islamist groups criticizing the authorities. Following the October 1988 Algiers riots by the country’s youth, a young preacher named Ali Benhadj asked Nahnah to take part in setting

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up the FIS. He refused, saying that there were enough Islamic associations, and that it was useless to create a new one. He therefore preferred to found his own association—Guidance and Reform (Al-Irshad wa-lIslah)—as a nonpolitical organization of preaching, religious education, and charity, financed largely by the ideologically aligned Muslim Brotherhood. In 1990, the association became a political party and called itself the Movement for an Islamic Society (Harakat li-Mujtama’ Islami, MSIHamas). Its political activities occurred alongside important social work for helping employment, families, widows, and the poor, as well as giving access to medical care. Hamas focused on cooperating with the state since the beginning of the 1990s. Nahnah supported the government’s decision to stop the 1992 electoral process (Hamas received only 5.3 percent of the votes during the legislative elections of 1991). During the 1990s, the party condemned both terrorist violence by the Islamic Salvation Army (AIS, the armed wing of the FIS) as well as the repressive policy of the Algerian Security Services. This position cost Hamas the lives of nearly fifty senior party members, killed in terrorist acts. In 1995, Mahfoudh Nahnah was invited by the Algerian regime to restart the democratic process and decided to take part in the elections (especially the presidential), highlighting its strategy of political participation. Nahnah became a candidate in the 1995 presidential elections, where he officially won 25.38 percent of the vote, coming in second after the Algerian army’s candidate, Liamine Zeroual. Hamas became the Movement of Society for Peace (Harakat Al Mujtama’ Al Silm—HaMaS) in 1997 following a law on political parties that banned any ideological use of Islam. It then switched its slogan from Islam is the solution to peace is the solution. In the 1997 legislative elections, the MSP secured nearly 7 percent of the votes in parliament and sixty-nine seats, becoming the fourth most powerful political party in the country. Since 1997, the MSP has been part of different government coalitions and is today a member of the Presidential Alliance, which brings together the three parties that have a parliamentary majority—the MSP, the Algerian National Front (Jabhat at-Tahrir al-Watani, FLN), and the National Rally for Democracy (at-Tajammu’ al-Watani ad-Dimuqrati, RND). However, this policy of participatory strategies cost much for the MSP in the 2002 legislative elections, as it won only 7 percent of the votes and thirty-eight seats, that is, half the number of seats that it had in 1997. Mahfoudh Nahnah died in 2003, replaced as head of the party by Aboujerra Soltani. Since 2002, the MSP has had five ministerial portfolios—Mustapha Benbada as small and medium-sized businesses minister; El Hachemi Djaaboub, as industry and trade minister; Smaïl Mimoun as fisheries minister; Amar

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Ghoul as minister of public works; and Aboujerra Soltani as minister of state without portfolio.4

National Reform Movement (Harakat al-Islah al Watani—MNR) Abdallah Djaballah headed the MNR since he founded it in 1999. Born in 1956, he was among the first activists on Algerian campuses to spread Islamism in its political form. After studying Islamic sciences in Saudi Arabia in the 1970s,5 Djaballah returned to Algeria where he presided over an Islamist association called Al Jama’a al-Islamiyya (the Islamic group). Created in 1980, this association was managed by students at the University of Constantine, who tried to oppose communists and secular students. In 1988, Abdallah Djaballah participated in the creation of an association called the Rabitat Ad-Da’wa (the preaching league). In 1990, he founded his own party: the Harakat an-Nahdha al-Islamiyya (the Islamic Renaissance Movement—Nahda). Close in political outlook to the FIS, Djaballah refused to be associated with its creation. Djaballah’s successive parties also recovered a large number of former FIS activists and voters after its dissolution in 1992. Djaballah won thirty-four seats during the legislative elections of 1997. In 1998, he had to face the hostility of many of Nahda’s activists, who decided to exclude him; following his refusal to be co-opted by the Algerian government. He then created another party, the National Reform Movement (Islah—MNR) in 1999. Just before the foundation of the MNR, Djaballah also participated in the presidential elections of 1999 as a free candidate but decided with all the other opposition candidates to withdraw from the electoral process before the vote. In the 2002 legislative elections, the MNR became the third most powerful political force and the leading Islamist party with forty-three seats. Djaballah was again a candidate in the 2004 presidential elections coming in third with 5 percent of the votes. During the legislative elections of May 2007, the MNR had undergone much turmoil. In fact, in February 2007, the Algerian Prime Minister Abdelaziz Belkhadem refused the participation of the MNR in the next legislative elections. Djaballah put forward the notion of a plot, since the government refused all requests to hold a Congress. Complaints within the dissident wing of the MNR, led by Mohamed Boulahya, echo refusals by the government to allow Djaballah to participate. Numerous MNR militants denied Abdallah Djaballah the right to stand in the 2007 elections, arguing that elections within the party had not renewed his mandate as president, which ended in 2004. Djaballah therefore lost the presidency of his party to Mohamed Boulahya in April 2007. Finding himself excluded from the party he founded, as in 1998 with his Nahda Party, Djaballah called for a boycott of the 2007 elections


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while promising to return to the political scene soon as the head of a new party he would create. We should remember that Djaballah succeeded in making the MNR the second most powerful political force after the elections in 2002. The legislative elections of May 2007 recorded a historical low level of participation (36.51%). The absence of Djaballah from the race benefited the Islamic party of the MSP with fifty-two seats. The other traditional parties remained in power with 136 seats for the FLN and 61 seats for the RND. The new MNR led by Mohamed Boulahya had only secured 3 seats out of 389 MPs.

I s l a mist View s on Poli ti c al R ef o r m in Alger i a From revolutionary discourses and clandestine organizations, the MSP and MNR transformed themselves into conservative pillars of Algerian society and state. In a pronationalist posture, they are sensitive to the value given to the Islamic part of the Algerian identity of the state and its institutions. They present themselves as defenders of the national Islamic characteristics of the country. They no longer contest, as they had before, the existing national political establishment and claim that Algeria is already Islamic, toning down their demands for an Islamic State. “Algeria is a Muslim country, the call for prayer can be heard, Ramadan is observed, women increasingly wear the veil, so talking about the Islamization of society when the country is already a Muslim country is a false problem,” said the former MSP member of parliament for the region of Béjaïa. To understand the evolution of these parties, it is important to consider both the current crisis of the Islamist ideology as well as the cooptation strategies of the state. Having permitted Islamist parties to take part in the national elections, the state elite tried first to neutralize their protests and radical nature6 and to establish a superficial climate of democratic transition, notably following EU’s call for this within the Euro-Med partnership. Adapting to this co-optation by the state, these parties became more professional politically and effectively changed their political nature, especially through their entry into parliament. That the state made tools of its Islamist opponents’ parties through co-optation is not considered an obstacle by the parties themselves, strengthening their policy of musharaka (partnership), which is at the heart of their current political strategy.7 This policy allows them to learn how to govern without real responsibilities, translating into a practical apprenticeship exercise of more day-to-day political management, rather than revolutionary policy issues. Even the MNR, which supposedly opposes the co-opted MSP, aligns with the government when facing challenges to the Islamic national identity, for example, in the context of political exchanges with the West.

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The foreign relations representative of the MSP said, “We [the MSP] are currently in the presidential coalition, which means that we are no longer in the opposition. However, we are not exercising power as the two other parties (RND and FLN). We were obliged to take part in the democracy building process because the context was specific, but we always express our differences when we have to. We enjoy this independence.”8 While Djaballah explained, “I am just positioning myself as an official Algerian party. When I am discussing Euro-Med issues, I am doing it as an Algerian party, looking at issues which concern Algeria as a nation. They call us Islamists but this is not a dialogue among religions that I am trying to manage! For me, Islam is a complete system with its faith, economic, social, legal and political aspects. But I am doing it above all as an Algerian.”9 The entry of the MSP and MNR into the official Algerian political scene also enabled them to work with other political actors, giving them new resources and new visibility. These alliances also changed their conception of power. There is the example of the MSP’s participation in the presidential coalition and the case of the MNR making alliances with clearly nonreligious parties, such as the Rally for Culture and Democracy (at-Tajammu’ min ‘ajl at-taqafah wad-Dimuqratiyya—RCD) and the Worker’s Party (Hizb al-’Ummal—PT). Djaballah now considers these the only true opposition parties, including its own, saying that secular parties were anticonstitutional. These new alliances show how much their political professionalization10 forced them to adapt to political changes. The only negative effect of the professionalization that these Islamist parties experienced is in the weakening of their ties with their grassroots. First, they lost their place on the ground as actors of Islamic associations by becoming parliamentarians in the 1990s. With their support for the presidential initiative of national reconciliation,11 they also lost the support of the antistate Islamist electorate, estimated to number around 4 million. European observers often viewed them as representative of the masses, which is doubtful. Their membership is in fact very elitist, based on a small number of co-opted people, and when discussing with secular actors or with the EU itself, they continually stress that the majority of their supporters are from the rising middle classes, with large numbers of women, students, and people from liberal professions (retailers, lawyers, doctors, engineers, etc.). Faced with this process of more Islamists becoming middle class, many former activists are turning to Salafism,12 a movement that is not politically active.13 In reality, there is a need to differentiate between the electoral success of these parties and the reasons that push activists to commit to them. They are today the only real receptacles for protest votes against the frustrations generated by the West and by state authoritarianism.


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The MSP and MNR parties often put emphasis on active participation of their cells for women and young people. The Algerian Islamist base sees the women’s cell of the MSP, which is the most significant in terms of numbers in the Algerian political scene, as an alternative to the lack of political openness for them. People are not necessarily activists for political or ideological reasons but for pragmatic reasons. Thus, the MSP provides the chance to learn about politics through training units that draw strongly on the Muslim Brotherhood model (Usra), political education programs activists will not find elsewhere. These parties also organize meetings to comment on current news and report on books read individually. The universities are also important places to raise awareness about the MSP and the MNR. Thus, the General Union of Free Students in Algeria (UGEL), having shifted their support to the Islamists after being disappointed by the left, regularly organize conferences on their campuses on the role of Islam and the Muslim peoples, organize demonstrations to support needy students, and distribute religious literature or organize protest strikes against various draft laws. Activists and supporters also find in these parties a socializing element that allows them to find a network of solidarity among members, to find a spouse, to set up businesses via investment vehicles known as “tontines,” or to find accommodations. Finally, these parties also often benefit from the vote of activists from other Islamist parties. This professionalization also obliged the MSP and the MNR to rethink the gray zones14 of their policies with regard to democracy. How does one continue to be the opposition and set their group apart as Islamists while at the same time playing the inclusion card? Instead of adopting a detailed political program specific to them as Islamists (the internal crisis of the former model of the Islamist utopia adjusting poorly to the daily and nonrevolutionary reality of its citizens), these parties prefer to present themselves as defenders of Islamic virtue by insisting on the defense of morals. Thus, MPs of the MSP managed to ban the broadcasting of the Lebanese variety program Star Academiya in Algeria because this program presented Algerian youth with depraved young singers. The MSP denounced the Christian evangelization of Kabylia and continued to be vague on the rights of religious minorities. It also took issue with the decision to remove the teaching on the Koran from the baccalaureate by saying that it was “in blatant contradiction with the government’s initiatives to teach good Islam.” In 2004, the MNR proposed and voted for the Algerian law forbidding the importation of alcohol and strongly opposed the revision of the Algerian family code aimed to give more independence to women in family affairs. An activist of the MNR explained, “Our party is the target of those who want to impose an imported project of society to Algeria and who want the

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westernization of the Nation. Our project of society is democratic. Islam and nationalism are its two main pillars.”15 This high level of visibility in terms of defending Islamic morality is a way for these parties to appear as the defenders of Islamic values at low cost, and in a consensual way, as these positions converge with conservative and traditionalist wings of opinion in the country. The aim of this criticism is to win popularity among the masses, especially in election periods when declarations on the Islamic nature of society are most frequent, but do not stand in the way of more complex strategies of forming alliances with the state or other parties on the defense of the national Islamic identity. Thus, Menasra, the MSP’s number two, explained that the party agrees with the National Rally for Democracy (RND—Bouteflika’s party) when it comes to the economy because it advocates the total opening of the market. Its differences with the FLN are more to do with religion and freedoms. Following its oppositional course of action, the MNR often allies with the extreme left wing to denounce election fraud, the privatization of national resources, or to defend the judiciary’s independence and the rights of labor unions. The traditional issue of knowing how sincere or duplicitous16 they are being with regard to some gray zones must be resolved in a pragmatic way, mainly because their opinions on these gray zones are in fact changing. By taking part in different elections (local, presidential, and legislative) and in different government coalitions (in the case of Algeria), the political nature of these parties has evolved. Parliamentary and government experience has led their leaders to renew their discourses. They are leaving behind religious themes for more political and secular issues. They are also adjusting their political program to the government’s public policies. The political programs of the MNR17 and the MSP are therefore imprecise, espousing where necessary different government policies, while still distinguishing themselves as Islamist. In many cases, their ideology fits in closely with the positions of the government’s religious affairs ministries. It is the profoundly political nature of this Islamism, which is changing according to current events and the demands of the people and which will have to respond to the question of its sincerity in relation to democratic values. It is the framework within which their ideology is expressed (opposition to authoritarianism, then involvement in routine national issues), which determines their relations with democracy. The question of Islamists’ compatibility with democracy is therefore not very relevant, as we observe the participation of Islamists in the process of democratization, itself strongly controlled by states. Now professional and legal parties, they are rethinking their place not only in relation to the national context but also to external actors such as the EU. They are therefore taking various diplomatic steps to maintain


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contacts in Europe, with missions to present their program, carry out interfaith dialogue, and take part in discussions on Arab reforms.

Ac tiv ities w ith Musli ms i n Europe Exile in Europe after Repression in Algeria Algerian Islamists have great interest in political action linked in one way or another to Europe. Their implantation in Europe is partly because the scope of their political action was so limited under Arab regimes. Thus, the stopping of the electoral process in Algeria in 1991, which prevented the FIS from coming to power, led some Islamist leaders, activists, and supporters to leave the country and settle in France, Great Britain, Germany, and Belgium. Because they could partly express themselves freely there, Islamists perceived the West, and particularly Europe as a natural place of refuge. Historically, relations with Europe were initially only about using Europe as a political platform. In France, some exiled members of the FIS created the Algerian Brotherhood of France (FAF). Founded in 1990, the FAF, led by Algerian students such as Moussa Kraouche, aimed to be the FIS’s representative in France. Algerian Islamism in Europe developed partly because of the activism of political refugees who fled political repression in their country, as well as through the political commitment of students who had come to pursue further education in the early 1990s. For those opposed to their state at the political level, there was no longer any need to act in the concerned country. It became possible for the Islamists to pursue political struggles via transnational opposition. In this case, a deterritorialization of the Islamist activity from Algeria to Europe, in order to avoid repression and to acquire political resources that could be used in future negotiations with the Algerian State. It is also interesting to observe how Islamist movements espoused the available political structures in Europe (through Islamic councils, the presence of imams in the local mosques, and by joining Islamic associations that already exist in Europe). Thus, some of the former FIS activists became members of the Union des Organisations Islamiques de France (UOIF),18 the main federation of Islamic associations in France and a pillar of the Conseil Français du Culte Musulman (CFCM), which aims to represent the interests of Muslims in France and, which was structured by the Ministry of the Interior in 2003. Europe was a land of exile for some Algerian Islamists but also presented the opportunity of using European Islamic structures to defend Muslim minority rights. In the 1990s, Algerian Islamists decided to use the associative framework rather than a political party for being active on Islamic issues. These associations aimed to control the activities of a new type of activists, the young Muslims born in Europe. For example,

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these associations led campaigns for integrating Muslims into the European political and social landscape, calling them to join electoral lists and to vote. The UOIF is an example of an association that started as an Islamist heritage but converted its activities to the defense and integration of Muslims in Europe. An activist structure founded in 1983 by a group of Tunisian and Middle Eastern political refugees and Islamist students, the UOIF was destined to become the host organization of exiled Islamists. Linked to the International Muslim Brotherhood, the UOIF initially had a strong Islamist tradition and little interest in action in the host country. Toward the end of the 1980s, it changed direction, convinced of the relevance of and need for being active in France and Europe. The UOIF took up the cause of the young, veiled students excluded from school in 1989, organizing demonstrations and alerting the media on this issue. In the same spirit, it also tried to ban the publishing in French of the Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie. More recently, it called members of the Muslim community to mobilize through petitions, demonstrations, and boycotts to end Islamophobic representations of the Prophet Mohammed, first published in the Danish newspaper Jyllands-Posten on September 2005 and then reproduced by some European newspapers. Some of the MSP activists and supporters, such as Okacha Ben Ahmed, secretary-general of the UOIF, and Fethi Belabdelli, former president of the student section of the UOIF, known as the Muslim Students of France (EMF), were among the senior officials of the UOIF. With Algerian roots, they were active in Algeria through the UGEL, which had close ties to the MSP, before moving to France to pursue their higher education. When they arrived in France, they continued their activism in EMF, present in twenty French universities. They then joined the management structures of the UOIF. Many Islamist parties merged into the European Islamic scene preferring to work with cultural associations, creating new associations or joining existing ones. The Islamist parties are mobilizing themselves from their home countries to defend European Muslims. During the thirty-third session of foreign ministers of member countries of the Islamic Conference Organisation (ICO) in 2006, Aboujerra Soltani proposed setting up a mechanism to fight against the Islamophobia that he claims is rife primarily in the West. Its aim is to bring Islamic states to pass laws to fight this phenomenon and to work toward adopting a UN resolution to protect Islam and its symbols. The Algerian proposal calls for the creation of an Islamic fund to support efforts to combat Islamophobia in Western countries and to promote the values of dialogue and tolerance between cultures, religions, and civilizations. It also puts the emphasis on the need for Islamic countries to legislate economic boycotts against countries that encourage Islamophobia.


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The proposal sets out a series of measures—mobilization of Muslim NGOs working in Europe and stepping up cooperation with the Council of Europe and the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe. It also advocates closer dialogue with political parties, decision makers, and NGOs to influence the content of school programs that circulate a “distorted image” of Islam passed from generation to generation.19

Algerian Islamist Vote in Europe The MSP and MNR—two parties taking part in elections in Algeria and recognized as official movements by the authorities there—are also present in Europe for electoral reasons. With more than 1 million Algerian nationals living in Europe, mainly in France, the MSP and MNR see these immigrants and their dual-nationality children as a significant pool of voters for them to mobilize during election campaigns. Therefore, these parties’ election campaigns also target compatriots living in Europe to win their votes. According to one official from the MSP network in France, “There is a quota share of parliamentary seats reserved for Algerians in France. The authorities organize elections in the consulates to elect these MPs. So, in the MSP we target our campaign in France at Algerian nationals by distributing leaflets or organizing little meetings. The aim is to woo the immigrant voters. We do politics here in France to win the elections; we try to have a network within the Algerian community in Europe. We also have a party representative in each consulate.” In the case of the MSP, the idea is to maintain the feeling of national belonging among Algerian nationals and to carry out a cultural development policy between the two countries. According to an official from the MSP, the MSP’s policy on immigration is to act as a bridge between the immigrants and their country of origin. We also want to take part in bringing France and Algeria closer together. Personally, I’ve tried to win two towns—one Algerian and the other French—we have had meetings with French and Algerian doctors, between researchers, etc. Having a network is really our first objective. All the moderate Muslims in France and Algeria vote for us even if they are not members because they recognize themselves in our discourse. Now with the beurs [second-generation North Africans living in France], it is true that it doesn’t really work for all the Algerian parties. They are much more interested in French politics. We prefer that they take an interest in France but if they can do both that’s good.

During the 1997 presidential elections, the MSP candidate Mahfoudh Nahnah took first place in the Algerian consulates of Strasbourg, Nice, and Grenoble, well ahead of the candidate winning the presidential elections,

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Liamine Zeroual. Although dissolved since 1992, the FIS was also trying to win the votes of Algerians abroad. Rabah Kébir, head of the executive delegation of the Front Islamique du Salut, who took refuge in Germany, called on them to vote for Abdellaliz Bouteflika during the 2002 presidential elections. He also invited the different Islamists and terrorists living in Europe to come to Algerian consulates abroad to benefit from a law on civil concord, promulgated in 2000, the aim of which was to grant amnesty to those responsible for crimes during the civil war.

E u ro pea n Po l ic ies toward Is l a mi sm The European Union currently has no policy aimed specifically at initiating a dialogue with Islamist parties. The various European policy instruments do not officially target Islamists, and in practice, many EU programs marginalize the majority of Islamists. It is nonetheless worth noting that certain members of parliament from the Islamist parties represent their country, for instance, through participation in interparliamentary friendship groups with their counterparts from Member States. The foreign ministries of certain Member States set up discussion groups focusing officially on the Islamic world.20 Dialogue with Islamists remains informal and occurs outside the institutionalized structure, despite the growing interest expressed by the European Union over political Islam. The EU’s caution stems from a number of factors: terrorism (particularly after the London and Madrid attacks), the monopolizing presence of secular associations, the government elite in EU programs with the Maghreb, and the difficulty developing and mobilizing cooperation tools that correspond to the official emergence of these new Islamist political players. The EU first began to take due account of Islamist movements in the region. Largely because of security considerations, these movements were considered to have ambiguous relations with terrorism. Indeed, in the 1990s, European policymakers did not equate Islamist movements with institutionalized political parties but with the attacks in the Paris underground or the hijacking of the Air France aircraft, for which the Algerian GIA claimed responsibility. The Catholic community of Sant’Egidio organized a conference in Rome in January 1995, which aimed to bring together the different Algerian opposition parties. Those invited were notably the FIS and the MNR but not the MSP, as it was recalcitrant to an imported national crisis resolution. Throughout the 1990s, the EU and its Member States implicitly supported southern Mediterranean states’ policies of repression in the face of Islamist movements.21 It is important to remember Algeria’s refusal of a greater European involvement in Islamist questions in the 1990s, with, for example, the EU Troïka’s controversial visit to Algiers on January 19–20, 1998, proposed by then foreign


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minister of Germany, Klaus Kinkel, which aimed at setting up a committee of inquiry on the massacres of Algerian civilians. The initiative ended in failure because Algeria refused to allow the Troika to meet representatives of civil society (including Islamists). The European Parliament’s (EP) role has always been considerably different, although often marginalized. Indeed, it was in parliament that Mahmoud Nahnah, then-president of the MSP, spoke out on the Algerian civil war. Another visit to Algeria organized by nine members of the European Parliament, took place from February 8 to February 12, 1998, with the aim of providing support for the national assembly in Algeria and the process of democratization. Despite their insistence on holding talks with members of civil society and the FIS, the Euro-MPs met with the same refusal as the Troika. The EP delegation, while rejecting all sympathy for the FIS and in particular an open letter addressed to it by that party, argued that the FIS should be included in the effort to work out a political solution to end the civil war. Members of the EP roundly criticized the EU’s process of selecting its political partners to the detriment among others of the Islamists.22 The EU continued for some time to stigmatize the Islamist parties, seeing them as terrorist organizations undermining the region’s stability and security, and refusing to treat them as political partners. The Euro-Med partnership excluded civil society associations or NGOs with Islamist leanings. This stigmatization also gave rise to an overrepresentation of secular and progovernmental associations and a relative indifference by Islamists to the Euro-Med Partnership. The disbanded FIS, whose members sought refuge primarily in Europe since the 1990s, was the only party to complain to the European Parliament, in a letter dated July 2, 2001, about the European Union’s role in the conflict settlement. The EU “multiplied its political, diplomatic and financial aid to the regime and stepped up its security cooperation with it through the Mediterranean forum, the Conference of Home Affairs Ministers of the Mediterranean countries and other Euro-Mediterranean bodies.”23 Islamists are, however, particularly critical of the policies pursued under the Euro-Med partnership, decrying Europe’s supposed determination to impose its own values, in particular on women’s rights, through its cooperation programs. Another frequent reproach by Islamists is that Europe should work to ensure respect for the rights of Muslims in Europe rather than try to influence the orientations of Muslim civil societies in the Arab world.24 The start of the twenty-first century saw a major change with respect to the role of Islamist parties in European politics. This concerns the effective monopoly maintained by France in the 1990s over the orientation of the EU’s relations with Islamist parties and democratization in the Maghreb countries, for whom France had long been the privileged partner. The idea held at the time was that popular terrorist movements

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were rooted in the economic problems of the countries concerned.25 The events of 9/11,26 as well as the experience of terrorist attacks of Member States other than France, such as Spain and the United Kingdom, shook that view. These countries contributed to a view of terrorism linked less to a political Islam aimed at the destabilization of regimes in the region; on the contrary, they established a clear distinction between the economic and political conditions of the countries concerned and the fight against international terrorism. Paradoxically, the fact that “security thinking has absorbed the political”27 perhaps offers new opportunities today for purely political dialogue with Islamist parties and consequently greater integration into EU policies, as they are set apart from the question of terrorism. The emergence of bilateral initiatives by Member States such as Britain, Germany, and Spain are going to lead to a more pragmatic dialogue with Islamist parties. What does not exist at the European Union level is already a reality at the national level. A number of Islamist MPs are indeed members of bilateral parliamentary groups or take part in interregional or intermunicipal projects with certain Member States. The reason for such cooperation stems no doubt from the fact that these activities are in keeping with the national policies of their countries and leave little room for them to play on their specific Islamist identity. Similarly, initiatives such as the Convention of the Organisation of the Islamic Conference (OIC)28 on combating international terrorism, signed in Ouagadougou on July 1, 1999, and the OIC’s ongoing dialogue with the EU since 199929 involve certain Islamists in dialogue with the EU, but always as representatives of their national entity. As regards Islamists in Europe, the EU assiduously avoids referring to their participation in a political sense, emphasizing intercultural dialogue.30 Islamist are then concerned as national representatives by the Euro-Med Partnership as well as by the European Neighborhood Policy. However, the absence of official European intentions to converse with the Islamist actors as such, led them to have doubts about Europe as a full and nonideologically oriented democratic model.

Fa ilu re o f E uro pe as a D emocr at ic Mo del and the New Is l ami c D emo c r atiz atio n Opti on The EU’s refusal to recognize the democratic electoral victory of Hamas, the Palestinian Islamist Party, has in large measure undermined the credibility of EU discourse on democratization in Muslim countries among civil societies and Islamist parties alike. Today, a number of Islamist party leaders and activists are raising the question of the possibility of an Islamic democracy that is a democratic system inspired in large measure by the European democratic model and Islam, but with an original trajectory


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independent of Europe’s whims.31 In interviews, the majority of Islamist players declared that they did not reject the possibility of becoming more democratic, thanks to Europe and its support, but not like Europe. What they dispute is the necessity of being in conformity with European demands and of acting solely via the democratization programs proposed by Europe to build democracy. The Islamists also contest, regarding the dynamics of democratization in the southern countries, the EU’s promotion of a democracy with external objectives aimed at creating stability and security for direct exchanges between Europe and its partners on civil society and the opposition parties (particularly through freedom of expression, access of the masses to the political sphere, etc.). The United States and Europe would like a democratization of their own choosing, albeit realizing that the democratization dynamic they have long been advocating will not necessarily produce the political result they are seeking for the stability of the region.32 One MSP commented, “I was at this Wilton Park conference and they were wondering how to be more efficient on the democratization process in the region. Honestly I was skeptical about their proposals as I saw how they support the undemocratic aspects of our governments, or with regard to their unfairness toward the Palestinian occupation or the Hamas victory! For these reasons, I always prefer to talk about the need for a dialogue with the EU than for genuine cooperation.”33 One sign that perhaps attests to the EU’s nascent will to consider these factors is found in the recommendations of the final report on the “EU Strategic Partnership with the Mediterranean and the Middle East.” The report calls on the EU to “engage with non-violent political organizations and civil society movements at all levels in society, with such engagement open to all organizations committed to non-violent and democratic means.”34 However, the EU’s disregard for cases of torture and abusive detention of Islamist activists, the exclusion of trade unions dominated by Islamists from Euro-Med networks and the intercultural aspect given to interreligious dialogue have given credence to the idea among Arab protagonists of a profoundly secular European conception of democracy, leaving little room for the expression of religious identities. According to Abdellah Djaballah, The west was living in darkness while we had Andalusia, Al Qarawiyine [an Islamic university in Morocco]. They began to learn about justice, citizenship or even the relationship between people and the State when we had all this for 1000 years! Why are they silent on the legacy of the “South” in today’s Europe? What about St Augustine? What about Constantine first? Islam is dine wa daoula [religion and state affairs]. We cannot have religious beliefs [‘aqida] without a law [Sharia]. This is also the way Europe has been built,

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between faith and jurisdiction, and now they are going through a major identity crisis. I want them to talk about Islam from an Islamic perspective, not only from their own conception. I do not talk about democracy because it is already in my Islamic culture. Democratizing a religious party [hizb dini] sounds weird, weary to me! Thinking in terms of Islamism vs. democratization is the sign that the West refuses to understand my conception of governance, politics etc.35

Accordingly, the democratization initiatives promoted by the EU seem no longer to inspire confidence among Islamist players, who have difficulty identifying with them. For many observers, a reflection in the EU on Islamic political and social values, especially concerning the question of democracy, could help dissipate the Muslim countries’ impression of cultural imperialism in Europe’s attempts to promote democracy in the region.36 The idea is that the Islamists would serve as a rampart against dictators and would be a vector of democratization, developing “an Islamic ethic of democracy”37 that does not manage the government but supports it, since democracy is a political culture that can have such cultural specificities, notably in the Muslim context. Drawing on resources that support democracy and human rights from within the Islamic heritage, such as the concept of shoura (fair consultation in a policymaking process), respect for law, the central role of moral values like equality, social justice, and women’s social and political rights, never considered by Europe and it is time to launch the study of such possibilities. Including elements of Islamic philosophy in the arguments in support of democracy does not mean, however, locking this issue into an Islamic framework. What Europe has to avoid in this type of approach is reducing democratization in the south to a sort of intercultural dialogue between the two parties, legitimating therein the use of political norms different from those applying to political players in the North. It is precisely the argument of an “Islamic cultural specificity” that has enabled the authoritarianism of certain Arab states to monopolize and employ Islam as a resource and to crack down on all attempts at opposition and change. Paying heed to the requests of civil societies and what they are trying to build, and thus ensuring their representation in institutions in these countries, will consequently be more effective than the north’s current obsession with the question of Arab reform, without, moreover, managing to identify the reformers. It would also be illusory and superficial to consider the Islamists as the new “miracle” political protagonists of the region, after having long treated them as the “untouchables of the democracy assistance world.”38 A renewal of the elite participating in both the Euro-Med Partnership and the European Neighborhood Policy is imperative today. Unfailing support for the authoritarian aspects of certain southern countries and


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overrepresentation of their elite in the EU’s cooperation programs will not be effective for reducing the perception that Europe has no legitimacy to discuss questions of democratization, a feeling that is on the increase in the Arab world. The interest presented by Islamist parties and the civil society associations that form part of their movement is not due exclusively to the question of Islam. In any case, it is not the role of the EU to exacerbate the religious aspect of these parties, which is extremely cyclical. What is more useful, is the possibility for the EU to embark on a new dynamic on democratization questions with new political actors, seen as legitimate in the eyes of some Arab civil societies. These Islamist parties must nonetheless agree to clarify their stance on political pluralism and other values promoted by the EU, not on an Islamic normative basis, but pragmatically through training programs approved jointly by the EU, the states, and the parties.

Areas o f Potenti al C o l l a bo r atio n wi th Euro pe Arab public opinion condemns the West, particularly the United States, with near unanimity, for its policy in the wider Middle East (the war in Iraq, support for Israel on Palestinian and Lebanese issues, etc.). However, since the attacks of 9/11, European administrations have begun to reflect on the question of official ties with representatives of the legalized Islamist movement in the Maghreb and in the Middle East. How could Islamist actors, previously considered enemies, change the perception in the space of a decade, of them as partners of dialogue? It comes partly from the changing Western government strategy in the management of the Islamist phenomenon and partly from the changing position of the Islamists themselves toward the West. The debate over including Islamists in European policies sprang from a statement made by the United States—the democratization of Arab countries will inevitably lead to the victory of Islamists. “So it is better to prepare the ground by talking with the moderates among them rather than see this region plunge into terrorism,” said one American diplomat. The aim is to encourage the democratization of the regimes concerned because Arab despotism fueled the resentment of the populations and led to political violence. The Islamists in the Arab world also seem convinced by this prediction and have been undertaking important quasi-diplomatic external relations work with the United States and the EU after 9/11. This change in relations between Western countries and Islamists is also the result of changes in the positions of Islamists themselves toward the West. For the MSP, much more than the MNR, it is

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about developing networks outside Algeria via meetings, conferences, and seminars, where diplomats, politicians, senior civil servants, and Islamist party officials meet. By developing relations of this kind, they can present their often poorly known program to the outside world while coming across within their countries as central political actors able to muster international networks and support. However, one should underline that Islamists in Algeria are not doing it as well as their Moroccan neighbors, for example. This isolation is partly due to the Algerian civil war of the 1990s. Following these events, a party such as the MNR does not seem to have benefited from a renewed interest among European policymakers. MNR’s marginalization acted clearly in favor of the active external work of the MSP, which appears as more moderate to the West, and which enjoys assets that the MNR may not have such as multilingual activists. “I am not asking anything. I don’t ask anything of people who stigmatize me. I had exchanges with the EU in the 1990s but since the national crisis is over and we don’t appear anymore as dangerous for their democracy, I felt that they don’t really want to learn about what so-called Islamist parties really are. They only want to discuss which parties have renounced their Islamic identity.”39 When examining the chapter devoted to the external relations policies in the MRN 2004 program for the presidential elections,40 there are passages concerned with the North African space, the African space, the Islamic space, and the Arab space; but the MNR does not deal at all with Europe or even with the West as such. This comes only under the terms of International Organizations and the Worldwide Space, which suggest a partnership with Europe. Themes such as, “Encouraging the culture of dialogue and positive reciprocity,” “Rejecting nuclear proliferation and preserve peace and security in the Mediterranean region,” and “Encouraging economic and scientific exchanges” are for the MNR examples of possible collaboration with the EU. The new partnership proposed by the United States is also reason for the repositioning of many Algerian Islamists on the establishment of political links with external actors. While Europe has long considered Islamism through the eyes and expectations of its Member States, depending on the dynamics of openings or restrictions within the political space in the south, the United States takes an (overly) global approach to the Muslim world. Among U.S. projects and policies in the Muslim world, promoting an Islam favorable to U.S. democratization dynamics, Washington, DC, financed numerous Islamic radio and TV programs, to which members of Islamist parties contributed, as well as think tanks headed by members of Islamist parties, classes in Koranic schools, workshops for Islamist activists on political questions, aid for restoring mosques and collections of ancient Korans.41 In Algeria, there have been workshops organized for


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Islamic activists, and the restoration of more than one thousand ancient Islamic manuscripts has already taken place. The National Democratic Institute opened an office in Algiers in 2003 to facilitate training programs, meetings, and consultations with Islamist actors. Therefore, since the start of the twenty-first century, Europe has been a strategic location for the dissemination of the ideas and political programs of Islamist movements from the Maghreb. Alongside the Muslim communities present in Europe, there is an effort to establish a political dialogue with the institutions of the Member States both at a structural (parties, policies, trade unions) and intellectual, or semipolitical (think tanks, foundations, universities) level. Algerians have formal exchanges with EU member state ambassadors in Algeria. For encounters outside of Algeria, it is mainly done through our parliamentary roles, and it does not allow us to build direct relationships. Exchanges at an institutional level are still complicated to realize but other structures are more yielding, such as European political parties, European think tanks, or foundations. With these structures, we have exchanges on the question of reform and not only on the Islamist issue. The European Union should better understand why it is not successful in achieving reforms in the Arab world and increasing its dialogue with the whole civil society. In any case, we are looking for any type of partners in terms of dialogue. The cooperation issues will depend on the interest of each other.42

C o nc lusi on This chapter has shown that the official entry of Islamist parties into politics has had two results—(1) avoiding radicalization and (2) professionalization. The approach of the EU should cease to regard them as sacred in a religious sense, and cease demonizing them, to allow decision makers to focus on the political issues that the presence of Islamists raised. Having dropped their revolutionary trappings and become committed to the political management of the daily problems of their voters, parties such as the MSP and MNR in Algeria should be enabled to take part in cooperation programs from which the EU, in the opinion of a large part of Arab civil societies, should no longer exclude them. The partnership that the EU could have with Islamist parties should relate to sector-specific programs in the region, differentiating the political, social, and economic lines of action. There is no need to think up new programs specifically created for Islamist actors and their organizations but simply to encourage their inclusion in the programs that already exist. In the first place, it is appropriate to perceive Islamists as political actors. As Algeria has a long history of cooperation with Europe, the interest

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of its Islamist parties in the policies of Europe and its Member States is important, compared with elsewhere in the Middle East. Despite that, European policies relating to the region remain poorly understood by Islamists. Therefore, the EU, especially via its delegations in the countries concerned, should work to step up the visibility of and explain its main programs such as the Euro-Mediterranean Partnership and the European Neighborhood Policy. It will be particularly important to associate grassroots activists and Islamic civil society associations in these training activities on Europe. The emphasis should be put on the political nature of Islamist actors and their parties and thus differentiate the political approach of Islamists from the religious or intercultural. Members of these parties need to acquire specific skills and bring their experience in line with international political practices. Both European Member States at a national level and the EU as part of the Euro-Med exchanges (notably via the Euro-Med Parliamentary Assembly) should promote exchanges of experience between Maghreb Islamist parties and European foundations/political parties. Ahead of the 2007 elections, technical training on managing political projects, running electoral campaigns, and cooperating with national and international institutions was offered to candidates. Such training actions will also be required for the longer term and in due course be opened to activists and not just leaders. The EU should promote work in these countries to strengthen national institutions, which do not exclude Islamist parties. Only civil servants chosen by governments have so far benefited from MEDA programs to strengthen institutions. It appears vital to strengthen professional norms, notably through parliamentary experience and the cooperation with both secular and nonsecular parties should be encouraged. The issue of democratization, present in the partnership with the EU, should also leave room for joint work on specific points where the institutions can address social problems. This institutionalized cooperation will also allow the Islamists to gain credibility by clarifying their positions on gray zones. To ensure that the partnership evolves and continues to concern actors from the south, the EU should promote the existence of independent national civil society commissions making it possible to assess, criticize, and propose adjustments to European policies for the region. Bringing Islamists into these kinds of structures would help counter the feeling that the EU only proposes a Eurocentric democratization that does not meet the expectations of those concerned.


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N otes 1. Islamist actors adjust their demands and working methods according to the political framework within which they operate. Often, EU policies do not account for this diversity, especially those designed to prevent terrorism and religious radicalization. This research focuses on political Islamism, defined as “the active assertion and promotion of beliefs, prescriptions, laws, or policies that are held to be Islamic in character” in International Crisis Group, Understanding Islamism, Middle East/North Africa Report, no. 37, March 2005. 2. On the question of the failure of political Islam to impose an Islamic state to the regime, see, among others, Roy Olivier, L’échec de l’islam politique (Paris: Seuil, 1992), and Gilles Kepel, Jihad, expansion et déclin de l’islamisme (Paris: Gallimard, 2000). For a description of the dynamics of the evolution of Islamist parties, see, among others, Dale Eickelman and James Piscatori, Muslim Politics (Princeton: NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996); Joel Beinin and Joe Stork, eds., Political Islam (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997); Mohammed Hafez, Why Muslims Rebel (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2003); and Quintan Wiktorowicz, ed., Islamic Activism. A Social Movement Theory (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2004). 3. Salwa Ismail, “The Paradox of Islamist Politics,” Middle East Report (Winter 2001). 4. For a more complete list of the MSP’s officials and their program, see the MSP’s website (in Arabic), http://www.hmsalgeria.net/. 5. Michael Willis, “Algeria’s Other Islamists: Abdallah Djaballah and the Ennadhda Movement,” Journal of North African Studies 3, no. 3 (Autumn 1998). 6. Lahouari Addi, “Les partis politiques en Algérie,” Revue des mondes musulmans et de la Méditerranée (April 2006): 111–12. 7. Noura Hamladji, “Co-optation, repression and authoritarian regime’s survival: The case of the Islamist MSP-Hamas in Algeria.” SPS Working Papers, European University Institute, 2002. 8. Abdelkrim Dahmene, Foreign Relations representative of the MSP. 9. Abdellah Djaballah. 10. We define professionalization as the incorporation of political activists into the established political system. In this case, its consequences are nationalization of discourse, ideology, and creation of new political partnerships. This phenomenon is not restricted to Islamist actors and is specific of participative democracy’s context. See Max Weber, Politik als Beruf (Ditzingen, 1992). However, one should also ask whether this professionalization would allow legalized Islamist parties to secure a monopolistic expression of political Islam in Algeria toward the state and the EU. One of its immediate consequences for the EU is at least the nationalization of its relationships with such actors. For a description of the Islamist professionalization processes in the Arab world, see Jean-Nöel Ferrié, “La parlementarisation de l’islam politique: la dynamique des modérés,” Euromesco Papers, no. 41 (September 2005). 11. The national reconciliation charter proposed by President Bouteflika and voted by a national referendum to pardon crimes committed during the Algerian civil war.

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12. “Youridoun moughadarat al-bilad wa bad’ safha jadda: Shabab Jazairiyoun tarakou al-silah ila al-Ouslah wa Khaybat al-Amal” [Ils veulent quitter le pays et tourner la page: Les jeunes algériens abandonnent les armes pour la solitude et le désespoir], Al-Hayat, May 23, 2000. 13. Lahouari Addi, “En Algérie, du conflit armé à la violence sociale,” Le Monde Diplomatique, April 2006. 14. Gray zones represent ambiguous attitudes of Islamists toward what the EU calls “European values of democracy,” such as women’s rights, religious minorities, morals in public life, application of Sharia and the Hudud (corporal punishment), the use of violence, political pluralism, the religious freedom of minorities, and the rest. Muslim thinkers debate these issues. See Nathan J. Brown, Amr Hamzawy, and Marina Ottaway, “Islamist Movements and the Democratic Process in the Arab World: Exploring the Gray Zones,” Carnegie Papers 67 (March 2006). 15. Interview with the author. 16. Graham E. Fuller, “Islamists in the Arab world: The Dance around Democracy,” Carnegie Papers 49 (September 2004). 17. For a general view of the MNR program, see http://www.elislah.net/ (in Arabic). 18. Committed to a strategy of using associations at national and European levels, the UOIF became a major player in the re-Islamization of young European Muslims by proposing a range of social services (school support, psychological and legal help for families, etc.) and religious services. It is part of a supranational structure whose headquarters, the Union des Organisation Islamiques en Europe (UOIE), led by a Briton of Iraqi origin, Ahmed al-Rawi, is in the United Kingdom. The UOIF manages around thirty mosques throughout France, including Bordeaux (800 seats) and Lille (1,200 seats). Every spring, it organizes a big event in France, the Congress of Bourget, bringing together nearly fifty thousand people from all over Europe. Every year, Mahfoudh Nahnah, the founder of the MSP, gave a lecture there. The current president of the MSP, Aboujerra Soltani, speaks on behalf of the movement during the Congress. In 2006, his speech was about the ethics of dialogue. Finally, numerous imams who operate in French mosques are linked to the MSP and the MNR. 19. Abdelkamel Kader, “Aboujerra Soltani se met à la diplomatie islamique,” Liberté, June 21, 2006. 20. Thus, the British initiative of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, called “Engaging with the Islamic World” and of the German Foreign Affairs Ministry and its “Dialog mit der islamischen Welt.” 21. Annette Jünemann, “Support for Democracy or Fear of Islamism? Europe and Algeria,” in The Islamic World and the West: An Introduction to Political Cultures and International Relations, ed. Hafez Kai (London: Brill Academic, 2000). 22. Commission des affaires étrangères, de la sécurité et de la politique de défense, Rapport de la délégation ad hoc pour l’Algérie (8-12 février 1998), Parlement Européen, Bruxelles, 1998. 23. http://ccfis.fisweb.org/dispcol.asp?art=411&ccolumn=6.


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24. Interviews with several members of various Islamist parties. 25. Olfa Lamloum, “L’enjeu de l’islamisme au cœur du processus de Barcelone,” Critique Internationale, January 18, 2003. 26. Euromed Report, “Conséquences économiques éventuelles des évènements du 11 Septembre 2001,” Eléments d’appréciation pour la Méditerranée, 50, June 26, 2002. 27. Lamloum 2003. 28. The Organisation of the Islamic Conference was founded in 1970 and has fifty-five member countries. Its headquarters are in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. 29. The first dialogue with the Organisation of the Islamic Conference (OIC) took place in Helsinki in December 1999, followed by a meeting of thirty foreign affairs ministers from the EU and OIC within the joint OIC-EU forum in Istanbul in February 2002 on the issues of harmony between civilizations, resolution of conflicts, human rights in Islam and cooperation in the fight against terrorism. The forum was at the invitation of the Turkish Foreign Affairs minister. Source: website of the Turkish MAE: http://www .mfa.gov.tr/OIC_EU_cdrom/index.htm[0]. 30. Tariq Ramadan, a Swiss intellectual close to the thinking of the Muslim Brothers, took part in the group of advisors created under Romano Prodi in 2004. See the resulting report: Group of Policy Advisers, Dialogue between peoples and cultures in the Euro-Mediterranean area, European Commission, Luxembourg, Office for Official Publications of the European Communities, 2004. 31. Bobby Sayyid, Fundamental Fear: Eurocentrism and the Emergence of Islamism (London: Zed Books, 1997). 32. Gregory Causse III, “Can democracy stop terrorism?” Foreign Affairs, September–October 2005. 33. Abdelkrim Dahmene. 34. See the final report of the EU Strategic Partnership with the Mediterranean and the Middle East, European Commission, EuroMed Report, 78, June 24, 2004. 35. Abdellah Djaballah. 36. Richard Gillespie and Richard Young, “Democracy and the EMP: European and Arab Perspectives,” Euromesco Brief, 6, 2003. 37. Bassam Tibi, “Islam, Freedom and Democracy in the Arab World,” in Democratisation in the European Neighborhood, ed. Michael Emerson (Brussels: Center for European Policy Studies), 2005. 38. Richard Young, “Europe’s Uncertain Pursuit of Middle East Reform,” Carnegie Papers, 45, June 2004. 39. Abdellah Djaballah. 40. Harakat al-Islah al Watani, al-Barnamaj as-Siyasi, 2004. 41. For a full list of projects carried out by country, see the website of the National Endowment for Democracy, U.S. Agency for International Development, U.S. Department of State, http://www.usnews.com/usnews/ news/articles/050425/25roots_11.htm. 42. Aboujerra Soltani.


Chapter 9

4

I sl ami c Politic al Part ies i n S ecul a r Sou th Af r ic a M. A. Mohamed Salih

According

to the 2001 Population Census, Muslims constituted only 1.5 percent of the total population of South Africa. Omar made two observations derived from South Africa Population Census (2001), which pertain to the subject of Muslims in South Africa’s dominant secular polity. First, close to half of the total Muslim population of South Africa are classified by the 2001 Census under the amorphous apartheid category of “coloured” (meaning mixed ancestry) and reside predominantly in the Western Cape Province. The other major “ethnic” category in which Muslims predominate is “Indian” and a large percentage of these Muslims reside in the provinces of Kwazulu-Natal and Gauteng. It is, therefore, not surprising to find that their influence in these provinces is significantly larger.

Second, compared with the figures in the 1996 Census, Islam appears to have grown significantly among the “black African” communities who now make up close to 12 percent of South Africa’s Muslims. Notwithstanding the steady growth of “black African” Muslims in postapartheid South Africa a number of commentators argue that they continue to be marginalized.1 However, demography alone does not explain matters related to the role of religion in any society, nor does it explain variations in Muslim political attitudes and organizing principles. From this perspective, it is important to recognize that the history of Islam in South Africa dates back to 1652. After many years of passing the Cape of Good Hope on the way to the East, the Dutch Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie (the Dutch East India Company or VOC) established an outpost on the

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southern tip of Africa to supply ships with fresh food and water on their long journeys. The local inhabitants, the indigenous Khoi and the San, called Hottentots by the settlers, soon realized the station’s insatiable hunger for land and cattle and resisted its expansion. This conflict became the context in which the first Muslims arrived in South Africa. In 1658, the Mardyckers from Amboya arrived.2 Historically, according to Tayob: [The] Dutch company used the Cape as a place of exile for political prisoners from the Southeast Asian islands. From 1667 onward, some of these exiles were prominent Muslim leaders. Brought in 1694 after a long and bitter struggle against the Dutch and its surrogates in the East, Shaykh Yusuf of Macassar was the most prominent of such exiles. He was not allowed to live inside Cape Town for fear of any possible influence he might exert over the small slave population. On the other hand, the Dutch governors treated him with great respect and decorum. Shaykh Yusuf was stationed on the farm Zandvliet at the mouth of the Storms River and lived there until his death in 1699.3

Despite the importance of Shaykh Yusuf for contemporary South African Muslim identity, the search for the development of a mosque discourse must begin elsewhere. The institutionalization of Islam took shape during the second half of the eighteenth century when another group of Muslims who conspired against the British were deported to the Cape as Banndieten (convicts).4 Some also came with authoritative Islamic credentials and set the foundations of Islamic institutions. Unlike the early exiles, who were often scattered in isolation outside the city, the convicts lived among the slaves and free Africans. Consequently, they had a better chance to develop institutions for the early Islamic community.5 Once in the cape, the British introduced relatively more liberal measures with regard to the practice of religion, thus providing the political climate for the foundation of the first mosque. From within the Muslim community, the person directly involved in the establishment of the first religious school and mosque was a convict, Imām Abdullah Kadi Abdus Salaam, brought to the Cape in 1780 and imprisoned on Robben Island6 along with many others involved in the subsequent Malay Revolt.7 Muslims fared better than black South Africans did during the nineteenth century with the beginning of Muslim political activity, which goes back to the end of the eighteenth century when Conservative Whites (Davids 1984) foiled Achmat Effendi, the son of the famous Abu Bakr Effendi, when he attempted to gain a parliamentary seat in 1894. The South African Moslem Association was founded in 1902 at the cape by Nematullah Effendi, the son of Abu Bakr Effendi, and the African Peoples’ Organization was founded by Dr. Abdullah Abdul Rahman in 19058

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(Saunders 1981). While the former organization represented the interests of Muslims, the latter did not remain confined to Muslim concerns.9 Despite tensions with South Africa’s apartheid regime, the position of Muslim imams and the building of mosques had some level of institutionalization, and the Muslims’ fortunes coincided with the African populations, although the two communities remained aloof as the Muslims held the status of second-class citizen. In a sense, apartheid contributed to an apparent increase in Muslim resistance and the emergence of various Islamic groups that vowed to improve the social and economic conditions of their constituency. As a result, writes Anneli Botha, an Islamic revival in South Africa began in the 1950s, as teachers and professionals in the Western Cape tried to mobilize themselves into coherent movements. The Islamic revival essentially derived its religious inspiration from modern Islamic movements in Pakistan and Egypt. In December 1970, the Muslim Youth Movement of South Africa (MYM) was established. The Iranian Revolution in 1979 had a massive effect on the consciousness of South African Muslims and led to the formation of the Qibla Mass Movement, an antiapartheid movement inspired by the universal egalitarian message of the Islamic revolution in Iran.10 South African Muslims and bloggers wrote considerably on their struggle against the apartheid regime as part of the African National Congress (ANC), in collaboration with the pan-Africanist political parties or independent Muslim social movements.11 These struggles helped many Muslims take prominent positions in the postapartheid government, dominated by the ANC.12 In brief, this introduction leads to at least three conclusions: (1) Islam has long historical roots in South Africa, which also may explain the emergence of Islamic political parties, organizations, and various forms of social movements, ranging from the moderate to the radical. (2) The South African postapartheid constitution (1996), particularly Chapter Two on the Bill of Rights accorded all religious groups, including Muslims the right to form organizations and enjoy other freedoms.13 (3) The Muslim community is well organized, with various civil society organizations and pressure groups knowledgeable of political mobilization.14

Af r ic a Musl im Party : An E vo lv ing I sl amic Poli ti c al Party In 1994, the Africa Muslim Party (AMP) began with the deliberate intention to participate nationwide in the first democratic elections held in April 1994. According to its charter, AMP’s main motivation was and is to serve and represent well their constituents’ interests. It is also aware of the impossibility of the party forming the government, knowing the

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small number of Muslims in South Africa. This fact appears clearly in its charter, although the party leadership is not shy in declaring that one of its core values is to promote morality, support religious freedom for all religious groups, abolish poverty and hunger, improve the social environment in which the diverse beliefs, customs and languages are promoted. Furthermore, the party intends to promote free and fair trading conditions and to fight nepotism and corruption as well as provide better education facilities, health care, housing and free services to the poor and needy. It promotes adult education to increase literacy in the society and to promote small and medium size business and start up entrepreneurs in business that are beneficial to the majority of the people, fight racism and bigotry at all levels, and promote tolerance and understanding in the ethnically and religiously diverse South African society.15

The Muslim Party political program faced a test by the electorate three times since the end of apartheid. In the 1994 general elections, the AMP gained around seventh-eight thousand votes nationwide. Because of heavy rains in Mitchellsplein and the breakdown of the computer systems in many other areas, the true figure remains unknown. In the 1999 elections, the AMP participated only in the Western Cape Provincial ballot and achieved 9,513 votes in the province.16 In the 2000 local government elections, AMP concentrated exclusively in the Cape Town Metropolitan area and received the first two seats in the city government. In 2006, the AMP obtained three seats in the Cape Town Metropolitan Council in the local government elections held nationwide on March 1. This is a one-seat increase from the two seats received in the previous local general elections held in 2000. AMP also increased its voter base from 14,540 in 2000 to 19,318 in the 2004 election.17 The majority of AMP support votes came from Western Cape and Kua-Zulu Natal. The AMP has a secular outlook, and its program is no different from any other political party. Nowhere in its program has the AMP mentioned familiar Islamic theological considerations such as zakat, riba (interest free lending), or the like. Its economic program consists of the following policy directives. Local development, stimulation of small enterprises, training skills for development, utilization of Cape Town property for poverty alleviation, promotion of tourism in poor areas, support of growth initiatives that introduce innovation in environmental sustainability, spatial integration of first and second economies; renewal and regeneration of satellite economic models, and an increase and improvement of the social assets of the poor.18


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Currently, the AMP is part of the multiparty governing coalition in the Western Cape Province together with the Independent Democrats and the Democratic Alliance. The coalition has not been an easy affair, marred with corruption scandals and an acrimonious fight, when in August 2006, the Independent Democrats under the municipal government of Mayor Helen Zille appointed AMP leader, Badih Chaaban, as a city councilor. Democratic opposition to the appointment stems from the fact that Badih Chaaban owed the City of Cape Town more than R500,000 in unpaid rentals and rates connected to his shady business dealings in Cape Town. The matter was resolved with Badih Chaaban losing both his position as leader of the AMP and his councillorship. The AMP position within the Western Cape multiparty coalition, weakened with the loss of Badih Chaaban’s seat, crossed the floor to join the National Peoples Party that he had set up to represent the so-called colored people. The AMP was quick to distance itself from Badih Chaaban and attributed his failings to his personality, which, according to its national chairperson, Gulam Sabdia, such reckless behavior is not representative of Islam. The steady decline of the AMP clearly indicates the inability of the divided Muslim community to become a political force to reckon with. However, despair and inability to take advantage of the political space available to Muslims under the postapartheid dispensations led to the emergence of militant groups. Unfortunately, under the pretext that the struggle against secular South Africa is an extension of the antiapartheid struggle, political party militancy dominated the public space. The two cases of Al Jama-ah and the Islamic Unity Convention are testimony to this observation.

Al Jama-Ah: A M us li m Yo u th Po l itical Party Al Jama-ah was established and registered April 20, 2007, as a political party for South African Muslim youth, with the conscious intent to capture the votes of young Muslims. Al Jama-ah purports that South African sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds now in grades 10 and 11 will be firsttime voters in 2009. However, Al Jama-ah’s objectives were far beyond capturing the Muslim vote. It aims to introduce Sharia in South Africa, making it the first South African political party to declare explicitly this intention. After registration as a political party, they stated: As a working committee, we feel that South Africa has a need for a political party based on the tenets of Islam and that there is a need to share the

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Sharia with our lawmakers in parliament who are passing immoral laws. Islam has several solutions to help with the transformations taking place in the country but these solutions have not been reflected in the position papers before the lawmakers. We are thus failing as Muslims to play our role in Dakwah and inviting our lawmakers to embrace Islam and its ideology.

As such, Al Jama-ah is also the first South African Muslim Youth political party. In Al Jama-ah’s narrative, “with 60% of the country being under 25 years, young people will be a powerful voting bloc. Young people must chart the way forward. The country needs a new generation of young leaders. It is also the time that the young in the Muslim community take charge of their future.”19 With young, educated, and highly committed followers, the use of modern information technology, and the opportunities it offers with nationwide connectivity, Al Jama-ah established one of South Africa’s largest Internet-driven Muslim youth political communities aimed at providing a voice where young people can organize and debate the fundamental social problems confronting South Africa and the youth, in particular. Although Al Jama-ah is new, established in 2007, it draws on the legacy of South African Muslim imams and their century-old history of resistance and incorporation into South African polity. It also distinguishes itself from the AMP in that it condones jihad without explicitly condoning it. Al Jama-ah draws considerable spiritual aspirations from the history of South African Muslims who fought against colonial domination such as Shaykh Yusuf of Maccassar (referred to earlier). It uses history consciously in party campaigns to mobilize Muslim support in preparation for the elections. For example, Fayruze Tape, Western Cape political secretary of Al Jama-ah, announced that the election campaign would commence on Human Rights Day on March 21, 2008. They chose Zandvliet, Faure, Maccassar, and Cape Town to commence the campaign in honor of one of the national heroes of South Africa and Indonesia, Shaykh Yusuf of Maccassar. In fact, Fayruze Tape, the party political secretary of Cape Town and the working group responsible for the Shaykh Yusuf shrine declared that the election campaign will build shrines for Shaykh Yusuf in Zandvliet, Faure, and Cape Town. Al Jama-ah faithful consider these shrines national heritage sites in South Africa and therefore should be where the election campaign takes place, including the political parties’ struggle to make Sharia part of the lawmaking process in South Africa.20 Launching the Al Jama-ah election campaigns from the steps of the Shaykh Yusuf shrine has significant symbolic appeal to many South African Muslims. First, according to the political secretary of the party, in September 2005, Shaykh Yusuf received the order of Oliver Tambo in South


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Africa. Second, the Muslim imams’ involvement in Cape Town politics has a long history. Shaykh Yusuf established the first Muslim community and attracted runaway slaves who converted to Islam and represented a symbol of resistance to European colonialism. “Under the leadership of Shaykh Yusuf, who was 68 years of age when he arrived here, the group of Zandvliet formed one of the first very elementary structures of a Muslim community, and they came to represent the first area of resistance to colonization at the Cape.”21 Therefore, the symbolic value of their choice of the Shaykh shrine is significant, given the historical resonance of his legacy for South African Muslims and should be an indicative to the fact that new, small Islamic political parties are new only in their entry into electoral politics but have many deep historical roots in society. Nevertheless, despite its quest for the introduction of Sharia and its application in the case of Muslims, some elements of Al-Jama-ah’s Manifesto, published before its registration as a legal political party, consists of four major elements, 1. No poverty, whereby Al Jama-ah claims to believe in the elimination of poverty by establishing good moral values and in combating the rampant crime and corruption that seem to be occupying the space left by the demise of apartheid. Putting a strong case before government for a guarantee for every family of an income above the poverty line, which it believes is R2,000 per month for a family of four. The wealth of the country must filter down to grassroots levels unlike present empowerment laws and codes, which keep the wealth among the elite. 2. Al Jama-ah’s campaign to reform current employment laws revolves around a guaranteed first job for young people between sixteen and twenty-two years through accredited skills training, according to a tenyear development plan, leading to full employment in the country. 3. Diversity: Al Jama-ah’s manifesto resolves to persuade the government of the Republic of South Africa to repeal laws that negate traditional African values and the culture of Ubuntu, true Christian values and Sharia. Al Jama-ah strives to lobby for changes in the current secular state to one embracing a diversity of religions and cultures and ensuring that its laws do not offend Muslim communities. Ubuntu and religious teachings must be subjects in school and at work. 4. Liberate Masjul Aqsa (or Al Aqsa mosque), the third holiest mosque in Islam. This has been elaborated on in Al Jama-ah Program of Action where it pledged to: Position the Muslim community in South Africa for peace and universal humanitarian principles and dislodge through practice all notions that Muslims wherever they are, are a violent people, or “terrorists” who are bent on destroying civilization and modernity and the false notion that the

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Sharia is extremist and evil. This will not detract us from expressing our solidarity activism for just causes in Palestine, Kashmir, Chechnya, Kosova, Somalia and other countries, including lobbying and advocacy. We will demystify the threat of the so-called “Islamic terrorism” in the world and in South Africa and along with our compatriots help secure legitimate national rights of peoples all over the world.22

Three observations illustrate that Al-Jama-ah oscillate between a private stance that is pro-Sharia and a public stance that is moderate and almost secular. (1) Al Jama-ah’s claim that Sharia will be the major driving force for its establishment does not feature as a core value or identity marker in its manifesto priorities. (2) Al Jama-ah’s quest for an anti-Jewish stance and call for liberating Al Aqsa mosque is at odds with reality, the Koran and the teaching of the Prophet Muhammad call for peaceful coexistence of Muslims and Jews as ahlu Kitab (or people of the holy books). (3) How can Al Jama-ah claim to be secular while its program of action calls for changes in the current secular state to one embracing a diversity of religions and cultures and ensuring that its laws do not offend Muslim communities, where Ubuntu and religious teachings must be subjects in school and at work?

Isl amic Unity Convention: An E x tremist Po li ti c al Party In 1994, the Western Cape–based Islamic Unity Convention (IUC) was formed to serve as an umbrella organization for more than 250 Muslim groups. According to Omar, “shortly before South Africa’s first nonracial democratic elections, the newly formed Islamic Unity Convention (IUC) adopted this rejectionist political stance toward the ‘peace and reconciliation process’ and called on Muslims to boycott the elections.” The majority of Muslims largely ignored this call as is clear from their enthusiastic participation in all postapartheid national elections. However, the rejectionist political posture continued to live on in the Islamic rhetoric and activities of the IUC. IUC’s rejectionist stance could be further illustrated through its alliance with Qibla and a dubious relationship with People Against Gangsterism and Drugs (PAGAD). Anneli Botha wrote that IUC is the creation of Qibla, created during the early 1980s in South Africa to promote the aims and ideals of the Iranian Revolution and in due course, transform South Africa into an Islamic state, under the slogan, “One Solution, Islamic Revolution.”23 The main initial objectives of the IUC are identical to those of Qibla.


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1. Promote Islamic unity in South Africa, as a precursor to an Iranianstyle Islamic revolution in the country. 2. Position itself as the driving force behind the militant/extreme components in PAGAD, in particular the G-Force. 3. Assume control over the IUC’s Radio 786. This medium proved useful in mobilizing individuals within the Muslim community for its cause.24 The IUC also benefited from the political heritage of Qibla and its antiapartheid struggle, particularly its support for the black consciousness movement and Pan-Africanism. IUC faced several accusations of direct or indirect use of violence, and its shady relationship with organizations infamous for using violence such as PAGAD, which employed overt and covert operations to eliminate drug gangs.25 A better insight into the objectives of IUC lies in examining its leader, Achmad Gassiem’s book Quest for Unity in which he laments: Any social order that does not rotate on the axis of justice is not fit for survival. The minimum demand of the oppressed under the guidance of Islamic ideology is for a just social order. Anything less than a just social order is betrayal, is treason to the oppressed people and their glorious martyrs. The essence of jihad is sacrifice and it is necessary because a revolutionary is not merely an exponent of revolutionary rhetoric but one who attacks what is oppressive and exploitative in order to destroy and eradicate it. No revolutionary worthy of the name is therefore threatened and blackmailed—not even with death.26 Such extremist ramblings are common to radical Islamist groups, which explain, for instance, why IUC boycotted all general and local government elections in South Africa under the pretext that leaders produced by democratic means, such as elections, are illegitimate. For instance, IUC was embroiled in two major controversies, one with the South Africa Independent Broadcasting Authority and the other was its official demand that South Africa suspend its relationship with Israel. These two controversies are as follows. First, IUC activities largely concentrate on preaching its ideology through a community radio station known as Radio 786 under a broadcasting license issued by South Africa’s Independent Broadcasting Authority (South Africa, Republic of, 2001, 2002, the IBA). On May 8, 1998, the station broadcast a program entitled Zionism and Israel: An InDepth Analysis featuring an interview with one Dr. Yaqub Zaki, described as a historian and author. In the interview, Dr. Zaki dealt with the historical, political, social, and economic factors that, according to him, played a role in the establishment of the state of Israel. He expressed views, which among other things, questioned the legitimacy of the state of Israel and

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Zionism as a political ideology and denied the Holocaust. The South African Jewish Board of Deputies (the Board), lodged a formal complaint with the head of the Monitoring and Complaints Unit, claiming that the material broadcast contravened clause 2(a) of the Code of Conduct for Broadcasting Services (the Code), in that it was “likely to prejudice relations between sections of the population, i.e., Jews and other communities.” The Code is contained in Schedule 1 to the Independent Broadcasting Authority Act (the Act). The case continues as a precedent in respect to the Bill of Rights Section of South Africa’s Constitution.27 Second, in a demonstration staged on September 25, 2005, by IUC, demanding the South Africa government suspend ties with Israel under the allegation that Israel intends to destroy Al Haram al-Sharif (holy sanctuary). The demonstration created unease among moderate Muslim South Africans formerly associated with the IUC. The types of issues addressed by the IUC are at the level of global politics and apparently controversial, often expressed in terms of strong anti-Western rhetoric, which is sufficient reason for many commentators to insinuate a link between its leadership and other nationalist and transnational extremist Islamist organizations. Evidently, this outward orientation antagonized some African Muslims who think that the pressing problems of poverty and crime are worthy of more attention than international affairs.

Va r ieties o f I sl amic Poli ti c al Pa rt ie s Although the emergence of Islamic political parties in South Africa is a recent phenomenon, the spread of Islam, particularly in the Eastern and Western Cape is not. Islam provided the Muslims of South Africa a strong historical reference point, which prepared them to engage slavery, apartheid, and various forms of subjugation. Some Islamist movements and political parties perceive Islam as a sanctuary from the dangers of Western decadence. For others, Islam is seen as a unifying force of a minority who fared better than the majority black South Africans. Caught between the quest for creating and preaching the ethos of the Muslim Umma (or community of believers) and internal schism emanating from competing ethnic identities that reach far beyond South Africa (Malay, India, Pakistan, etc.) adherence to various Muslim traditions (Sunni and Shia) and sects, as well as crosscutting divisions between secularism and its dialectical others, compound the spread and prominence of varying degrees of modernity predicated on individual preferences and the need for collective bargaining in South Africa’s tense and complex political milieu. The proliferation of Islamist organizations, the lack of common purpose, inter and intrapolitical organization and social movement rivalries


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are clearly demonstrated by the poor showing of Islamic political parties both in the general and in local government elections. Clearly, the majority of South African Muslims are ANC supporters, including the Eastern Cape, Western Cape, and Kwa-Zulu Natal. Because the majority of South African Muslims are ANC members, Muslim representation both at the national level and at the local government level is inflated.28 This relatively high number of South African Muslims in public offices could be attributed to a number of factors, most notably, the per capita Muslim education achievement among Muslims of Asian origin relative to black South Africans.29 Another factor is that South African Muslims have a global stake not only in the Middle East and Asia but also in the West, particularly Britain and the United States, combined with the relative wealth and freedom of movement during apartheid. The three Islamic political parties introduced in this chapter illustrate the three common varieties of political Islam, ranging from the most radical (Islamic Muslim Convention and Al Jama-ah) to the moderate (Africa Muslim Party). As institutional representations of political Islam, they could be distinguished in terms of seven major issues that dominate the debate on Islam and modernity-cum-democracy. These appear in Table 10.1. It shows diverging orientations in response to major issues concerning the debate in what could generally be termed secular South Africa: democracy, Sharia, attitudes toward Judeo-Christians, and other human rights protected by the South African Constitution (e.g., homosexuality and same-sex marriage). IUC is the most extreme in all these respects, and its oddity with the secular South Africa is apparent. South Africa’s moderate political parties, such as the AMP and other Muslim organizations that joined the ANC, increased Muslim representation to 5 to 7 percent of the members of parliament throughout South Africa, which is more than a twofold-larger proportion of the National Assembly and local government members than the proportion of Muslim populations (estimated 1.5%–3%).30 In other words, all Muslim members of the South Africa National Assembly are members of the ANC and other political parties that do not pronounce themselves Islamic. Largely, the AMP, the only Islamist political party with representation at the local government level, is moderate, and therefore its political program resonates with moderate South African Muslims. Table 10.1 shows that AMP’s general orientations are moderate while those of IUC and the newly established Al Jama-ah have relatively similar stands in respect to certain issues, although IUC holds more extremist views by far and even espouses to follow them by action. Extremist political parties such as IUC and their relationship with organizations such as Qibla and PAGAD are, according to Omar, “for the ardent supporters of PAGAD, who by and large were not politically

Table 9.1. South Africa: Islamic political parties’ orientation in respect to major social and political issues Major Social and Political Issues

African Muslim Party

Entry into electoral politics

Adopted the democratic process and competed in all South African elections 1994, 1999, 2004

Al Jama-ah

Islamic Union Convention

Registered as a political party and is preparing to compete in the General 2009 elections, presenting itself as an alternative to AMP and IUC Adopted structure of a modern political Leadership is organized in a Working party, with two main governing bodies Group, dominated by the party leadership at various levels

Boycotted all South African Elections

Stand on women in public life

Women are in the party’s governing Women are very active in party activibodies. It does not advocate hijab or the ties, but not in leadership positions. veil as a Muslim dress code It advocates hijab or veil as an Islamic dress code for women

Advocates application of Sharia and its principles as enshrined in the Koran and the teaching of the Prophet Mohamed

Death penalty and hudud

No declared position on death penalty or hudud, but staunch supporter of South African constitution

No declared position on Death Penalty Supports the death penalty and or hudud hudud; Proactive relationship with PAGAD

Advocacy of Sharia as an alternative penal code

Secular orientation and operates within the confines of South Africa secular constitution and penal code

Pro-Sharia political party advocates an Islamic penal code

Party position on Jihad, including confrontation with JudeoChristian tradition and cooperation with extremist Islamist groups and liberation movements

Does not advocate Jihad, respects Ahlul Does not advocate Jihad but pro-Paleskitab (Judeo-Christians faith followers). tine and agitate for the liberation of the Pro-Palestinian, but does not advocate Aqsa mosque Jihad for liberating Aqsa mosque or Al Haram Al Sharif (holy sanctuary)

Jihadist, based ideology on antiWestern rhetoric, defying Islamic teachings in disrespecting Ahlul kitab

Internal vs. external policy focus

Concentrates on local issues such as poverty reduction, employment, education, health issues, fights against crime, etc.

External orientation weighs heavily on its political rhetoric, with the liberation of the Muslim holy places and Palestine

Advocacy of shura (Islamic consultative process among Ulama, or learned men) as an alternative democratic dispensation

Both an internal and external orientation. However, on the balance it is more preoccupied with leadership, entrepreneurship, poverty reduction, education, fighting crime, etc.

Charisma of Shaykh dominates the party, supported by a consultative (shura-like) committee of various Islamic entities

Pro-Sharia and advocates an Islamic penal code

Source: Compiled by the author from political parties’ programs and interviews during 2007 to 2008

10.1057/9780230100770 - Interpreting Islamic Political Parties, Edited by M. A. Mohamed Salih


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sophisticated, citizenship of the non-racial and democratic South Africa became an enigma. They experienced a negative tension between their Islamic identity and their South African citizenship with consequences of ‘precarious marginality.”31

Co nc lusions The development of Islamic political parties and organizations has by and large been at odds with the secular dispensations of the postapartheid state and its democratic orientation, paradoxically at a time when Muslims gained considerable freedoms and share of government offices. Some resisted the process of reconciliation since believing that it is the product of a flawed settlement, compromised justice, and betrayed the oppressed masses of South Africa. Its supporters essentially see the resistance of political organizations such as the IUC to the secular elements of the constitution as a continuation of the antiapartheid struggle. While the majority of Muslims ignored this call, the belligerent political posture of the IUC campaign of vigilante violence PAGAD waged between 1996 and 2000 (Omar 2006, 7) have done great disservice to moderate political parties, which lost popularity in subsequent elections.32 Three factors stand out as likely factors explaining the apparent influence of Muslim political parties and organizations in secular South Africa. 1. Although their membership is small, Islamic political parties such as Al Jama-ah and IUC are part of larger transnational Islamic movements and networks, which champion the call for the liberation of Palestine, Al-Aqsa Mosque, or Al Haram Al Sharif (or holy sanctuary). Such global agendas unite them as members of the Muslim Umma (or community of believers) with transnational Islamic organizations, which operate across the Islamic World. 2. Islamic political parties in South Africa such as the IUC generally straddled a difficult position vis-à-vis the secular constitution of postapartheid South Africa. For example, their agitation for the introduction of Islamic Sharia among Muslims, including hudud, death penalty, and veiling of women has earned them the critique and even enmity of secular inclined South Africans, including Muslims. 3. Some Muslim organizations such as PAGAD adopted vigilante tactics and received tacit support of the radical IUC, which terrorized whole neighborhoods by taking the law into its own hands. PAGAD activities reinforced media stereotypes that portray Muslims as savage and violent terrorists.

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N otes 1. A. Rashied Omar, “Democracy and Multiple Muslim Identities in Post-apartheid South Africa,” in The Annual Review of Islam in South Africa (ARISA): http://web.uct.ac.za/depts/religion/documents/ARISA/2004_WR1.pdf (2005), 2–3. 2. Abdulkader I. Tayob, Islam in South Africa: Mosques, Imams, and Sermons (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1999), 21. 3. Ibid., 23. 4. Harriet Deacon, ed., The Island: A History of Robben Island 1488–1990 (Cape Town: David Philip, 1996). 5. For more on this, refer to Tayob (1999); Yusuf Da Costa and Achmat Davids, Pages from Cape Muslim History. (Pietermaritzburg: Shuter and Shooter, 1994). 6. Tayob (1999, 25) points out that “political developments in Europe and South Africa provided unexpected opportunities for the establishment of Islam in public and offers it visibility and possibility to flourish. In 1795, when Napoleon invaded the Netherlands, the Dutch House of Orange asked the English to occupy the Cape on their behalf,” and the English, as in other colonies, considered Islamic traditions customary law similar to other African practices in the colonies. 7. Achmat Davids, “The Revolt of the Malays: A Study of the Reactions of the Cape Muslims to the Smallpox Epidemics of Nineteenth Century Cape Town,” Studies in the History of Cape Town 5 (1984): 55–97. 8. Materials compiled by Suleman Dangor in IslamOnline in three-part essay entitled, “Muslims in South Africa Origins, Struggles, and Achievements.” He reproduces this particular passage from C. Saunders, ed., Studies in the History of Cape Town (Cape Town: Centre for African Studies, University of Cape Town, 1981). 9. David Chidester, Religions of South Africa (London: Routledge, 1992). 10. Anneli Botha, “PAGAD: Study of Radical Islam in South Africa,” Terrorism Monitor 15 (July 28, 2005): 9. For more historical depth on PAGAD, refer to Don Pinnock, The Brotherhoods: Street Gangs and State Control in Cape Town (Cape Town: David Philip, 1984), which shows the antecedents of PAGADlike organizations already during the 1980s. Pinnock, Gangs, Rituals, and Rites of Passage (Cape Town: African Sun Press, 1997); Abdulkader I. Tayob, “Jihad against Drugs in Cape Town: A Discourse-Centred Analysis,” Social Dynamics 22, no. 2 (1996b): 23–29, has much in depth analysis of the recent activities of PAGAD and Abdulkader I. Tayob, “Islamism and PAGAD: Finding the Connection” in Drugs, Gangs, People’s Power: Exploring the PAGAD Phenomenon, ed. Raashied Galant and Fahmi Gamieldien (Claremont, Cape Town: Main Road Mosque Publication, 1996c) 11. A. Rashied Omar, “An Islamic Experience of Religious Pluralism in PostApartheid South Africa, Dossier 28,” http://www.wluml.org/english/pubs/ pdf/dossier28/imam-en.pdf (2006). 12. For example, on April 2005, Ebrahim Rasool became premier of the Western Cape. At the national level, prominent names include Naledi Pandor, Minister of Education, and Deputy Minister of Education Enver Surty. Essop


13.

14.

15. 16.

17.

18. 19. 20. 21.

22. 23. 24. 25.

26. 27.

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Pahad and her brother, Aziz Rahad, were also previously ministers of education among several ANC members of the National Assembly. For example, Article 31, “Persons belonging to a cultural, religious or linguistic community may not be denied the right, with other members of that community: a) to enjoy their culture, practise their religion and use their language; and b) to form, join and maintain cultural, religious and linguistic associations and other organs of civil society.” Such Muslim organizations include the Muslim Youth Movement (MYM); the Muslims Student Association; (MSA); Mustad’afin (the Oppressed) Foundation (MF); the Qibla Muslim Movement (QMM); Al Hidayah Dakwah Movement (AHD); Islamic Dakwah Movement (IDM); the Islamic Dakwah Foundation (IDF); Muslim Judicial Council (MJC); South Africa Hajj and Umrah Council (SAHUC); Muslims Against Global Oppression (MAGO); and Muslims Against Illegitimate Leaders (MAIL) among others. http://www.africamuslimparty.org/Index_files/Page438.htm. South Africa, Republic of, Independent Elections Board, Election Results 1994, 1999, and 2004, http://www.elections.org.za/Registered_Parties/ Selection_Party.asp. Al Jama-ah Manifesot published in Al Jama Newsletter, the National Issue, December 2007, http://www.aljama-ah.co.za/uploads/downloads/ NewsletterDecember2007.pdf. Ibid. Ibid., 1. Ibid., 2. For in-depth information and analysis on this, see Davids (1984);Davids and de Costa (1994) Gamal (1992); Esack, Farid. ‘Islam in Southern Africa: A Rejoinder to Nkrumah G. Gamal’ Review of African Political Economy, 19 (53): 75–78 (1992); Tayob (1999). Nkrumah, G. Gamal “Islam in Southern Africa” Review of African Political Economy, 19 (52): 94–97 (1991). Al Jama-ah Programme of Action, http://www.aljama-ah.co.za/uploads/ downloads/NewsletterDecember2007.pdf, pp. 3–4. Botha 2005, 9. Quoted in Botha (2005, 9). Between 1996 and 2000, People Against Gangsterism and Drugs embarked on a bombing campaign in Cape Town in March 2000. Cape Town High Court sentenced three members of PAGAD: The national chief coordinator Abdus-Salaam Ebrahim was jailed for five years; the organization’s spiritual leader Abdur Razaaq Ebrahim and Moegsien Mohamed were sentenced on charges of public violence. The United States and South Africa both list PAGAD as a terrorist organization. Lately, it is alleged that PAGAD created two front organizations to carry out certain operations, Muslims Against Global Oppression (MAGO) and Muslims Against Illegitimate Leaders (MAIL). Quoted in Botha (2005, 9), See also Christopher (1996) South Africa, Republic of, Islamic Unity Convention v. Independent Broadcasting Authority and others (CCT36/01) [2002] ZACC 3; 2002 ($) SA 294; 2002 (5) BCLR 433 (April 11, 2002); and South Africa, Republic of,

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28. 29. 30.

31. 32.

M. A. Mohamed Salih Constitutional Court of South Africa: Islamic Unity Convention v. Minister of Telecommunications and Others (CCT 33/07) [2007] ZACC 26 (December 7, 2007). See Omar (2005, 3). Ibid., 4. Tayob 1996; Omar A Rashied 1999. An Islamic Experience of Religious Pluralism in Post-Apartheid South Africa, in World Council of Churches Newsletter, http://www.wcc-coe.org/wcc/what/interreligious/cd34-07 .html. Omar 1999, 6. In the 1994 general elections, the African Muslim Party gained a total 78,000 in both National Assembly and Provincial Legislature. In the 1999 elections, the African Muslim Party participated in the Western Cape Provincial ballot only and won 9,513 votes in the single province. In the 2004 elections, it won 11,019.

Chapter 10

4

Se cul ar i sm and Isl amism in Turkey Und er s tanding the 2007 E lect i o ns

Nuran Savaşkan Akdoğan

Popular during the Iranian Revolution of 1979, Islam and Islamic stud-

ies had resurgence after September 11, 2001. Thanks in part to studies on civilization clashes initiated by Samuel Huntington (1993), there has been an amazing increase in the studies of Islam and Islamic countries some of which show Islam as synonymous with terror. Until the 9/11 attacks, Islamic culture existed somewhere “over there” in the world in underdeveloped or developing, poor and violent countries. However, globalization made it easy for all countries to gain a stake in the global economy. The most crucial development behind this story is the acceleration of studies on Islam and increased curiosity in countries with high Muslim populations. Questions that arose include whether these Muslims are a real threat to Western countries’ national security given how these countries are governed. Are they democratic or liberal? Are they secular or religious? What do they do in the name of Allah? How do they treat their people, specifically women? Is there any respect for human rights? If we agree on the duality of modernity, it is possible to conceptualize this interest in Islam as the Christian-developed West discovering the Muslim less-developed East. The dualist us and them approach also splits Islam into modern Islam and traditional Islam1 (The Economist, November 3, 2007). Turkish Islam2 is neither modern Islam nor traditional Islam, but Turkey is under the rule of an Islamic rooted party; a description denied by the party itself. Instead, they define themselves as conservative democrats at the center right.

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By the dualist structure, the developed Christian West would accept the Islamic East as a subject of study and discovery. In this context, after the Iranian Revolution, various studies took place on Islam in Turkey that reconstructed Turkish Islam as a model inspired by other Islamic countries.3 Since Turkey is a secular country with a more than 99 percent Muslim population, according to national census results, many view it as a country that “offers by far the greatest hope” (The Economist 2007). Meanwhile, discussions took place offering that the pro-Islamist party “could help normalize the argument about Islam” (The Economist 2007), and Turkey could be a model for a moderate Islam. It is asserted that Adalet Ve Kalkınma Partisi (AKP), as a representative of civil society, will check radical Islamism and “secular minded military, hypernationalism” in Turkey (Gurfinkiel 2007, 37). Unfortunately, some in the Western media portray all Islamic countries as having unfair and unjust practices, such as the stoning of women. However, this tends only to be true of those countries that practice Sharia. Much discussion of moderate Islam (Ilımlı İslam), and whether it is an appropriate definition for Islam in Turkey has taken place. How it is possible to call a country, ruled by a democratic republican system according to secular and democratic traditions, moderate? For Kemalists, who have secular and universal values, a concept such as moderate Islam is unacceptable. For Eshel (2007, 9), Atatürk, the founder of the Turkish Republic, “had already realized that there was no such thing as a ‘moderate Islam,’ and therefore he created a modern and strictly secular Turkey.”4 A contradictory event occurred during the 1994 municipality elections. For the first time in Turkish political history, an Islamic-rooted party won the elections with 19.07 percent of the total vote. Following the 1995 general elections, with 21.4 percent of the total vote, the Welfare Party (WP), also known as the Refah Partisi (RP), formed a coalition government with the True Path Party (TPP) or Doğru Yol Partisi (DYP).5 In 2002, the Justice and Development Party (JDP) or Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi (AKP) won the general elections with 34.3 percent of the vote and 46.6 percent of the vote in 2007. These developments brought about many questions on the Turkish political system. How did a pro-Islamic party, the JDP, gain power to govern strictly secular Turkey? Is this party a threat to secularism of Kemalist Turkey? There has been a relatively pessimist approach among supporters of Kemalism in Turkey. They see the military as a guarantee for the Kemalist regime. However, the supporters of political liberalization now have the opportunity to redefine democracy and rights for scholars. This chapter continues as follows. First, a review of the literature on political Islam, followed by differentiation between secularism and Islamism. Then this chapter will elaborate on reasons for the rise of the JDP in the context of a neoliberal economy and then questions about the success of JDP in the elections and its performance in government will be assessed.

Secularism and Islamism in Turkey

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Br i e f H is to ry o f Po l itic al Isl am i n Turk ey Although the rise of political Islam dates back to the 1970s in Turkey, Islam’s becoming a majority in parliament did not occur until 2002. In fact, the number of voters for political Islam slowly increased from 11.8 percent in 1972 to 34.3 percent in 2002. After several years of a coalition government of Necmettin Erbakan (in 1996), for the first time in Turkish political history, an Islamic-rooted politician became prime minister in 2002 carrying the majority vote. To understand how the JDP gained the majority in parliament, it is useful to review a brief history of Islamic parties in Turkey. In 1970, Necmettin Erbakan established the Islamic political party, the National Order Party (NOP), or Milli Nizam Partisi (MNP). After a short period, in 1971, the Constitutional Court because of circulated brochures6 and Erbakan’s speech in İzmir7 during the election period closed the party down. The National Salvation Party (NSP) or Milli Selamet Partisi (MSP) followed the NOP in 1972. The party was in parliament with 11.8 percent of the vote as a coalition government with the Republican People’s Party (RPP),8 or Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi (CHP). After the military coup d’etat in 1980, the leaders banned all political parties from active political life. The Welfare Party (WP), as a new Islamic-rooted party, was reestablished in 1983 to increase economic, social, and political conditions. According to the IISS, International Institute for Strategic Studies (1998, 1), the rapid growth shown by the WP was due to their Islamic background and their speeches against secularism. In 1984, the party participated in the municipal elections only receiving 4.4 percent of the vote. In 1994, they received 19.07 percent of the vote. The 1995 general elections made the WP the largest party with 21.4 percent of the vote, enabling them to form a coalition government with the True Path Party (TPP). Erbakan became the first Islamist-rooted prime minister in Turkey in June 1996. Because of the events of February 28, 1997,9 the party ceased to exist with another decision of the Constitutional Court on January 16, 1998, prohibiting the party’s old leader, Necmettin Erbakan, from establishing and leading a political party for five years. The WP was the third Islamist-oriented party closed by the judiciary after Turkey accepted multiparty democracy in 1946. Still this is not the end of the story. A new party with a new name, Virtue Party (VP), or Fazilet Partisi (FP), began under the tutelage of Erbakan (Gülalp 1999, 22). The Constitutional Court banned the VP on June 22, 2001, because of the party’s actions against secularism.10 After VP, the Felicity Party (FP), or Saadet Partisi (SP), started and remains operational; however, it became insignificant in Turkish politics soon after coming into power. After the closure of the WP, its modernist version, the JDP, won the election taking the majority of seats in parliament. When the VP was

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Table 10.1. Overview of Islamic rooted parties in Turkey Main Islamic Rooted Parties of Turkey

Foundation Year

Closure Year

National Order Party NOP Milli Nizam Partisi MNP

1970

1971

National Salvation Party NSP Milli Selamet Partisi MSP

1972

1980

Welfare Party WP Refah Partisi RP

1983

1998

Virtue Party VP Fazilet Partisi FP

1998

2001

Felicity Party FP Saadet Partisi SP

2001

—

Justice and Development Party JDP Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi AKP

2001

—

Because of the military coup, all political parties were banned in 1980.

established, young members of the party were angry with the older members. They blamed them for loss of power and implementing policies that led to subsequent closure of the party. By calling themselves revolutionists/modernists, they established a new party in 2001 that claimed to be conservative unlike their predecessor’s Islamic perspective. The new party with a conservative right discourse won the 2002 general elections. The unprecedented rise of the JDP was a shock at home and outside the country. Many scholars contemplated the reasons behind its ascendance in Turkish political life. While some researchers explained this rise with the failure of the “one nation one state”11 project of Kemalism, some underlined proliferation of cultural identities. For some scholars, this was not a real increase in Islamization, as there was corruption and failure of the system. Therefore, the people chose a new leader and a new party with a clean image to compensate for their economic losses. According to some scholars, the rise of Islamization would aid in the democratization process of the country, for others it would be a real threat for Westernism and secularism.

Interpretations of the Rise of Political Islam in Turkey When the National Salvation Party (NSP) took 11.81 percent of the votes in the 1973 general elections, followed quickly by the Iranian Revolution in 1979, Turkish scholars started to study why the Islamic party increased its vote and which effects caused this rise. Toprak argued that there was an increase in the popularity of this group because: “They drew their strength from economic groups at the margins of a rapidly growing industry; the development of the Turkish economy, on the other hand, is not a


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direction that would lead to an increase in the number or the size of such groups. Hence . . . a mass political movement based on religious appeals has little chance of success in modern Turkey” (Toprak 1987, 230). Despite the accurate analysis of Islam in Turkey for those years, this generalization on the Islam movement did not explain the recent rise of the WP or the JDP. Behind the electoral success of the WP, for Buğra (2002, 189), there was an effective use of political Islam as the “language of social disadvantage. In a way to incorporate diverse segments of the population ranging from the newly emerging entrepreneurs to other segments of the middle class which include Islamic intellectuals and professionals, as well as the marginalized masses largely consisting of new immigrants in urban centers.” The Islamic movement gained mass support toward the mid-1990s by constructing an alternative world that they lived in according to Islamic lifestyle. Integrating the neoliberal economy, they established organizations, associations, trade unions, enterprises, journals, broadcasting companies, cultural organizations, schools, foundations, charity organizations, and so on. These Islamic secondary/alternative lifestyles enabled them to overcome the difficulties of a secular political system (Laçiner 1996, 11). However, one of the points raised by Toprak on the division between secular Kemalists and Islamic groups is quite valid today. Secularism throughout Turkish history had an intrinsic value for the Republican state elite that regarded religion as “synonymous with obscurantism.” The Republican elite accepted secularism, “in the Turkish context became an axis for defining progressive versus conservative, modern versus traditional, enlightened versus obscurantist, and revolutionary versus reactionary categories” (Toprak 1987, 218). For Toprak, Kemalists might be the “Surrogate left,” not leftist, since the class division was excluded in the Republican imperatives; instead, populism was stated in the Kemalist principles (1987, 218). It is possible to explain the resurgence of JDP as a continuing Islamic revival process, according to Mardin (2005, 146) with a dialectical approach in history starting from the reforms of Tanzimat (Reformation). The Ottoman bureaucracy had two perspectives. While the bureaucracy promoted the reformation movement based on positivism in the late eighteenth century, a conservative approach based on Islam sustained its hegemony in the same period. A mixture of Islam and state discourse in the Ottoman Empire “promoted a modern Turkish Islamic ‘exceptionalism’ with distant Ottoman roots” (Mardin 2005, 146). The Ottoman roots of the country and Arab roots of Islamic studies are synonymous with backwardness in the Republican period. The nineteenth century bureaucrats regarded the West as a model for modernization of the Ottoman state. In addition, the Islamic movement had been developing on the

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Naksibendi Sufi line by taking a new path to politics (Mardin 2005, 147). In other words, “The praxis of Ottoman bureaucrats, which, typically, focused on institution building, ultimately led to the Turkish Republic. The continuity of this praxis was “ruptured” by that of the Naksibendi Sufi orders, which like all Islamic brotherhoods, used network organizing for their praxis.” Mardin (2005, 147) explored this development based on his previous center versus periphery12 conceptualization, which is a dialectical formation that goes from reconstruction to exceptionalism over different periods of time. This dialectical formation relates to cleavages between the center and the periphery. The periphery symbolizes conservative and antirepublicanist thoughts that are against the centers’ secular and western type of lifestyle. In other words, the periphery is composed of social groups that do not access political power.13 More or less, the periphery wanted to articulate Western technology and science by keeping moral values and symbols (Mert 2007a). In the Ottoman Empire, there were “Teachers or learned men of Islamic Law” (Ulama), an influential clergy class. There were contradictions and overlaps between bureaucrats and ulamas about keeping the system of the empire and providing new institutions (Mardin 2005, 149). The Naksibendi orders became a powerful religious movement, specifically in the nineteenth century. Since they had a large network in Anatolia, the Ottoman state could not interfere in their conflicts (2005, 153). The Ottoman state started to form a secular bureaucracy during the 1900s renovation movements, and the Republic followed up this line. The Republic inherited the groups of “provincial notables (eşraf) and tribal leaders” with religious brotherhoods, specifically Naksibendis “antisecularist,” “the ongoing ‘voice’ of reformist Islam” from the Ottoman Atate (2005, 154). The political leadership structure of Naksibendis continued to act between 1930 and 1980, and they gradually articulated themselves into secular republic institutions as the conservatives and raised new structural classlike development (esnaf; 2005, 155). (The main reason behind the rise of the Islamic party of Erbakan in the 1970s was the indirect and tacit support of Naksibendis.) Naksibendis supported Islamic political parties since the 1970s through the media and new learned operational codes.14 (They took positions in the bureaucracy, for instance, prime minister and later, Turgut Özal became the president of the State Planning Organization.) A new code based on “formation of constituted bodies under a system of administrative secular” made them active in the civil and modern life of Turkey (Mardin 2005, 154). The leader of the Naksibendis at that time, Mehmet Zahit Kotku, did not consider the state an enemy and did not collaborate with the radical Islamists. Instead, he decided to integrate the Naksibendi order into


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legitimate establishments and institutions of the state. Thus, instead of using Islamic references, they explored conservative and liberal policies. A new political leader emerged from the movement, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, who managed to form a mass party (Mardin 2005, 158). Therefore, modern Turkish history is not a conflict between republicanism and sultanism nor is it a contradictory history between secularism and Islam. “It is a complex, many-tiered encounter between ‘traditional’ forces of modernity that have interpenetrated and been transformed over time due to their propinquity. It is also a story of the constitution of new spaces where these forces have met and changed” (Mardin 2005, 160). It is possible to evaluate the rise in political Islam, especially in the 2002 and 2007 elections, as a sign of the gradual change in the periphery of Turkey from the late Ottoman Empire period onward. This transformation of the “traditional forces of modernity” (160) became visible in social and political life, and the new segments of periphery obtained the majority in Turkey’s parliament.

E l ec tio n Re s ults On November 3, 2002, the Justice and Development Party (JDP/AKP) won the elections with 34.3 percent of the vote, winning 363 out of 550 seats in parliament.15 Economic problems, numerous corruption events, and old, corrupt political leaders opened the way for the JDP. More important, as a new and untried political party with a clean image and a strong leader, the JDP managed to end fifteen years of coalition government and seized absolute majority in parliament slightly short of enough to realize a constitutional change, which requires two-thirds majority. As the JDP won 341 seats in the 2007 elections, it can amend the constitution with the support of twenty-eight more members of parliaments (MPs).16 The JDP received 46.6 percent of the votes and 341 seats in parliament in the 2007 elections. The Republican People’s Party (RPP), or Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi (CHP), received 20.88 percent of the votes and 112 seats, while the Nationalist Movement Party (NMP), or Milliyetçi Hareket Partisi (MHP), received 14.27 percent of the votes and 71 seats. There was a political crisis between the government and the military in April 2007 because of the presidential elections. After the reactions to the candidacy of the president of the Turkish Republic, Abdullah Gül, the success of JDP was a shocking event for the Kemalist seculars. Kemalists have never expected such a decisive outcome. They mobilized large-scale demonstrations against the JDP in Ankara, Istanbul, and İzmir.17 Expectations of the general elections were to see a secular base power in parliament. Despite all the demonstrations against the JDP, the party won the election again in 2007. Not only Islamic party supporters but also nationalists,

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conservatives, and reactionaries supported the party in the 2007 election. One of JDP’s bureaucrats explained this victory as, “it would be wrong to think—despite the party’s antecedents that it is a vote for a more Islamic state, which most Turks actually do not want” (Lancaster 2007, 37). There may be many reasons behind the votes for JDP; however, whether Turkey will become an Islamic state exists in most people’s minds. The same bureaucrat indicated that “huge majorities of Turkish people have made clear they feel the AKP [JDP] has delivered on its promises, both social and economic,18 and they are keen to travel further down the AKP road which, they believe will ultimately result in EU membership. Mr. Erdoğan comes from humble beginnings and is regarded as a man of the people; his party has improved the economy, provided more jobs and put food in the bellies of previously hungry children, who is going to disagree with that?” (2007, 37) There are concrete reasons behind the rise of a conservative proIslamist party. It may be insufficient to explain the rise of JDP based on the rise of Islamism in Turkey. However, Islamist factors still exist in the party. Recep Tayyip Erdoğan who was an Islamist youth activist, became an active member of the WP. Furthermore, JDP’s cadres were formed from pro-Islamic parties (Purvis and Turgut 2002, 63). Moreover, when Erdoğan was the mayor of Istanbul, he expressed that “it was impossible ‘to be a secularist and Muslim at the same time’” (Smith 2003). He banned alcohol in city-owned cafes. It is common knowledge that he was imprisoned for five months for the speech he delivered in Siirt on December 6, 1997. Furthermore, the prime minister’s spouse Emine Erdoğan’s Islamic style of dress and her headscarf have always been a matter of concern for secularists in both the media and public. Some protocol crises, specifically with the military, occurred from time to time due to Mrs. Erdoğan’s head cover since it is forbidden in secular Turkey to wear head coverings in public buildings and institutions (Agence France-Presse 2003, 28). Some of the interviews conducted with Recep Tayyip Erdoğan after his election as the mayor of Istanbul in 1984 show his perception of Islam and secularism. He first indicated that “99% of the people living in Turkey say that they are Muslims (Elhamdülillah Müslüman).” Then he claimed that 99 percent of Turkish people should say that they are for Sharia (Elhamdülillah Şeriatçi). He said that he is for Sharia; “I am Elhamdülillah Şeriatçi. Sharia means Islam and the rules of God” (Milliyet 1994). He further argued, “the system that we want to establish cannot be against Allah’s order. Our reference is Islam. The system that we establish would not be contrary to this reference” (Yeni Yüzyıl 1996). Finally, he emphasized the role of Islam, “my reference is Islam. There may be certain changes in the Welfare Party without any contradiction with Islam” (Yeni Yüzyıl 1997, quoted in Çakır and Çalmuk 2001, 113).


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When Recep Tayyip Erdoğan was affiliated with the WP, his speeches put much emphasis on Islam. After the establishment of the JDP and its rise to power, the references to Islam diminished in his speeches. After the 2007 election, he said that: “I understand what you mean by voting, please take it easy. . . . Democracy has passed a very important test today . . . .Whomever you voted for . . . we respect your choices. We regard your differences as part of our pluralist democracy. It is part of our responsibility to safeguard this richness. . . . We have common values and goals. We will dignify our democratic, laic, social state, and rule of law. We will never concede from our national values and main principles of our Republic” (Milliyet 2007).19 This change from a religious to a secular discourse raised many questions about the sincerity of these expressions and the existence of a hidden agenda. This speech may infer that the JDP government does not want conflict with the army and the opposition forces; however, this explanation still does not reveal whether there is a hidden agenda in JDP’s policies. While the JDP claimed to be a conservative party rather than an Islamic party, the opposition and Kemalist elite still feared losing the secular system of Kemalism. The JDP took several precautions to demilitarize certain public organizations, such as the National Security Council, the board of the Higher Education Council, and the Radio and Television High Council based on European Union structural reforms (Taşpınar 2007). However, now the JDP has power in the executive, legislative, and judicial branches of the state, which caused the Kemalist to view their actions as a slow Islamization process. The JDP accepts a conservative democracy understanding, formulated and defined by a party ideologue, Yalçın Akdoğan. According to Akdoğan (2004), conservative democracy stands for a gradual change in society, contrary to revolutionist actions. For them, the permanent change in society should be a gradual and natural change. Therefore, efforts to change society in the past using a top-down process are old-fashioned and would not bring about permanent and radical changes in society. These expressions, written by Yalçın Akdoğan for the JDP, indicates the party’s tacit opposition to Kemalist reforms.

Rise of JDP To understand the rise of the JDP, it is important to evaluate the political conditions of the era. The rise of the JDP as a first party did not mean that there was a strict rise in the radical Islamic movement in Turkey. There were special conditions in the 2002 elections. None of the three coalition parties could pass the minimum 10 percent level for the national vote. After the election, the Democratic Left Party, which is on the left and Motherland Party and Nationalist Movement Party, which are on the

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right, remained out of Parliament. Moreover, because of the mismanagement, corruption, and economic crisis faced by Turkey, the voters left all old leaders out of parliament (The Economist 2002). The people’s reaction to the ruling coalition government increased substantially before the 2002 elections because of the 2001 economic crisis leaving about 1 million people jobless. Most of the young people remained unemployed. In an interview conducted by Fang, one of the unemployed young men said, “We should be working, we should be producing things.” This young man had to ask for money from his father, a retiree on U.S.$150 income per month. “I am angry at this government. . . . I am angry at everybody” (2002, 29–30). These words draw a pessimistic economic picture of society. Economic crises caused economic loss for too many white-collar professionals particularly in the finance sector, banking sector, and small-scale enterprises. To overcome these economic difficulties, the JDP promoted more liberalization and integration with the EU. The JDP government promised to realize public administration reform, which would enhance local governments and support private sector versus the state (Tepe 2007, 115–16).20 In 1997, the military considered the WP a threat to the secular system. At the meeting of the National Security Council on February 28, the council undertook several measures to provide for the continuity of the Kemalist structure by the military, which caused the end of the WP and TPP coalition government. Daily press in Turkey called this event “the February 28 Decisions.” The military requested the government take necessary measures to prevent outbreaks of violence by the Islamist threat. One of the measures taken was the closure of the second level of religious schools (İmam Hatip Okulları), resulting in an increase in the period for basic education from five to eight years. For Çınar (2006, 472), it was a process of “redesigning Turkey’s political landscape to restore the Kemalist-secularist political center.” The February 28 Decisions created a fragmented center-right problem for political Islam and a politicized army (Cizre and Çınar 2003, 319–20). The February 28 triggered a strict division between secularist and Islamist, and the rise of the JDP as a new center party despite being pro-Islamist. A traffic accident on November 3, 1996, in the town of Susurluk exposed corruption in the state ranks and became known as the Susurluk Events. One MP claimed that the assassin was presumably in the same car used by the intelligence service. The MP was the only survivor. This accident uncovered illegal collaborations between the bureaucracy, the government, and illegal activities involving assassinations, kidnapping, drug trafficking, and money laundering. According to the criminal charges filed, certain people in the state acted inappropriately using illegal methods to fight against terrorist organizations. The judicial process


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made it clear that several politicians and bureaucrats acted unlawfully. Many people questioned the trustworthiness of the coalition government formed by the WP and the TPP. Bülent Arınç, the founder of the WP and the JDP, the president of Turkish Parliament during the first JDP period, said that “Susurluk was a chance for us [WP] . . . to use this event in favour of the party. Nobody among us was involved in this scandal. However, we could not question too much, since our coalition partner [TPP] was in [the middle of] this event [and], they prevented us from questioning it . . . .We could not interfere in these illegal actions strongly. . . . So, the masses would not trust us anymore though [WP] was uncorrupted and clean” (Çakır and Çalmuk 2001, 134). Because of the Susurluk Event, old conservative right-wing parties, especially the TPP lost credibility and could not take part in the 1999 elections. However, the coalition government, Democratic Left Party (DLP, or Demokratik Sol Parti, DSP), Nationalist Movement Party (NMP, or Milliyetçi Hareket Partisi, MHP), and Motherland Party (MP, or Anavatan Partisi, ANAP) all lost credibility after the economic crisis. These events in general led to fragmentation in the center right. Economic development of Islamic groups and the rise of the JDP as a new party with a clean image paved the way to power as a single-party government. Development of Islamic capitalism played a significant role in the rise of the JDP.21 Islamic entrepreneurship is a relatively new phenomenon in the Turkish economy, emerging after appropriation of the neoliberal economy during the 1980s and 1990s. Economic liberalization policies initiated by Özal affected the development of local capital. Özal claimed that the Turkish people possess entrepreneurial characteristics and that they have a close affinity with market rules and principles. The rise of Islamic entrepreneurs created solidarity among them, and they gained strength vis-à-vis secular establishments. The state led a development economy based on Import Substituting Industrialization (ISI) in the years between 1960 and 1970. These policies could not successfully integrate different social segments into social and economic life. Large numbers of the peripheral segments missed the benefits of the modernization process (Buğra 2002, 188). Small, independent entrepreneurs disparate with the Islamic opposition had difficulty in this period, which is “an outcome of the conflict between ISI-based, big industrial and other business interests in urban areas and the traditional, small to medium-size business sector in provincial towns” (Gülalp 2001, 435). This economic development was fostered by the NSP (National Salvation Party, or Milli Selamet Partisi [MSP]), which used populist policies, gathering people from small business enterprises and religious conservative thoughts together (436). The development of the global age created another shift in the economy from ISI-based industrialism to neoliberal policies, which

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contained free trade and open market policies with a strong but small state, unlike the ISI-based protectionist state policies. For Gülalp, “political Islam in Turkey has found a particularly fertile ground in this decline of traditional working-class politics and the rise of petty entrepreneurship” (2001, 437). Between 1980 and 1990, the Turkish economy underwent restructuring as an export-oriented economy. According to a survey conducted in five cities, after 1980 and 1990, there was rapid growth in the “smalland-medium scale manufacturing industries” and, because of the exportoriented economy, these industries have “a quarter of Turkey’s export potential” (Gülalp 2001, 437). For Gülalp, “Not all of these petty entrepreneurs, whether the small-scale industrialists in provincial towns or the intermediaries in poor neighborhoods of Istanbul, are necessarily Islamist, but the Islamist segment of the business class comes primarily from among this sector.” (2001,438). Because of the corruptions in politics and new integrated neoliberal economic model, the WP became quite popular among new segments of entrepreneurs of the periphery. Despite economic achievements, the government did not support them. They established MUSİAD (the Association of Independent Industrialists and Businessman) as a class organization in 1990 to influence governmental policies and to develop Islamic entrepreneurships that represents today, around three thousand companies in the country (Buğra 2002, 193).22 MUSIAD represents “new and peripheral segment of the business class that support political Islam in Turkey” (Gülalp 2001, 440). MUSIAD, besides uniting Islamic entrepreneurs, organized different types of meetings to teach the ideals of Islamic economy and provide networks for Islamic entrepreneurs (Adas 2006, 123). The modernization project failed to realize economic and technological development for Islamic entrepreneurs, so they attempted to create an alternative economy based on Islamic principles rather than secular (western) economic arrangements (2006, 127). Meanwhile, Islamic entrepreneurs would integrate market-oriented capitalist objectives with religious morals (2006, 130). The shift from a state-led development economy to an export-oriented market economy led to the integration of Islamic entrepreneurs with free market ideology and small-state discourse over the economic system. For Gülalp (2001, 441), “the populist rhetoric of political Islam appealed to these small businessmen who were recent immigrants to the cities and seeking upward mobility from their humble backgrounds.” After the closure of the VP, only marginal Islamic groups joined the Felicity Party, almost all supporters of the WP and center right parties voted for the JDP in the 2002 and 2007 elections.


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S ec u l ar ism and K emali sm All the examples given above about the JDP’s possible hidden agenda and the growing spread of Islam in daily life called forth questions as to whether the JDP is a real threat to the secularist character of the Republic. This is still quite a fragile topic. Turkey accepted secularism by a constitutional change in 1937. France and the USSR also accepted secularism in this period.23 The second provision of the 1982 Constitution that is currently in force states that the Turkish Republic is a democratic, secular, and social state governed by the rule of law. O’Sullivan (2007, 24) argued that “Turkey’s secularism . . . is not the separation of church and state on the American model but the control of the religion by the secular state.” However, Parla (1995, 28) expressed that certain provisions in the 1982 Constitution paradoxically never corresponded to an orthodox Kemalism understanding of secularism in the context of freedom of religion, conscious national education, and decrees related to the directorate of Religious Affairs. According to provision 136 of the constitution, duties of the directorate of Religious Affairs have been determined under the principle of secularism. It means that Religious Affairs functions under the control of the secular state, and its personnel are civil servants. The 1982 constitution designers aimed to create a Turkish Islamic Synthesis. For this purpose, “two contradictory and uncompromising regulating factors, Kemalism and Islam, had tried to be combined in two ideological promises of an authoritarian state, which has given birth to enormous problems for the future of Turkish political system” (Parla 1995, 29). The early Turkish Republican Period saw the elimination of Islamic law and practices, in use since the Seldjuk and Ottoman periods, from the legal system of the modern Turkish state. Rebellions in the name of Islam against the secular Republican state during the first ten years of the republic created strong sensitivity among Kemalist circles. Thus, there were strict precautions taken against Islamist groups.24 As such, “Kemalist secularism has been strictly safeguarded by the courts, the mainstream of university circles, much of the press, and the military, all of which are important centers of public opinion formation as well as major sources of influence on public policy” (Toprak 1987, 219). However, Ottoman state tradition was based on the religious system, Sharia, since one of the main functions of the Ottoman state was preservation of the state “as a vital instrument for the existence of Islam and the Muslim community” (Yavuz 2004, 220). Sufi orders were dominant in Turkish Islam. The people who identified with Sufi orders never accepted strict division between religion and state, and they developed a reactionary stance toward the secular state. Four main Sufi traditions, Yesevi, Bektashi, Mahlevi, and Naksibend are still active today (220).25 These traditions evolved together with the expansion of the Ottomans, which included

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different ethnic and religious groups. Islam was intrinsic in the Millet system26 and the Ottoman identity formation. These networks, called Brotherhoods, still play a significant role in the formation of group norms and integration of the individual to the social and political system. Kemalist wanted to convert this community-based religion into an individualistic religion (Toprak 1987, 220–21). Tayyip Erdoğan defined secularism as an institutional approach and method (kurumsal bir tutum ve metod), which provides a neutral state against all religions and thoughts a social peace by preventing any conflicting situation among the religions and the sects (Erdoğan 2004). This explanation of secularism is different from the Kemalist secularism based on strict division between state and religion. Erdoğan explains the JDP understanding of secularism as an institutional approach and method, which provides equal distance to all religions and sects. Furthermore, instead of accepting secularism as a main descriptive element of the Republic, Erdoğan proposed that secularism should be under constitutional guarantee, specifically under the fundamental rights and freedoms section. According to Erdoğan, the state should function as a referee between different social groups through reconciliation and democracy. This approach limits Turkish secularism to individual rights. Instead of state control over religion, similar to the Ottoman Empire, the state will act as a reconciler without intervening in religious groups. Religious factors were not significant only in the Ottoman system but were also important in the foundation of the Turkish Republic to construct a new homogenous Turkish national identity. Therefore, at the founding of the Turkish Republic over the ashes of the Ottoman state, Islam was a unifying element but lacked the articulation of the religion in the formation of Turkish national identity. The most important decision in which religion played an important role was the population exchange in the first years of the Republican period. Turkey and Greece signed a protocol on January 30, 1923. Accordingly, Orthodox Greek subjects in Turkish territory and Muslim Turkish subjects in Greek territory, except those who lived in Western Thrace, were subject to exchange, starting from May 1, 1923 (Durak 2004, 206). The single-party period from 1924 to 1946 saw several Kemalist reforms implemented. For example, all religious organizations, except the official ones, were restricted in daily life. All these efforts aimed to establish a homogenous nation state. Only after 1946, during the multiparty period, did Islamic groups have the chance to engage the new system through liberal policies of the Democrat Party (DP, Demokrat Parti). After the foundation of the Turkish Republic, the reforms came about to shape Turkish political, social, and economic life. Furthermore, to cut historical and social ties from the Ottoman Empire, starting from 1924, meant enforcing many significant reforms, including abolishing the following: the sultanate in 1922, the caliphate in 1924,


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Seyh’ül Islam (the highest religious authority in the Ottoman administration) in 1924, Sharia courts in 1924, and madrasa in 1924. Until the multiparty period in 1946, Kaplan (2005, 666) asserted that RPP used the educational system to establish a national memory, separated from religious sanctions by the single party. These reforms were enacted by the civil servants, the military, and the urban intellectuals to the detriment of the periphery, specially the peasants and small town dwellers (Toprak 1987, 225). All these efforts aimed to break down the resistance of the periphery against the center. The contradiction between the center and the periphery continued, and in this effort, “Kemalism as an ideology—an important component of which was the vision of a westernized Turkish nation—failed to become a meaningful alternative to Islam as either a political discourse or a prescription for a new way of life” (Toprak 1987, 225). In the July 2007 election, the JDP promoted a poster entitled, “The Stars of the Democracy.” Placing considerable emphasis on establishing an ideological and historical connection with previous conservative right parties implementing liberal economic politics, the poster depicted photos of the DP’s leader, Adnan Menderes (1950s) and MP’s leader, Turgut Özal (1980s) to indicate continuity from the DP to the JDP. In this way, JDP intellectuals intended to dissociate their party identity with Islam in the minds of the voters. An emphasis on continuity from the 1950s onward was an attempt by the JDP to show that they were no different from previous conservative parties. It also indicated the rise of the periphery to the ranks of the Kemalist state. The JDP as a successful political party reached its boundaries and goals as a pro-Islamic party in Turkish political life. Therefore, it is possible to infer that the newly increasing peripheral class with the oldest conservative Islamic values captured the Kemalist state through gradual and well-planned maneuvers. To understand the rise of the new peripheral segments today, it is prudent to elaborate on a brief historical background on the rise of conservative right parties in opposition to the Kemalist single party. The Democratic Party, the winner of the elections in 1950, was using this strict secular and antireligious bias of the RPP and was forming alliances with local bourgeoisie and rural notables. The leaders of the party tried to integrate Islam into the state polity, including the education system until the military coup in 1960 (Kaplan 2005, 666). One of the election posters of the DP in the 1950s put forward the slogan “Enough! It is time for the people.” It symbolized the awakening of the periphery against the center that ruled the Republic from the foundation to 1946. The reaction to the RPP was high before the multiparty era. However, since the heavy burdens of World War II and the resulting poverty triggered by a high inflation rate and the existence of a black market,

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a burgeoning bourgeoisie class profited from the black market. People got rid of these heavy conditions and they did not vote for the RPP. The newly emerged bourgeoisie was outside state authority, and they were keen on gaining a seat in parliament. Furthermore, the religious groups expressed disappointment in the RPP, which they considered a “Godless Party” (Allahsız Parti; Eroğul 1990, 46). DP leaders were members of the RPP, and some were even MPs before they found the Democrat Party. From discussions on the budget and especially land reform, the opposition within the RPP became apparent. Thus, the DP began on January 7, 1946 (Eroğul 1990, 9–10). Although they were successful in developing economic liberalism, they did not touch or mention any changes to the Republic’s privileges on secularism and anticommunism (47). DP’s seizure of power in the 1950s was an important event for Turkish political history since it symbolizes a turning point from single-party to multiparty politics. A liberal economic line of thought continued with the Justice Party of Süleyman Demirel (JP) or Adalet Partisi (AP) after the military coup of 1961 and the closure of the DP. After the military coup of 1980, MP gained by aligning with the Islamic sect in 1983.27 The conservative right parties received most of the votes from the periphery since the DP period. They criticized RPP’s Western politics and certain secular applications such as a Turkish call to prayer. The end of the Cold War saw these antisecular and anti-Western conservative thoughts reformulated to attack communist ideas (Mert 2007b). Conservative thought in Turkey aligned itself with the right’s nationalism and religious thought during the 1970s (Mert 2007c). This thought shift from the center right to the nationalist and the religious right created a fragmentation in the conservative right. This continued even after the military coup of 1980. Initially, a civil party, MP succeeded in combining all these fragments, especially the religious right and Naksibendi brotherhoods. For Mert (2007d), by implementing neoliberal policies, the leader of MP, Özal, presented a hidden message to the rising peripheral conservative forces. “Do you have trouble with sovereign ideology of the Republic? When we cut back the power of the state economy via privatization, this ideological pressure would disappear.” MP came to power after the military coup in 1983 as the first civil government supported by the military. Since they owed their power and government to the military, they refrained from putting political liberal policies into action. However, they were quite brave in their application of neoliberal economic reforms. Resulting from the neoliberal policies and MP’s affiliation with religious groups, the right-wing parties managed to settle down in the center, alongside the Kemalist elite. After the death of Özal, liberal conservative parties lost their power because of corruption, political degeneration, and economic crisis. A more religious and more conservative party, WP (Mert 2007e), filled the gap left from


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the conservative parties. The rise of the WP, then JDP’s victory, alarmed the high ranks of the Turkish military. Since the foundation of the Republic, Turkish military assumed the role of protecting Turkey’s secularism against Islamic reactionary movements. Guardianship of Turkish secularism and democracy is the main role for the army. The fast growth of the WP ironically supported by the army was contrary to its core vision, the Kemalist ideology. The military coup leaders in 1980 closed down all political parties and ideological organizations, specifically supporters of the communist ideology. Religion has been propped up against communism. Religion courses became compulsory in schools. Koranic courses operated by private organizations were ignored (IISS 1998, 2). Generals of the 1980s carried out policies based on a “Turkish Islamic Synthesis” to convert the materialist inanimateness of the period to “a political docility in the school system in order to create strong identification with the nation state” (Kaplan 2005, 666). Religious culture and morals courses became compulsory in all primary and secondary schools. For Kaplan, this development aimed at engendering Turkish citizens to identify with “tradition, modernity, and nationalism” (667). All these polities eventually increased the rate of conservative and religious thoughts. When the JDP came to power, because of these policies, and captured parliament, it caused anxiety for other political parties and the military, which was quite evident in the presidential election in April 2007. Kemalists and secularists see the post of Turkish president as a symbol of secularism and a representative of the Republic’s revolution. After Atatürk’s presidency, representatives of the army mainly occupied this position. The office of the president is at the same time the office of the supreme commander of the army. As such, the nomination of Abdullah Gül, previous prime minister, minister of foreign affairs, and co-founder of the JDP, for the post of Turkish president, received considerable reaction and several demonstrations took place in Ankara, İstanbul, and İzmir. The main opposition party, the RPP, withdrew from parliament during voting for the presidency. As a guardian of secularism, the chief of staff released a press statement on his web page, later called an electronic-memorandum (e-muhtıra): “Recently, the main problem during the presidency election period has been focused on the discussion of secularism. Turkish Army has pursued this situation with affliction. It must not be forgotten that the Turkish Army became a party to these discussions and strict defender of secularism. Besides, the Turkish Army strictly opposes all these discussions and negative interpretations, and when it is necessary, the Turkish Army will expressly state its gestures and behaviors. Nobody should have any doubt about it” (Büyükanıt 2007). After the chief of staff’s press release, the Constitutional Court declared the election process void since Parliament lacked the necessary

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quorum to elect the president of the Republic. This event triggered new parliamentary elections in July 2007. Opposition between the army and the ruling party was not a new event. After the 2002 elections, O’Sullivan (2003, 22) called Turkish secularism “a unique blend of secular democracy and Islamic society” and defined the position of the Turkish army, as “the opposition and the army are also deeply hostile to the ruling party, viewing it as an Islamist threat to secularism.” The JDP is not a typical Islamic party and its votes are not solely on Islamism. After the 2007 elections, Erdoğan delivered a speech arguing that they were not an Islamic but a center party open to everyone in Turkey. Because of the gradual change and transformation from the end of the Ottoman Empire, the new generation of periphery, especially from the 1970s onward, placed itself at the center, so the previous simplistic analytical division between center and periphery lost its explanatory power. This means that newly expanding peripheral segments have been integrated into modern life of the center. As the newly emerged segments of the periphery dominated the state organization, the threat perception of Kemalists increased. The JDP’s leading cadres claimed that their party shares the same social base with the DP’s aim to change the party’s identity from Islamic to conservative right. In 2004, Yalçın Akdoğan, a close colleague of Erdoğan wrote a book entitled Ak Party ve Muhafazakâr Demokrasi (AKP and Conservative Democracy), where he aimed to establish the main ideological principles of the party. In the prologue of the book, Tayyip Erdoğan (2004) says that his party represented “a new political genre and a new understanding defined by conservative democracy.” Erdoğan briefly defined the JDP as “a mass party established on the basis of conservatism. It advocates policies toward masses which are in the center of the political spectrum.” This emphasis on the center is important and follows the party’s goal to attract voters from the center-right. To underline the party’s common goal, Erdoğan talks about developing a dialogue for every segment of the Turkish society, based on “peace, stability, a guaranteed welfare and cooperation.” This common goal, according to Erdoğan, is achievable only by respecting both democracy and human rights, and by tolerating different cultures living in Turkey. In addition, Erdoğan emphasized sustainable and balanced economic and social development, and fighting poverty. Peace and conciliation in society for Erdoğan, directly depended on communication and dialogue. Negation of the dialogue meant, “rejecting to live together.” He defined dialogue as “a relationship of the people; open minded and open hearted (gönlü açık), enlightened with wisdom (ilim) and thoughts, are free from the prejudices and they are critically and outspokenly ready to learn from each other.” As Erdoğan stated:


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Democracy is regime of dialogue, tolerance and conciliation. . . . JDP brings up a new line of conservative democrats in accordance with genres of the conservatism, and historical codes without any contradiction in social and cultural traditions in the geography that they make policy. . . . JDP emphasizes a modern conservatism opened to renewal, instead the old conservatism based on old status quo. . . . JDP stands for a small but dynamic and effective state based on the rule of law. . . . Instead of getting a democracy intrinsic to Turkey, it should be a democracy based on pluralism, polyphony (çok sesli) and tolerance. An ideal one is to get an organic democracy diffused over the administrative, social and political arena, not to get a mechanic democracy based on the elections and particular establishments. We call this a Deep Democracy. . . . Freedom is not only a value for democracy, but also a value and principles for the society that provides a moral and legal framework for the social order and responsibilities. . . . Human Rights, inherent rights, is valid for everyone, and should be based on the rule of law without any privileges for religion, race, gender, language, policy or class division. (Erdoğan 2004)

To emphasize JDP’s differences from the Islamic base, the party appropriated a new definition for conservatism with a strong but small state. They used many concepts to indicate their new identity as a mass party that includes everyone in Turkey. This means that the party will gain support from conservatives and Islamists. Since conservatism not only provides a legitimate base to speak about religion, it also boosts the party with a large number of voters by claiming continuity with the DP. According to Doğanay (2007, 69), there are some practical reasons and limits behind this. In 1997, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan received a fivemonth prison sentence and banishment from politics. The ongoing court cases of Recep Tayyip Erdoğan threatened his political career. Therefore, Erdoğan preferred a more conciliatory and moderate political language to avoid prosecution and banishment from politics. Instead of obtaining only Islamist votes, they desired to increase their voter population by concentrating on the center. Previous center-right parties left the political arena empty-handed. Moreover, the secular groups will respect a new identity aligned with conservative democracy, as they are not a threat to secularism. According to the JDP, “democracy is a regime of dialogue, tolerance and conciliation.” Tolerance is the key word in this understanding of democracy. Everyone living in Turkey under the freedom of thought and faith will live together with tolerance in society. Therefore, social differences will live together in peace and the combination of state and nation will be recovered (Y. Akdoğan 2004). Doğanay asserts that the definition of democracy based on tolerance has not brought about the discussion on legal equal rights for everyone. Instead, the basis of JDP’s multicultural discourse is tolerance formed under religious identity (2007, 79).

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Human rights are defined in the context of right to live; freedom of thought, freedom of association; freedom of faith and conscience. The party’s program states that, international agreements guarantee these rights. Furthermore, they legitimize these rights according to the Koran (Y. Akdoğan 2004). Until now, actions regarding human rights concentrated on the turban (scarf) issue based on freedom of faith and conscience. Conservative interpretation of democracy and efforts to combine Islam and conservatism clearly indicates the legitimization of party politics. This legitimization of conservative identity while providing a safe position against harsh criticism made by the Kemalist elite would create potential voters from the conservative right periphery. Besides, matriculation to a neoliberal economy in a global context created a new rich peripheral segment.

C o nc lus i on There are several layers covering the rise of conservative-right proreligious parties over the past two decades. The first dimension relates to the recent political, social and cultural changes in Turkish political life. The reason behind these changes is the displeasure of voters over previous parties and political corruption. In addition, there was deprivation from economic loss, the compensation for which came by the JDP delivering goods and services to rural and indigent parts of Turkey. In addition to the economic losses, political and cultural changes vary and become visible on a daily basis. However, when delving deeper, it is possible to consider these ostensible reasons as primary conditions to the rise of pro-Islamic parties. The second dimension relates directly to new economic conditions starting from the 1980s with the New Right Policies based on an export-oriented economy. It created new conservative religious segments demanding protection from the state. This excluded peripheral segments by combining religion and market relations into society as a new economic and political power. The third dimension related sociohistorical facts and the reason for the deep division between the Republican Kemalist bureaucracy and others. Corruption and problems in the political arena, as well as growing unemployment and many diverse issues dealing with social and economic life, tacitly caused an increase in conservative and religious thoughts among the voters. The JDP, in this context by defining itself as a conservative right party rather than a religious one, benefited from the advantages of this increase in conservatism among the people. Furthermore, having a new label as conservative right, it secured itself against secular forces.


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It refrained from conflicts with the army and strengthened its dominant position in Turkish politics, as the 2007 elections had illustrated.

N otes 1. Traditionalists are usually supported by Wahhabis and Saudis who state that Islam should be kept and followed according to “the first couple of generations of faith” as well as according to the Koran. Modernists, who are also followers of the Koran, believe Islam should react according to new conditions of modern life. The Economist, “Back to the Ottomans’: A Special Report on Religion and Public Life, Why Turkey, Matters So Much to Islam,” 385, no. 8553 (November 3, 2007). 2. Here, Turkish Islam is taken as “a reproduction of religious life,” which has been transformed according to Turkish style. M. Hakan Yavuz, ‘Is There a Turkish Islam? The Emergence of Convergence and Consensus’ Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs 24, no. 2 (October 2004): 218. Yavuz explains that Turkish Islam relates to “Islamiyat (Islamicate) putting the universal principles of Islam to work in terms of building institutions, ideas, practices, arts, and vernacularized morality. It is a particular way of crafting and creating one’s own way of being Islam” (218). 3. Binnaz Toprak, “Islam and Secular State in Turkey,” in Turkey: Political, Social and Economic Challenges in the 1990s, ed. Çiğdem Balim, et al. (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1995), 90–92, explained why Turkey did not experience a revolution similar to Iran. Turkey is a secular country and the state controls the religion. Authoritarian policies of the state over religion for Toprak are succeeded to personalize and privatize religion in society. Unlike the 1970s, now the main question is what will happen to state control over religion after the rise of AKP in the new context of Turkish politics, which was not unforeseen by Toprak in the 1990s. 4. For David Eshel, rising political Islam “is shrewdly exploiting President Bush’s ‘democratization process’ throughout the Middle East, times are changing fast and not favorably for Western strategic aims.” Eshel, “Turkey’s Hidden Islamist Agenda—Myth or Reality.” Letter from the Middle East. Military Technology, no. 6 (2007): 9. 5. General election results come from different websites, including http://www .generalelections.com, http://www.ysk.gov.tr/ysk/index.html, http://www .tuik.gov.tr/secimdagitimapp/secim.zul; municipality election results found on http://yerelnet.org.tr. 6. Bursa Youth Branch of the party circulated a brochure about the party march on July 17, 1970. The following hymn was printed on the brochure: “Everybody will hear and listen, this reality cannot be any more hidden, on each leaf and on each flower, we will write that the ‘only way is Islam.’” (The chief public prosecutor’s decision on the NOP closure case 1971/1, 20/05/1971, http://www.belgenet.com/dava/mnp_01.html.) 7. A speech delivered by Erbakan on May 17, 1970, in İzmir, “This nation, by showing the way to Islam, has never been defeated . . . .NOP will follow a policy of nationalism for a 1000 years . . . .Turkish Panel Code 163 has been

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8.

9.

10. 11.

12.

13.

Nuran SavaŞkan AkdoĞan used to destroy Islamicate.” (The chief public prosecutor’s decision on the NOP closure case 1971/1, 20 May 1971.) Bülent Arınç, the president of the Turkish Grand National Assembly between 2002 and 2007, expressed in one interview that he was one of the first supporters of NOP’s youth movement. Because of the coalition with RPP in the 1970s, he said that those who oppose NSP leading cadres was accused the party of being communist. “They are like watermelon, their surface is green but their inside is red.” Ruşen Çakır and Fehmi Çalmuk, Recep Tayip Erdoğan Bir Dönüşüm Öyküsü, 1980 Sonrası İslami Hareket 3 (Recep Recep Tayyip Erdoğan: A Story of Transformation) (İstanbul: Siyah Beyaz Metis Yayınları, 2001), 125. In this metaphor, while the color green is used to symbolize Islam, red is for communism. WP’s mayor in Sincan, a district of Ankara, organized a celebration for a commemoration night of Jerusalem. The Ambassador of Iran was invited and the mayor gave speeches extolling the praises of Iranian and Khomeini regimes. Civil and military bureaucrats reacted to the event, and military troops organized the military demonstration by sending tanks down the street of Sincan Municipality. Ümit Cizre and Çınar Menderes, “Turkey 2002: Kemalism, Islamism, and Politics in the Light of the February 28 Process,” South Atlantic Quarterly, 102, nos. 2/3 (Summer 2003): 309–31. For detailed information, see http://www.belgenet.com/arsiv/fazilet.html. In the early period of the Turkish Republic, the goal was to establish a homogenous nation state with one language, one culture, and one religion to provide equal rights for the citizens; contrary to the Ottoman nation (millet) system. Mardin uses Edward Shills’s cultural and historical division on the center and the periphery differently in the sociohistorical division of Turkish society. Please see Şerif Mardin, “Center Periphery Relations: A Key to Turkish Politics,” Daedalus (1972). This division between the center and periphery was used in analyzing Turkish political history. M. Heper, “The State and Interest Groups with Special Reference to Turkey,” in Strong State and Economic Interests Groups: The post-1980 Turkish Experience, ed. M. Heper (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1991), 12, argues that Ottoman and Turkish tradition of bureaucratic-centralist state policy put distance between social groups. Another argument takes the center as formed by the bureaucratic and military elites, who rule the country from above in collaboration with local forces. E. Kalaycıoğlu, “1960 Sonrasi Türk Siyasal Hayatina Bir Bakiş: Demokrasi, Neo-Patrimonyalizm ve İstikrar” in Türkiye’de Siyasal Hayatın Gelişimi [Development of Political Life in Turkey], ed. E. Kalaycıoğlu and A. Y. Saribay (Istanbul: Beta, 1988), 472. This argument pays less attention to the division between the center and periphery after the 1970s. For A. Argun Akdoğan, “Mapping Özal’s New Right Hegemonic Project” (PhD thesis, Ankara, Middle East Technical University. (METU 2001), the division between the center and periphery “has somewhat lost its relevance for some scholars after late 1970s. . . . However, the basic argument that the Ottoman-Turkish State was patrimonial and centralist still continues to be predominant in the literature.”


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14. Mardin uses “operational codes” as “a specific type of praxis” based on Nathan Leites’s (1972) book on The Operational Code of Politbureau. 15. AKP won 363 seats, Republican People’s Party won 178 seats, and independent candidates won 9 seats in parliament. There are 550 total parliament seats. Republican People’s Party did not have any seats before this election. They won 19 percent of the votes. None of the parties that took part in the previous cabinet could be reelected, as they could not pass the 10 percent quota set by election law. 16. The current constitution was drafted in 1982 after the coup d’etat that took place in September 1980. The civil constitution was also taken as a threat to the regime by the military and the secularists, which was defined as a deviation from the path of Kemalism and Secularism. 17. The candidacy of Abdullah Gül by the JDP government, minister of Foreign Affairs, as the president of the Turkish Republic created a reaction among the secular crowd. The meetings were organized in several big cities in Turkey, including Ankara, İzmir, Istanbul, and Samsun before the 2007 general election. 18. It is not clear for Michael Rubin where the JDP finds money “to stabilize the currency, subsidize popular programs, and run its substantial political machine.” Rubin, “Green Money, Islamist Politics in Turkey,” Middle East Quarterly 12, no. 1 (Winter 2005): 4. He explains “green money” (i.e., Islamic capital investments in Turkey) and shows the relationship between politicians and green capital. 19. Translated from Turkish by the author. 20. Sultan Tepe explains the rise of JDP in the context of the prospect theory. “People are prone to risk-seeking decisions when they face crises (i.e., when they perceive their decisions to occur in the domain of losses). In order to correct their situation, specifically in political science, they can vote for the outsider.” Tepe, “Politics between Market and Islam: The Electoral Puzzle and Changing Prospects of Pro-Islamic Parties,” Mediterranean Quarterly 18, no. (2007): 109. 21. These are small-to-medium scale enterprises run by conservative and religious businessmen and shareholder companies. 22. See Ayşe Buğra, “Labour, Capital, and Religion: Harmony and Conflict among the Constituency of Political Islam in Turkey,” Middle Eastern Studies 38, no. 2 (2002): 187–204, for detailed information about MUSIAD and the relationship between Islam and the economy. 23. The Turkish Grand National Assembly wrote the first and second constitutions of the Republic in 1921 and 1924. While the 1921 constitution established the Turkish Republic, the 1924 constitution organized main powers of the assembly and settled the separation of powers in the executive branch. Amendments in 1923, after the sultanate was abolished in 1922, officially expressed the foundation of the Republic. The religion of the state was Islam and the language of the state was Turkish. Although the caliphate was abolished in 1924, secularism was not realized until 1928. (Parla 1995, 12–20). The second provision of the 1924 constitution was revised in 1937, according to Act 3115 as “Turkish Republic is a nationalist, populist, statist,

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24.

25. 26.

27.

Nuran SavaŞkan AkdoĞan secularist and revolutionist state. Its official language is Turkish. Capital city is Ankara.” Sheik Sait Uprising in 1925 in the eastern part of Turkey (uprising due to Kurdish ethnic separatism rather than bringing back the caliphate system); Naksibendi uprising in the Black Sea Region in 1925 (demonstrations against “hat reform”); Menemen rebellions in 1930; Naksibendi revolts in 1933 and 1936. All were suppressed by the single party regime. Binnaz Toprak, “Religious Right,” in Turkey in Transition, ed. Irvin C. Schick and E. Ahmet Tonak (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), 225. Article deals with AKP and its political actions, thus, the Sufi orders and Brotherhood organization are not analyzed in detail (Yavuz 2004). Millet System of Ottoman Empire articulated different political and social multiethnic groups based on religion. For P. A. Andrews, Ethnic Groups in the Republic of Turkey (Wiesbaden: Dr. Ludwig Reichert, 1989), 18, millet refers to “the old Ottoman denomination by which the semi-autonomous minorities were known, rather than ‘nation’ in the modern sense.” Vote rates of the conservative right-wing parties in power from 1950 onward: DP (53.3% in 1950, 56.6% in 1954, 47.3% in 1957); JP (52.9% in 1965, 46.5% in 1969); MP (45.1% in 1983, 36.3% in 1987); JDP (34.3% in 2002, 46.6% in 2007).

Chapter 11

4

In t errogating Liberal Democ rac y The Isl amic Movement in Maur itius

Sheila Bunwaree

The small multiethnic island state of Mauritius, lying some 900 kilome-

ters off the east coast of Madagascar in the Indian Ocean, is often cited as a success story, an exemplar of democracy and a model of social cohesion (Dubey 1997; Cawthra 2005; Eriksen 1998). The political, economic, social, and cultural engineering that postcolonial Mauritius embarked on helped enormously toward economic diversification, the enlargement of opportunities for all, and the consolidation of peace in the country. Writing about Mauritius, well-known anthropologist Eriksen (1998) notes: “Mauritius can serve as a counter example to the depressingly numerous cases of violent ethnic conflict of recent years and can provide fresh and sometimes unexpected premises for ongoing debates on multiculturalism and minority rights worldwide.” Mukonoweshuro (1991) explains that the politicians have “woven a political spoils system,” which has ensured that each ethnic group has an established stake in the system, thus ensuring its legitimacy in the eyes of all the ethnoreligious communities on the island. In discussing the place of the Muslim community and Islamization in the secular state of Mauritius, this chapter seeks to examine the extent to which Mauritian democracy is truly “legitimate” in the eyes of all the citizens on the island. This chapter argues that despite Mauritius’s politics of representation and recognition, which seeks to accommodate all ethnic groups, some segments of the Muslim community at certain periods of the country’s history in Mauritius felt that they were not sufficiently recognized and represented in the public sector and that their existence as a minority group has been politically marginalized.

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This chapter also argues that Islam in Mauritius has generally been moderate. While the Muslim community has, during both the preindependence and postindependence periods mobilized and rallied around key Muslim political figures such as Sir Abdul Razack Mohamed to claim more space and protection of their interests. Political Islam in Mauritius is a phenomenon of the 1990s. The founding of an ethnic/Muslim-based political party by the name of Hizbullah, led by Cehl Meeah, exemplifies this phenomenon. To understand the nature and extent of the Islamic movement in Mauritius, it is important to understand the history and evolution of the Muslim community. The interface of the Muslim community with the evolving political landscape, the factors that led to increasing clamor for Islamic revivalism in the 1990s, the circumstances leading to the setting up of the Hizbullah, the entry of political Islam as well as the dynamics of Mauritian secularism. The history and evolution of the Muslim community in Mauritius constitutes the first part of this chapter. The latter also includes a discussion of the evolution of the Mauritian political landscape and the importance of the Comité d’Action Musulman (CAM) as a Muslim political party. The second part of the chapter analyzes the fate of the Muslim community after the landslide victory of the Mouvement Militant Mauricien / Mouvement Socialiste Mauricien (MMM/MSM) in 1982 and the collapse of the coalition government some nine months later. The beginnings of the radicalization of the Muslim community resulted from its ostracizing by the Jugnauth-led, Hindu-dominated government in the country. Thus, political Islam made its entry into Mauritian liberal democratic politics. The third part of this chapter attempts to explain why the Hizbullah has become a marginal and an insignificant party. This section also discusses the dynamics of Mauritian secularism and some other factors that contribute to toning down the spread of fundamentalism in the country.

Bac kgro und Mauritius has a population of almost 1.2 million people, all of whom constitute a deterritorialization of people from across the globe. Mauritius, unlike Fiji, does not have an indigenous population and therefore no claims for land rights—a factor that contributed to stability in the country. The Dutch, followed by the French, first settled the island after which it became a British possession. The Dutch introduced sugarcane, but the French expanded the sugar industry. Slaves were brought from Pondicherry and Chandernagore in India, but Madagascar and Mozambique were the two great sources of slaves for Mauritius (Baker 1982).

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French colonial rule ended in 1810. The British ruled the island from 1810 to 1968, the year in which the country gained its independence. After the abolition of slavery in Mauritius in February 1835, indentured laborers started coming from India. The Indo-Mauritians are both Muslim and Hindu. The Hindu majority constitutes some 50 percent of the population, while the Muslims represent some 18 percent, Creoles 27 percent, Sino-Mauritians 3 percent, and Franco-Mauritians 2 percent of the population, respectively. While it is true that the greater proportion of Muslims arrived with the wave of indentured laborers, one must recognize that a small number of Indian Muslims had already arrived under French colonial rule as early as the 1840s when traders from Gujarat started migrating to Mauritius (Kalla 1987). According to Kalla, the Gujarati traders emerged as social elite among the Indian and Indo-Mauritian population and became the main founders and promoters of Islamic institutions on the island. Eisenlohr (2006) notes that, despite their primarily North Indian indenture background, Muslims in Mauritius were, from the beginning, characterized by important ethnic and class differences, which had a major effect on the local practice of Islamic traditions and the formation of political identities among Muslims in Mauritius. Hollup (1996) also emphasized the heterogeneity of Mauritian Muslims. In terms of occupational specialization, socioeconomic status, and political affiliation, Muslims in Mauritius are highly diverse. Some 99 percent of the Muslims of Mauritius are Sunnis, 1 percent Shiites. The dominant Sunni group has raised its voice loudest and thus largely represented the Muslim community.

Po s tc o lo nial M aur i ti us: Th e Vis ibl e H ands of the Stat e The history of postcolonial Mauritius is based on profound visibility of the hands of the state. The country’s development was steered in such a manner that it succeeded in avoiding the Malthusian predicament. The country became middle income with a per capita income of approximately US$5,000. The Mauritian state managed to lift its people out of poverty and provoked a revolution of aspirations and expectations nationwide. Various factors explain the first phase of the Mauritian success story. These include an export-led industrialization strategy, a national bourgeoisie, an able and competent bureaucracy, the absence of conflicting ideologies, a strong welfare state, human-faced structural adjustment, successful demographic control, tapping of preferential arrangements, economics of ethnicity and cultures, and a “habitus” for institutional engineering. Identity markers have always been central to Mauritian society and each community tends to be vigilant about their interests. Now that the economy is

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facing a number of new challenges such as the dismantling of the multifiber agreement, the erosion of preferential arrangements, the disjuncture between its human capital skills and the emerging needs of the economy, not to mention the growing asymmetry in the distribution of entitlements, identity politics is taking on new significance as it manifests itself in various ways. The riots of 1999 bear testimony to the growing alienation and frustration of some segments of the Creole community. Accommodating diversity and ensuring equal opportunities for all remains a delicate balancing act in a pluriethnic society such as Mauritius, which, despite its record of achievements, remains deeply stratified socially, economically, and linguistically. Can liberal democrats handle new identity politics in these globalizing times? When liberal democratic politicians find it increasingly difficult to protect and defend the rights (inclusive of socioeconomic rights) of all citizens irrespective of sex, race, and ethnicity, they run the risk of confronting new forms of radicalism. The latter poses important challenges for governance. The inadequate representation of Muslims in Mauritian politics in the decades preceding independence, the almost total neglect of Muslims during the period 1983 to 1995 under a Jugnauth Hindu– dominated government highlight how and why the Muslims mobilized to contest for more space and defend their interests on the island.

A D i stinc t Musl im I dent i ty : The L ei tm oti f of th e Po l itic al Struggle of the M usli ms Agitation for more adequate representation started well before the country achieved its independence in 1968. Colonial Mauritius held general elections in August 1948. The new constitution provided for an extended although limited franchise that gave the right of vote to thousands of Indians for the first time. The Muslim community did not make any gains in terms of elected representation in the legislature (Emrith 1994). Muslim representation in the legislature suffered another serious setback when the governor nominated only one Muslim. The Muslims were disappointed with the new constitution. Emrith (1994) also argues that the Colonial Office seemed to see the Hindus and Muslims as constituting one homogenous community and therefore as adequately represented by the contingent of newly elected Hindu/Indo-Mauritians in the legislature. The recognition of the Muslims as a distinct entity by the authorities in terms of the political fabric of Mauritius would become the recurring theme of Muslims’ political struggle for the next two decades. The plight of Muslims worried the community so much that they organized a mass rally of Muslims at the Champ de Mars on September 26, 1948, the main purpose of which was to demand justice and redress.


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Advance, a daily newspaper in Mauritius, drew attention to the six resolutions adopted at the rally. All six resolutions spoke to the representation of the Muslim community in politics. Resolution 4, for instance, stated, “The Muslim community has a right in the share of the Government of the colony and it cannot tolerate that its important interests be safeguarded by one or more nominated or by elected members belonging to another community with different culture and religion” (Advance, September 28, 1948). Emrith (1997, 297) notes that “despite the clamour raised by the Muslims against the new Constitution, there was no chance that the secretary of state for the colonies would accede to their demands for the simple reason that the constitution had just been promulgated. However, when a nominated seat in the legislature became open in 1951, the governor chose a Muslim by the name of Atchia to fill the vacancy.” In 1953, Abdul Razack Mohamed was the first Muslim elected to the legislature in Mauritius. A candidate of the Ralliement Mauricien, he ranked fourth after the three successful candidates of the Mauritius Labour Party. The Ralliement Mauricien was formed in 1952 by a group of conservative Franco Mauritians and Creoles and supported by Muslim forces to fight the Hindu-dominated Labor Party. The persistent underrepresentation of the Muslim community concerned the Labour Party and increasingly they felt that other minority groups were using them for their own vested interests. In discussing this, Emrith (1994) refers to a cartoon caption, which appeared in the weekly newspaper the Mauritius Times. The cartoon was that of a fox and a goat representing Jules Koenig, leader of the Ralliment Mauricien, on the back of Mohamed, respectively stepping out of a well. According to Emrith, the cartoon depicting Mohamed being used as a ladder gave cause for concern to the Muslim community and there was growing realization that they should not allow themselves to be used by others but should contest for more space for themselves in an independent manner.

Bi rth o f th e C o mite D’Ac ti on M usulm an Abdul Razack Mohamed left the Ralliement Mauricien to found the CAM. In many ways, Razack Mohamed became the recognized leader of the Muslim community since he defended their rights and fought to ensure adequate representation of Muslims in parliament. The CAM’s first claim was for the introduction of separate electoral rolls for Muslims. Most Muslims identified themselves with the CAM. While there were enough reasons for the Muslims to feel marginalized and to have recourse to such claims, others particularly from the Hindu majority group, such as Hazareesingh (1978), had different

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views. Hazareesingh expressed reservations on the sectarian approach of the Muslims to politics in Mauritius. He notes: In no community was this sectarian approach more apparent than among the Muslims, whose leaders evidently believed in the destiny of the Mauritianization as a whole, but who found it expedient to maintain a provincial approach to politics, especially after their abortive attempt in 1955 at making common cause with the old political parties, namely, Union Mauricienne, Ralliement Mauricien, and the Parti Mauricien. Despite what may be regarded as their “provincial approach to politics” and their weak numerical percentage, the Muslims had an important role in the political life of the island, namely, during the preindependence campaign when Abdul Razack Mohamed, leader of the CAM, allied himself with Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam, a Hindu and would-be first prime minister. This alliance was strategic in securing the necessary votes for independence since 44 percent of the population mostly made up of different minorities inclusive of some segments of the Muslim community voted against independence.

P relude to I ndependec e Although many countries can speak of their independence as being fueled by nationalist sentiment, Mauritius experienced a different situation altogether. The Hindu majority expressed anticolonial feelings, but the other ethnoreligious groups preferred to maintain ties with the mother country. Mauritius was divided as it negotiated its way toward independence. The interethnic tensions and the economic morass prevailing during that period could have led to a social explosion, but Mauritius managed to avert it. During the last decade before independence (1958 to 1968), Mauritian minorities grew increasingly fearful of a Hindu hegemony. During this decade, there were also a great many discussions about the timing and conditions of Mauritian independence. Two main sets of constitutional talks took place before independence; the first in June 1961, two years after the 1959 elections, and the second in September 1965. Four parties contested the 1959 election: the Labor Party, Basdeo Bissoondoyal’s Independent Forward Block (IFB)—a Hindu party formed in 1958, Razack Mohamed’s Muslim party the Comité d’Action Musulman and the Parti Mauricien (PM), formerly known as the Ralliement Mauricien led by Jules Koenig. The unfolding of the election campaign saw an increased split among the Hindus. The IFB worked increasingly with the PM in an attempt to unseat the LP while the two main parties, the PM and the LP, wooed Razack Mohamed, the leader of the CAM. The Muslim leader chose to


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form an alliance with the LP as it offered him the most power and his community the most seats in council. The LP won the elections and the results were consistent with previous elections. The LP won twenty-three, the IFB six, the CAM five, and the PM three seats, respectively. After the LP victory in 1959, Mauritian minorities sought to postpone independence, but the British decided to move forward. Ramgoolam became the chief minister in 1961. Other agreements were that after the 1963 election the leader of the winning party would be named premier, the council of ministers would replace the executive committee, and the legislative council would become the legislative assembly. Elections took place again in October 1963. Ramgoolam led the LP and a young Creole attorney named Gaetan Duval now led the opposition. He renamed the PM, Parti Mauricien Social Démocrate (PMSD). The LP was once more victorious, but its number of seats was reduced to nineteen. In accordance with the agreement at the 1961 conference, Ramgoolam formed a coalition government. Leaders of all four parties received ministerial responsibilities and Razack Mohamed, leader of the CAM, was in the forefront of Mauritian politics.

Th e Best Lo se r System: Mau r itius’s Po li ti c s of R ec o g nitio n and Repres entat ion To reduce tensions and dampen fears of the different communal parties, the British brought forward a plan to establish a new electoral commission to deal with issues of representation. The electoral commission commonly called the Banwell Commission arrived in Mauritius in January 1966. Selvon (2001) notes that the Muslim community was not happy with the Banwell recommendations because of the rigid conditions attached to the proposed “correctives.” They felt that the Banwell recommendations, if accepted, might well annihilate the status of the Muslims as a constitutional minority in Mauritius, which they gained in 1959 with the Trustam Eve Electoral Commission. Because of the uproar raised against the Banwell recommendations, the secretary of state for the colonies dispatched Under Secretary John Stonehouse to Mauritius to discuss the situation and to find an arrangement acceptable to all parties concerned. Stonehouse arrived in Mauritius on June 7, 1966, two years before independence and held several meetings with the leaders of the various political parties. After discussions, there was general agreement that the proposed system of correctives, which had been the real cause of disagreement among the political parties, would be replaced by “eight specially elected seats” allocated to the Best Loser candidates of communities that would be underrepresented in the legislature.

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CAM was satisfied at retaining the Best Loser System (BLS), already in place in the current constitution. The new legislative assembly would thus comprise seventy members: sixty elected members for Mauritius, two for Rodrigues, and eight specially elected (Best Loser) members. The proposals that emerged continue to shape Mauritian elections today.

Th e Fir st-Past- the-Pos t a nd the Best-Lo s er System The BLS is one of the two features that distinguish the Mauritian electoral system. The other feature is the first past the post (FPTP). There are sixty-two members elected on an FPTP, or rather first three past the post (Mathur 1991, 32) basis, from twenty constituencies on the island of Mauritius and two from the island of Rodrigues. The choice of which three candidates lies with the voter with no block party vote legally imposed. Most dominant parties challenged the FPTP system, particularly once the dominant parties were out of government. The subject of electoral reform was often in the manifesto of political parties during the campaign period but were conveniently forgotten soon after the elections. The challenge revolved around the unfair/biased nature of the system in which there is a large degree of disproportionality between the percentage of votes cast and the number of seats obtained in parliament. Such disproportionality and the underrepresentation of women in parliament have been described as the major “democratic deficits” of the country (Sachs 2002; Bunwaree 2006). Thus, in the 1982 and 1995 general elections, the result was 60 to 0 and there was no opposition. While in 1991 and 2000, the presence of the opposition in parliament barely reached symbolic levels, resulting in very weak opposition (Bunwaree 2008). Various calls for electoral reform made by civil society groups have not had much effect (Bunwaree 2009). The FPTP system has many problems associated with it. According to Salih (2006), there are multiple disadvantages with the FPTP system. If Mauritius wants to continue to be a paradigm of democratic principles, it must ensure that all its minority groups and women are able to enjoy the benefits of distributive justice and political inclusiveness (Salih 2006).

Th e B es t Lo ser Sy ste m and Polit ic al Inclusiveness: A Divergence of Views For Yousouf Mohamed, a well-known barrister and son of Razack Mohamed, the founder of CAM, the Mauritian polity is made up of a multitude of diverse communities each of which have their own set of specificities. Mohamed maintains that the BLS is the “best guarantee for


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peace and harmony among the various Mauritian communities” and that it helps to ensure the representation of minority groups in Mauritius, while a large segment of Mauritian society sees the BLS as a violation of the spirit of citizenship (Uteem 2006). Others, such as political scientist Mathur (1991), also see it as promoting communalism and dividing the nation. Hilary Blood (1957, 359) after his period of governorship in Mauritius from 1949 to 1953, although recognizing the need for special arrangements to ensure the representation of all communities, wrote, “Heaven forbid that it should become permanent: that would be a confession of failure, an acknowledgement of a racially divided state which cannot find a national unifying principle.” The interpretation of a national unifying principle varies from person to person; some appreciate the BLS contribution to stability and therefore see it as central to the unifying principle while others see it as a stumbling block to the emergence of a national identity and the development of a strong Mauritian citizenship. This divergence of views persists in modern Mauritius. It is perhaps the main factor behind the stalling of the electoral reform.

Rise of the Mouvement Militant Mau r ic ien, Co l l apse of the M M M / MS M Coal itio n in 198 3, and t he Fate o f the Musl im C ommun it y Once in power, the Hindu-dominated LP of Ramgoolam formed a coalition government with Duval, leader of the PMSD. Duval joined the government in 1969 at Ramgoolam’s request. The LP included a number of wealthy traders and landowners whose economic interests coincided with the Franco Mauritians. The latter too thought it in their interest to work with the Hindu leaders. Opposition to the above coalition came from a newly formed political party, the Mouvement Militant Mauricien (MMM) founded in 1969 by Paul Bérenger, a young Franco-Mauritian, Dev Virahsawmy, and Jooneed Jeerooburkhan. The MMM began as a radical movement of young educated Mauritians of different ethnic origins whose main goals were to combat communalism and to replace communal struggle with class struggle. The MMM was quickly gaining strength. An MMM candidate was elected in parliament to a vacated seat in Ramgoolam’s home constituency of Triolet. This significant victory for the MMM was a threat to Ramgoolam’s Labour Party. As the 1976 elections approached, the LP faced many problems. A major cyclone hit the country in 1975 destroying the sugar crop. Rivalries among LP ministers over leadership issues made

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themselves felt. Disputes relating to caste over nominations of candidates increased. The LP faced elections in a rather uncomfortable situation. For the MMM, the election was an opportunity to express their views about the kind of society they envisaged. The MMM’s government program called for the rejection of capitalism and the adoption of socialism. The emphasis on class versus ethnicity as well as slogans such as ene sel le pep ene sel nation (one people, one nation) started making headway with the population. At the 1976 election, the MMM received the most votes, 40.1 percent but gained only thirty-four seats, two short of an absolute majority. The LP, which fought the 1976 election with the CAM as the Independent Party, won twenty-eight seats representing 37.2 percent of the vote and PMSD obtained 16.5 percent of the votes with eight seats. Ramgoolam regained his seat, but Duval of the PMSD, Mohamed of CAM, and Bissoondoyal of IFB all lost their seats. Ramgoolam formed a coalition government with the PMSD. Using a Marxist ideology discourse, the MMM emphasized the importance of class struggle in a highly stratified Mauritius. The MMM strategy was to rally the various minority groups within a large alliance. The Muslims who had seen themselves in a vulnerable position as a minority group found space and opportunity within the MMM. The CAM became increasingly insignificant to the Muslim community. A number of Muslims joined the MMM and together with citizens from other communities fought for a classless society, but the emphasis on class did not last long. Bowman (1991) notes that the MMM’s alliance with the Parti Socialiste Mauricien (PSM) and its promise that Aneerood Jugnauth, a Hindu barrister, would be the Prime Minister if the election was won, were playing the Hindu ethnic card. This thinned down the “party’s non communal class based image.” Although the MMM had begun with a noncommunal approach, the reality of ethnic Mauritius with its large Hindu majority did not take long to transform the MMM into a party, which saw the importance of maneuvering the different ethnic groups to obtain success (Bowman 1991). Despite its change of emphasis, the MMM continued to be an important political party and the Muslim community has for a long time been associated with it. When the MMM and PSM split in 1983, all the Muslim parliamentarians and many others followed Bérenger. Jugnauth, who was quick to react by forming the Mouvement Socialiste Mauricien (MSM), ruled from 1983 to 1995 by forming a series of alliances and coalitions with other parties.


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I s l a miz atio n and the Entry of Po l itic al I sl am in M aur i ti us Mauritius, since the early 1990s, began to experience an important wave of Islamization. This is not easy to define, but in Mauritius, the general perception of Islamization is the attempt by some groups to claim a specific Muslim identity. This is manifested by a particular dress code, by establishing specific Islamic political parties, and by some general predisposition to a Muslim personal law and claims for it within a secular state. It also includes the promotion of ties and diverse forms of identification with Arab countries, the adoption of Arabic as an ancestral language, and the teaching of Arabic in schools. Other manifestations include the building of mosques across the island, the setting up of an Islamic Center, the replication of Arabic architecture in mosques and domes, and the wearing of the chador by an increasing number of women. More recently, the country witnessed the establishment of an Islamic Bank and the emergence of the Muslim business elite. Such Islamization is central to the Mauritian Islamic Movement. Hollup (1996, 287) notes that “some new practices are not yet uniformly adopted by the majority, but some Muslim men have started to wear long shirts (Jilbab) and some have started to grow long beards and some women now wear the hijab.” Greater contact with the Arab world and the rapid evolution of different forms of media brought a greater consciousness of the Palestinian cause, the ripple effect of which, according to some local stakeholders, is giving rise to more fundamentalism. Selvon (2001, 425) notes that “during the Gulf war, many Iraqi flags were displayed in Plaine Verte— an urban agglomeration where there is the largest concentration of Muslims—a sign that solidarity with the Arab and Islamic countries had become a major concern in the Mauritian Muslim community.” The Islamic movement has not however translated into a movement for spreading political Islam in any significant manner. While it is true that the 1990s saw the advent of the Hizbullah, a Muslim political party defending the interests of Islam and the Muslim community, the Hizbullah has today become a marginal party, and no other Islamic party, as such, has come into being.

Fac to r s and Circumstance s Lea ding to the Fo undi ng of the Hizbu l l a h I sl amic Poli ti c al Party Several factors can explain the entry of political Islam in Mauritius. These include the splitting of the MMM/MSM alliance that came to power in 1982 and the subsequent neglect of the Muslim community by the

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Jugnauth-led MSM, the boycott of Muslims in the civil service, the closure of the Libyan Embassy, and the repeal of the Muslim Personal Law.

Fracture of the MMM/MSM Alliance and Boycott of the Muslim Community The MMM/MSM coalition led by Hindu Prime Minister Jugnauth experienced a fracture nine months after they came to power with a landside victory of 60 to 0 in 1982. The Muslim elements left Jugnauth’s government to follow Berenger. New elections were called for in 1983, and Jugnauth led a communal electoral campaign. He then used his power to boycott the Muslim community and implemented the slogan, “Arrace mauvais herbe and proteze montagne” (get rid of the bad elements and protect our own kin), which was popularized by his Hindu ally Boodhoo of the PSM. Largely, this meant boycotting Muslims especially in the civil service, and more important there was no Muslim cabinet minister for a long time. Such a situation provoked significant unease and discontent within the Muslim community.

Repeal of the Muslim Personal Law and Neglect of Muslim Populated Areas: A Growing Sentiment of Exclusion In addition to the boycott of the Muslim community, the Jugnauth-led government repealed the Muslim Personal Law. Muslim-populated zones did not attract the resources for development from the state and were thus neglected. Spatial inequalities got bigger and together with it was a growing and rampant problem of drugs in certain areas of Mauritius. Plaine Verte, a Muslim bastion on the periphery of Port Louis, the capital city, recorded high youth unemployment. A rising sentiment of exclusion and alienation within the Muslim community confronted the island. During the Jugnauth era, the central government looked on any form of Arab presence on Mauritian soil with suspicion. Some argued that such a presence had the potential of fomenting trouble, and their close ties with the Muslim community could easily lead to an expansion of fundamentalism in the country. Jugnauth’s government decided to close down the Libyan embassy, which was symbolic of the utter determination of the Hindu-dominated government to reject the Muslim community. To some, it represented another instance of the persecution of the Muslim community.


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MMM’s Poor Response to the Muslim Community As their feelings of victimization grew, large segments of the Muslim community expected the MMM to become more radical and to protect their interests. But the MMM feared that becoming more radical and showing special support toward the Muslim community would lead to discontent among the Hindu community and cost them Hindu support, as well as lost support from the Creole community. The need to ensure no major discontent arose among the different communities, and the urge to regain power meant that the MMM had to use its own ethnic logic and was not able to satisfy the Muslim community. Muslim leaders in the MMM were under heavy pressure from the Muslim electorate but nothing much was done within the MMM to bring comfort to the Muslim community. Mainstream politicians, including Muslims who joined the traditional big political parties in Mauritius, are more concerned with how to promote their own positions of power and privilege rather than with the fate of the downtrodden. Selvon (2001, 425) notes that “Muslim fundamentalism and the rise of sectarian feelings among other communities are attributable to the ethnic politics practiced by the political establishment. Another major cause is certainly the disillusion created by the failure of extremely popular coalitions that were massively elected to power in 1982 [and] 1991 to form stable governments and to deliver on their electoral promises, especially as those alliances were essentially based on pledges of national unity, justice and equity.”

G row ing D isil lusio nment of t he Mu s l im C o mmunity and the Re tur n of th e Yo u ng Char ismati c M aur it ia n I s l a mic Student f rom S audi A ra bia Increasing fears of exclusion and discrimination among the Muslim community against the new Jugnauth government constituted a major argument used by a handful of fundamentalists to propose their radical alternative political action driven by religion and led by religious leaders in the name of God (Selvon 2001). The growing disillusionment of large segments of the Muslim community with the dominant political parties coincided with the return of Cehl Meeah, a young charismatic Islamic Mauritian student who trained in Saudi Arabia and positioned himself as the leader of the Hizbullah. A Saudi version of Islam, commonly known as Wahabism, started gaining ground under his encouragement. Some mosques came under the control of the Hizbullah, and its leaders used them to propagate his ideology. The latter revolved around the message that all political parties failed and deceived the Muslim community and that Hizbullah (Allah’s party) will

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salvage them and succeed. Moreover, Muslims should place their trust in the party of Allah. This strong politicoreligious message combined with the charisma of the leader gained ground. One member of the Hizbullah (the imam of a mosque) won a seat in parliament in the 1995 elections.

Constitution of Mauritius and the Islamic Movement While Mauritius is a secular state, its constitution allows for the emergence of ethnic-based parties. In terms of Schedule 3 of the Constitution, everyone in Mauritius may, subject to respect for the rights and freedoms of others and for the public interest, enjoy the right of assembly and association. Going against such a clause and clamping down on religious or ethnic political parties would imply a threat to democracy and raise questions of constitutionality. This proviso facilitated in many ways the establishment of purely ethnic-based parties such as the Hizbullah in Mauritius. Darga (2005, 125) notes that the “majority of Mauritians have indeed been particularly alarmed about the appearance in the past ten years of overtly ethnic political movements.” Despite having appeared in the Mauritian political space, they have little hope of becoming significant. The dominant political parties are too adept at fielding candidates based on ethnic/caste logic relevant to the profile of the constituencies. Constituencies numbered two, three, three, and fifteen, which have a high concentration of Muslims always have Muslim candidates fielded by the dominant parties. This fractures the community’s votes and thins down the possibility of purely ethnic-based parties becoming significant and meaningful. After the election of Imam Beeharry of the Hizbullah Party to parliament in 1995, political violence and crime increased in the country and the general belief was that the party had been behind it. As time passed, more information became available about the movements of Cehl Meeah. He had established some kind of secret military and Islamic training in the southern part of the island, and, concurrently, he opened a center for the treatment and rehabilitation of drug addicts in Plaine Verte. There were rumors that he received money from overseas, but no one knew exactly where it came from. He also regularly collected and distributed food to the poor. In short, the Hizbullah was seen as a religious school, a welfare organization, and a political party at the service of the Muslims of Mauritius. However, for reasons that are still unclear to many, the leader of the Hizbullah was arrested and charged with the murder of three political agents as well as implicated in some significant bank robberies. However, they released him later because of lack of evidence. From that time onward, interethnic relations became quite fragile, seriously compromising the task of nation building, especially in the Muslim


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community, over their substantial unease resulting from the confusion around Cehl Meeah. Since then, the movement has gradually lost its popularity and today is a marginal and insignificant party. According to Oodiah (2008), the Hizbullah used methods and acted in such a way that there is no space for it to grow. Oodiah notes that the leader of the party admitted that the Mauritian state has little room for the kind of ideology, programs, and methods that it wants to propagate. It is important to ask, Is this a reflection of a strong and pervasive Mauritian secularism that can prevent the expansion of fundamentalism?

Prevention of the Spread of Fundamentalism Several factors contributed to prevent the further Islamization and the spread of fundamentalism in Mauritian society. These include secularism a la mauricienne, a strong multicultural educational space, multiethnic coalitions, LP’s strategy of wooing the Muslim community, and a predisposition to nominate Muslims to positions of power. Debates often rage about the need to separate religion from the state in societies that call themselves secular, but Mauritius is a secular state that does not quite separate religion from the affairs of the state. Mauritius developed what one may call secularism a la mauricienne. The state has been very active in preserving ancestral cultures, which in Mauritius is tantamount to preserving the various religions of the country. All religions are state subsidized. Moreover, the notion that there should be no disconnect between the liberal democratic state and religion seems embedded in the minds of large segments of Mauritian society. Mauritians seem divided as to whether religion should be a private matter, but the state certainly functions as if religion pertains to the public sphere. Many state functionaries and officials regularly attend public religious celebrations. Moreover, state television typically covers these events extensively, emphasizing the fact that the state sees this as a tool to reassure the population that religious pluralism and accommodation of the same is at the heart of the state’s priorities and concerns and would not be relegated to the private sphere. Such a stand provides comfort and reassurance to groups that may be feeling threatened and insecure. It also consolidates the different communities’ sense of belonging to a common, shared space, thus making them espouse the state’s philosophy of “unity in diversity” and crowding out fundamentalism. Concerns expressed about the Muslim Personal Law also testify to the nuances of Mauritian secularism. Different intellectual inclinations exist on the question of Muslim Personal Law. An article published in L’Express on March 2, 2004, notes:

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The question of the application of the Muslim Personal Law has been raised time and again. First of all, I would like to make it clear here that Muslims have deep emotional attachment with their religion, faith, moral values, culture, civilization, history, heritage, language, customs and traditions. But that does not mean to such an extent that we should have a special law for the Muslim community.…We are living as free Muslims in a democratic country and you Mr Chooramun want to impose the law on us? Why don’t we go for a referendum? Let the Muslim community decide whether the law should be introduced or not.

Imam Chooramun noted in Impact News on January 18, 2004, that “a public debate on the MPL is not desirable since only specialists such as the ‘ulemas’ can pronounce themselves on the subject.” Not all groups within the Muslim community want specific and special laws to govern their lives; many prefer a strong democratic state and the practice of secularism. There is a strong awareness of the need to promote the citizenship space as well as a national identity. The positions taken by some regarding the recent Azaan affair, which will be discussed next, reflect this awareness. On May 15, 2007, hundreds of Muslims, led by Imam Chooramun, demonstrated on the streets of the capital city, demanding an amendment to the law allowing the use of amplifiers and loudspeakers when calling for prayer (Azaan). The island’s Supreme Court’s ruling in April 2007, forbidding the mosque in Quatre Bornes, a city located 25 kilometers south of the capital, to broadcast the Azaan outside of the religious building, sparked the demonstration. A resident of the city, affected by the noise generated by the five-times-daily calls to prayer from the mosque’s loudspeakers, lodged a complaint in court. Chooramun also demanded the “resignation of Muslim ministers and other parliamentarians, whom he accused of doing nothing to protect the interest of Islam in the island” (http://english.webislam .com/?idn=1405; http://www.africa). Interestingly, Mohamad Vayid, a Muslim and well-known analyst of Mauritian society and currently the chair of the National Economic and Social Council (NESC) expressed the views of the NESC and his own on the matter, highlighting the essence of the respect for the “other” and the utmost need to preserve peace and harmony. This allowed for a compromise wherein the mosque lowered the volume of the loudspeakers.

Free Multicultural Education Despite the increase of Koranic schools in different parts of the country, state schools constitute important multicultural spaces. Education in Mauritius is free at all levels. Children from different backgrounds


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go to the same school and interact with one another in a multicultural space. They share the same language and values. They learn to live with, respect, and appreciate the other from a very young age. It seems to happen almost automatically. Such exposure to intercultural living has largely contributed to making Mauritius a zone of conviviality, where peace is entrenched in the Mauritian psyche. In addition, the outputs of such an education system become the workers of an equally multicultural labor market, where meritocracy largely prevails. The recent passing of an equal opportunity act also contributes to making the average Mauritian feel that he or she has an equal and fair chance, thus promoting the notion of citizenship in the country.

M u ltieth nic C oal itio ns and N om in at ion s o f Mu s l ims in Po sit i ons of Powe r The main political parties in Mauritius are multiethnic, although often this multiethnicity shows more in their leadership than in their followers. Moreover, the Mauritian political system has historically forged governing alliances that mitigate ethnic, religious, and ideological cleavages through parliamentary coalition building (Darga 2005). The 1995 general election saw the triumphant return of the LP, supported by the MMM. The LP/MMM won 63.7 percent of the vote, while the MSM/RMM (Ralliement Militant Mauricien) won some 19.3 percent of the votes, yet without winning a single seat in parliament. The MMM/LP coalition came to an end in 1997, but Rashid Beebeejaun, a seasoned Muslim politician, chose to stay with the LP and did not follow the MMM. In 2000, the MMM/MSM opposition won a crushing victory, obtaining fifty-four of the sixty seats in Mauritius, while Labout Party/Parti Mauricien Xavier Duval (LP/PMXD) won only six seats, although two of them were obtained in Plaine Verte—a constituency that is a strong Muslim bastion—showing an increasing weakness of the MMM among the Muslim electorate. The shift away from the MMM was confirmed at the October 2001 municipal elections. Despite winning control of all the towns in alliance with the MSM, the MMM utterly failed in Plaine Verte where all five of the government candidates lost, and four LP candidates plus Cehl Meeah, leader of the Hizbullah party were elected.

N av in R a mgo o l am Woos the Musli ms The configuration of Maurician comeptitive politics described in the previous section of this chapter s a reflection of Ramgoolam’s successful strategy to woo and win the Muslim electorate. In the 2005 general elections,

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Ramgoolam consolidated his strategy. He presented Rashid Beebeehaun, a Muslim as the deputy prime minister. Ramgoolam’s strategy was timely. Having been disappointed with the Hizbullah as well as with the MMM, especially when its leader Paul Berenger was prime minister (from whom the Muslim community were expecting certain favors, which did not materialize), an important shift of allegiance toward the LP took place in the general elections of 2005. A large majority of Muslims voted for the LP for the first time since independence. A few Muslim members of parliament received ministerial positions, and Muslims gained jobs in other key positions in the country. In some ways, the nomination of Cassam Uteem, a Muslim, as president of the republic in 1992 also helped to tone down the feeling of insecurity and marginalization within the Muslim community and perhaps acted as a brake to the Islamization that started in the 1990s.

C o nc lus i on According to Asraf Dullull, a Muslim and current minister of housing, “the Muslim community is well seated in the [driver’s] seat and lives well with other components at large” (Le Mauricien, August 16, 2008). This seems to highlight the positive sentiment and the sense of belonging that the Muslim community experienced in the recent past. This chapter has shown that ethnic-based parties remain marginal and insignificant in the Mauritian polity and that the strategies of multiethnic coalition building and fielding of candidates in line with the ethnic profile of the constituencies ensures adequate representation of all ethnic groups and contributes to state legitimacy. However, can the multiethnic political elite adopting an increasingly neoliberal agenda adequately represent the interests of the poor? The poor in Mauritius exist within all ethnic groups but are disproportionately Creole (Mauritians of African descent). Lately, they have been mobilizing and contesting for greater political space as well. Will this lead to the emergence of ethnic/Creole-based parties with ripple effects for other communities? Will contemporary Mauritius see the entry of new blood in the political realm and mobilize around class again rather than ethnicity? Will the existing political elite move urgently toward electoral reform so that there is a shift toward more inclusiveness, embracing gender equity? These are questions well worth asking. Meanwhile liberal democracy with multiethnic parties and regular multiparty elections are here to stay. Only time will tell what is really in store for the Mauritian island paradise.

Chapter 12

4

The Maldives The Strange C as e o f I sl a mic M u ltiparty L iberal Demo crac y

Paul Moorcraft

The Maldives could be the first liberal democracy in the Islamic world.

Such was the claim of reformists in the chain of more than 1,200 islands in the Indian Ocean. Turkey or Indonesia might be the first to object, but the Maldivian reformers had a point. Moreover, after Iraq, one would think that Washington, DC, would be considering alternative methods of persuading Muslims to become liberal democrats.

D ic tato r ship to D emoc r ac y o r J ihadist Entrepôt The Maldives can claim the longest-ruling leader in Asia: President Maumoon Abdul Gayoom, who had been in power since 1978, two years longer than even Robert Mugabe. The dictator of the Maldives ran a tight ship and a successful economy, but in November 2006, prodemocracy groups demonstrated to create conditions for an “orange revolution.” The regime declared the peaceful demonstrations illegal; prompt and effective police riot squads rounded up protesters. The authorities detained more than one hundred people, although the majority gained quick release. About two hundred of the islands are inhabited, with eighty-eight-cordoned paradises for the hundreds of thousands of up-market tourists who visit every year, many on honeymoons. The Maldives practices a form of tourist apartheid. They whisk honeymooners off from the airport to

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luxury island resorts, where they are usually more interested in exploring each other than the country. Behind the holiday-brochure image, however, trouble was brewing in this Sunni Muslim state. The islands converted to Islam in 1153. Unusual for a 100 percent Islamic society, the Maldives has the world’s highest divorce rate. It is also one of the lowest countries in the world: None of the islands measures more than six feet above sea level. The archipelago faces immediate threats by any rise in the oceans caused by global warming. The Maldives is like the canary in a coal mine: it is the first warning of catastrophe. “Our entire nation could be wiped out,” warned one government minister.1 The December 2004 tsunami killed eighty-two people. This “beach dictatorship,” to quote novelist Hari Kunzru,2 was a one-party state until 2005. Nevertheless, President Gayoom’s rule had brought a tenfold increase in the economy, partly because of the tourist boom. There is no income tax or corporate tax, and the ramshackle legal system, a mix of Sharia, civil, and criminal law, does not have an independent judiciary. Much of the money raised from tourist developers went into the president’s elaborate patronage system. Some of the boozy holiday islands boast $1,000-a-night rooms while, in the slums of Malé, the capital, Maldivians were living eight to ten people to a cramped room. Unemployment was perhaps 40 percent, especially among the three-quarters of the population under thirty-five.3 Maldivians could not work in the bars on the islands reserved for foreign tourists. Muslims could not drink alcohol, although hard drugs were common. There is little else to do, the youth complain, in a society that strongly discourages dancing and premarital liaisons. The Maldives, like China, faced a paradox: political reform did not match the increasing economic prosperity. “We don’t have oil, so the world doesn’t care,” said Mohamed Nasheed, then the chairperson of the Maldivian Democratic Party (MDP), the main opposition group.4 The European Union, however, did threaten sanctions after the 2004 political upheavals, which opposition supporters saw as their version of Beijing’s Tiananmen Square. The reformers did not want to kill the golden goose by encouraging sanctions on tourism, but some advocated travel bans on the ruling elite. “This won’t affect ordinary people, but it will be some sort of restraint on the lavish lifestyle of the leadership,” said Nasheed.5 The southern tip of the archipelago is roughly two hundred miles north of the crucial U.S. base on the British Indian Ocean Territory of Diego Garcia. The northern islands are approximately the same distance south from the tip of India and more than US$300 billion worth of oil ships annually travel through its three main channels. The islands were a

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British protectorate, not least because of their strategic position; the possession became a major imperial military base, until full independence in 1965. The Chinese are negotiating for a base there, claimed the MDP, although Beijing vehemently denied this allegation.6 India donated military equipment and training and helped to suppress the 1988 coup attempt led by Sri Lankan mercenaries. Britain and America also provided military training, but this was usually low-key, such as providing places in military colleges, for example.7 Until recently, a few of the more remote islands had been influenced by Islamic extremism, and a minority of the young people in the capital, where the veil has returned in force, had been attracted to Jihadism. President Gayoom told the outside world that his regime was a bulwark against Islamic extremism. In contrast, at home, the former Egyptiantrained Islamic clerics played the religious card for all its worth, although he was not a religious fundamentalist himself. He warned locals that Christian missionaries would take over if the (entirely Muslim) opposition came to power. Until 2008, the two Islamic parties had little influence in the Majlis, or parliament, while the main opposition party, the MDP, held a minority of seats in a system dominated by the former governing party, the DRP, or Dhivehi Rayyithunge Party, controlled by the president. Amnesty International regularly condemned suppression of political opposition and the media, as well as the use of torture, especially after the antigovernment riots in 2003 and the state of emergency proclaimed in 2004.8 The younger ministers in the government, the “New Maldives” group, genuinely intended that their proverbial road map would lead to a multiparty democracy by 2008. (The New Maldives group left the government in August 2007.) Many of them are anglophiles, educated in Britain. Before quitting, for example, the highly articulate foreign minister, Dr. Ahmed Shaheed, said that “things are changing fast. The Amnesty reports refer to conditions of two years ago. There have been monumental changes.” He pleaded for his “young country” to be given time.9 The opposition considered three decades long enough. Hence, the calls for street protests leading, they hoped, to a mass rally on November 10, 2006. While some of the more cautious members of the inchoate MDP, especially the members of parliaments (MPs) backed off; activists promised the downfall of the authoritarian system. The government, however, deployed its tiny navy to prevent supporters from assembling in the capital, including threatening to sink one vessel, while riot police dispersed protestors in Malé. In the middle of these protests I, along with a film crew, observed police restraint and sophisticated riot control training, although opposition leader

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Nasheed breathlessly informed me, it was the film crew that discouraged police violence.10 There were also peace monitors from the United States and Europe. The would-be peaceful revolutionaries called off their demonstrations because they feared bloodshed, they said. In truth, geography, successful police tactics, and perhaps the fear of jail combined to dampen their fervor. Nevertheless, the protests briefly focused international attention on the Maldives, and the government pledged to accelerate multiparty democracy. The government made some progress, partly prompted by its New Maldives group, led by the attorney general, Hassan Saeed. The opposition suggested that this was largely a charm offensive conjured up by Hill and Knowlton consultants. Yet the Maldives did sign some key international human-rights conventions and drafted new laws on the right to assembly and free expression. They promised a “police integrity commission”–one of the main opposition grievances had been brutal policing. With Australian help, prison conditions improved.11 Some of the legal lunacies of the past disappeared, especially the catchall accusations of terrorism. Still, some foreigners were accused of being Christian missionaries and Islamic extremists. Nevertheless, Abdullah Saeed, an independently minded journalist, received a twenty-five-year jail sentence. Summoned to a police station, the prosecution alleged that he took the highly unusual precaution of stuffing his pockets with heroin.12 In March 2007, the U.S. State Department released its annual country report on human rights in the Maldives during 2006. “Fair, but could do better” was the verdict. Or, in diplomatic language, “Although the government’s human rights record improved somewhat during the year, serious problems remained.” Crucially for opposition parties, “the government limited freedom of the press, freedom of assembly and association.”13 As well as the Commonwealth Secretariat, the British High Commission in Colombo, Sri Lanka, had been playing a constructive role. It helped set up the Westminster House process (Westminster House is the name of the High Commission building). This involved the government meeting twice a week with the MDP to discuss constitutional, legislative, and political change. The key issue during 2006 was the right of political assembly, in the streets if necessary, and the dropping of politically motivated charges against the opposition. If terrorism was not a pretext, however, arson and drugs became more useful government allegations.

Road M ap Despite multiparty elections scheduled for October 2008, much remained to be done, not the least was ending the president’s right to appoint MPs.

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Even though finessing the constitutional issues was moving apace, various obstacles remained. One was corruption. The president had always emphasized the role of the family. It turns out that he may have been talking about his own family. Powerful and squabbling factions among his many relatives were behaving as if they had a dynastic claim to power. The second was psychological. An authoritarian government in reform mode is often the most dangerous time for its own survival. South Africa in the late 1980s was a classic example. There too the ruling elite saw political reform as a cosmetic change; in exchange for international sports tours, different people would sit in parliament. Instead, it meant fundamental social change. The Maldives’ debate was not destined to be so drastic. They are a small homogenous people; everybody knows everyone else in the elite. Many are related. It is like a family, but domestic feuds can be bitter. Most opposition leaders wanted President Gayoom to give up power by the end of 2008. His cronies and family would no longer have license to print money. Effective reform would not simply be a shuffle of a few MPs in the Majlis. The president had brought prosperity to his country, but after thirty years, did he have the moral courage to emulate Nelson Mandela and retire gracefully from politics? In August 2007, three Cabinet ministers, the core of the New Maldives movement, left the government. The former foreign minister, Dr. Ahmed Shaheed, and the attorney general, Dr. Hassan Saeed, were then instrumental in helping to forge the National Unity Alliance in November 2007. This alliance comprised the official parliamentary opposition, the MDP, the New Maldives group (who had no MPs), and three smaller parties, the Islamic groups (the Islamic Democratic Party, the Adhaalath Party), and the Social Liberal Party. Of the five opposition groups, two had not even registered as parties and three had no members elected to the Special Majlis (a separate parliamentary forum for formulating the new constitution). Despite holding a referendum to decide on a Westminster parliamentary versus presidential system, the opposition disputed the outcome, predictably a simulacrum of the dictatorial presidential model. The road map reforms moved slowly through the legal process. By the end of 2007, only five of the twenty-two bills had become law. The opposition said that only an interim government could rush through the democratic changes, which could set up a just dispensation for the elections. They claimed that no international observers had properly monitored Maldivian elections in the past, and the opposition had always insisted that government vote rigging was endemic and systematic. Maldives invited the European Union to observe the 2008 presidential election, and the Indian government offered to supply electronic voting technology, according to the Legal Reform Minister Mohamed

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Nasheed.14 He warned that it would be impossible to implement a new constitution before the presidential elections. “Some of the measures, like an independent judiciary, require cultural change. For the time being,” he said, “we will focus on an election regime and institutions. The rest of the issues may have to wait.”15 The opposition alliance called for an independent judiciary, a body to adjudicate on the fairness of an election, for example; other demands were reform of the criminal justice system, the police, enhanced media freedoms, an independent civil service, a fully independent election commission, and much stronger anticorruption measures. The opposition alliance argued that a free and fair election was impossible while the old administration held all the levers of power. It called for an interim government (in which some said Gayoom could have played a temporary role). United, the opposition alliance had a good chance of winning an election, but the fractious and highly personalized nature of Maldivian politics obviated an easy choice of one opposition leader to stand against the old regime. An expert Indian observer of the Maldives summarized the conundrum thus: “The basic problem is that the political parties do not trust President Gayoom at all, particularly when the latter decided to stand for another term even after being the unquestioned head of the government with unparalleled power for 28 years.”16

R el igio us E x t remi s m President Gayoom once again reverted to posturing as the savior of his country from Jihadism. The first major extremist bombing took place on September 29, 2007, injuring twelve tourists in central Malé. The main suspects arrested were Maldivians and Bangladeshis, but police blamed extremists based in Pakistan for organizing the attack, although local intelligence sources were also concerned about the spread of Saudi-financed Wahabi extremists. A week after the Malé bombing, police and defense forces clashed with extremists on Himandhoo Island. Critics were quick to point out that Gayoom had encouraged, or allowed, Arabic-medium religious instruction and dubious foreign imams, especially in the late 1970s and 80s. The country’s Supreme Islamic Council was slow to approve President Gayoom’s belated countermeasures, for example, his ban on wearing the full veil. The Islamic parties reacted strongly. “Banning the full covering and the full veil for women would not stop terrorism,” said the leader of the Adhaalath Party, Abdul Majeed Baari. “The Government is going to fight terrorism by banning the beard and the burka. We are asking the Government to study the causes of terrorism and extremism.”17 Before the Islamic Democratic Party joined the opposition alliance, its leader,

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and presidential hopeful, Umar Naseer, warned, “Too much democracy will spoil a country.” A strange comment from a party with “Democratic” in its title. Naseer’s retort would be that democracy is acceptable but that liberal democracy is a “western import,” which must be “made acceptable to Islam.” He told Al-Jazeera, “There are discos in the Maldives.” He condemned the government for allowing men and women to dance together and for not clamping down on illegal consumption of alcohol.18 In the run-up to the election in 2008, violent extremism was limited, despite some fashionable verbal support for al-Qaeda from disaffected youth. Nonviolent fundamentalism also had limited electoral support, for the moment. The official Islamic parties were likely to capture only a small percentage of the votes in a free election. The most optimistic scenario was that the National Unity Alliance transformed itself into a unified opposition with one political leader. The driving force would be the young ex-ministers in the New Maldives group and the more pragmatic members of the main opposition, the MDP. Many were old school friends and related by marriage or blood. The MDP claimed that its political model was the British Conservative Party and its ideology center right. Perhaps the charismatic UK-educated MDP leader, Mohamed Nasheed, universally known as “Anni,” especially to his younger female supporters, adopted as his mentor the British Conservative leader, David Cameron.

N ew Po l itic s o f Par adi se In October 2008, a remarkable international event went unnoticed in a Washington frenetic with matters economic and presidential: a Sunni Muslim dictatorship yielded to democracy without a single U.S. soldier or foreign military intervention. The courage and determination of one man, Mohamed Nasheed, the MDP leader, who won the first free-and-fair presidential elections against Gayoom, his longtime persecutor, was responsible for banishing the dictatorship. The forty-one-year-old former political prisoner, who some likened to Mahatma Gandhi, may have trouble keeping his head above water. In the short term, he faced a looted treasury and in the long term, his country may be sinking beneath the waves. In exile, Mohamed Nasheed inspired the first main opposition group, the Maldivian Democratic Party. However, Anni served a tough apprenticeship on the long walk to freedom: He was jailed twenty-three times and sometimes tortured on various prison islands. Like Robert Mugabe in Zimbabwe, the former Maldivian dictator assumed he would win the required 50 percent in the first round of presidential elections. He did not. In October 2008, Nasheed won the second

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round of elections (by 54 to 46 percent of the vote), because the opposition alliance coalesced around his candidacy. Before formally being declared president-elect, some of Gayoom’s hard-liners approached the military and police to declare a state of emergency and so preserve the ancien régime. With utter calm on the streets, the security forces said they had no reason to obstruct the democratic process. Anni’s inauguration was on November 11, two years after I filmed him standing alone on the streets of the Maldivian capital, Malé, after his failed attempt to create a peaceful revolution. Veteran foreign correspondents are accustomed to guerrilla leaders and to exiled politicians promising that when they win power they will give the favored journalist the first interview in the presidential palace. On his busy first day in office, I was fortunate that Anni found the time to grant me that first interview. “Not many Islamic countries have had free and fair elections to form a multiparty democracy,” he said. Despite his brutal treatment, he preached forgiveness to the old regime because it was an Islamic principle and practical politics. He said Mandela and the South African Truth and Reconciliation process was his model.19 There have also been comparisons between President Nasheed and Barack Obama. Did he face the same crisis of expectations as the U.S. president? “No,” he said, “I have already delivered on my main promise: democracy.” President Mohammed Nasheed was sworn in November 2008 and President Barack Obama inaugurated President of the United States in January 2009. The previous regime, however, had emptied the treasury. “Our finances are in bad shape. We can’t consolidate democracy if we can’t pay wages. The economic fundamentals are good; the problem is the next few months.” He said he was appealing to Britain, as well as China and India. I suggested that Britain was not in great shape to hand out money, although Anni was asking for only $200 million in emergency loans. I also asked the president to order his police chief, before sacking him, to take me the next day to visit the prison where the young leader was tied to a large generator, which had temporarily deafened him, was fed glass in his food, and was kept in solitary confinement. The next day, a very senior police officer took me to Dhoonidhoo Prison Island. There, I filmed, along with two prominent political prisoners, newspaper editor Anthu Najeeb and Ahmed Naseem Mohamed, who was made a minister the day I visited the cells where Ahmed Mohamed had been shackled by his hands and feet, put in stocks, and kept for five years. As Ahmed Mohamed put it, “The Maldives was a paradise for tourists, but a hell for Maldivians.”20 Anthu Najeeb is a petite young woman who suffered horribly by being shackled, blindfolded, threatened with rape, and told they would throw her into the sea. When she was asked whether she supported the forgiveness

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policy of the new president, she replied, “I believe in forgiveness, but I also believe in justice.”21 President Nasheed asked Britain to help this new democratic member of the Commonwealth. He faced a huge task of rebuilding his country, despite Jihadist infiltration and long-term challenges of global warming. On the eve of his presidency, he talked of eventually, in fifty years or more, relocating his people to Sri Lanka, India, or even Australia. “I don’t want my grandchildren living in a tent in a refugee camp.” The new president insisted that his revolution is a beacon to the Islamic world and beyond. So maybe the cash-strapped governments in London, or even Washington, D.C., could help this kind of Islamic transformation. It would be a tiny and cost-effective sum compared with the billions spent in Iraq and Afghanistan. There is a lesson here for the so-called long war on Islamic terror: helping local opposition parties to do the job largely on their own may be a better means of winning democratic freedoms. No one shed a single drop of blood in the 2008 Maldives election.

N otes 1. Author interview, Malé, November 2006. 2. Conversation with author, Malé, November 2006. See also Hari Kunzru, “Welcome to Paradise,” the Guardian (Weekend), December 16, 2006, 37–41. 3. For a general survey of the country, see “Maldives: Waving or Drowning?” The Economist December 23, 2006, 97–99. 4. Author interviews, Malé, November 2006. 5. Ibid. 6. Author’s meetings with Chinese diplomats, Beijing, December 2006. 7. Information provided to author by UK Ministry of Defence, London, November 2006. 8. Amnesty International Public Statement, London, No. 45, February 24, 2005. 9. Author interview, Malé, November 2006. 10. I produced a news documentary on the demonstrations for Channel 4 TV, London, November 10, 2006. See also Paul Moorcraft, “Island Democracy,” Washington Times, November 20, 2006; “Paradise in Reach on Tropical Island,” Business Day (Johannesburg), November 21, 2006. See also, “The Maldives: Liberal Democracy or a Jihadist Entrepôt,” Newsbrief, RUSI, April 2007, vol. 27, no. 4. 11. Discussions with government officials, Malé, February 2007. 12. Maldives: Waving or Drowning? The Economist, December 23, 2006, 99. 13. Maldives: Country Reports on Human Rights Practices, 2006, Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights, and Labor, Washington, March 6,2007. 14. Not to be confused with the MDP leader of the same name.

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15. “EU invited to Observe Presidential Election,” Minivan News, Malé, November 22, 2007. 16. S. Chandrasekharan, “Maldives: Reform Agenda: Deadline of November 30 Missed,” South East Asia Analysis Group, Paper no. 2493, December 9, 2007, www.southeastasiaanalysis.org/papers25/paper2493.html. 17. Cited in B. Raman, “Maldives: Sequel to Male Explosion,” South East Asia Analysis Group, Paper no. 2452, November 11, 2007, www.southeastasiaanalysis .org/papers25/paper2452.html. 18. Cited in Ajay Makan, “Maldives Should Not Be a Liberal Democracy: Umar Naseer,” Minivan News, October 27, 2007. 19. Interview with author, November 12, 2008. Subsequent quotes by the president, the same interview, 20. Interview with author, November 13, 2008. 21. Interview with author, November 13, 2008.

Chapter 13

4

Conceptualizing H izboll ah’s Transfor mation in Lebanon’s Post–Ceda r Revolu ti on P roxy Cl ient o r Stru ctu ra l Pat h Depend ency ?

Karim Knio

Since its inception in 1982, Hizbollah has never been an ordinary player

in Lebanese local politics. Apart from orchestrating a successful guerilla warfare type of military resistance against Israel, the Party of God—as the translation from Arabic suggests—gradually shifted from being a rigid ideological party seeking to establish an Islamic republic in a sectarian war-torn Lebanon, to a fully fledged integrated political party representing the historically marginalized Shiite community in this complex Middle Eastern country. From this perspective, the party’s evolutionary nature elicited a large body of analysis that aimed to conceptualize Hizbollah’s multiple roles, identities and raison d’être (Alagha 2001; Byman 2003; El-Hokayem 2007; Hamzeh 1993, 2004; Harb and Leenders 2005; Harik 2004; Goldberg 2002; Norton 1999, 2008, Saad-Ghorayeb 2002). Symptomatic of all debates in social sciences, this large body of analysis has hardly produced a consensus in relation to this interesting yet challenging question. A critical mapping of this literature reveals the existence of at least three traditions in conceptualizing the way in which the party can be framed and how it interacts with its sociopolitical and economic environment. The first approach was more or less described as an “instrumentalist” line of analysis. It perceived Hizbollah as a proxy client to Syria and Iran and an extension to their aspired hegemony in the region (Goldberg 2002; Byman 2003). More concretely, it posited a hierarchical relation between a

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financial supplier (Iran) and a logistical facilitator (Syria) on one the hand, and a marginalized Lebanese group that is benefiting from a military confrontation with Israel to reinvent a new position for itself in the Lebanese political configuration on the other (Goldberg 2002). Adversely, the second approach significantly departed from the “rational” and actor-based typology of analysis articulated in the previous one. It endorsed a structural/bottom-up perspective, whereby it emphasized the Lebanese roots and identity of this political party. Accordingly, many scholars’ writing in this tradition distinguished between Hizbollah’s military and political branches and highlighted the socioeconomic welfare dimension provided by the party to its Shiite constituency (Alagha 2001; El-Hokayem 2007; Hamzeh 1993; Harik 2004; Norton 1999, 2008). In this vein, many of these authors considered that this welfare dimension will further normalize Hizbollah’s anchoring and integration processes within the Lebanese political system. The third approach builds on the bottom-up perspective but is more critical about the artificial distinction erected between Hizbollah’s military and social branches (Harb and Leenders 2005). Instead, these two scholars referred to a mutually constitutive structure/agency type of argumentation in which they envisage a holistic interaction between Hizbollah’s welfare institutions and the culture of resistance embedded and nurtured by the party within its own Shiite community. Consequently, any meaningful understanding of Hizbollah, according to them, cannot dissect the military identity of the party from its social apparatus (Harb and Leenders 2005). From an analytical point of view, the first two approaches have inevitably been subject of intense criticisms. The first conceptualization focuses much of its analysis on the interaction between rational and unitary actors, while completely ignoring the Lebanese context in which Hizbollah has been continuously evolving (Hamzeh 1993; Harik 2004). According to El-Hokayem, “the image of Hizbollah as a client of Iran and Syria has become obsolete” (2007, 37). However, the bottom-up approach adequately maps Hizbollah’s social base. Nonetheless, it fails to explain how the interaction between the party’s military and social branches is actually formed and how this can affect its decision-making process (SaadGhorayeb 2002). In this ambit, the third perspective seems to offer today the most comprehensive account of Hizbollah’s complex transformation process as it does not heuristically separate structure from agency. Instead, it advocates a constitutive codeterminant relationship in which the socioeconomic infrastructure provided by the party is relentlessly strengthened by the meticulous and daily construction of a supportive resistance “governmentality” (Harb and Leenders 2005).

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This chapter argues that a closer examination of the events that ravaged Lebanon since the eruption of the Cedar Revolution1 does not fully corroborate the argument espoused by the second and third perspectives. The relative retreat of the Syrian regime from Lebanon in 2005 radicalized further Hizbollah’s agenda and encouraged it to paralyze all formal institutions in Lebanon until its demands were completely met. This suggests that any analysis that deals with Hizbollah’s transformation process must take into consideration the party’s alliance patterns and the conditions under which they were formed. This is ironically reminiscent of the instrumentalist line of analysis deemed simplistic and obsolete by some scholars. What follows is background of the political context that prevailed in Lebanon since the assassination of former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri in 2005 to the present.

Leba no n’s Cedar Revolution a nd Beyo nd: 20 0 5–8 The 2005 Earthquake The assassination of Rafik Hariri on February 14, 2005, was undoubtedly a major critical juncture in Lebanese politics. The death of this talismanic politician sparked a popular movement against Syria’s long-term hegemony over Lebanese politics. While the powerful Sunni leader was perceived as tacitly joining the ranks of an embryonic Druze-Maronite opposition force, his funeral paved the way toward a popular upheaval against Syrian forces on February 16, culminating in a mass opposition rally that defied the government ban for peaceful demonstrations. The magnitude of this sudden upsurge of people’s power was overwhelming for the pro-Syrian-Lebanese government, which resigned immediately. Unable to form a new government, pro-Syrian Prime Minister, Omar Karami, declared his resignation on February 28, 2005 (Knio 2005). The political demands of this popular movement were straightforward. It called for a clear timetable for a complete withdrawal of Syrian armed troops and intelligence services (armed troops are estimated to be around fourteen thousand), the removal of Lebanese intelligence chiefs, the appointment of a “neutral” government with the task of preparing parliamentary elections for May 2005, and the initiation of an international investigation into Hariri’s death. Nevertheless, scenes of political schisms and divergence soon started to cripple the edifice of this Cedar Revolution, tarnishing the presumed images of unity and cohesiveness. This was evident during the March 8 popular rally organized by Hizbollah and its allies in downtown Beirut. The rally balanced a demand for an international investigation into Hariri’s assassination and the withdrawal of Syrian military presence in Lebanon, with opposition to a predominant anti-Syrian rhetoric in

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the country. Hizbollah’s charismatic leader, Hasan Nasrallah, reminded his followers that it is premature to accuse Syria of committing this crime and urged all political leaders to strengthen the Lebanese-Syrian nexus by protecting Hizbollah’s military resistance against Israel (Knio 2005). In the wake of these developments, the leaders of a loose alliance comprising Sunni, Druze, and various Maronite political movements organized a parallel popular rally on March 14 in which they reiterated their antiSyrian position and repeated their demands for a complete Syrian military withdrawal, as well as the resignation of pro-Syrian president Emile Lahoud and his newly appointed prime minister, Omar Karami. Karami found it difficult again to form a government amid the strong support that the March 14 rally received from various politicians. This led toward to his second consecutive resignation and the appointment of an interim government, headed by Najib Mikati, whose sole responsibility consisted of organizing a new parliamentary election in May–June 2005 (Knio 2005). The results of these elections gave the loose Sunni, Druze, and Maronite conglomerate, now known as the March 14 Political Movement, the upper hand in parliament as they gained 72 seats out of 128 but fell short of securing the eighty-six-seat threshold needed to pass constitutional amendments. The formation of the new government reflected this parliamentary victory (twenty-two seats out of thirty) and was characterized by Hizbollah’s first-time presence in the cabinet as it was represented by three ministers. Despite this political entente, it was clear that the country was firmly divided into two camps. One of them was the March 14 Political Movement, while the other one, now known as the March 8 Movement after the pro-Syrian rally in 2005, encompassed an alliance between the biggest two Shiite movements (Hizbollah and Afwaj Al Moukawama Al-Lubnaniyya [AMAL]) and a Christian-based front known as Al Tayyar Al Watanni Al Hur (Free Patriotic Movement, or the Orange movement; Harris 2007). Between June 2005 and February 2006, the March 14 Movement group relentlessly tried to table a proposal envisioning a complete recovery of sovereignty through the deployment of the Lebanese army at the southern border with Israel and the confiscation of arms held by Hizbollah warriors, in line with United Nations Resolution 1559. Yet, the blocking power available to Hizbollah and its allies in parliament prevented the realization of these demands. In parallel, the pro-Syrian president of the republic joined the ranks of the opposition and contributed to the institutional inertia. Meanwhile, political polarization was further exacerbated by a string of political assassinations that targeted various key anti-Syrian politicians, members of parliament (MPs), and journalists (Samir Kassir, George Hawi, and Gebran Twaini; Harris 2007). In light of these developments, and to break this institutional impasse, the Speaker of Parliament called for a “national dialogue” forum where all


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leading political actors would be invited to discuss various sensitive issues that still divide Lebanese society today. Held for four months (March to June 2006), the forum tackled seven specific issues: (1) the identity of the Shebaa Farms, (2) the future of Hizbollah as a resistance force and its weapons, (3) an international tribunal investigating Hariri’s murder, (4) the future of the presidency of the republic as an institution, (5) a new electoral parliamentary law, (6) Palestinian refugees in Lebanon, and (7) economic policy and development. Apart from agreeing on the Lebanese identity of the Shebaa farms, the economic essentiality of targeting neglected urban and rural areas and the nonnaturalization of Palestinian refugees in Lebanon, no other compromise was reached amid Hizbollah’s strong objections to disarmament and the deployment of the Lebanese army in the South (Knio 2008).

The July War 2006 and Its Aftermath: Institutional Paralysis In July 2006, Israel launched various sea and air attacks in Lebanon in response to the abduction of two Israeli soldiers by Hizbollah militants. Apart from the high death toll registered among civilians (at least 1,200), Lebanon was subject to an excessive level of displaced people and wide-ranging destruction of its physical infrastructure. After thirty-four days of intense fighting, a cease-fire between Israel and Hizbollah took effect on August 14, 2006 (UN Resolution 1701). In consequence, a UN peacekeeping force was stationed along the IsraeliLebanese borders. This was reinforced later in September by the Lebanese army, which was deployed in the south for the first time in decades. After the cessation of military operations, the political tensions between the two competing camps resumed. In response to Hizbollah’s demands for a greater representation of its allies in the cabinet, the March 14 Movement group imposed an unconditional acceptance of the international tribunal, whose draft protocol was ready to be signed then by the Lebanese government and parliament. In an attempt to prevent the passing of this law, six Shiite ministers, representing AMAL and Hizbollah, resigned collectively from the cabinet on November 11, 2006. When the government adopted the vote based on a two-thirds quorum, the pro-Syrian President of the Republic and Speaker of Parliament declared the government unconstitutional, given that a major sect was no longer represented in the cabinet. Meanwhile, political assassinations resumed when anti-Syrian minister Pierre Gmayel was murdered by unknown gunmen. Although the assassination reduced the government’s cabinet to one greater than the two-thirds quorum required for constitutional legitimacy, the executive branch, backed by the international community, refused to give the opposition the minority blocking threshold it demanded. The March 8

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Movement retaliated by organizing a mass sit-in protest in which its supporters encircled the government’s headquarters in Beirut to demand its resignation and the formation of a national unity cabinet (El-Hokayem 2007). Governance in Lebanon reached what looks like a perpetual deadlock. For the first time since the end of the civil war, the country stepped into an institutional impasse that paralyzed all its major political activities. The anti-Syrian March 14 Movement group had a simple majority in parliament and a two-thirds majority in government. Nonetheless, it was balanced by a pro-Syrian President of the Republic who refused to sign any laws or decrees originating from this government and a parliament speaker who refrained from holding plenary sessions in parliament against the wish of a wide majority of MPs. By May 2007, Prime Minister Fouad Sanioura asked the UN to establish the international tribunal outside Lebanon with a majority of international judges and an international prosecutor in line with Article 7 of its charter. The UN accepted this plea and gave the Lebanese parliament until June 10, 2007, to approve the tribunal before it became a fait accompli. This development signaled a moral victory for the March 14 Movement, but it did nothing to derail the country from its political crisis. From June 2007 until May 2008, the debate shifted from the international tribunal dossier to the presidential elections that had already been scheduled for September 25, 2007. Although both camps eventually agreed on the relatively “neutral” position of General Michel Suleiman as a future president, the divergence of interpretations on the mechanism of the election process produced another interminable crisis. Several proponents within the March 14 Movement group argued that the inability to elect a president with a two-thirds majority in the first round allows parliament to fill that position with a simple majority vote in the second round under Article 49 of the Lebanese Constitution. In contrast, Hizbollah and its allies insisted that any presidential election invariably necessitates a two-thirds majority. The stalemate was further exacerbated when the tenure of president Lahoud ended in November 2007. The March 14 Movement–led government argued that the powers of the presidency constitutionally shift toward the Council of Ministers in the case of a vacuum; whereas, the March 8 Movement group maintained its position that the incumbent government was unconstitutional. Despite the Arab League’s relentless efforts to bridge the gap between the two rival factions, institutional paralysis persisted in parallel with an ongoing political assassination cycle that targeted another two March 14 Movement MPs (Walid Eido and Antoine Ghanim) and an army general (Francois al-Hajj; Knio 2008).


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Stability at the End of the Tunnel? This institutional impasse escalated into a military confrontation toward the beginning of May 2008 when the government shut down Hizbollah’s independent telecommunication network, claiming that it posed a threat to national security and sovereignty. The government also removed the chief of security at Beirut airport for alleged Hizbollah sympathy. The Party of God considered this move an “act of war” and ordered its militia gunmen to seize West Beirut until these decrees were removed. The military takeover ended after four days when the government agreed to revoke its measures in exchange for Hizbollah’s military retreat. In an attempt to contain and solve the rising sectarian tensions created by these events, the Qatari government invited major Lebanese leaders to a meeting in Doha in the hope of putting an end to more than eighteen months of grinding politics. On May 21, 2008, the leaders reached a five-point historical agreement in which the opposition gets veto power in a newly formed national unity cabinet in exchange for facilitating the election of General Suleiman for the presidency. The agreement also envisaged the removal of protest camps situated in central Beirut, banned the use of force in any internal conflict, and adopted a new parliamentary electoral law that divided the country into smaller electoral districts. Accordingly, General Suleiman was elected on May 21, 2008, a few days before he appointed Sanioura to another consecutive premiership. A new thirty-seat cabinet was formed on July 12, 2008, comprising sixteen ministers from the March 14 Movement, eleven from the March 8 Movement, and three named by the president (Knio 2008).

H izbo l l ah’s Tr ansfor mati o n i n Po s t–Cedar Revo luti on L eb a non The restoration of normal institutional life to a conflict-torn Lebanon is definitely a much-desired outcome for all actors involved in this complex struggle. Yet, the country is at the heart of a regime transition process, which influences to a large extent the way these competing actors perceive themselves, their interests, and the “other” during this crucial transformation. What characterizes the nature and the distinctiveness of the new regime from the old one remains a daunting intellectual challenge at the moment, given that the new configuration of power is still very much in the making. Nevertheless, one can convincingly argue that while Syria constituted the major and the only power broker during the heydays of the old regime, it is now definitely a major but no longer a sole power in a post–Cedar Revolution Lebanon. A closer look into the politics of this transition process suggests that the major political parties embedded within the March 8 Movement (Hizbollah and the Free Patriotic Movement, or

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FPM) are more prone to radicalization than their March 14 Movement counterparts are. This radicalization or, more concretely, the rejection of the currently accepted institutional status quo, means that the party can no longer be seen as the product of the Failed State syndrome in Lebanon or the expression of a continuous culture of resistance. Far from these conceptualizations, the party today seems consciously willing to capture the state in Lebanon and to set the agenda to block strategically any maneuver that seeks to reduce its power. As such, this radicalization further exposes its dependence on its financial and logistical suppliers: Iran and Syria.

Why Are Hizbollah and Its Allies More Prone to Radicalization? The March 14 Movement is far from a homogenous political group. Two of its major political factions, the predominantly Sunni Future Movement and the Progressive Socialist Party (predominantly Druze), were arch supporters of the Syrian regime in Lebanon in the 1990s. Their two major Christian allies, the Phalange Party and Lebanese Forces, were in fact marginalized and persecuted by the same Syrian forces. Yet, the assassination of Hariri did not only shift the nature of their opportunistic political alliances, but it also enshrined their new vision for an independent state capable of exerting the sole monopoly of violence across its own territories, if we abide by a classical Weberian definition of the state. Key to their alliance, therefore, is the Taef agreement, which is the current Lebanese Constitution that ended the civil war, and ironically inaugurated the Syrian hegemonic era in Lebanon. For many March 14 Movement politicians, the Taef agreement remains a balanced document in its content even if it was tailor made in response to the interests of the Syrian regime. The effect of the political transition process on Hizbollah, however, radicalizes its relationship vis-à-vis the Taef agreement, even if the Party of God rhetorically remained attached to it. Under Syria’s tutelage in Lebanon, the party’s legitimacy mainly derived from its military resistance against Israel. The Syrian regime gave Hizbollah the freedom to maneuver freely in the south but provided a political backup that shielded its minimal intervention in local politics from its opponents and critics in Beirut. Accordingly, the party slowly built a “state within a state” in Lebanon by exhibiting an independent military capability and providing an alternative source of welfare provisions for the historically marginalized Shiite community in Lebanon. Clearly, the recent decline in Syrian hegemony and the relatively lesser freedom of maneuvering in the south after the July war obliged the party to intervene more directly in Lebanese politics to safeguard its own interests. However, even if Hizbollah is serious and genuine in its commitment to a complete integration within


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a new Lebanon, it is hard to imagine how the state within a state logic, which the party has long practiced, is compatible with the (Weberian) “state logic” underpinned in the Taef agreement and endorsed by the March 14 Movement players. Hizbollah’s position might necessitate the construction of a different kind of identity or another form of legitimacy; nonetheless, today it is unable to relate the logic articulated by its political opponents. This can only expose its dependence on its (previous) patrons to sustain its power. The same logic also applies to the FPM. Unlike Hizbollah, the leader of the Orange Movement, General Michel Aoun, has consistently been against the Taef agreement. During the civil war, the former commander of the army tried to prevent many Christian MPs from going to the city of Taef to negotiate the agreement in 1989. For him, Taef is a product of the Syrian hegemony in Lebanon, manipulated by a clique of local elites who perceived it as a reification of their firm grip on power over this extremely divided country. After coming back from his French-bound exile, Aoun’s position was significantly altered. The FPM today sees itself as a progressive force of reform seeking to “clean” the Lebanese State from the relics of the past. Yet, irrespective of whether the FPM possess the political credibility to undertake such reforms, the Orange Movement, like Hizbollah, cannot at this stage relate to any of its political counterparts and finds itself in a U-turn de facto alliance with Syria and Iran manifested in Aoun’s historical visit to Syria and Iran in 2008.

C o nc lus i on The holistic conceptualization of Hizbollah’s inexorable transformation has definitely many merits. It avoided the analytical pitfalls pertaining to the artificial separation between Hizbollah’s military and civilian arms and offered an insightful contribution to the literature by reminding us that the Party of God cannot be simplistically reduced into one particular branch of activities. Nonetheless, this holistic analysis did not account for the nature and range of political alliances the party opted for to maintain its firm grip on power in Lebanon. By closely examining the sequence of events that occurred in Lebanon since the outbreak of the Cedar Revolution, this chapter shows how the process of transition further radicalizes the party and its allies and enhances their dependence on their financial and logistical patrons. In this sense, it is no longer plausible to argue that the image of Hizbollah as a proxy client to Iran and Syria is obsolete as certain scholars suggested.

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N ote 1. Cedar Revolution refers to a popular upheaval that triggered the end of twenty-nine years of Syrian hegemony over Lebanon. Two days after the assassination of former prime minister Rafik Hariri, a huge crowd soon occupied Martyrs’ Square in downtown Beirut, calling for the immediate withdrawal of Syrian troops and the resignation of the Lebanese government.

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Notes on Contr ibu to rs

Abdel Ghaffar Mohamed Ahmed (PhD, University of Bergen, Norway) is professor at Ahfad University for Women, Omdurman, Sudan. Previously he taught at the University of Khartoum, Sudan; University of Bergen, Norway; and the University of California, Berkeley. Ahmed’s latest publications include a co-edited book with Leif Manger, Understanding the Crisis in Darfur (Bergen: Centre for Global Challenge at the University of Bergen, 2006); and the co-edited African Pastoralism: Conflicts Institutions and Governance (London: Pluto Press, 2003). Nuran Savaþkan Akdoðan (PhD, The Middle East Technical University, Turkey) is lecturer at the Public Administration Institute for Turkey and the Middle East, Ankara. She is a member of the editorial board of Ethnicity and Race in a Changing World: A Review Journal, Manchester University Press. Her recent publications include a co-authored book with A. A. Akdoğan, Poverty and Local Economy under the Pressure of Informal Sector, Local Economies Congress Book (Karaman: Selçuk University, 2005); and a two-part edited book with Ö. Peker, Ç. Gümüþsuyu, and ve A. Argun Akdoğan, Total Quality Management in Public Administration. Parts I and II (Ankara: PAITME Publications, 1999). Her authored book, Non-Muslim Jews Identity: 1928–1938 in Turkey, is forthcoming with Identities Please, Istanbul, 2009. Stefano Bellucci (PhD, University of Paris XI, France) is assistant professor of Comparative African Political Systems and History and Politics of Afro-Asian Countries, Faculty of Political Science of the University of Pavia, Italy. His current research interests include democracy, power, and civil society in East Africa and the Horn of Africa, in particular. He is the author of A Contemporary History of African Wars: From the End of Colonialism to Globalization (Rome: Carocci, 2005) and co-editor with Sante Matteo, Of Africa and Italy: Bridging Continents and Cultures (Stony Brook, NY: Forum, 2001).

288


Koenraad Bogaert (PhD candidate at the Middle East and North Africa Research Group at the University of Ghent, Belgium.) His PhD thesis is on Islam and democracy in the Middle East. Amel Boubekeur (PhD candidate in social sciences, Ecole Normale Supérieure-Paris, France) is the head of the Islam and Europe programme at the Centre for European Policy Studies, Brussels and research fellow at the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales and the École Normale Supérieure, Paris. Her research focuses on North African politics, EuroArab relations, and Islam in Europe. Her more recent books are European Islam: The Challenges for Society and Policy (Brussels: Centre for European Policy Studies/Open Society Institute, 2007) and with Olivier Roy, Whatever Happened to the Islamist? Salafism, Heavy Metal Muslims, and the Lure of Consumerist Islam (Columbia University Press: New York 2008). Nathan J. Brown (PhD, Princeton University) is professor of political science and international affairs at George Washington University, where he directs the Institute for Middle East Studies. He also serves as a nonresident senior associate at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. Author of four books (Palestinian Politics after the Oslo Accords [Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003]; Constitutions in a Nonconstitutional World [New York: State University of New York Press, 2001]; The Rule of Law in the Arab World [New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997]; and Peasant Politics in Modern Egypt [New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1990]) on politics in the Arab world, he is currently engaged in research on Islamist political parties and electoral efforts in Egypt, Jordan, Palestine, and Kuwait. Sheila Bunwaree (PhD, Latrobe University, Melbourne, Australia) teaches sociology and political science at the University of Mauritius. Previously, she served as the director of the Research Department at the Council for the Development of Social Science Research in Africa (CODESRIA), Dakar, Senegal. Currently, she is a board member of the Association of African Political Scientists and consultant for several regional and international organizations. Dr. Bunwaree is author of a number of book chapters and journal articles in the field of gender and politics. Her books include a co-authored book with Christine Heward, Gender, Education, and Development: Beyond Access to Empowerment (London: Zed Books, 1999); and an authored book, Women and the Political Space in Mauritius (Mauritius: Editions de L’Ocean Indien, 2009). Mathias Diederich (PhD, University of Hamburg, in 1995) is associate professor at the University of Khartoum and director of German Aca-


289

demic Exchange Service (Deutscher Akademischer Austausch Dienst [DAAD]) office in Sudan. His research focuses on Indonesia and its historical transnational connection to the Islamic world, different aspects of Indonesian Islam and politics, Indonesian literature, and labor migration related to the Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia, and the Arab world. He is co-editor of the Frankfurter Forschungen zu Südostasien series (Frankfurt Research on Southeast Asia Series), published by Harrassowitz Publishers, Wiesbaden. Abdullahi Osman El-Tom (PhD, St. Andrews University, United Kingdom, 1984) is chair of the Department of Social Anthropology at the National University Ireland, Maynooth. His recent publications include Growing up in Darfur, Sudan (Khartoum: Sudanese Studies Centre, 2007); with A. M. Adam, Proverbs of Western and Central Sudan (Cairo: Sudanese Studies Centre, 2002), with a second revised edition forthcoming (Magharbian University Press); and with A. M. Adam, Globalization: A Critical Sudy (London: Dar El-Warraq, 1999), in Arabic. Ahmed Khanani is a doctoral student in political science at Indiana University, with a dissertation on Democratization in Muslim Countries. Karim Knio (PhD University of Birmingham, United Kingdom) is lecturer in Politics at the International Institute of Social Studies in The Hague. His research focuses on the political economy of governance, regionalism, and trade in the Euro-Mediterranean region, European Union democracy promotion programs, and Lebanese politics. His latest publications include “Is Political Stability Sustainable in Post ‘Cedar Revolution’ Lebanon?” In Mediterranean Politics 13, no. 3 (2008); “Is Lebanon a Failed State?” In Development Issues 8, no. 2 (2006); and a forthcoming book entitled The EU Mediterranean Policy: Model or Muddle? (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan). Paul L. Moorcraft (D Lit and Phil, University of South Africa) is visiting professor at Cardiff University, School of Journalism, Media, and Cultural Studies, and the director of the Centre for Foreign Policy Analysis, London, an independent think tank dedicated to conflict resolution. He works as a crisis management consultant to international companies. Professor Moorcraft’s most recent books include Axis of Evil: The War on Terror (Barnsley: Pen and Sword, 2005); with Gwyn Winfield and John Chisholm, The New Wars of the West: Anglo-American Voices on the War on Terror (Philadelphia: Casemate, 2006); with Peter McLaughlin, The Rhodesian War: A Military History (Barnsley: Pen and Sword, 2008); with Philip

290


M. Taylor, Shooting the Messenger: The Political Impact of War Reporting (Potomac: Herdon, 2008). Mohamed Abdelrahim (M. A.) Mohamed Salih (PhD University of Manchester, United Kingdom) is professor of politics of development at the Institute of Social Studies, The Hague, and the Department of Political Science, University of Leiden, the Netherlands. His recent books include African Political Parties: Evolution, Institutionalization, and Governance (London: Pluto Press, 2003); African Parliaments between Government and Governance (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005); and Political Parties in Africa: Challenges for Sustained Multiparty Democracy (Stockholm: International Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance, 2007). Abdulkader H. Sinno (PhD, University of California Los Angeles) is an assistant professor of Political Science and Middle Eastern Studies at Indiana University. He specializes in the study of Middle Eastern politics, the politics of Western Muslims, and conflict processes and state building. He is author of Organizations at War in Afghanistan and Beyond and editor of Muslims in Western Politics. Kees van Dijk (PhD, Leiden University, the Netherlands) was a researcher at the KITLV/Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and Caribbean Studies from 1968 to 2007. He holds a chair and is professor of the History of Islam in Indonesia at Leiden University since 1985. He studied Non-Western Sociology at Leiden University, specializing in Indonesian Studies. The title of his PhD thesis was “Rebellion under the Banner of Islam: The Darul Islam in Indonesia” (Leiden: KITLV, 1991). Among his publications are A Country in Despair: Indonesia between 1997 and 2000 (Leiden: KITLV, 2001) and The Netherlands Indies and the Great War, 1914–1918 (Leiden: KITLV, 2007). Massimo Zaccaria (PhD, University of Siena, Italy) is research professor in African history at the Department of Political and Social Studies, Faculty of Political Science, University of Pavia, Italy. His major research interests include: modern history of Eritrea and the Sudan, history of Islam in the Horn of Africa, sources for the history of Africa, and photography as a source for the history of Africa. His latest books include Photography and African Studies (Pavia: Pavia University, 2001); Il Flagello degli schiavisti: Romolo Gessi in Sudan 1874–1881 (Fernandel: Ravenna, 1999); and Il fondo Sudan nella biblioteca della Curia Generalizia dei Missionari Comboniani del Sacro Cuore di Gesù (Rome: Missionari Comboniani, 1996).


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Sami Zemni (PhD, University of Ghent, Belgium) is a professor at the Middle East and North Africa Research Group, Centre for Third World Studies, Ghent University. He published widely on issues pertaining to Islam and Islamism in Egypt, Algeria, and Morocco; patterns of Islamic mobilization in comparative perspective; Islam and theories of modernity and modernization; the process of culturalization; Islam in Western-Europe, among others. His recent publications include: “Islam between Jihadi Threats and Islamist Insecurities. Evidence from Belgium and Morocco,” Mediterranean Politics 11, no. 2 (2006); “Bouteflika: A Badly Elected President in Search for Peace?” in Elections in Egypt and the Middle East: What do they mean? edited by I. Hamdy. Cairo Social Science Papers, Special Issue, 25, nos. 1–2 (2004); and with Christopher Parker, “European Union, Islam and the Challenges of Multiculturalism: Rethinking the Question,” in Islam in Europe: The New Social, Cultural, and Political Landscape, edited by Shireen T. Hunter (Westport: Praeger, 2002).


Index

A Abaza, Khairi, 164 Abdelnasser, Walid M., 9 Abdillah, Masykuri, 269 Abuza, Zachary, 92, 93, 97 Adalet Ve Kalk?nma Partisi (AKP). See Justice and Development Party Adas, Emin Baki, 218 Adhaalath Party, 253, 254 Adin, Abdul Hakim, 6 Affendi, Abdelwahab el-, 44, 133, 139 Afghanistan, 15, 20, 257 Africa Muslim Party (AMP), 193–96, 201 African Islamic Centre, 108 African Muslims, 22, 191–97, 200–201 African National Congress (ANC), 23, 193, 201 Afwaj Al Moukawama Al-Lubnaniyya (AMAL), 262, 263 Ahmed, Abdel Ghaffar Mohamed, 17, 129–43 Ahmed, Okacha Ben, 176 Akdo?an, Nuran Sava?kan, 22, 207–27 Akef, Mahdi, 162 AKP. See Adalet Ve Kalk?nma Partisi Al Mirghani, 142 Al Qaeda, 39, 255 Al Tayyar Al Watanni Al Hur, 262

Alagha, Joseph, 31, 259, 260 Al-Azhar Mosque, 62, 104 Al-Azhar University, 67–68, 107 Algeria, 7–8, 11, 13–14, 16, 32, 38, 46–47, 106, 167–86 Brotherhood of France (FAF), 175 Islamic Salvation Front (FIS), 8, 11, 13–14, 32, 37–38, 46, 168–70, 175, 177–79 Ali, Fachry, 56 Al-Ikhwan, 158–59 al-Jabhat al-Islamiyya lil-Inqad. See Islamic Salvation Front Al-Jama’a al-Islamiyya, 14, 170, 195–98, 201, 203 Manifesto, 197–98 objectives, 195–96 Al-Jihad, 9 All Indian Muslim League, 4 Allahsiz Parti, 222 Alliance of Traditional Ulema (Majma al-Ulama), 112 al-Nahda, 31, 40, 170 Al-Wassat Party, 150, 152–53, 159, 162, 163 Amharic language, 110 Anam, Choirul, 53, 55, 56, 57 Angola, 106 Ankara, 213, 223 Anshari, Endang Saifuddin, 53 Ansor, Pemuda, 73 Ansor Youth, 73 API, 98 Arab League, 264

294

Index

Arinç, Bülent, 217 Armed Islamic Group (GIA), 14, 178 Aryan, Issam al-, 152, 162 Asj’ari, K. H. Hasjim, 55 Asmara Declaration, 141 Atatürk, 208, 223 Ataturkism, 33 Auda, Gehad, 151 Awang, Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim, 68, 71, 80n Aweys, Hassan Daher, 112 Ayub, Salahuddin, 67 Azzam, Abdullah, 38

B Baari, Abdul Majeed, 254 Badawi, Datuk Seri Syed Abdullah bin Haji Ahmad, 71 Badis, Abdel Hamid Ben, 7 Baitul Muslimin (House of Muslims), 63 Bangladesh, 8, 11, 16, 254 Banna, Hassan al-, 5, 6, 158 Banwell Commission, 237 Barisan Nasional (National Front), 66–67 Barre, Siyyad, 107, 111–12 Basdeo Bissoondoyal, 236 Basumin, G. Yudarson, 62 Battahani, Atta el-, 44 Bayat, Asaf, 154, 164 Beirut, 261, 264, 265, 266 Béjaïa, 171 Belkhadem, Abdelaziz, 170 Bella, Ben, 7 Bellin, Eva, 15 Bellucci, Stefano, 103–14, 287 Bendjedid, Chadli, 7, 13, 168 Benhadj, Ali, 31–32, 38, 168 Berenger, Paul, 239, 240, 242, 248 Berman, Sheri, 150 Best Loser System (BLS), 238–39 Bhadawi, Khalid, 152 Bhutto, Zulfiqar Ali, 45 bin Ja’afar, Onn, 65 bin Mohamad, Mahathir, 65

bin Nasir, Mohamad, 67 bin Yaacob, Mohamad, 67 Blood, Hillary, 239 Boland, B. J., 53 Boubekeur, Amel, 8, 21, 167–86, 288 Boulahya, Mohamed, 170–71 Boulby, Marion, 32, 36 Boumediene, Houari, 7, 168 Bowman, Larry W., 240 Brown, Nathan J., 16, 31, 33, 117–28, 157, 162, 288 Bu?ra, Ayse, 211, 217, 218 Bukay, David, 30 Bunwaree, Sheila, 231–48 Burgat, Francois, 150 Bush, George W., 41, 47 Büyükan?t, Ya?ar, 223 Byman, D., 259

C Cahyono, Heru, 59 Çakir, Ru?in, 214, 217 caliphate, 53, 94, 220 Çalmuk, Fehmi, 214, 217 Cape Town Metropolitan Council, 194–97 Cassam Uteem, 248 Catholic Church, 178 Cawthra, G., 231 Cedar Revolution, 18, 259–67 Cehl Meeah, 232, 243–45, 247 Chaaban, Badih, 195 Chad, 109 Chalid, Idham, 56, 62 Champ de Mars, 234 Chandernagore, 232 Chaouachi, Samira, 19 Chechnyans, 13, 198 Chik, Ustaz Abu Bakar, 10 Chin Tong, 66 China, 51, 52, 64–65, 70, 96–97, 250–51, 256 Chooramun, Imam, 246 Christian Democrats, 33, 257 Christianity Africa and, 110–11, 113

Index evangelization of Kabylia, 173 Islamic law and, 95–97, 161–62 Jordan and, 13 Maronites, 31 missionaries, 10, 108 PKB and, 61, 74 political parties, 1, 84 Çinar, Menderes, 216 Circassians, 13 Civilization Project, 138, 141, 142, 143 Cizre, Ümit, 216 Clarke, Jenine, 22 Cold War, 3, 8–10, 30 Colombo, 252 colonial powers, 104 Comité d’Action Musulman (CAM), 232, 235–38, 240 Commonwealth Secretariat, 252 Communist Party, 84, 97, 131 Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA), 129, 132, 137, 141, 143 Congregation for Reform Party, 15, 18 Conseil Français du Culte Musulman (CFCM), 175 Constituent Assembly (Konstituante), 53 Constitution of 1945, 56 Constitution of Mauritius, 244–45 Coptic Christians, 95, 104 Creoles, 233–34, 235, 243, 248 Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi (CHP), 209, 213

D Dakwah, 57 Dallal, Muhammad, 121 Darga, A., 244, 247 Dato Mohd, 67 Da’wa, 154 Democrat Party (DP, Demokrat Parti), 220 Democratic Action Committee, 45 Democratic Alliance, 195 Democratic Left Party (DLP), 217

295

Democratic Unionist Party (DUP), 44, 139 Demokratik Sol Parti (DSP), 217 Derg, 107, 110 Dewan Dakwah Islamiyah Indonesia (DDII), 85 Dewan Ulama (Council of Ulama), 66 Diamond, Larry, 94 Diederich, Mathias, 3, 20, 83–98, 288–89 Diego Garcia, 250 dikir barat, 68 Din, Abdulkader Sekhawe, 105 diwaniyya, 123, 125 Djaballah, Abdellah, 167, 170–71, 172, 181 Doganay, Ülkü, 225 Dogru Yol Partisi (DYP), 208 Doha, 265 Druze, 261–62, 266 Dubey, Ajay Kumar, 273 Dunne, Michele, 157 Duval, Gaetan, 237, 239–40, 247 Duverger, Maurice, 34, 46

E Egal, Ibrahim, 112 Egypt Ikhwan’ul Muslimin, 9 Muslim Brotherhood, 4–8, 11–12, 17–18, 149–65 Eido, Walid, 264 Eisenlohr, P., 233 election law, 12–13 electoral politics, 2, 5, 6, 11, 12, 30–34, 40 ELF, 107, 109 El-Tom, Abdullahi Osman, 1–25, 289 Emergency Law, 152, 155, 156 Emerson, Michael, 150 Emrith, M., 234, 235 Erbakan, Necmettin, 209, 212 Erdo?an, Recep Tayyip, 213–15, 220, 224–25

296

Index

Eriksen, T. H., 231 Eritrea, 105–8, 113, 114 Eritrean Islamic Jihad (EIJ), 109–10 Eritrean Liberation Front (ELM), 106 Erlich, Haggai, 105, 107 Esposito, John, 10, 45 Ethiopia, 103, 104–5, 106–11 Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF), 45 Euro-Med region, 168, 171–72, 179–82, 186 European Neighborhood Policy, 180, 182, 186 European Parliament, 179 European Union (EU), 168, 171– 72, 174, 178–86, 214, 216 Ezzat, Mahmoud, 161

F Faddab, T. H., 106 Fasi, Ahmad ibn Idris al-, 104 Fazilet Partisi (FP), 209 fedayeen, 6 Federal Democratic Alliance, 142 Felicity Party (FP), 209 Findeisen, Genia, 88, 93 First-Past-the-Post (FPTP), 238 fitnah, 9 France, 47, 114, 175–80, 219 Franco-Mauritians, 233, 235, 239 Free Patriotic Movement. See Al Tayyar Al Watanni Al Hur Free Patriotic Movement (FPM), 265–66 Futtuh, Abu Al-, 162

G Gandhi, Mohandas, 4 Gassiem, Achmad, 199 Gayoom, Abdul, 249–51, 253–54, 256 General People’s Congress Party, 18 General Union of Free Students in Algeria (UGEL), 173, 176

Germany, 175, 178, 180 Ghadbian, N., 154 Ghanim, Antoine, 264 globalization, 23, 163, 207, 234 Goldberg, J., 259–60 Golkar, 59, 62–63, 69, 74, 84, 87, 89, 92 Government of National Unity, 137, 143 Graduate Congress, 130 Guinea-Bissau, 106 Gujarati traders, 233 Gunter, Richard, 94 Gurfinkiel, Michel, 208

H Habib, Muhammad, 162 HADAS (Al-haraka al-dusturiyya al-islamiyya), 16, 117–28 Haji Nik Abdul Aziz Nik Mat, 67, 71 Hajj, Francois al-, 264 hakimiyya, 160 halqah, 85 Hamas, 11, 12, 29, 31–32, 34, 38, 41–44, 47, 117, 168–69, 180–81 Hamdi, Mohamed Elhachmi, 44 Hamzawy, Amr, 157 Hamzeh, Ahmad Nizar, 31, 43, 259, 260 Harakat al Moujtama’ As-Silm. See Hamas Harakat an-Nahdha al-Islamiyya, 244 Harb, M., 259, 260 Hargiesa, 112 Harik, J., 259, 260 Hariri, Rafik, 261, 263, 266 Hasbullah, Ustaz Ghazalli, 10 Hassan, Mohamed Farah, 112 Hasyim, K. H. Yusuf, 61, 63 Hawi, George, 262 Hazareesingh, 235–36 Hefner, Robert, 85 Helmi, Burhanuddin Al-, 66 Himandhoo Island, 254

Index Hindus, 4, 68, 72, 88, 232–36, 239–40, 242–43 Hirschman, Alfred O., 137 Hizb al-’amal, 152–53, 172 Hizbul Muslimin, 65 Hizbullah, 18, 124, 232, 241, 243, 259 Hizbut Tahrir Indonesia, 53, 63 Hollup, O., 233, 241 Horn of Africa, 17, 103–16 Hudeiby, Mamun al-, 151 hudud, 2, 68–69, 71, 203 Huliaras, 110 Huntington, Samuel, 207 Hussayn, Hajji Muhammad, 105 Hussein, Adil, 152 Hussein, Ahmed, 111 Hussein, Megdi, 152

I Ibrahim, Datuk Seri Anwar, 68, 75 Ibrahim Libya, 10 Idris, Abdallah, 109 Idrisiyya, 104 Ikatan Mahasiswa Muhammadiyah (IMM), 73 Ikhwan’ul Muslimin, 9, 29, 31, 38, 44–45, 47 Ilyas, Maulana, 67 Independent Broadcasting Authority, South Africa (IBA), 199–200 Independent Forward Block (IFB), 236 India, 4, 51, 200 Indian Union Muslim League, 4 Muslims, 233 Indo-Mauritians, 233, 234 Indonesia, 51–101 Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals’ Organization (ICMI), 3, 5, 15, 86 armed forces (TNI), 96 constitution, 54 National Party, 4 parliament, 92

297

Partai Keadilan Sejahtera (PKS), 163 People’s Congress, 62 Indonesian People’s Congress, 62 International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS), 209, 223 Iran, 9, 15, 47, 108, 208 Iraq, 7, 8, 32, 35–36, 39, 41, 43, 118–19, 183, 241, 249, 257 Islah Party, 15 Islam Hadhari, 71, 76 Islamic Action Front (IAF), 12, 31, 32, 44, 117 Islamic Charter Front, Sudan (ICF), 6, 135, 137–39 Islamic Democratic Party, 253, 254 Islamic Front for the Liberation of Oromia (IFLO), 110 Islamic Liberation Movement (harakat al-tahrir al-Islami), 6 Islamic Movement, 130, 231, 244 Islamic political party, defined, 64 Islamic revolution, 9, 47, 208 Islamic Salvation Front (FIS), 8, 11, 13–14, 32, 37–38, 46, 168–70, 175, 177–79 Islamic Umma, 24 Islamic Union (al-Itehad al-Islami), 112 Islamic Unity Convention (IUC), 195, 198–99, 201, 203 Islamist Pakistani Muttahida Majlise-Amal (MMA), 39 Islamist parties, 32–36, 39–43 Israel, 37, 199 Istanbul, 213, 214, 216, 218, 223 Iyob, Ruth, 103, 106 Izmir, 209, 213, 223

J Jakarta Charter, 53–54, 60, 62, 64, 83 jama’a islamiyya, al-wasat, 150 Jama’at-e Islami, 9, 29, 30–32, 33, 36, 39, 42, 44–47 Jama’t al-Muslimin, 9, 32

298

Index

Jeerooburkhan, Jooneed, 239 Jordan, 5, 6, 8, 13, 15, 32, 41 Jusoh, Hamid, 70 Justice and Development Party, 29, 41, 163, 164, 208, 213, 214, 224, 227, 229, 230

Kuwait, 5, 16, 117, 118, 121, 127 Kuwait’s Islamic Constitutional Movement. See HADAS Kwazulu-Natal, 191, 194, 201

K

Lahore Resolution, 4 Laskar Jihad, 53 Lebanon, 15, 249, 259–67 Leenders, R., 259, 260 Lesch, Ann Mosely, 139 Lev, Daniel S., 54 Lewis, Bernard, 30, 105 Libya, 141 Lingkaran Survei Indonesia (LSI, Indonesia Survey Circle), 62

Kabijakan, 77 Kalla, A. C., 233 Kalyvas, Stathis N., 32 Kaplan, Sam, 221 Karami, Omar, 261–62 Karar, Babiker, 6 Kashmir, 4, 198 Kassir, Samir, 262 Kedah, 67, 71, 75 Kelantan, 67–69, 72 Kemalism, 208, 210, 215, 219–26 Kenya, 106, 112 Kepel, Gilles, 30, 150, 151, 163 Kesatuan Aksi Mahasiswa Muslim Indonesia (KAMMI), 77 Kessel, Clives S., 52, 65–67 Khalid, Mansour, 139 Khalil, Magdi, 150 Khan, Ayub, 45 Khanani, Ahmed, 16, 21–22, 29–47 Khartoum University, 6 Khatmiyya, 104, 115, 130 Kheir, Ahmed, 130 Khittah, 58, 62 Kienle, Eberhardt, 151 King Faisal University of N’djamena, 109 King Hussein, 12, 36 Kinkel, Klaus, 178 Knio, Karim, 18, 259–67, 289 Koenig, Jules, 235, 236 Kokadam agreement, 142 Kompas, 98 Kongres Umat Islam Indonesia (KUII), 88 Koran, 32, 127 Kotku, Mehmet Zahit, 212 Kunzru, Hari, 250

L

M Madagascar, 232 Madani, Abassi, 31 Madhi, Abu al-Ala al-, 159 Maghreb, 178, 186 Mahathir bin Mohamad, 65, 71 Mahdi, Ali, 112 Mahdi, Sadiq al-, 142 Mahdist state, 131, 133 Mahendra, Yusril Ihza, 61 Majlis Permusyawaratan Rakyat (MPR), 62 Majlis Syura Ulama, 66 Majlis Syuriyah, 54–55 makyong, 68 Malay, 35, 70, 192, 200 Malay-Muslims, 10 Malaysia, 9, 70, 72, 75–77 Maldives, 249–57 Maldivian Democratic Party (MDP), 251, 255 Malta, 19 Mandela, Nelson, 253, 256 March 14 Movement, 264 March 8 Movement, 265 Mardin, ?erif, 211–13, 212 Maronites, 31, 261–62 Marxism, 3, 103, 107

Index Masjumi, 53–58, 73–74 Masoud, Tarek, 162, 164 Massawa, 104, 105 Masyumi, 84–85, 94, 100 Mauritius, 2, 231–48 Mawdudi, Abu Al-A’la al, 30, 38, 39 Mbala, 46 Mecca, 86, 104 MEDA programs, 186 Menderes, Adnan, 221 Mert, Nuray, 212, 222 Michal, Shaul, 43 Mietzner, Marcus, 93 mihna, 9 Milli Nizam Partisi (MNP), 209 Milli Selamet Partisi (MSP), 217 Milliyetci Hareket Partisi (MHP), 215 Mimoun, Smaïl, 169 Mirghani, Uthman al-, 104 MMM/MSM alliance, 232, 239–43 Moeis, Abdoel, 3 Mogadishu, 112–13 Mohamed, Abdul Razack, 232, 235–37, 238 Mohamed, Yousouf, 238 Mouvement Militant Mauricien (MMM), 232, 239, 243 Mouvement Socialiste Mauricien (MSM), 232 Movement of National Reform (el-Islah), 14, 168 Movement of Society for Peace (Harakat al Moujtama’ As-Silm, Hamas/HMS/MSP), 168–70 Mozambique, 106, 232 Mubarak, Gamal, 154 Mubarak, Hosni, 33, 41, 47, 151, 154, 156, 157 Mugabe, Robert, 249, 255 Muhammad, Ustaz Latif, 10 Muhammad Ali, 104 Muhammadiyah, 59, 60, 62, 73–74, 85, 87–88, 97 Mukonoweshuro, E. G., 231 MUSIAD, 218 Muslim Brotherhood, 4–8, 11–12, 17–18, 149–65

299

Muslim Brothers, 85, 106, 109, 112 Muslim League, 4, 14, 105 Muslim Personal Law, 241, 242, 245–46 Muslim Youth Movement (MYM), 193 Mustaib, A. R., 62 Muttahida Majlis-e-Amal (MMA), 39

N Nahda Party, 31, 40, 170 Nahdlatul Ulama (NU), 53, 59–62, 73–74, 85 Nahnah, Mahfoudh, 168, 169, 177 Nakrashi, Mahmud Fahmi, 5 Naksibendi, 212, 222 Naseer, Umar, 255 Nash, Badr al-, 121 Nasheed, Mohamed, 250, 252, 254, 255–57 Nasr, Vali, 10–11, 45 Nasrallah, Hasan, 262 Nasser, Gamel, 106–7, 151–52 National Congress Party (NCP), 141 National Democratic Alliance, 110, 137 National Economic and Social Council (NESC), 246 National Islamic Front (NIF), 11, 14, 17–18, 45, 129–43 National Liberation Front (FLN), 13–14, 169, 171, 172, 174 National Order Party, 209 National Rally for Democracy (RND), 174 National Reform Movement (Harakat al-Islah al Watani— MNR), 170–71 National Salvation Party (NSP), 209 National Unionist Party (NUP), 17, 135 National Unity Alliance, 253, 255 Nationalist Movement Party (NMP), 213, 217 Natsir, Muhammad, 85 Nehru, Jawaharlal, 4 New Order, 56–61, 63

300

Index

Nimeiri, Jaafar, 36, 42, 44–45, 107, 132, 134, 137–39, 141–42 Noer, Deliar, 54–56, 62 nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), 23, 25, 109, 110, 151, 153–54, 177, 179 Noorhaidi, Hasan, 53 Norton, Augustus, 31, 259, 260 Noth, Albrecht, 95

O Obama, Barack, 256 O’Fahey, R. S., 131 Ofcansky, Tom, 110 Omar, Mahfuz, 10 Organisation of the Islamic Conference (OIC), 108, 180 O’Sullivan, John, 219, 224 Othman, Norani, 68 Ottaway, David, 7 Ottaway, Marina, 7, 33 Ottoman Empire, 211–13, 219–21, 224 Ouagadougou, 180 Ozal, Turgut, 212, 217, 221, 222

P Pakistan, 20, 29, 32, 193, 200 Palestine, 5, 11, 15, 38, 47, 180, 203, 262 Pan-Africanism, 199 Pancasila, 53–54, 56–58, 61–62, 64, 74, 83–84, 86, 87 Pan-Malaysian Islamic Party (PAS), 9, 66, 69, 71–72, 76, 78 Parla, Taha, 219 Parmusi, 58–59 Partai Bulan Bintang (PBB, or Moon and Star Party), 61, 69, 94 Partai Demokrasi Indonesia (PDI, Indonesian Democratic Party), 59, 88 Partai Demokrasi Indonesia Perjuangan (PDIP), 87 Partai Ka’bah (PK), 62

Partai Keadilan (PK Sejahtera), 77, 92 Partai Kebangkitan Bangsa (PKB, National Awakening Party), 60, 74, 77, 86, 92, 96 Partai Komunis Indonesia (PKI), 3, 7, 53, 74 Parti Kebangsaan Melayu Malaya (PKMM), 65 Parti Mauricien Social Democrate (PMSD), 237 Party of the National Message (PAN), 74, 77, 96 Party of the Profession of the Faith (PDS), 62 People Against Gangsterism and Drugs (PAGAD), 198, 201, 203 People’s Congress Party and Socialist Party, 18 People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ), 109 Perlembagaan, 70 Persatuan Tarbiyah Islamiyah, 53 Piagam Jakarta. See Jakarta Charter Pink, Johanna, 95 Pirio, Gregory Alonso, 110 Pool, David, 107, 110 Popular Arab and Muslim Conference (PAIC), 109 Progressive Socialist Party, 266 Purvis, Andrew, 214

Q Qadi, Muhammad ‘Umar, 105 Qaradawi, Yusuf al-, 153 Qibla, 198–99, 201 Quandt, William B., 14 Qura, Abdul Latif Abu, 6 Qutb, Sayyid, 5, 31, 38, 39, 53, 151

R Rabitat Ad-Da’wa, 170 Rabitat Ad-Da’wa (Preaching League), 170 Rachwan, Diaa, 151

Index radjm, 68 Rais, Amien, 60–61, 74, 87, 97 Ramdall, Vicky, 93 Ramgoolam, Navin, 248–49 Ramgoolam, Seewoosagur, 236–37, 239–40 Refah Partisi (RP), 44, 208 Robben Island, 192 Rukmana, Siti Hardiyanti, 75 Rushdie, Salman, 176

S Sa’ad, Mohammed, 152 Saad-Ghorayeb, Amal, 31, 43, 259, 260 Sabu, Muhammad, 10 Sadat, Anwar, 151 Saeed, Hassan, 252–53 Salaam, Imam Abdullah Kadi Abdus, 192 Salafi movements, 127 Salafist Group for Preaching and Combat (GSCP), 14 Salim, Agus, 3 Salim, Arskal, 98 Samanhoedi, H., 3 Sanioura, Fouad, 264, 265 Sarekat Party, 3, 14, 53 Saudi Arabia, 20, 39, 107–10, 112, 170, 254 Sawt al-Arab (Radio Cairo), 106 Schwedler, Jillian, 31, 32, 44 Sekolah Agama Rakyat (SARs), 70 Sela, Avraham, 43 Selvon, S. A., 237, 241, 243 Selznick, P., 36 Shadid, Anthony, 33 Sharia, 1, 3, 5, 34, 47, 196, 208 Sharif, Al Haran al-, 200, 203 Shaykh Yusuf, 192, 196–97 Shehata, Samer, 157 shuhada, 7 shura, 5, 161 Sidahmed, Abdel Salam, 133, 135, 139 Simandjuntak, B., 64, 65

301

Sinno, Abdulkader H., 16, 21, 22, 29–47, 290 Six-Day War, 6, 11 Siyyad Barre, 107, 112 Sjadzali, Munawir, 58 SLPA/M, 140 Soeharto, 57, 59–61, 75, 83–84, 86–87 Soekarno, 4, 53, 54, 56–57, 74, 83–85 Soekarnoputri, Megawati, 4, 62, 87 Soltani, Aboujerra, 21, 167, 168, 169–70, 176, 188n Somalia, 2, 8, 17, 103, 105, 112 South Africa, 21, 92, 106, 199, 200, 201, 256 Spain, 180 Spaulding, J. L., 131 Sri Lanka, 252 Stacher, Joshua, 157 Sudan, 5, 6, 8, 15, 17, 32, 131, 137, 142 Suez Canal, 38 Suleiman, Michel, 264, 265 Supreme Islamic Council, 254 Susurluk, 216–17 Syria, 39, 43

T Taha, Mahmud Mohamed, 134 Tahir, El-Rashid al-, 6 Tajammu’min ‘ajl at-taqafah wadDimuqratiyya-RCD, 172 Takeyh, Ray, 13 Tambo, Oliver, 196 Tanfidziyah, 54–55, 59, 61 Tanzim al-Jihad, 14 Tape, Fayruze, 196 Ta?pinar, Ömer, 215 Tayob, Abdulkader I., 192 Tenaga kerja wanita-pembantu rumah tangga (TKW-PR), 90 Tepe, Sultan, 216 Terrorism Law, 152 Tjokroaminoto, H. O. S., 3–4 Toprak, Binnaz, 210–11, 219–21 True Path Party (TPP), 208, 209

302

Index

Tunisia, 19, 39 Turabi, Hassan al-, 6, 29, 36, 44–45, 109, 132, 142 Turgut, Pelin, 214 Turgut ozal, 212, 214 Turkey, 19, 207–9, 218, 220 Turnbull, C. Mary, 65, 66 Tutut, 75 Twaini, Gebran, 262 Two Nation Theory, 4

U Uganda, 106 Ulama, 9, 73, 212 Ulama kyai, 55 ul-Haq, Zia, 31, 32, 36, 42, 45 UMNO, 70–72, 75–76, 78 UN Resolution, 155, 262 UN Resolution, 170, 263 Union des Organisations Islamiques de France (UOIF), 175 Union of Islamic Youth (Wuhdat al-Shabab al-Islami), 112 Union of the Islamic Courts (UIC), 113 United Development Party (PPP), 84 United Kingdom, 33 United Malays National Organization (UMNO), 9, 46, 64 United Oromo Peoples Liberation Front, 110 United States, 33, 36, 47, 181, 252 Universite Emir Abdelkader des Sciences Islamiques, 7 UP, 135 USDEK, 56 USSR, 114, 229

V van Dijk, Kees, 4, 51–81, 290 Virahsawmy, Dev, 239

Virtue Party (VP), 209 Voll, John Obert, 131

W Wafd Party, 5, 47 Wahid, Abdurrahman, 59, 60–61, 74–75, 79, 86–87, 88, 89–90, 93, 96–98, 100n Wahid, Mohd Abdul, 71 Wahid, Rosol, 76 Warburg, Gabriel, 133, 139 wayang kulit, 68 Weber, Max, 267 Welfare Party (WP), 209 Wibisono, Christianto, 61 Wickham, Carrie Rosefsky, 38, 152, 154 Wiktorowicz, Quintan, 6 World War II, 83 Wright, Lawrence, 33, 53

Y Yaacob, Ustaz Bunyamin, 10 Yavuv, M. Hakan, 219 Yemen, 5, 8, 15, 18, 107 Young, Richard, 150 Young Egypt, 5

Z Zaccaria, Massimo, 103–14, 290 Zaki, Yaqub, 199 Zanabum Asrul, 76 Zawahiri, Ayman al-, 38 Zayat, Muntassir al-, 153, 163 Zemni, Sami, 149–65 Zenawi, Meles, 110 Zeroual, Liamine, 169 Zimbabwe, 106

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