Compassionate Communalism: Welfare and Sectarianism in Lebanon 9780801470332

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Compassionate Communalism

Compassionate Communalism W ELFARE A ND SECTARIA NISM IN LEBA NON

Melani Cammett

Cornell University Press ithaca and london

Cornell University Press gratefully acknowledges receipt of a grant from the Watson Institute for International Studies at Brown University which aided in the publication of this book. Copyright © 2014 by Cornell University All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in a review, this book, or parts thereof, must not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, address Cornell University Press, Sage House, 512 East State Street, Ithaca, New York 14850. First published 2014 by Cornell University Press First printing, Cornell Paperbacks, 2014 Printed in the United States of America Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Cammett, Melani Claire, 1969– author. Compassionate communalism : welfare and sectarianism in Lebanon / Melani Cammett. pages cm Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-8014-5232-1 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN 978-0-8014-7893-2 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Charities—Lebanon. 2. Human services—Lebanon. 3. Communalism— Lebanon. I. Title. HV378.C36 2014 361.7095692—dc23

2013040675

Cornell University Press strives to use environmentally responsible suppliers and materials to the fullest extent possible in the publishing of its books. Such materials include vegetable-based, low-VOC inks and acid-free papers that are recycled, totally chlorine-free, or partly composed of nonwood fibers. For further information, visit our website at www.cornellpress.cornell.edu. Cloth printing Paperback printing

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Jacket photograph: A mobile clinic run by the Hezbollah (Party of God) offers free vaccination.Tebnine, Lebanon, 2004. Photo © Abbas/Magnum Photos.

For the people who shared their stories— may their future be peaceful and secure.

Contents

List of Figures, Maps, and Tables Acknowledgments xiii 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

ix

Introduction 1 Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies 7 Political Sectarianism and the Residual Welfare Regime in Lebanon 38 Political Mobilization Strategies and In-Group Competition among Sectarian Parties 58 The Political Geography of Welfare and Sectarianism 85 Political Loyalty and Access to Welfare 115 Sectarian Parties and Distributional Politics 138 Welfare and Identity Politics beyond Lebanon 191 Conclusion: The Consequences of Welfare Provision by Identity-Based Organizations 217 Appendixes: A. List of Elite Interview Respondents and Provider Questionnaire 235 B. List of Nonelite Interview Respondents and Questionnaire 247 C. National Survey Questions 260 Notes 267 References 291 Index 309

Figures, Maps, and Tables

Figures 1.1 Patterns of community and individual-level distribution of welfare goods 15 1.2 Partisan commitments of risk and time for different forms of political participation 16 2.1 Lebanese schools by religious affiliation, 1920 and 1978 42 2.2 Students enrolled in public and private primary and secondary schools, selected years 46 2.3 Primary and secondary schools in Lebanon, 1974–2006 51 2.4 Hospitals by affiliation (2008 estimates) 52 2.5 Clinics and dispensaries by affiliation (2008 estimates) 53 4.1 A woman sells Hezbollah and Lebanese national flags, as well as posters of Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah, Hezbollah leader, in a southern suburb of Beirut, August 23, 2006 89 4.2 Amal Movement poster in southern suburbs of Beirut in 2009 90 4.3 Poster of Saad Hariri in Beirut during the 2009 elections with photos below of Rafiq Hariri and two Future Movement supporters killed during the clashes and their aftermath in May 2008 91 4.4 Lebanese Forces poster of Samir Geagea in East Beirut in 2005 92 4.5 Taxis contracted by the Armenian Tashnaq Party waiting to shuttle voters to polls across Lebanon during the June 2009 national elections 98 4.6 Demographic spread of major religious communities in Lebanon 100 4.7 Propensity to target mixed or out-group communities (measured by fractionalization) by institutional type 103 4.8 Propensity to target in-group communities (measured by percentage of co-religionists) by institutional type 104

x

Figures, Maps, and Tables 4.9 Distribution of households by socioeconomic status (SES) and propensity of institutional types to target different communities by SES in Beirut and Mount Lebanon provinces 106 6.1 Food box distributed during Ramadan by the Beirut Association of Social Development, a charitable organization linked to the Future Movement 142 6.2 Rafiq Hariri Government Hospital with a photo of Hariri on the façade 143 6.3 Photos of Pierre and Amin Gemmayel in the pharmacy of the Kataeb Party clinic in Mar Mikhael, East Beirut in 2007 174 6.4 Voter turnout by sect in the 1992 and 1996 Lebanese national elections 186

Maps 2.1 4.1 4.2 7.1 7.2

Territories controlled by militias in Lebanon (approx. 1983–1989) 47 Governorates, districts, and administrative zones in Lebanon 93 Neighborhoods in West Beirut 94 Sadrist offices in Baghdad (post-2007) 204 Sadrist offices in Iraq (approx. 2009) 205

Tables 1.1 Political mobilization strategies, intrasect competition, and the distribution of social benefits by sectarian parties 23 1.2 Indicators of state-centric and extra-state political mobilization strategies 24 1.3 Typology of domestic providers in plural societies 32 1.4 Patterns of distributing social benefits of selected sectarian parties 34 2.1 Coverage and benefits of public and private insurance schemes 56 4.1 Descriptive statistics of the dependent variables (zone level) 96 4.2 Descriptive statistics of the independent variables (zone level) 97 4.3 Presence of party-based welfare agencies in community (SUR) 108 5.1 Measures of the dependent variable, Welfare, and its component forms of social assistance 119 5.2 Coding and distribution of the independent variable PAI and its component forms of political activity 120 5.3 Measures of sectarian identity and partisanship 121 5.4 Political activity index by sectarian identity and partisan affi liation 122 5.5 Relationship between partisan and sectarian identities 123 5.6 Measures of main demographic control variables 124 5.7 Measures of piety, religious participation, and religious fractionalization 125 5.8 Mean socioeconomic status by sectarian identity and partisan affiliation 126 5.9 OLS regressions for the variable welfare 127

Figures, Maps, and Tables

xi

6.1 Selected communities with Future Movement and Hezbollah welfare agencies 148 6.2 Turnout rates by governorate in post-war national elections in Lebanon, 1992–2009 184 6.3a Vote share of Hezbollah by sect of registered voters in the 2005 and 2009 national elections (%) 188 6.3b Vote share of the Amal Movement by sect of registered voters in the 2005 and 2009 national elections (%) 188 6.3c Vote share of the Future Movement by sect of registered voters in the 2005 and 2009 national elections (%) 188

Acknowledgments

T

he list of people who have inspired and helped me while I researched and wrote this book is long. First and foremost, I am grateful to the Lebanese people who agreed to share their experiences with me and with the members of my research team. Many of their stories are heart-wrenching, exposing the conditions of insecurity in which they must navigate their lives. This book is dedicated to them. In writing this book, I have benefited from the critical engagement of a large community of scholars, friends, and family members. Special thanks go to Pauline Jones Luong and Ellen Lust, both of whom read the entire manuscript and provided in-depth commentary. Maria Angelica Bautista and Wendy Pearlman provided extensive feedback on specific chapters, and Marsha Pripstein Posusney, who is sorely missed, helped me to hash out some basic ideas early on. As ever, I am grateful for the input and reality checks from Julie Lynch and Lauren Morris MacLean. At various stages of the project, I received valuable feedback from Lisa Anderson, Lisa Blaydes, Dawn Brancati, Giovanni Capoccia, Kanchan Chandra, Yen-Ting Chen, Janine Clark, Dan Corstange, Bryan Daves, Lara Deeb, Mila Dragojevic, Grzegorz Ekiert, Tulia Falletti, Carol Hakim, Nahomi Ichino, Amaney Jamal, Jennifer Lawless, Evan Lieberman, Rick Locke, James Mahoney, Eddy Malesky, Tarek Masoud, Feryaz Ocakli, Roger Owen, Betsy Palluck, Liz Perry, Hugh Roberts, James Robinson, Jonah Schulhofer-Wohl, Dan Slater, Judith Tendler, Tariq Thachil, Lily Tsai, John Waterbury, Lisa Wedeen, and Steven Wilkinson. Many of my colleagues at Brown University were also generous with their feedback, including Engin Akarli, Peter Andreas, Linda Cook, Andrew Foster, Shirene Hamdy, Patrick Heller, Sukriti Issar, John Logan, Rose McDermott, Elias Muhanna, Dietrich Rueschemeyer,

xiv

Acknowledgments

Richard Snyder, Ian Straughn, Rebecca Weitz-Shapiro, Ashu Varshney, and Alan Zuckerman. Seminar participants at the American University of Beirut, University of California–Berkeley, Brown, University of Chicago, University of Guelph, Harvard University, McGill University, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Northwestern University, New York University, George Washington University Project on Middle East Political Science (POMEPS), Princeton University, University of Toronto, World Bank, Yale University, and elsewhere provided useful feedback on drafts and ideas at various stages. I particularly appreciate the support and insightful comments of Jorge Dominguez and the intellectual home provided by Larry Winnie and Kathleen Hoover at the Harvard Academy. The guidance and engagement of friends and colleagues in the Middle East were invaluable in helping me to grasp the complexities of Lebanon and informed my broader intellectual development. I am especially grateful to Abdul-Rahim Abu-Husayn, Marlin Dick, Marwan Khawaja, and Fawwaz Traboulsi for their insightful comments and for facilitating the field research process. At various stages of my research, I benefited from input from Asʾad Abu-Khalil, Mirvat Abu-Khalil, Walid Ammar, Sami Atallah, Munir Bashshur, Hassan Charif, Shaz Faramarzi, Rita Giacaman, Charles Harb, Mona Harb, Judith Harik, Waleed Hazbun, Samer Jabbour, Ray Jureidini, Tahar Labib, Kamel Muhanna, Fadi Riachi, Bassel Salloukh, Nisreen Salti, Michelle Woodward, Huda Zurayk, and Rami Zurayk. I regret that I cannot give copies of this book to Salim Nasr and Kamal Salibi, each of whom influenced my thinking in important ways, and to Anthony Shadid, who was so generous with his time, networks in the region, and intellectual engagement. I am also grateful to the government officials, party representatives, and welfare-agency staff members who agreed to be interviewed for this book, even though some were reluctant or wary of my intentions. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the incredible team of researchers who worked with me on this project between 2007 and 2009, including Tamar Boladian, Salwa Maalouf, Lamia Moghnie, Jamil Oueini, Zina Sawaf, and Dalia Mikdashi. I hope that they gained as much from the experience as I learned from them. Lina Mikdashi helped me to get the lay of the land early on in the research process and became a good friend and colleague. The research assistance of Ghenwa Hayek during my initial visits to Lebanon was critical, and together we shared hilarious experiences during field research. I am also grateful to Ali Abboud, Tarek Abu-Husayn and Abdul Rahman Chamseddine, who carried out valuable research in Lebanon, and to Hamid Yassin, who collected data in Iraq for the project. It was a pleasure to work with Rabih Haber and the team at Statistics Lebanon, and I am especially grateful to Ibrahim Khoury for his personal insights and side-splitting commentary on the subject of my research. My research assistants at Brown never failed to remind me how lucky I am to work with such intellectually

Acknowledgments

xv

creative and brilliant students. The contributions and critical engagement of Nathan Einstein, Jeb Koogler, Mari Miyoshi, and Christian Sorenson were exceptional. I also appreciate Nawal Traish’s careful editorial work and the background research provided by Haydar Taygun. Funding from the Smith Richardson Foundation, U.S. Institute of Peace, Harvard Academy, and Brown University supported the data collection for this project. It has been a privilege to work with Roger Haydon and the entire editorial and production team at Cornell University Press. Field research was all the more fun thanks to friends in Lebanon. I have shared many laughs and dinners with Marti Farha and Janmarie Muhanna— including our memorable dinner on July 11, 2006, when we proved that our predictive powers are not very reliable. I am also grateful to Marti and Janmarie for introducing me to Shaz Faramarzi, who is a dear friend and a true source of inspiration. Betty Anderson, Michaelle Browers, Waleed Hazbun, Adib Rahhal, and Michelle Woodward also made my time in Lebanon all the more enjoyable. Families are the foundations of welfare regimes, and I am immensely grateful for my own family support system. The commitment to social justice of my parents, Sandi Cooper and John Cammett, has been a lifelong influence and ultimately helped me to fi nd my passion in my work. I regret that my father died before I fi nished the book. Connie and George Manioudakis (aka Yia Yia and Papou) also played an indispensable part in the production of the book by helping to take care of the children whenever I left for extended research trips. The commitment and sense of adventure of Helena Barros Mackie makes everything seem possible. I am fortunate to have the support, love, and examples of Anni, Marci, Mena, Theo Howie and Thea Myrnie, and the rest of the extended Cammett and Manioudakis clans. It has been a joy to watch Alex, Lena, and, later, Nikos grow up while I was researching and writing this book. My love and admiration for them and for Angelo have helped me to understand the hopes and fears of families in less secure places.

A Note on Arabic Transliteration Throughout the book, I use a modified version of the International Journal of Middle East Studies (IJMES) transliteration system guidelines while retaining conventional transliterations of Lebanese, Iraqi, and Palestinian place names and figures.

Compassionate Communalism

Introduction

I

n June 2007, Hamza Shahrour, a twenty-four-year-old Lebanese man, died of heart failure in Beirut. Hamza’s death might have been prevented had he received timely medical attention, but the hospital where his family fi rst took him refused to admit him. In Lebanon, examples abound of low-income patients who are turned away from hospital emergency rooms because they cannot cover the costs of treatment, and the Lebanese media periodically feature stories about patients who die in ambulances outside private hospitals that have refused to accept them on financial grounds (Al-Nahar Staff 1998; Balaa 2005). In the case of Hamza Shahrour, however, it was not poverty but sectarian identity that allegedly compelled the hospital staff to refuse to treat him. A Shi ʿi Muslim, Hamza was taken to the Rafiq Al-Hariri Hospital, which is officially public but which at various times has been controlled by the Future Movement, a predominantly Sunni Muslim political party and an important force in Lebanese politics. After his death, Hamza’s mother lamented, “I wish my son had been a Sunni. Maybe he would be sitting next to me now instead of dying, having been turned away from the Hariri hospital” (IRIN News 2008). This account of Hamza’s treatment suggests that the Future Movement allocates social benefits along sectarian lines. But this claim is surprising in light of the history of the Future Movement. For years, the organization was seen as relatively open to all Lebanese, regardless of sect, even though its founder was a prominent Sunni leader. Thus, the interpretation by Hamza’s mother suggests that Lebanese citizens view the organization as “sectarian,” despite its history of cross-sectarian generosity. The Future Movement is hardly the only political party in Lebanon accused of discrimination along sectarian lines in recent years. Doctors from the Rasoul al-ʿAzam Hospital, a hospital in the southern suburbs of Beirut run by the Shi ʿi Muslim party Hezbollah, admit that Hezbollah members and

2

Introduction

their families receive priority treatment (IRIN News 2008). Although their own welfare institutions are currently far less developed than those of their Sunni and Shi ʿa counterparts, Christian political parties use connections with religious charities and other provider organizations to ensure that their supporters receive preferential access to social services. Christian leaders with bases of regional support, such as Nayla Moawad or Suleiman Franjieh, both of whom come from important political families in North Lebanon, run welfare networks that are widely perceived by Lebanese citizens to favor their own supporters. Long-standing Christian political parties, such as the Lebanese Forces and Kataeb, whose welfare programs were largely dismantled after the end of the fifteen-year Lebanese civil war in 1990, are resuscitating and building their social service wings at present. Political leaders of these parties openly acknowledge that they must reward their supporters with services as they rebuild party institutions; “We know we need to help our supporters, especially now that we are constituting ourselves into a real political party,” explained one Lebanese Forces official.1 Social welfare, then, not only concerns the ways in which people meet their basic social needs; in Lebanon and in other countries in the Middle East, South and Southeast Asia, and other regions of the Global South, where public welfare functions are underdeveloped and identity-based organizations provide social protection, it is a lens through which to study sectarian and ethnic politics. At its core, sectarianism refers to processes of constructing and maintaining the boundaries of a religious community, demarcating who belongs and who is excluded. Social welfare, too, entails processes of inclusion and exclusion, shaping both the constitution and experiences of membership in a political community. At the national level, for example, access to social services and benefits is at the heart of contests over citizenship, a status that determines one’s rights and obligations and their entailments within the polity. Similarly, who benefits from the provision of social services by sectarian organizations—whether based on formal or informal eligibility criteria— effectively constitutes membership in these groups. Through the direct provision of social services or through indirect access to benefits provided by other public and private organizations, these organizations aim to build support, consolidate their control over territory and people, and present themselves as protectors and guarantors of well-being. A focus on the relationship between provider and beneficiary exposes the kinds of linkages—material and immaterial—that sectarian organizations2 construct with ordinary people, enabling identity-based groups to lock in their control over social and political life. In light of standard expectations of sectarian politics in academic and journalistic accounts, the story of Hamza’s death told by his mother is tragic but not surprising; sectarian or ethnic groups generally favor “their own”—in access to social services, jobs, the distribution of patronage, or other forms of resource

Introduction

3

allocation—especially when resources are scarce and a larger, cross-cutting sense of solidarity is absent or underdeveloped (Alesina et al. 2003; Easterly and Levine 1997; Habyarimana et al. 2007; Lieberman 2003; Tsai 2007). Far more puzzling, then, are instances when sectarian organizations purposively serve people from other sects. Sunnis and Christians attest that they receive medical care, financial assistance, and even educational scholarships from Hezbollah institutions,3 and Hezbollah emphasizes that it welcomed Christian business owners and residents in neighborhoods located in the southern suburbs of Beirut, such as Shiyah and Baabda, after the civil war (Harik 2004). Likewise, Shiʿa Lebanese report that they benefit from similar services provided by Sunni institutions linked to political parties and religious charities.4 Even their harshest critics in Lebanon attest that sectarian parties make deliberate efforts to serve members of out-groups.5 This book takes these apparently anomalous cases of cross-sectarian welfare provision as a starting point for studying the broader phenomenon of sectarianism: How does sectarianism affect the efforts of ordinary people to meet their basic needs? This broad concern points to more targeted questions about the behavior of sectarian parties: Why do some sectarian providers distribute welfare goods broadly, even to out-group members, while others concentrate service provision within their associated communities? Similarly, why do sectarian organizations purposively cater to members of out-groups to a greater or lesser degree in different time periods or geographical areas? The book also poses a second set of questions about what it means for organizations to serve their own communities: Even if sectarian organizations primarily serve in-group members, are all treated equally or are some favored over others? Given resource limitations, sectarian organizations are compelled to distribute welfare goods unevenly among different categories of in-group members. The logic of welfare outreach cannot be reduced to a single factor, nor are charitable and political motivations mutually exclusive, as I emphasize in the next chapter. In focusing on the political dimensions of the provision of social services, however, I argue that two key factors shape how a sectarian or ethnic party distributes welfare goods: (1) whether the party engages in a “statecentric” or “extra-state” political strategy and (2) whether it faces competition from other parties claiming to represent the same community (intrasect competition). The first factor—the type of political strategy that parties prioritize— shapes both whether organizations target out-group members with welfare benefits and the degree to which they favor core versus passive supporters and the politically uncommitted. When parties pursue a state-centric strategy, or opt to work through formal state institutions to seek national power, they are more likely to serve members of other religious communities and to target more passive supporters and even those with no record of support for the

4

Introduction

party. When they engage in an extra-state strategy, which might include protests, riots, or even militia politics, they favor core supporters, who tend to be in-group members. The second factor, intrasect competition, is most applicable to political systems premised on power sharing, in which political life is effectively structured around ethnic, religious, or other social identities. If a party has achieved dominance within its group, it is more likely to distribute welfare goods inclusively, perhaps even to out-group members. Conversely, when a party faces competition from other parties within its sect, it tends to focus services on in-group members and, under some conditions, to a narrow group of hard-core activists. Thus, who benefits from the welfare activities of a given sectarian party is shaped by the type of political strategy it prioritizes and whether it faces competition from in-group rivals. Focusing on Lebanon, in this book I compare the welfare distribution strategies of Christian, Shi ʿa Muslim, and Sunni Muslim political parties, with background comparisons to other ostensibly identity-based political groups in Iraq and India. In Lebanon, a quintessential case of a weak state6 in which power-sharing arrangements enshrine the political salience of religion and ethnicity, welfare is a terrain of political contestation. The distribution of welfare goods varies across different parties, however: the Sunni Muslim Future Movement has generally offered services relatively broadly, even locating some health clinics in Christian neighborhoods, whereas the Shi ʿi Muslim Hezbollah provides services mainly in Shi ʿa areas, although it welcomes members of other sects in its welfare institutions and has recently expressed interest in branching out beyond its core areas of operation. Christian political parties tend to focus social assistance efforts in heavily Christian communities. The degree to which these parties face serious competition within their respective sects and the types of politics they prioritize help to explain the variation in the propensities of these organizations to serve out-group communities or to reach out beyond their core base of supporters. In all cases, service provision is used not only to address pressing social needs but also to build political support. In the allocation of basic health care, educational services, food, and other forms of material assistance—the main sectors on which I focus—service providers linked to Lebanese political parties make choices about whom to reward, attract, or exclude. Unfortunately, the discretionary allocation of welfare goods by political parties and movements across identity-based lines is hardly unique to Lebanon. Sectarianism and other forms of identity politics have witnessed resurgences in recent decades across the Global South; ostensibly ethnic or sectarian political parties and organizations are important providers of basic services in many countries in the Middle East, Asia, and Latin America.7 In Iraq, Palestine, India, Sri Lanka, Pakistan, Indonesia, and elsewhere in the developing world, politicized religious or ethnic organizations have highly developed social service programs, and evidence suggests that some favor

Introduction

5

in-group members in distributing or facilitating access to social welfare, or at least employ social benefits to attract support (Cockburn 2008; Flanigan 2006; Hefner 2005; Levinson 2008; Shadid 2002; Thachil 2009). When states fail to provide universal access for citizens to basic public goods and social services, welfare can become a terrain of political contestation, providing the opportunity for such organizations to establish or expand the distribution of social benefits. Even in countries where access to power is not as contingent on ethnicity or religion and where public welfare functions are more developed, political parties and movements use the provision of social services as a means of building support. In Turkey, for example, reports indicate that the ruling Islamist political party Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi (AKP; Justice and Development Party) used the distribution of “white goods,” or basic household appliances, to drum up support during the 2009 elections (ANF News Agency Staff 2008; Demir 2009; Kuwait Times Staff 2009; Milliyet Staff 2007). In Middle Eastern countries such as pre-1992 Algeria, Morocco, Egypt, and Jordan— countries not often described as “divided” because the ethnic or religious identities of citizens are not overtly politicized—Islamist organizations run their own social welfare programs (Clark 2004; Wickham 2002; Harrigan and El-Said 2009; Wiktorowicz 2001). Declining or underdeveloped public welfare functions provide the space—and, indeed, the need—for nonstate actors such as international or domestic nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), religious charities, and even political parties and movements to provide basic social services. In such contexts, local political organizations—whether linked to ethnoreligious parties or not—can use service provision to gain political support as much as to fulfill commitments to communal or religious principles of social justice. The question of who benefits from nonstate service provision by sectarian parties highlights an important and under-recognized political factor in shaping public well-being and mediating access to social services. In analyzing the determinants of health, for example, the public health literature has traditionally privileged individual demographic factors such as age, education, gender, and socioeconomic status (Hummer, Rogers, and Eberstein 1998; Marmor, Barer, and Evans 1994; Wagstaff 2002). Structural influences, including broader social and political determinants of health, have only recently attracted more attention (Marmot and Wilkinson 2005). Where the state is virtually absent and political organizations allocate welfare on a discretionary basis, political considerations complicate the question of how individuals and households assure their basic social needs and gain access to welfare services. As the case of Hamza Shahrour sadly attests, sociopolitical factors can make access to social assistance a matter of life and death. Apart from the restrictions on access to basic services that confront individual citizens and their families, the provision of social services by political organizations may also have detrimental effects on a macro level. The

6

Introduction

creation of multiple welfare networks, each linked to a different political organization, leads to fragmented welfare regimes. Although it is true that nonstate organizations are most likely to launch welfare operations where state programs are undeveloped in the first place, the emergence and consolidation of nonstate providers encourages further fragmentation of the welfare system and hinders any longer-term efforts to construct national welfare regimes. In the health sector, this is likely to produce inefficiencies in the overall public health regime and to create or exacerbate existing inequalities in access to medical care. Inefficiencies and inequalities may also arise in the educational sector when multiple nonstate organizations launch their own school systems without regard for regional disparities in the distribution of educational facilities. Control over schooling by ethnic or sectarian parties also has important implications for socialization and the long-term prospects for fostering a commitment to a national political community. In divided societies, the stakes are particularly acute because such groups may promote distinct understandings of national history and hinder the construction of a coherent national identity in future generations (Anderson 1991; Doumato and Starrett 2006; Freedman et al. 2004; Levy 2004; Kaplan 2006; Podeh 2000; Weber 1976). In turn, the fragmentation of political identities and, hence, allegiances can undercut the provision of public goods in the long term, a self-reinforcing process (Habyarimana et al. 2007; Miguel 2004). If a feeling of solidarity based on a shared identity is critical for cooperation and joint action to pursue common goals, then the fragmentation of identities within a national territory may inhibit efforts to establish broader, more universalistic public welfare functions. To be sure, NGOs can play a key role in providing basic public goods and empowering citizens to meet their basic needs (Brinckerhoff 1999; Brown 1998; Salamon 1995). Governments in many developing countries simply lack the capacity to provide for their own populations, whether due to a lack of material resources, administrative deficiencies, or corruption. This is especially true in post-conflict, divided societies such as Lebanon, where the experience of war has depleted public resources and undercut state institutions, including national welfare regimes, from the level that they existed prior to the outbreak of conflict. In these contexts, NGOs—including local ethnic, sectarian, and other political actors—play a key role in providing social protection. Nonstate organizations may alleviate pockets of need, but if they differentiate along religious or political lines in distributing basic services, they do not necessarily contribute to the broader public good and, at the extreme, can lead to avoidable tragedies such as the death of twenty-four-year-old Hamza in Beirut. The use of ethnic or religious identity as a criterion for access to medical care is among the most egregious violations of the Hippocratic Oath and creates new inequalities, further entrenches existing inequalities, and, at the extreme, can even strain social cohesion.

1 Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies

S

ectarianism has emerged with renewed vigor in the past two decades across the Middle East, sub-Saharan Africa, South and Southeast Asia, and central Europe. Ostensibly perpetrated in the name of religion, headlinegrabbing acts of violence have been ascribed to an allegedly enduring SunniShi‘a divide in Islam in Iraq, Pakistan, and other predominantly Muslim countries (Nasr 2007, 60–62). Recurrent tensions between Muslims and Hindus in India have led to periodic outbursts of violence, leaving many dead and injured in their wake (Brass 1997; Varshney 2002; Wilkinson 2004). Similarly, riots between Muslims and Christians have led to frequent bloodshed in Nigeria and Indonesia (International Crisis Group [ICG] 2008a; Scacco 2010). In response to the resurgence of identity-based confl ict, research on ethnic and sectarian politics has burgeoned. Many studies analyze the causes of violence waged in the guise of ethnic or religious differences (Brass 1997; Horowitz 2000; Varshney 2002; Wilkinson 2004; Young 1976). Others explore the electoral behavior of ethnic parties and the impact of institutional design on the propensity for ethnic conflict (Birnir 2007; Chandra 2004; Horowitz 2000; Lijphart 1977; Posner 2004a; Reilly 2002). This book adds a new dimension to the study of identity politics by focusing on how sectarian groups establish and reinforce their control over everyday social and political life. Where ethnic and sectarian organizations, among other nonstate actors, are key suppliers of social services, welfare provision offers a valuable lens for analyzing identity politics. The provision of public goods and social services is especially politicized when these groups are important vehicles for popular representation and mobilization (Banfield and Wilson 1963; Cammett 2011; Kitschelt 2000; Kitschelt and Wilkinson 2007). Political organizations with sectarian orientations either directly provide or broker access to social services in India, Indonesia, Iraq, Lebanon, Pakistan,

8

Chapter 1

and Palestine, to cite a few examples. Social welfare, then, concerns not just the ways in which people meet their basic social needs; where public welfare functions are underdeveloped and religious or ethnic organizations provide social protection, the provision of social services both constitutes and reproduces the politics of sectarianism. The dynamics of the provision of social welfare by sectarian organizations reveals how sectarianism operates on the ground. In particular, the relationship between providers and beneficiaries exposes the multifaceted connections that these groups construct with ordinary people. Social welfare involves an obvious material exchange in which the beneficiary receives assistance to meet his or her family’s basic needs. The immaterial dimensions of the relationship are less obvious but equally, if not more, important. Providing services and meeting basic needs are acts of community-building because they signal who is a member of a protected group. The provision of social welfare also brings a sense of security and psychological comfort that is especially valuable to beneficiaries of more limited means, who, by defi nition, lead more precarious lives. This is even truer in polities where states fail to provide basic social safety nets. What, then, can social welfare reveal about the ways that sectarian groups establish linkages with populations? It is generally assumed that religious or ethnic groups merely serve their own, excluding those affiliated with other communities; however, this blanket assumption should be questioned. We know little about how ethnic or religious providers decide which beneficiaries to target or even which services to offer. Why would ostensibly identity-based groups engage in public goods provision at all if they are virtually assured of the support of in-group members, as the ethnic politics literature implies (Chandra 2004; Fearon and Laitin 1996; Kasara 2007)? Charitable concerns and visions of social justice undoubtedly compel these groups to provide social assistance, but political motivations are also important. How do sectarian organizations distribute welfare goods? Under what conditions do they reach out beyond their own communities, and when do they concentrate on in-group members? Within their own communities, why do some providers target only hard-core supporters, whereas others offer services more inclusively to marginal supporters or even nonsupporters? Why does the same organization reach out across religious lines more actively in some historical moments than in others? In this chapter, I present an analytical framework to explain the politics of the provision of social services by sectarian organizations. I contend that two main political factors influence the allocation of social benefits. First, the types of political strategies adopted by sectarian organizations shape whether they disburse benefits in an inclusive or exclusive manner. In some contexts, sectarian organizations opt for a state-centric strategy, in which they choose to participate in the formal institutions of the state, including electoral

Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies

9

contests. Under other conditions, however, sectarian groups opt for an extrastate strategy, in which they work outside formal state institutions and challenge state authority, often through militancy. Sectarian organizations that adopt a state-centric strategy are more likely to cultivate linkages with and, hence, distribute social benefits to members of other religious communities and to have a broader range of in-group members beyond core activists. Those that opt for a militant, extra-state strategy are more likely to funnel benefits to the most committed supporters, who tend to be in-group members. Second, in plural societies, the degree of competition for political representation of the sect affects the distribution of benefits. Competition from co-religionist organizations compels sectarian groups to prioritize in-group members. In this chapter, I elaborate the logic of these arguments in more detail, and in the remainder of the book, I apply this framework to analyze the social welfare activities of sectarian parties in Lebanon and comparable parties in Iraq and India. CONCEPTS, DEFINITIONS, AND ASSUMPTIONS Before I develop my core arguments, it is essential to clarify some key concepts and assumptions embedded in the central claims, including my understandings of sectarian identity and organizations, the components of social welfare, motivations for the provision of social welfare by sectarian parties, and the impact of the distribution of social benefits on citizens.

Sectarian Identity and Sectarian Political Parties The central focus on sectarian organizations in this book and the contested meanings of identity in the literature on ethnic politics call for working defi nitions of these terms. Religion, sect, and other social identities can be viewed as types of ethnic identity if they are based on “descent-based attributes,” or inherited characteristics that seem to have little scope for voluntary adoption or rejection (Chandra 2006, 398).1 Yet this should not imply that the categories of in-group and out-group, or co-religionist and non-co-religionist, are constant. Even in places such as Lebanon, where political representation and the rights and obligations of citizenship are structured along sectarian lines, the content and political salience of sectarian groups vary across time and space. For example, the “Sunnis” and “Shi ʿa” were not mutually antagonistic in Lebanese political life until regional tensions heightened along ostensibly Sunni-Shi ʿa lines in the past decade. Similarly, the same political party may deploy more or less sectarian rhetoric in different time periods or before various audiences. Thus, ascribed identity is endogenous to political institutions and the larger political context (Chandra 2001; Lieberman and Singh 2012).

10

Chapter 1

In the short term, however, identities may appear rigid, particularly when they are activated, or categories in which an individual “actually professes membership or to which she is assigned membership by others” (Chandra 2012, 9).2 In contexts where ethnicity or religion is institutionalized in politics or confl ict is waged in the name of such categories, communal identity can resonate politically and take on real meaning for individuals and public life. As a result, phrases such as sectarian group and sectarian party appear throughout the book. Although they seem to imply fi xed classifications, they are not expressions of immutable identities, nor should they suggest that individuals choose to be or should be reduced to these groupings. Rather, they reflect categories that are viewed as locally relevant and that structure political life in a particular time and context. Given my focus on Lebanon, where sectarian rather than ethnic identity is more politically significant, I use the term sectarian rather than ethnic, although I expect the arguments to be relevant to contexts where ostensibly ethnic rather than religious cleavages are politically salient. My understanding of the term sectarian party takes Kanchan Chandra’s defi nition of an ethnic party as a starting point. In defi ning ethnic parties, Chandra (2004, 3) emphasizes the messages and symbols that parties employ in cultivating their ethnic credentials rather than the social identities of their constituents (Horowitz 2000). When we classify a party as ethnic, focusing exclusively on its social base can be misleading. Followers of ethnic parties are generally members of the corresponding ethnic group, but not all parties whose leadership and membership share a common ethnic identity can be categorized as ethnic. Furthermore, even when parties contain large concentrations of members from particular ethnic or sectarian groups, these identities do not necessarily motivate individuals to join or participate in them. For example, from independence until the 1980s, communist and other leftist parties had strong followings in Middle Eastern countries (Anderson 2005). In countries with significant Shi ʿa populations, such as Iraq and Lebanon, many supporters of leftist parties were Shi ʿa, in part because the Shi ʿa tended to be more economically marginalized than other groups. Christians were also important in the leadership and membership of these parties. Yet it would be a mistake to characterize leftist parties as Christian or Shiʿa parties (or even quasi-Christian or quasi-Shi ʿa parties) because their leadership explicitly rejected sectarian identity as an organizing principle in favor of themes related to social justice, equality, and nationalism ( Jabar 2003; Traboulsi 2007).3 Furthermore, the label sectarian should not imply a fi xed or uniform set of behaviors. Instead, the status of a party as sectarian should be seen as fluid because the same party can employ sectarian language and symbols to varying degrees in distinct historical moments or with different audiences and constituencies. The case of the Lebanese Future Movement, whose membership

Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies

11

is largely composed of Sunni Muslims,4 illustrates this point. Sunnis have always made up the most important membership base of the party, but its leaders’ emphasis on the Sunni credentials of the organization has varied in different periods and contexts. Although some point to the efforts by the party to serve a national, cross-sectarian audience, even party operatives admit that Future Movement leaders have increasingly emphasized the sectarian identity of the party through subtle messages and appeals since the assassination of Rafiq al-Hariri, founder and former leader of the party, in 2005 (AbuKhalil 2008; Shadid 2005a). The changing salience of sectarian identity as a mobilizing tool for the leadership of the Future Movement and other Lebanese parties raises a related conceptual issue—the meaning of sectarianism. Drawing on constructivist insights into identity formation and change (Brubaker 2006; Chandra 2006; Fearon and Laitin 2000; Kalyvas 2008), I view sectarianism as a fundamentally political phenomenon rather than as the expression of essential cultural differences. To be sure, members of different sects of Islam, Christianity, or other world religions adopt distinct practices, and the interpretations of their faiths and religious identities are not infinitely plastic (Brubaker 2006). But there is nothing inherent in the practice or interpretation of a religion that necessitates its translation into a political identity. Rather, sectarian identity becomes politically salient through the witting and unwitting actions of political actors. When the political mobilization of a demographically concentrated ethnic or religious group can be used to swing elections, as Posner (2004b) describes for the Chewas and Tumbukas in Malawi, or political leaders use sectarian appeals to mobilize support, as Saddam Hussein did by favoring certain Sunni tribesmen while marginalizing the Shi ʿa ( Jabar 2003), these identities are developed into politically meaningful categories. Perhaps nothing enshrines the political salience of sect more than the construction of a political system rooted in the distribution of power according to sectarian identities (Horowitz 2000; Rothchild and Roeder 2005). Sectarianism, or the organization of politics around sectarian identity, is thus a historically contingent phenomenon rather than an inevitable product of cultural differences. As historians and political scientists have shown for Lebanon (Makdisi 2000), Iraq ( Jabar 2003; Zubaida 1993), Jordan (Anderson 2005; Massad 2001), sub-Saharan African countries (Laitin 1986; Posner 2004a; Young 1976), and Latin America (Trejo 2009; Yashar 2005), the political mobilization of sectarian, tribal, ethnic, indigenous, and other identities arises from factors such as the conscious manipulation of particular political or cultural entrepreneurs or shifting political practices, such as policies of indirect rule by colonial powers, that make some identities more politically salient than others. The overtly political orientation of sectarianism as a social and political phenomenon differentiates it from religious identity and practices per se.

12

Chapter 1

Welfare and Social Services Before I analyze how sectarian parties distribute social benefits, it is necessary to specify what constitutes welfare and identify the range of actors involved in meeting basic social needs in polities with limited public welfare functions. Welfare and social services encompass a wide array of policies designed to redistribute income and mitigate risk. These programs can operate through insurance schemes designed to cushion life-cycle and market-based vulnerabilities, such as ill health or unemployment, or through expenditures for basic services, such as health care, schooling, or direct income assistance (Haggard and Kaufman 2008, 3). Social welfare can be viewed as a subset of the broader category of public goods,5 which includes roads and other transportation infrastructure, electricity, telecommunication networks, markets, and the police and military. The provision of social welfare refers to the direct delivery or indirect facilitation of services and programs that promote wellbeing and security. Essentially, welfare includes health, education, and support for vulnerable populations such as the elderly, disabled and the poor, although certain aspects of the broader category of public goods such as sanitation and water have direct ramifications for health outcomes (Moran and Batley 2004).6 Welfare regimes vary across the developing and post-communist worlds. In some developing countries and in most industrialized countries, pensions and health insurance are the most important forms of social insurance (Brooks 2009; Esping-Andersen 1990; Lynch 2006; Haggard and Kaufman 2008), but in much of the Global South, the direct state provision of social welfare is limited primarily to health and education services (Cammett and MacLean 2011). In the Middle East, sub-Saharan Africa, South and Southeast Asia, and some parts of Latin America, where state administrative capacities are generally less developed, both state-run and private pension schemes are less common than in East Asia, much of Latin America, and the post-communist countries of Eastern Europe. It is no accident that nonstate providers,7 such as charities, NGOs, and households, take on a significant burden of social protection and are less regulated in the context of underdeveloped welfare state institutions (Baylouny 2010; Cammett and MacLean 2011; Gough et al. 2004; MacLean 2010). The larger sectarian organizations examined in this book provide social services directly through their own facilities and programs. All are involved in mediating access to public entitlements or benefits provided by other nonstate actors. In the book, I focus on three broad service domains in which they are especially active: primary health care and hospitalization, primary and secondary schooling, and the provision of food and other forms of short-term material assistance. In different national contexts, these services vary in the degree to which they are considered to be public goods. Of course, few goods

Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies

13

beyond national defense qualify as pure public goods, which is more of an ideal type than a strictly applied, analytical category in the realm of welfare. Some welfare regimes (such as those in Scandinavian countries), however, come closer than others to treating education, health care, and a minimum standard of living as a public good and even a human right.8 In polities where nonstate providers such as sectarian parties or NGOs have developed social service operations, states tend to have less-articulated public welfare functions, due either to a lack of resources or administrative capacity or to clientelism and corruption.9 When nonstate providers engage in the direct provision of social services, their efforts tend to be concentrated in localized areas or particular communities because they generally do not aim to serve on a national scale nor do they have a mandate to do so (Brown 1998). Indeed, critics of nonstate welfare point to exactly these qualities in their assessments of the nature and effects of underdeveloped state welfare capacity (Friedman 2003; Wood 1997). To the extent that sectarian parties and other types of nonstate providers place explicit restrictions on access to their services, they may be better described as “club goods,” or excludable and nonrivalrous goods (Buchanan 1965). Even in welfare regimes where schooling or health care are officially public, granting all citizens (and perhaps even noncitizens) legal entitlements to them, these services may operate more as private or club goods because access to them is effectively restricted (Banerjee 2004).10

Provider Motivations, Benefi ciary Responses, and the Welfare-Politics Nexus Embedded in the core arguments of this book are assumptions about provider and beneficiary motives for allocating and accepting welfare goods. Providers undoubtedly have complex goals in offering social services. Sectarian organizations may distribute or facilitate access to social services to fulfill altruistic commitments, present themselves as the protectors and guarantors of well-being, gain supporters, or consolidate their control over territory and people. As I show empirically, specific political goals—and not only charitable motivations—underlie the provision of social services by these groups. In this book, I do not focus on the impact of services on the recipients, but I do assume that service provision has the potential to garner political support (see chapter 6). At a minimum, political organizations calculate that service provision engenders political support, and this calculation factors into their motivations for offering services or arranging benefits. “Buying support” through service provision is not necessarily an economic or material transaction, nor does it always occur through direct exchanges. As in-depth interviews with citizens in Lebanon reveal, the receipt of services directly or by family members or neighbors may compel some citizens to vote for the political party associated with the provider or to participate in demonstrations organized by the party. For these informants and other citizens,

14

Chapter 1

however, service provision is usually more than a material transaction. Welfare engenders a sense of belonging to a community, which has enormous psychological benefits, particularly in the context of underdeveloped and unstable national state institutions. The provider organization establishes itself as a source of social protection or a guardian of the community, however defined, which may garner popular allegiances. “Bricks-and-mortar” welfare programs (Cammett and Issar 2010), which operate from fixed physical locations in specific neighborhoods and villages, are particularly effective in establishing the provider as a community guardian because they signal a long-term commitment to a geographical space and its inhabitants (see chapter 4). The provision of social services from bricks-and-mortar agencies, then, is distinct from cash payments or one-shot food distribution efforts, which predominate during electoral contests in countries in the Global South (Nichter 2008; Stokes 2005). Welfare programs may also inspire support by individuals and families who have not received services themselves but who have observed or heard about the actions of providers in their communities and beyond. Service provision projects an image of “infrastructural power” (Mann 1984), as well as a commitment to protect, that may garner the admiration or respect of observers and not just the direct beneficiaries. This is especially valuable for a political organization that aims to build a reputation as a reliable and capable actor— one that is qualified to govern specific subnational territories or communities and, ultimately, the national state. The provision of social services is not the sole means that political parties use to mobilize support, but it plays an important role where alternative sources of social protection are underdeveloped or absent. INCLUSIVE AND EXCLUSIVE PATTERNS OF ALLOCATING OF SOCIAL BENEFITS Let us define inclusive and exclusive patterns of distributing social benefits, the key outcomes of interest. In simple terms, the inclusive and exclusive allocation of social benefits by sectarian organizations can be conceptualized at the community and individual levels. (See Figure 1.1.) At the community level, politicized ethnic or religious identities may shape access to social benefits in plural societies because sectarian organizations are likely to favor in-group communities with at least some benefits and tend not to serve out-group areas. The provision of social benefits is expensive, and such groups are hesitant to expend scarce resources on other communal groups, particularly when other organizations already cater to them. Thus, one indicator of an inclusive pattern of distributing social benefits is whether sectarian organizations serve out-group communities. This may occur through the establishment of bricks-and-mortar facilities that provide social services, such as clinics, schools, or vocational training centers; by the allocation of mobile forms of aid, such as cash or food packages; or by

Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies

15

Individual-level Core activist

Exclusive n.a. Partially exclusive Community-level In-group

Out-group

Partially inclusive

Inclusive

Non-supporter Figure 1.1 Patterns of community and individual-level distribution of welfare goods.

brokering access to third-party benefits in out-group neighborhoods and villages. At the community level, a party exhibits an exclusive pattern of allocating social welfare when it targets in-groups almost entirely and an inclusive pattern when it serves out-group communities. The distribution of social benefits can also be measured at the individual or household level, even in plural societies.11 Supporters of sectarian organizations tend to be in-group members, but not all favor in-group parties—or any parties at all. Some are hard-core activists, others are passive supporters of the party, and some are uncommitted. In studies of clientelism and electoral politics, core supporters are “voters whose needs or electoral predispositions are well-known to the party” (Stokes 2007, 9). But this defi nition focuses too narrowly on electoral politics, neglecting a range of other forms of political participation. Particularly in nonconsolidated democracies, extra-state politics (political participation outside formal state institutions) is common, requiring a broader conceptualization of what it means to be a core supporter. Extra-state politics, which I discuss in more detail later in the chapter, often include more confrontational or militant forms of mobilization such as protests, riots, and the organization of militia forces. Capturing the full range of political behaviors that hard-core partisans may adopt calls for attention to the nature of the commitments they exhibit to their preferred parties. Partisan commitment varies by the level of risk and amount of time invested in party-related activities. (See Figure 1.2.)

16

Chapter 1 Time investment High

- Organize party meetings, events - Attend party meetings, events

- Service in militia - Organize riots - Organize protests

Risk Low incurred

High

- Mobilize voter turnout - Vote for party list/ candidates

- Attend riots - Attend protests

Low Figure 1.2 Partisan commitments of risk and time for different forms of political participation.

On one end of the spectrum, low-commitment forms of participation entail minimal risk and one-shot or short-term interactions with the party, such as voting for party candidates or lists in elections. On the other end, highcommitment activities involve high-risk and iterated or long-term relationships, such as serving in a party militia. Other forms of political participation, such as shuttling voters to polling stations, attending or organizing party meetings and events, and taking part in demonstrations, protests, riots, or protracted sit-ins, fall at points in the middle of the spectrum. This characterization of core-group activities generates a more comprehensive notion of political participation, including forms associated with extra-state strategies. At the extreme end of the spectrum, core activists undertake high-risk, protracted activities on behalf of the party, such as membership in a militia force. Even within the realm of formal state politics, core supporters do much more than reliably cast ballots for the party. At a minimum, core partisans mobilize voter turnout in their neighborhoods, and organize and attend party events and meetings on a regular basis. By these standards, passive supporters are those who can be relied on to cast ballots for

Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies

17

party candidates—perhaps with some extra inducements—but do little more on behalf of the organization. Finally, the uncommitted are those who have no partisan allegiances and either abstain from voting or do not exhibit regular voting behavior. This discussion of core, passive, and uncommitted citizens suggests that partisans are not homogeneous, even within the in-group. Parties vary in the degree to which they bestow benefits on these different categories of citizens. Thus, inclusive and exclusive patterns of allocating social benefits vary in the degree to which parties bestow benefits on out-group communities and on individuals and families beyond their hard-core bases. THE POLITICS OF WELFARE BY SECTARIAN ORGANIZATIONS Before elaborating the main arguments, I now address a range of alternative accounts of the distributional behavior of sectarian organizations at the community and individual levels. A variety of explanations shed light either directly or indirectly on the question of how sectarian organizations establish (or do not establish) linkages to populations through distributional activities. As before, these approaches can be classified on the community and individual levels of analysis. The first set of approaches addresses which ethnic or religious groups might be served or neglected, whereas the second set of approaches addresses which types of individuals or households are the targets of clientelist distributions of benefits.

Community-Level Explanations An implicit assumption of journalistic accounts of ethnic and religious party behavior—and of critics of such parties—is that that these organizations merely serve their own. This characterization holds that sectarian organizations exist solely to cater to their own communities, implying that they are not responsive to political incentives or concerns about national welfare. Similarly, some maintain that ideological motivations such as the desire to implement an Islamic state, rather than shorter-term political calculations, guide the social relations of sectarian parties (Euben 1995; Herzog 2006; Pipes 1995). The fact that some sectarian organizations in Lebanon, even those that are more overtly religious, serve out-groups and respond to electoral incentives under some conditions exposes the weaknesses of such a predominantly ideological explanation. In this vein, some might argue that the Future Movement is not sectarian because it adopts a universalistic, national message, which could explain its greater propensity to serve out-group communities. Future Movement leaders, like their counterparts in Hezbollah and other sectarian parties, however, incorporate religious references into their

18

Chapter 1

public statements, particularly when addressing Sunni audiences, and employ sectarian language during elections (Abu-Khalil 2008; European Union 2005; Lebanonwire 2005a). In addition, Rafiq al-Hariri was always conscious of the need to present himself as the rightful representative of the Sunni community and actively sought to eliminate in-group rivals in his quest to gain national power (Baumann 2011; see chapter 3). It is widely accepted, even by current and former Future Movement officials, that his successor, Saad al-Hariri, has exploited sectarian appeals to an even greater degree.12 Taking a distinct vantage point, recent economic studies of terrorist organizations also suggest that sectarian organizations exist to serve their own. Based on deductive models, this approach holds that the provision of social welfare is a means of building organizational resilience by controlling defection (Berman 2009). This interpretation, however, presents an overly stylized and narrow vision of Islamist and sectarian organizations. In particular, this genre of explanation neglects nonviolent forms of political mobilization, which suggest distinct implications for the distribution of social benefits. The fi ndings presented in this book indicate that sectarian parties are responsive to both formal and informal institutional incentives. Party strategies, which shape the allocation of benefits, should be explained rather than being assumed ex ante. A second set of accounts recognizes the political calculations of ethnic or sectarian organizations but holds that formal institutions such as powersharing arrangements do not operate as anticipated, given the realities of informal politics. Even electoral systems that are explicitly designed to encourage intergroup cooperation, such as the Lebanese joint electorates with reserved seats,13 do not function as intended because preelectoral bargains among elites from different sects obviate the need to cater to out-group voters (Salloukh 2006). Although there is much merit to this argument, the evidence presented in this book indicates that parties make efforts to serve out-group members in some electoral districts. Elite arrangements therefore do not necessarily eliminate the incentive to compete for votes and may affect both the geography of political contestation and the spatial locations of welfare agencies linked to sectarian parties (see chs. 4 and 6). A third set of alternative explanations for the distribution of benefits focuses on party resource endowments. Funding is a sine qua non for launching welfare programs, and accordingly, resource disparities might explain variation in welfare outreach across communal lines. One perspective holds that parties channel leftover benefits to out-group members when they have surplus resources (Chandra 2004). But evidence from Lebanon indicates that even the most well-endowed parties are not always generous with in-group members,14 even as they target selected out-group areas with benefits. The broader allocation of welfare goods by the Future Movement could result from larger fi nancial reserves, an argument that accords with Chandra’s

Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies

19

(2004) proposition that ethnic parties distribute leftover resources to members of out-groups. Hezbollah, too, appears to have ample resources thanks to Iranian support as well as profit-making business ventures, contributions from supporters, and good management techniques. A comparison of Hezbollah and the Future Movement, however, demonstrates that neither the level nor the source of funding adequately captures the variation in patterns of distributing benefits. First, both the Future Movement and Hezbollah have had lucrative external sources of support from Saudi Arabia and Iran, respectively, among other sources, yet the two organizations have opted for distinct welfare outreach patterns. Second, largesse does not dictate how funds are spent. Whereas the Future Movement distributes a smaller basket of benefits to a broader array of beneficiaries, Hezbollah has concentrated a more comprehensive and extensive package of welfare goods to a smaller core of supporters. This reality calls for greater analytical attention to variation in the distribution of benefits to in-group as well as out-group members. Another interpretation implies that resource-rich groups are more autonomous from local populations and therefore do not need to develop cooperative relationships with civilians. This approach, which is based on studies of insurgent movements, shows how the provision of public goods can be used to further political goals. Armed groups may buy the support of civilians in the territories they control (perhaps through service provision or other material and nonmaterial incentives) when they lack sufficient resources to fund their operations (Weinstein 2007). Even beyond insurgent groups, the general claim that resources shape the propensity to provide services is compelling. For example, wealthier organizations such as the Future Movement and Hezbollah have far more extensive welfare networks than the comparatively poor Christian political parties and other organizations in the Sunni and Shi ʿa sects in Lebanon. Following this logic, we would expect more resource-rich groups to provide fewer goods than less-endowed organizations, which is precisely the opposite of what occurs in Lebanon. Where political competition occurs through formal state institutions and nonviolent channels, arguments derived from the behavior of insurgent groups are less applicable. Furthermore, social welfare institutions require place-specific resources, such as volunteers, and therefore require providers to develop close ties with the community regardless of financial resource endowments.15 At a minimum, adequate resources are a necessary but not sufficient condition for the provision of expensive health, education, and other social benefits by sectarian parties. Even the wealthiest parties in Lebanon, such as the Future Movement and Hezbollah, have distinct patterns of distributing social assistance. Control over resources does not yield insights into how sectarian parties use their resources and, specifically, whom they target with welfare goods. Political goals—and not just budgets—shape how sectarian parties

20

Chapter 1

deliver services. All sectarian parties may aspire to construct extensive welfare networks, but the availability of resources does not determine patterns of distributing welfare goods. A fourth type of explanation highlights intercommunal relative deprivation. For example, the historical underdevelopment of the Shiʿa community in modern Lebanon might compel Hezbollah to compensate for a record of deprivation by favoring in-group members. Historically, the Shiʿa did not enjoy the same level of resources and infrastructure as the Sunnis, Druze, and Christians, as the historical background in chapter 2 describes (El-Khazen 2000; Norton 1987).16 Given the substantial gains that the Shiʿa have made since the 1970s as well as high levels of persistent poverty in the Christian and Sunni communities (Laithy, Abu-Ismail, and Hamdan 2008), this perspective is less convincing in the contemporary period, even if Shiʿa parties aim to protect the advances they have made. More generally, as the findings from spatial analyses indicate (see chapter 4), socioeconomic need does not adequately explain the variation in welfare outreach. Sectarian parties often locate in middle-income areas, neglecting poorer neighborhoods and villages. Fifth, the organizational structures and practices of the different religious sects might explain their varied propensities to serve in- and out-group members. For example, some depict the clergy-follower relationship as more hierarchical in Shi ʿa rather than Sunni Islam (Arjomand 1988; Patel 2007). This more structured relationship might reduce the need to provide benefits to ingroup members as a means of bolstering popular allegiance to the leadership of Shi ʿa organizations. Nonetheless, Shi ʿa parties such as Hezbollah and the Iraqi Shi ʿa parties do offer benefits to in-group members. Furthermore, the propensity to serve distinct types of in-group members varies over time, showing that sect-specific institutions, which evolve more slowly, do not determine the distributive practices of sectarian parties. Finally, the behavior of the Muslim sectarian parties also indicates that intrasectarian competitive dynamics offers a necessary but not sufficient explanation for cross-party variation in the distribution of benefits. Compared to the Christian parties, the political representation of both the Sunni and Shi ʿi communities is characterized by relatively low competition, albeit for differing reasons. Rafiq al-Hariri’s political organization was the dominant representative of the Sunni community from the late 1990s until recently, enabling the Future Movement to reach out to members of other sects without seriously risking a loss of control over Sunni political representation. Hezbollah and the Amal Movement were fierce competitors beginning in the early 1980s; however, a Syrian-brokered peace in 1989 effectively undercut competition between the two parties, particularly in national electoral contests (Harb 2010).

Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies

21

Individual and Household-Level Explanations Resources are limited, and even the wealthiest sectarian organizations cannot serve all; nor can they offer uniform levels of support to all beneficiaries. Parties may distribute benefits unevenly, whether to lure in supporters, to reward existing supporters, or for other motivations. Providers therefore establish formal and informal criteria for allocating benefits to individuals and households—and not just along aggregate community lines. Socioeconomic need is a logical explanation for the individual-level allocation of social benefits and, indeed, is the sole criterion that most sectarian parties cite in detailing their welfare distribution patterns. Needier individuals and families are also most likely to seek and receive social assistance. Yet, just as poverty does not provide a satisfactory account of the spread of sectarian welfare agencies at the community level, it does not trump other factors in the distribution of social assistance at the individual or household level. Even after accounting for socioeconomic status, partisan affiliation and political behavior have independent effects on access to social benefits. Recent debates about clientelism, largely based on evidence from Latin America, focus on how patrons prioritize clients in the context of electoral politics. The literature convincingly shows that parties tend to target lowincome voters (Calvo and Murillo 2004; Scott 1969), but questions remain about which poor voters are targeted. Debates largely focus on whether patronage-based parties favor core constituents (who can be relied on to vote for the party) or swing voters, whose preferences are less clear (Stokes 2005, 2007). Furthermore, as a cost-saving strategy parties may prefer to induce turnout from passive or unmobilized existing supporters rather than from swing voters (Nichter 2008, 18). These distinct mobilization strategies are not always mutually exclusive. Parties may wish to maintain existing support and win additional supporters (Diaz-Cayeros, Magaloni, and Estevez in press) or to adopt distinct mixes of their vote-buying strategies in different districts. Nonetheless, parties do not have infi nite resources and, therefore, are likely to favor one approach over the other. In societies with deeply politicized ethnic or religious cleavages, such as Lebanon, parties primarily reward existing supporters, who also tend to be in-group members. Thus, electoral clientelism largely follows a turnout-buying logic in such contexts. This is because the virtual absence of coherent policy platforms provides limited knowledge of politicians’ positions to voters, who rely on ethnic or sectarian cues from the identity and rhetoric of party officials to make inferences about which parties are more likely to favor their interests (Chandra 2004). Parties play up their co-ethnic or co-religionist advantages by fomenting fears that out-group parties pose a threat to in-group voter interests. Furthermore, patronage networks, which reward loyalists, are likely to be structured

22

Chapter 1

along ethnic or religious lines. As a result, in societies with politicized, identitybased cleavages, there are more limited possibilities to win supporters among out-group voters. The dynamics of electoral clientelism in divided societies are also more complex than can be captured by a simple in-group versus out-group distinction. In-group voters are not a monolithic bloc. It is, therefore, critical to distinguish analytically among core activists, unmobilized or passive supporters, and uncommitted voters in this category. The nature of powersharing systems, a common institutional design in plural societies such as Lebanon, suggests an additional reason why parties may favor existing supporters in societies. Depending on electoral rules and other institutional choices, power-sharing systems often require candidates to run for seats reserved for their identity group. In this system, real competition occurs among co-ethnic or co-religionist parties, who largely cater to in-group voters. As a result, parties jealously guard their in-group constituents and aim to prevent defection to their rivals. When parties or candidates face competition from other in-group parties or leaders, they are especially compelled to reward in-group citizens. When parties face little or no competition for the political representation of in-group members, they are freer to mobilize uncommitted voters and even out-group members.17 Under these conditions, parties can extend benefits more generously and can even devote resources to vote-buying efforts—and not just to whipping up turnout from existing supporters. As I have argued, current debates about clientelism tend to focus on electoral politics to the neglect of nonelectoral, extra-state forms of political participation. The exigencies of political contestation outside formal state institutions suggest reasons why parties prioritize core activists and call attention to the variable packages of benefits bestowed on different categories of partisans. THE ARGUMENT Let us now build on this critical assessment of community- and householdlevel explanations to develop an alternative set of arguments for the welfare distribution patterns of sectarian organizations. In some time periods and contexts, parties may focus their welfare outreach exclusively on core supporters and in-group members. Other parties—or the same party in a different time period—distribute benefits more inclusively, beyond in-group strongholds and to less active supporters or even nonsupporters. What explains the varied patterns of welfare allocation by sectarian parties? Table 1.1 depicts how political strategies and in-group competition produce distinct patterns of welfare allocation by sectarian parties. These patterns are considered in detail next.

Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies

23

Table 1.1 Political mobilization strategies, intrasect competition, and the distribution of social benefits by sectarian parties Political mobilization strategy

Intrasect competition

State-centric

Extra-state

High

Partially inclusive: All in-group members

Exclusive: In-group core supporters

Low

Inclusive: In and out-group members All supporters and uncommitted

Partially exclusive: In-group core and marginal supporters

State-Centric and Extra-State Political Strategies All sectarian parties aim for national power,18 but they approach this goal through distinct political strategies. The two modal types of strategies— state-centric and extra-state strategies—are associated with different patterns of welfare allocation. Before I elaborate their implications for the allocation of social welfare, the two types of political strategies should be clarified. The distinctions between state-centric and extra-state strategies are evident in the behavior of a political organization. (See Table 1.2.) A party adopts a state-centric strategy when it chooses to work through formal state institutions to further its national political influence. Participation in national elections is the most obvious gauge of a state-centric strategy. Other indicators include accepting positions in the executive branch of government and seeking leadership positions in state ministries and agencies. The intent of the party leadership, manifested in official pronouncements and speeches, also indicates the organizational strategic orientation. Proclamations, which may amount to little more than rhetoric in the absence of supporting actions, are insufficient markers in and of themselves, yet words can be powerful, especially when articulated publicly and in official documents. For example, the renunciation of violence by a militant organization is a costly signal because it can alienate activists committed to violence as a political strategy.19 A party that adopts a state-centric strategy generally calls on its supporters to undertake relatively low-commitment actions on its behalf. These might include voting for party candidates and lists during elections, whipping up voter turnout among family members and neighbors, formally or informally monitoring the political behavior and allegiances of neighbors, attending meetings and events held by the party, organizing such events on behalf of the party, and participating in peaceful demonstrations on short notice to lobby the state on party interests. Supporters vary in their status as core or passive supporters depending on the amount of time they invest on behalf of the party.

24

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Table 1.2 Indicators of state-centric and extra-state political mobilization strategies Indicators

Possible actions by core supporters

State-centric

• Participation in national elections • Seeking and accepting executive branch positions • Seeking and accepting control over government agencies • Organization of peaceful demonstrations • Official renunciation of violence

• • • • •

Vote for party candidates/list Mobilization of voter turnout Attending party meetings/events Organizing party meetings/events Participation in peaceful demonstrations

• Participation in sit-ins, riots • Organization of sit-ins, riots • Service in militia

Extra-state

• Abstention from national elections • Refusal to accept or resignation from executive branch positions • Organization and/or tolerance of sit-ins or riots • Maintenance of a militia force • Rhetorical commitment to militancy

Formal state politics, including electoral politics, are not always the only game in town. When democracy is only partially institutionalized and the basic rules of allocating power are disputed, parties may opt for an extra-state approach or pursue a “dual game” combining the two modal types of political strategies (Mainwaring 2003).20 Extra-state politics entails forms of political participation that occur outside of and often challenge existing formal state institutions. This type of political strategy also tends to involve militancy. Some sectarian organizations even maintain armed wings. Militia politics primarily occurs during periods of war or civil confl ict, but even in ostensibly peaceful times, political organizations may maintain military units that serve to signal power and deter encroachments on their authority. In general, an extra-state strategy requires supporters to engage in riskier behaviors and to undertake protracted relationships with the party. The strategy may encompass a spectrum of political actions, ranging from lowercommitment actions such as participation in street protests, to more protracted sit-ins, to higher-risk militant endeavors such as organizing and participating in riots or, at the extreme, serving in a militia force. When the very rules of allocating power are contested, extra-state modes of politics can signal party strength, exert pressure to support preferred changes to the system, and facilitate access to public and private resources. State-centric and extra-state strategies are not synonymous with formal and informal politics, respectively. Most, if not all, parties engage in informal politics, whether manifested in clientelism or other practices. Rather, the distinction between state-centric and extra-state strategies centers on the arena in which the party focuses its efforts to pursue national power. Parties may straddle the fence by pursuing both state-centric and extra-state strategies

Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies

25

simultaneously, for example by maintaining a military wing while seeking to build electoral support in the longer term. Extra-state mobilization, however, takes precedence over a state-centric strategy. What are the implications of each strategy for the allocation of welfare goods? State-centric strategies are associated with more inclusive welfare outreach than extra-state strategies. Participation in national elections can compel sectarian parties to woo a broader range of voters, potentially even out-group members, whose support may be needed to win seats under some electoral rules. Formal institutional rules—especially electoral rules—directly affect the calculations of party strategists concerning which parts of the country to target with social benefits of varying types. Such rules determine where parties need to induce loyalists to show up at the polls (i.e., turnout-buying) and also where parties might need extra support from out-group members and nonsupporters to tip elections in their favor (i.e., vote-buying). Institutional rules also affect the ways in which the geographical spread and overall size of sectarian communities might affect welfare allocation. Party strategists may choose to neglect areas with large concentrations of out-group members, who tend to support other parties. Alternatively, they might strike preelectoral bargains, construct joint lists with the leaders of the other parties, and even distribute benefits to out-group members to gain support from out-group communities. In short, the distinct demographic endowments of in- and outgroup voters in different districts shape electoral mobilization strategies in accordance with the specific institutional rules in place (Chandra 2004, 60–62; Posner 2004a). Longer-term strategic planning, too, may compel sectarian parties to channel more than leftover benefits to out-group voters. To gain and maintain national power beyond a single electoral cycle, parties must establish credibility beyond the in-group. A stable hold on state institutional power entails effective governance of populations from diverse ethnic or religious backgrounds because partition into homogeneous countries is rarely viable, even when some factions favor secession (Byman 1997; Horowitz 2000, 588–89; Sambanis 2000). Assuring the basic needs of all people, regardless of sectarian identity, can boost good will, establish a reputation of trustworthiness, and signal the capacity to govern effectively on a national scale—all factors that can increase party popularity at the polls. In general, mobilization through state institutions, especially through electoral competition, requires parties to broaden their appeal, calling for a more inclusive pattern of allocating welfare goods. By contrast, an extra-state strategy requires supporters to undertake more risky and iterated forms of commitment to the party. High-risk behavior calls for higher rewards. Core activists, who exhibit the greatest allegiance to the party, are likely to receive the most extensive benefits. The high stakes of militia politics and, to a lesser degree, participation in riots or protracted sit-ins

26

Chapter 1

call for a narrow but generous allocation of welfare goods, which are funneled disproportionately to the militia fighters and their families. More passive supporters and the uncommitted, on the other hand, receive few if any benefits. Focusing on a narrower group of beneficiaries with a more comprehensive basket of welfare goods helps to foster and reward supporter dedication through both material incentives and nonmaterial assurances of protection and feelings of belonging in a community (Wood 2006). The material and psychological fulfillment of core supporters may even serve as an example for others, boosting the appeal of a high commitment to the party. To the extent that core supporters tend to be in-group members, extra-state strategies compel parties to concentrate benefits on in-group members more than statecentric strategies do. In short, extra-state mobilization entails long-term, comprehensive relationships of social protection between parties and their supporters and, therefore, is associated with a more exclusive distributional pattern of welfare goods. The claim that the political strategy of a party shapes its distributional behavior raises a prior question about the origins of this choice. An understanding of why a party adopted a state-centric versus extra-state strategy is essential to rule out the possibilities of reverse causation (i.e., that patterns of welfare allocation led to the adoption of a given political strategy) or that another, unobserved factor causes parties both to adopt a given political strategy and a particular pattern of distributing social benefits. At its base, the adoption of a given political strategy is historically contingent and context-specific. Nonetheless, several generic factors are likely to affect the conditions under which sectarian parties favor state-centric over extra-state strategies, including military defeat, resource constraints, and in-group advancement. When an organization concedes the defeat of its militia force, it may have no choice but to participate in state institutions—or at least to shed its antisystem approach. An example from Iraq illustrates this point (see chapter 7 for more detail). In 2008, the Sadrist Movement officially disavowed militancy and shifted toward a social (and state-centric) strategy following the defeat of its armed wing by the Iraqi government and U.S. forces. Similarly, the Christian parties in Lebanon had no choice but to adopt state-centric strategies as a result of repression by Syria in the post–civil war period, when they were forced to dismantle their militia forces. Second, insufficient resources may compel an organization to opt for a state-centric strategy. Operating outside formal state channels deprives a party from accessing potentially lucrative public resources. The provision of generous benefits to core activists under an extra-state strategy calls for autonomous sources of wealth. Parties may obtain resources from foreign states, wealthy donors, supporters, illicit activities, or religious taxes and other fiscal levies. But without ample private sources of support, parties may not be able to sustain activities associated with an extra-state strategy. Again, the Sadrist

Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies

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Movement illustrates this point. Compared to its competitor Shi‘a organizations, which enjoyed access to religious taxes among other funds, the Sadrists were relatively poor. The turn toward participation in constitutional politics enabled the movement to provide state patronage to its supporters and, through public resources, expand its own independent network of welfare facilities and social programs. Finally, in-group status advancement may also compel the leadership of a sectarian party to adopt a state-centric strategy. Socioeconomic gains by a community may free a sectarian party to seek support beyond in-group members. If perceptions of in-group relative deprivation dissipate, then parties and their nonparty affiliates can cater to out-group members without incurring blame for neglecting the needs of their base communities.

Intrasect Competition A second factor, the degree of competition for political representation of the sect, also shapes the distributional behavior of sectarian parties. Competition from rival in-group parties conditions the extent to which an organization is obliged to bill itself as the supreme guardian of the in-group community. This arises through an outbidding dynamic (Horowitz 1985, 348), in which competition from co-religionist parties induces politicians to present themselves as the most responsive to in-group claims and particularly those of established supporters. Intrasect competition can be manifested in multiple ways. Electoral results yield an obvious indicator, notably the difference in the percentage of the electorate and, especially, in-group voters who support a given sectarian party vis-à-vis its in-group rival parties. A party faces less competition when it enjoys a larger spread between its vote share and those of its in-group competitors. Other indicators provide less readily quantifiable but equally important measures of the presence or absence of intrasect competition. A party may effectively dominate intrasect politics if it controls the selection of candidates for coalition lists, has more grassroots appeal and organizational capacity, or operates a stronger militia wing. Even if other in-group parties exist and have strong showings in the polls, electoral results may not tell the whole story. The dynamics of Shi ʿi politics in Lebanon illustrates the importance of nonelectoral indicators. Hezbollah and the Amal Movement, the two major Lebanese Shi ʿa parties, were open competitors until the late 1990s, when an agreement brokered by Syria compelled them to run joint lists for national elections. In reality, however, Hezbollah has come to dominate Shi ʿi politics in the post-war period thanks to its superior organizational capacity, relatively “clean” reputation, tight party discipline, and strong militia force (Harb 2010; Norton 2007).21 Thus, the two parties effectively experience distinct levels of intrasect competition even

28

Chapter 1

though they both appeal to the Shi ʿi community. Even though Hezbollah faces declining in-group competition, the Amal Movement—the junior partner in the Shi ʿi alliance—cannot compete against its former rival at this time. The degree of intrasect competition has clear implications for the distribution of social benefits. When a party faces competition from in-group rivals, it must burnish its sectarian credentials while questioning the behavior and intentions of its competitors. Under these conditions, the party tends to favor in-group over out-group members, lest it face the critique that it has shirked its obligations to the in-group community. Within the in-group, parties bestow the most benefits on existing supporters to prevent defections to rival organizations. Conversely, in the absence of a credible in-group rival, a sectarian party effectively enjoys the support of a majority of in-group members and faces little threat of defection by existing supporters, freeing it to make more expansive appeals. It is therefore more likely to allocate benefits to a broader array of in-group members and even to out-group members. The impact of intrasect competition is especially important under power-sharing arrangements, which formally or informally allocate political offices and resources according to preestablished quotas, often by ethnicity or sect. In these contexts, access to resources is, by definition, contingent on control over the official representation of the interests of the sect (Lijphart 1977). Party strategies and intrasect competition interact to shape the distribution of social benefits, producing four modal types of welfare allocation (see Table 1.1): inclusion, exclusion, partial exclusion, and partial inclusion. Parties exhibit the most inclusive pattern of distributing benefits when they adopt a state-centric strategy and face little or no competition for in-group representation. The pursuit of power through national state institutions, such as by fielding candidates in elections and controlling government ministries, calls for broad support. When in-group rivalry is limited, parties can even afford to launch appeals across sectarian lines. Conversely, an extra-state strategy and high intrasect rivalries are associated with exclusive distributional behavior. Extra-state mobilization by parties calls for supporters to undertake highcommitment actions on their behalf, compelling parties to rely on supporters who tend to be in-group members. When parties have credible in-group rivals and pursue an extra-state strategy, they aim to prevent defection to their in-group competitors by concentrating benefits on core activists. Two other distributional patterns fall between the two extremes of inclusion and exclusion. When parties face no credible in-group competition and pursue an extra-state strategy, they concentrate benefits on existing supporters, who tend to be in-group members. Under these conditions, they adopt a partially exclusive distributional pattern in which they favor core and passive supporters within the in-group. On the other hand, when they pursue a statecentric strategy and have credible in-group rivals, they also target in-group members but channel benefits somewhat more broadly in a partially inclusive

Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies

29

manner. In this scenario, competition from rivals who claim to represent the sect more effectively compels parties to cater to a more comprehensive array of in-group members. The distinct ramifications of party strategies and intrasect competition for welfare allocation imply that different categories of partisans receive different levels and types of benefits from sectarian parties. Put differently, access to diverse packages and levels of benefits is associated with distinct patterns of political behavior. Core supporters of parties that pursue extra-state political strategies are likely to receive the largest and most continuous benefits, especially in the context of high intrasect competition. Supporters who undertake low-risk and temporally limited actions on behalf of a party are likely to receive more limited rewards such as food baskets, cash, or aid for basic social services. The distribution of food aid and cash, which are often used as part of a vote- or turnout-buying exchange, is relatively inexpensive and simple. These types of assistance are provided out of mobile units that travel to targeted areas during circumscribed time periods, such as holidays or elections. Similarly, passive supporters and the uncommitted are likely to receive smaller amounts of monetary assistance for medical care or school fees as a one-shot deal or on a short-term basis. More comprehensive benefits, such as more expensive and longer-term health care or schooling, entail an established track record of commitment to the party.22

Observable Implications Several observable implications emerge from the claims that political strategies and intrasect competition shape the welfare distribution strategies of sectarian parties. These arguments can be grouped into two broad sets of propositions. The first set of claims relates to the sectarian composition of the territorial communities where parties establish welfare institutions, whereas the second relates to the types of individuals or households targeted with welfare goods.

spatial distribution of welfare at the community level The association of different territories with distinct sectarian or ethnic communities is a common feature of plural societies (and even in countries where such cleavages are less overtly politicized). In this context, the areas where service agencies operate indicate the types of communities they target (see chapter 4). In the chapters that follow, I therefore examine the spatial implications of party welfare outreach strategies. The following expectations should hold regarding the community-level locations of welfare agencies and distribution of benefits: Sectarian composition of communities: When sectarian organizations prioritize a state-centric strategy and face little or no intrasect competition,

30

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they are most likely to establish welfare agencies in mixed and out-group communities. Conversely, when they opt for an extra-state strategy and face intrasect rivals, they are most likely to concentrate benefits on more homogeneous, in-group communities. Electoral district characteristics: When they choose a state-centric strategy, sectarian parties are more likely to establish welfare agencies in outgroup areas located in electoral districts where members of other sects constitute important voting blocs. Timing of establishment of welfare agencies: During periods when they prioritize a state-centric strategy, sectarian parties are more likely to construct welfare agencies or launch social assistance programs in mixed or even out-group areas. During periods when they choose an extra-state strategy, they are more likely to establish welfare in in-group areas.

distribution of welfare benefi ts at the individual or household level Political strategies and intrasect competition also generate expectations about distributional patterns at the individual and household levels. Although sectarian parties exhibit cross-communal generosity under certain conditions, in-group members—who make up the bulk of the support bases of sectarian parties—generally obtain a greater share of welfare benefits. Yet not all individuals—even from the in-group—receive equal treatment. Given resource limitations and strategic goals, sectarian parties do not target all in-group members indiscriminately but, rather, favor some over others. To the extent that political gain motivates the welfare activities of sectarian parties, a demonstrated commitment to the party shapes the distribution of benefits as well as the quantities and types of welfare goods received. At the micro level, the political profiles of the beneficiaries—that is, whether they are classified as core activists or as marginal supporters or politically uncommitted—affect the receipt of social assistance more than sectarian identity per se. State-centric and extra-state political strategies entail distinct relationships with different types of individuals. Parties value core supporters under either strategy, but they call on core activists to undertake distinct actions with varied levels of risk and time outlays. Furthermore, the treatment of marginal supporters and the uncommitted differs under state-centric and extra-state strategies. All things being equal, state-centric politics call for winning support beyond the core supporters, compelling parties to woo marginal supporters and even the uncommitted and out-group members. For extra-state strategies, parties require core activists to undertake risky and protracted actions, which are rewarded with more generous and continuous benefits.

Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies

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Sectarian organizations that pursue extra-state mobilization may thus become the guarantors of the health and well-being of core activists and their families. Several implications emerge from these claims. Type of political strategy and welfare allocation to noncore supporters: Sectarian parties are most likely to reach out to passive supporters and the uncommitted when they participate in state-centric competition. Conversely, they are more likely to favor core supporters when they engage in extrastate strategies. Allocation of different welfare goods to different individuals or households: In general, passive supporters and the uncommitted are likely to receive fewer and more short-term benefits. Core supporters are likely to enjoy more extensive, high-cost, and continuous packages of welfare goods. Distribution of welfare goods in competitive electoral districts: Sectarian parties that participate in elections are more likely to channel welfare benefits to competitive electoral districts and neglect districts where other parties decisively dominate. Thus, individuals and families may have greater access to welfare goods in competitive districts. Timing of distribution of welfare goods: Passive supporters and the uncommitted are most likely to receive social services during electoral cycles. Core supporters receive the most continuous array of services, particularly when sectarian organizations adopt an extra-state political strategy. In chapters 4, 5 and 6, I assess these community- and individual-level propositions using various types of qualitative and quantitative data. CASES, DATA, AND RESEARCH METHODS The aftermath of the U.S. invasion of Iraq in March 2003 points to the political stakes of the provision of social welfare by sectarian organizations. Abdelsalaam Abdelhadi, a member of a newly created Iraqi Shi ʿi political party, charged into the Khadra Area Medical Center, a health clinic established in a former Ba’ath party building by residents and volunteer medical professionals from this upper-middle-class neighborhood in Baghdad. Over the objections of the director, Abdelhadi declared, “The Islamic Party of Iraq has adopted this building and is in charge of maintaining it!” (Sachs 2003, A12). The case of Iraq may be extreme, given the virtual collapse of state institutions with the fall of Ba’ath Party rule, enabling Abdelhadi’s party and other new political parties to establish or commandeer such community organizations virtually unchecked. Throughout the Middle East and other regions in the Global South, however, nonstate organizations, including ethnic and sectarian parties, provide basic services to local populations and implicitly

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challenge, or at least benefit from, the limitations of state authority. Abdelhadi’s actions are therefore emblematic of a larger phenomenon that extends in various guises far beyond Iraq, Lebanon, and other countries in the region.

Case Selection Lebanon provides an opportune location to study the politics of social welfare as used by identity-based organizations. Providers linked to political parties and religious organizations from a wide variety of confessional communities are well established in Lebanon because of the historical development of sectarianism since Ottoman times (Makdisi 2000); the underdevelopment of the public welfare system; and the legacies of the civil war, which lasted from 1975 to roughly 1990. During the war (or, more accurately, wars), which were at various moments waged in the name of sectarianism, many domestic—and often sectarian—NGOs emerged or stepped in to provide basic social services, with lasting effects for post-conflict provision of social welfare (Hanf and Salam 2003; Harik 1994; Khalaf 2002; Salam 2004; Traboulsi 2007). This wide variety of providers creates an ideal setting for subnational comparisons of the distribution of social benefits by sectarian parties. In addition, the existence of sizable non-Muslim populations in Lebanon enables comparisons of how various Muslim and Christian groups behave under the same institutional rules. The selection of sectarian parties for comparative analysis requires precise understandings of which types of nonstate welfare providers qualify as being linked to sectarian parties rather than to other types of political, religious, or nongovernmental social service agencies. At a minimum, unpacking the political logic of service provision by ethnic or sectarian parties requires differentiation between overtly political and ostensibly nonpolitical provider organizations as well as between identity-based and non-identity-based groups. Table 1.3 presents a simple typology of domestic nonstate providers in plural societies where identity-based groups are key actors in service provision.23 This typology of social welfare providers varies by political and ethnoreligious affiliation, yielding four distinct types of service providers: identity-based Table 1.3 Typology of domestic providers in plural societies Linkage to identity-based community

Linkage to political organization

Yes

No

Yes

I: Identity-based (sectarian) party

II: Non-identity-based party

No

III: Identity-based charity

IV: Non-identity-based NGO

Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies

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parties, non-identity-based parties, identity-based charities, and nonpolitical and non-identity-based NGOs. A welfare institution is categorized as identitybased if it has direct links to a political party that aligns itself with a particular ethnic or sectarian community (quadrant I). These links may be structured as the social service wings of parties or as foundations or charitable organizations tied to parties. Quadrant II also refers to providers linked to political parties but to those without identity-based orientations. Such parties—and their associated service institutions—consistently reject ethnic or sectarian appeals in their pronouncements and outreach strategies. A provider is classified as an identity-based charity (quadrant III) if it is linked to a particular ethnic or religious group, prioritizes welfare and charitable activities in its stated goals, and has no direct ties to a political party. Finally, institutions with no linkages to political parties or identity-based groups are classified as nonaffiliated NGOs (quadrant IV).24 In practice, the lines between these four types of nonstate providers are often blurry. For example, a sectarian party may exert influence over the administrators of religious charities from its corresponding sect. Similarly, ostensibly nonaffiliated NGOs may work more closely with some political parties, compelling local observers to question their allegedly neutral positions. Yet there is a qualitatively important distinction between organizations with explicit political and communal identities and other types of groups because these affiliations may shape their values and actions. I focus on sectarian parties—quadrant I—in analyzing the distinct patterns of the distribution of welfare by diverse sectarian parties in Lebanon. After surveying the field of party-based social welfare providers and consulting local experts to determine the most important providers during the civil war and post-war periods, I chose to focus on six sectarian parties with social service wings from the largest confessional communities in Lebanon: the Christian Free Patriotic Movement, Kataeb, and Lebanese Forces; the Shi ʿa Muslim Amal Movement and Hezbollah; and the Sunni Muslim Future Movement. Collectively, these parties exhibit distinct patterns of distributing social benefits. This variation has occurred both across different parties in the same period and, in some cases, within the same party over time. Table 1.4 characterizes the distributional patterns of the selected parties in different historical periods. The Future Movement, which adopted a state-centric strategy from its inception and historically faced less intrasect competition than other parties, has exhibited a relatively consistent inclusive pattern of distributing social benefits.25 On the other end of the spectrum, Hezbollah prior to 2000 and the Amal Movement and Lebanese Christian parties during the civil war adopted relatively exclusive patterns of distributing welfare goods, which they directed largely to core in-group activists during these periods. As a result of strategic shifts and the changing field of intrasect competition, the allocation

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Chapter 1

Table 1.4 Patterns of distributing social benefits of selected sectarian parties Political mobilization strategy State-centric

Extra-state

Yes

Partially inclusive: • Lebanese Christian parties (2005–present) • Amal Movement (1992–present) • Sadrist Movement (2008–present)

Exclusive: • Lebanese Christian parties (civil war) • Hezbollah (civil war to 1999) • Amal Movement (civil war) • Sadrist Movement (2003–2005, 2006–2008)

No

Inclusive: • Future Movement • Bharatiya Janata Party (1980s–present)

Partially exclusive: • Hezbollah (1999–present)

Intrasect competition

of social benefits by these parties became more inclusive in the post-war period. In chapter 7, I supplement the Lebanese cases with short case studies of the Iraqi Sadrist Movement and the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) in India, as well as brief accounts of organizations in other regions. These parties, too, have exhibited distinct patterns of distributing social benefits over time. To focus the comparisons across these organizations, I trace their welfare activities in the same social sectors, including primary health care and hospitalization, primary and secondary education, and short-term food and other material assistance programs.

Methods of Data Collection and Analysis It is notoriously difficult to obtain reliable information on how political organizations allocate discretionary goods to existing and potential supporters and to determine the recipients of such benefits (Kitschelt 2000; Stokes 2005). The task of uncovering the welfare distribution patterns of sectarian parties would be relatively straightforward if these organizations released basic data, such as the socioeconomic background, place of residence, sectarian identity, and political affiliation of beneficiaries. Representatives from sectarian welfare agencies and party officials, however, deny that they record any information about applicants beyond data on household income and assets, which they claim are the sole criteria determining eligibility for their programs. Few, if any, Lebanese believe that parties ignore political and sectarian identities in allocating welfare goods, but anecdotes and rumors do not constitute reliable evidence. In the absence of data on beneficiary profiles, it was essential to devise alternative ways to assess the observed patterns of service

Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies

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allocation by sectarian parties. I adopted multiple and diverse methods of data collection and analysis on the assumption that the best way to systematically probe the logic of welfare distribution requires information from varied points of access to the provider-beneficiary relationship. The combination of qualitative data, including archival documents and in-depth interviews with elites and nonelites, and quantitative data from a national survey and spatial analysis provides multiple perspectives on provider behavior. Data collected through these diverse approaches offer a glimpse into the ways in which providers integrate themselves into local communities and distribute social benefits. At the same time, the data assess the degree to which these patterns of organizational behavior operate systematically and are representative of national trends. The research design relies on five distinct types of data collection. First, standardized, in-depth interviews with elites, including party officials and the directors, administrators, and employees of specific social welfare institutions, provide historical background on these organizations, baseline knowledge of the services provided, and official perspectives on beneficiary-selection criteria. Although most elite informants did not disclose whether and how they incorporate political criteria into the allocation of services, some admitted to such practices. Many eagerly described the politicization of service distribution by rival organizations, providing information that was corroborated by other interviews. For example, representatives of the Hariri Foundation pointed to the politicization of service provision by Hezbollah but insisted that their own organization distributed aid without regard for sectarian identity or political sympathies. Similarly, officials from Christian political parties maintained that their organizations lacked the resources to funnel welfare goods to supporters but asserted that rival Christian parties distributed food and household items to buy votes during elections and arranged discounted or free services from sympathetic doctors and school principals. I carried out 183 interviews with party officials, associated welfare agency officials, and other elites during multiple extended trips in 2004 and between 2006 and 2009. Appendix A provides a full list of elite interviewees, with their names and other identifying information excluded to protect the informants. Interviews with officials from the ministries of Public Health, Social Affairs, Education, and Administrative Affairs, as well as with local journalists and development consultants, provided additional information on the allocation of welfare goods by sectarian parties and valuable insights into the ways that these organizations benefit from and take credit for ostensibly public welfare programs. The perspectives of international and local aid workers are especially valuable because these individuals worked alongside and observed the day-to-day operations of sectarian welfare providers at the grassroots level. Second, in-depth interviews with beneficiaries offered a complementary perspective on the distribution of welfare goods by sectarian parties. Early on

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Chapter 1

in my field research, however, I realized that the identities of the interviewers matters a great deal, particularly in deeply divided societies where, all things being equal, trust is higher among members of the in-group. Thus, through a competitive hiring process, I selected a team of Lebanese graduate students that included members of each of the main confessional groups represented by the parties in the sample: Christians, Druze, Shi ʿa Muslims, and Sunni Muslims. Each graduate student was matched with informants from the same confessional background and, if possible, from the same place or region of origin. Building initially on personal and social networks, the team located interviewees through referral chains. This nonrandom sampling approach facilitated access to informants and established trust in the interviewing relationship, yielding richer and more informative interviews than would otherwise have been the case (Cammett 2013). Appendix B provides information on the process of carrying out the nonelite interviews as well as a list of interviewees and the interview protocol. Reliance on a nonrandom sampling of interviewees nonetheless presents obvious limitations to generalizability. To at least partially compensate for this, I carried out a third method of data collection, a national survey to assess access to social services in Lebanon. The survey data yield a fi rst-cut analysis of the second set of propositions presented, which focus on the individuallevel characteristics of welfare beneficiaries. In particular, by revealing variation in access to social benefits by partisan identity, the survey offers a bottom-up perspective on the distributional behavior of parties in Lebanon. The survey data shed light on the degree to which the politicization of welfare distribution operates systematically in the larger national context, supplementing the interview data. A national sample, rather than a subsample of beneficiaries of welfare programs run by sectarian parties, generates comparative insights into the profiles of individuals and households with varied levels of access to welfare goods. Appendix C provides a list of the questions used to construct the key variables that were included in the analyses reported in chapter 5. A fourth component of the research involves geographic information system (GIS) analysis to track the spatial relationships between the sectarian and socioeconomic makeup of communities, on the one hand, and the distribution and organizational affiliations of public and private social welfare institutions throughout Lebanon, on the other. The spatial analyses, presented in chapter 4, provide a baseline assessment of the first set of propositions, which focus on the community-level characteristics of areas served by sectarian providers. Finally, archival and secondary sources complement these diverse sources of data. Reports from government and library archives as well as newspaper accounts published during the war (1975–1990) and post-war (1990–present) periods supplement the findings from interviews, enabling a historically

Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies

37

grounded account of the rise and evolution of service provision in Lebanon by all types of providers. Newspapers and other publications by militias that became political parties and movements in post-war Lebanon are an important source because they detail the wartime tax collection and social service activities of these organizations and, depending on their coverage, document their transitions to post-war welfare agencies. The rich secondary-source literature on Lebanese politics and society during the Ottoman, French Mandate, and post-independence periods provides essential contextualization. Many of these organizations and their precursors, as well as the institutions and practices of sectarianism, have deep roots in Lebanon. To suggest the broader applicability of my arguments, I include brief case studies of additional welfare providers linked to sectarian organizations, including the Shi ʿi Sadrist Movement in Iraq and the BJP in India. The research on the Sadrist Movement relies on original interviews conducted by a research assistant based in Sadr City, Baghdad, as well as interviews in the United States and accounts from newspapers and publicly accessible documents. The case study of the political strategies and welfare activities of the BJP is based on the rich secondary-source literature on the party and on Indian politics. Brief references to additional cases indicate the relevance of the main arguments beyond the Middle East and South Asia. The arguments developed in this book are intended to shed light on the politics of the provision of social welfare by nonstate organizations, and particularly by identity-based providers, far beyond Lebanon. Many countries outside the industrialized West lack welfare states or welfare regimes with universal or near-universal entitlements for their citizens. In the context of weak state institutions, political organizations with sufficient resources can use welfare to further their own agendas—not just to fulfi ll charitable missions. Ordinary citizens, then, may be forced to rely on clientelist arrangements to meet their basic needs. These arrangements bring with them inherent inequalities, create conditions of widespread social insecurity, and perhaps even undercut the possibility of constructing larger national political communities.

2 Political Sectarianism and the Residual Welfare Regime in Lebanon

M

embership in religious communities shapes most aspects of everyday life in Lebanon. Religious authorities retain control over the rites of birth, death, and marriage, compelling citizens who seek a civil rather than religious union to travel overseas—often to Cyprus.1 The influence of religion is particularly palpable in the Lebanese system of social provision. Religious institutions are key providers of social services and have been for centuries, particularly for those who lack insurance or sufficient means to resort to the private market. Increasingly, sectarian parties have entered the business of providing social welfare. To contextualize the emergence and evolving role of sectarian organizations in the system, in this chapter I trace the evolution of the welfare regime in post-independence Lebanon. Two overarching themes emerge in this chapter. First, the state has played a distinct role in the welfare regime in different historical eras—here the pre– civil war period from 1943 to 1975, the wartime period from 1975 to roughly 1990, and the post-war period from the early 1990s to the present. Second, the relative absence of a state-sponsored social safety net during much of Lebanese history and the (not coincidental) prevalence of nonstate providers are defi ning features of the Lebanese system. The welfare regime is highly fragmented and relatively unregulated, providing ample opportunities for sectarian organizations to supply social services and to take credit for the public benefits. Nonstate actors with vested interests in the status quo both profit from and sustain the underdevelopment of government welfare functions. The chapter is structured chronologically, describing the welfare regime in the prewar, civil war, and post-war periods. In-depth treatments of the role of the state and nonstate actors in the health and educational sectors highlight the evolution of socioeconomic disparities across the main Christian and Muslim

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confessional groups and illustrate vividly the fragmentation of the welfare regime across both class and confessional lines—central features of the landscape in which sectarian parties distribute welfare in the contemporary period. SOCIAL WELFARE FROM INDEPENDENCE TO THE CIVIL WAR (1943–1975) Lebanon is an anomaly in the Middle East with respect to historical patterns of economic and political development. Whereas most Middle Eastern countries adopted highly statist development trajectories at independence, the Lebanese economy, by design, emphasized laissez faire principles. This orientation reflects the political and economic realities at the time of independence and had long-standing roots that predated independence by centuries. As detailed in chapter 3, the types of power-sharing institutions adopted under French colonial rule and cemented after independence weakened state capacity, undercutting the potential for statist approaches to development. At the same time, the minimal role of the state in the domestic political economy reflected the interests of a small group of families with large holdings in the commercial and financial sectors (Gates 1998; Leenders 2004; Traboulsi 2007). The post-independence welfare regime also reflected an entrenched historical experience of community organization along sectarian lines (Makdisi 2000; Meo 1965).2 Well before the establishment of the French Mandate in 1920 in present-day Syria and Lebanon and the creation of independent Lebanon in 1943, religious charities were major providers of social welfare. The effects of civil war from 1975 to 1990 consolidated the provision of welfare along sectarian lines and undercut nascent efforts at state-building, including the implementation of national social policies adopted in the late 1950s and 1960s. These historical factors had repercussions for the subsequent development of the Lebanese welfare regime, which is characterized by a minimal public social safety net as well as a heavy reliance on private, nonstate actors for the delivery of services. In this section, I trace efforts to institutionalize national social policies prior to the outbreak of civil war in Lebanon in 1975.

Ottoman- and Colonial-Era Welfare and the Roots of Sectarian Disparities The establishment of local religious charitable institutions dates back to the nineteenth century and, in some cases, even earlier (Abouchedid and Nasser 2000; Makdisi 2000; Sbaiti 2008). In the Ottoman and colonial periods, clerics, religious institutions, missionaries, and foreign relief agencies were the main sources of medical advice and treatment, particularly for coreligionists, and ran important educational programs (Fawaz 1994; Hanssen 2005). But not all religious communities had equally developed networks of

40

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social institutions. Variation in the institutionalization of social welfare across different sectarian communities forged and exacerbated social disparities that continue to shape politics and social mobilization in contemporary Lebanon. Given the availability of cross-time data, education is a useful lens for analyzing the historical evolution of inequalities across distinct Lebanese confessional groups. Certain Christian sects historically had the most developed educational institutions in what is now modern-day Lebanon. For example, from the sixteenth to the early twentieth century, the rise and consolidation of the Maronite Church was instrumental in creating educational institutions, which largely catered to the growing Maronite population in Mount Lebanon. By the late nineteenth century, Maronite and Catholic groups had also established educational institutions in Beirut as increasing numbers of Christians migrated to the city (El-Khazen 2000, 34–35; Harik 1994, 6; Labaki 1988, 17–19, 26; Wehbe and El-Amine 1980, 14–15). During the nineteenth century, Greek Orthodox institutions also grew rapidly as part of an effort to counterbalance the regional spread of Catholicism. In addition, Christian communities, such as the Greek Catholic and Evangelical churches, also greatly expanded their educational outreach during this period. At the same time, British and U.S. Protestant groups established numerous schools in Lebanon, but, unlike their French missionary counterparts such as the Lazarists and Jesuits, they targeted all populations, not simply Catholic or Christian communities (Labaki 1988, 28–32, 39; Wehbe and El-Amine 1980, 13–16). The expansion of schools in the Muslim communities took off later, in part as a response to the growth of Christian missionary activities in the region. Until the mid-nineteenth century, only traditional madrasas, which provided basic religious education, operated in the Sunni community. In 1870, the Ottomans established the first modern school in the Sunni community, AlMadrasa Al-Outhmaniyya, in Beirut.3 Soon after, in 1878, the Sunni charitable society Al-Maqasid Al-Khairiyya Al-Islamiyya (Maqasid Islamic Philanthropic Society) was established. The Maqasid came to administer most facets of social life, even beyond education, including marriage, burials, and charity, and became the premier representative of Sunni community political interests (Johnson 1978). By the mid-nineteenth century, the Druze community had also established its own educational institutions in parts of Mount Lebanon (Labaki 1988, 20). On the eve of the French Mandate, which lasted from 1923 to 1943, each religious community had developed a substantial network of educational and social institutions and a special relationship with a particular missionary group or the Ottoman authorities.4 The Shi ʿa were a glaring exception. Apart from the Jabal ʿAmel region in southern Lebanon, where Shi ʿa religious institutions were well established, the Shi ʿa had fewer social institutions than

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other groups. Furthermore, the Shi ʿi network of schools was less extensive and the major educational institutions of the community were established later than those of the other communities.5 Until the 1960s, Lebanese Shi ʿa were largely based in rural areas and did not have a sizable middle class. After this period, Shiʿi migration to urban areas accelerated and emigrant wealth was increasingly invested in the local community (El-Khazen 2000, 42). Historically, a small number of elite rural families based in the South and Beqaa provinces had competed for representation of the community in the Lebanese political system, but increasingly, urban and educated Shi ʿa felt alienated from the traditional leadership. The arrival of the Imam Musa al-Sadr, a Persian of Lebanese origin who returned to Lebanon in the 1950s and later established the Harakat alMahrumin (Movement of the Dispossessed), radically altered the nature of Shi ʿi representation. The imam struck a middle course between the zuʾama (traditional leaders) and leftist parties, which were organizing in marginalized areas such as the South province (Traboulsi 2007, 177–80). Al-Sadr established a vast network of social and educational institutions that aimed at correcting historic communal disparities and the marginalization of the Shi ʿa in Lebanese society, economy, and politics. In 1969, al-Sadr was elected to head the Al-Majlis al-Islami al-Shi ʿi al-Aʾla Shi ʿa (Supreme Islamic Shi ʿi Council), which was established to manage the religious and communal affairs of the Lebanese Shi ʿa. From this point onward, the imam became a vocal advocate of Shi ʿa interests and became known for organizing large strikes of Shi ʿa workers to call for protection from Israeli raids in the South province. In 1978, al-Sadr disappeared during an official visit to Libya; he is revered as a martyr by Shi ʿa organizations in Lebanon. Representatives from diverse Shi ʿa organizations, including the Mabarrat,6 the Supreme Islamic Shi ʿi Council, and the Shi ʿa political parties, universally claim that redressing this imbalance was a primary motivation for the creation of their social programs. By the 1970s, their efforts started to pay off, as evidenced by narrowed disparities across the different confessional communities. The evolution of religious schools illustrates this trend (see Figure 2.1). Figure 2.1 shows a preponderance of Christian schools, but the gap between the Christian and Muslim communities narrowed significantly from the Mandate period through the first three decades of independence (Labaki 1988, 129).7 In 1920, the Muslim communities collectively had 41 schools—19 Sunni schools, 11 Shi ʿa schools, and 11 Druze schools—whereas the Christian communities ran 451 schools.8 In 1978, 300 schools were administered by Muslim religious institutions, of which 137 were run by Shi ʿa organizations, whereas 548 schools were administered by Christian organizations. The wave of Shi ʿi institution-building in the 1960s and 1970s mitigated disparities in subsequent decades.

42

Chapter 2 250 1920

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Figure 2.1 Lebanese schools by religious affi liation, 1920 and 1978. Source: Adapted from Labaki (1988, 129).

the shihab administration and attempts at national integration through the provision of public goods Under the first two post-independence administrations of Bishara elKhoury (1943–1952) and Camille Chamoun (1952–1958), the government did not prioritize socioeconomic development and did little to correct regional and sectarian imbalances, although some steps were taken to develop basic infrastructure. With its attempts to expand and standardize public schooling, the state was more proactive in the educational sector than in the health and other social sectors (Bashshur 1988; Salibi 1966). Nonetheless, state penetration of areas outside of Beirut was limited, particularly in the South, in the Bekaa in the east, and in Akkar in the North, reinforcing the control of the zuʾama over rural areas (Attié 2004; El-Khazen 2000). As a step toward revitalizing rural economies, the state expanded the national road system beyond Beirut and Mount Lebanon, which had the unintended effect of accelerating urbanization. Known as the Beirut “poverty belt,” the growing neighborhoods surrounding Beirut contained almost half of the city’s population but had limited infrastructure (Salibi 1976; Traboulsi 2007). State development efforts accelerated markedly during the presidency of Fuʾad Shihab (1958–1964), who launched an ambitious state-building effort and undercut traditional local and communal leaders by centralizing control with the help of the Deuxième Bureau, the army intelligence service (Hudson 1968; Traboulsi 2007). For Shihab, social policy was a key tool for national integration.9 In a speech delivered on November 22, 1962, Shihab explicitly

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linked his development push to the goal of forging popular commitment to a national political entity: The development project that is taking place in the economic and social sectors is seen not only as a way to raise the standard of living of each individual but also to ground all Lebanese in a single society on which national unity is based—not as much on the basis of coexistence or the association of different parts of the population but rather to make one complete people and to remain loyal to the country. (cited in Dagher 1995; author’s translation)10

After the civil war of 1958, which some attributed to regional inequalities, the Shihab administration extended government schools and roads as well as the delivery of basic public goods throughout the country. Shihab also established community-based dispensaries and rural hospitals across Lebanon, although a dearth of trained medical professionals hampered the effectiveness of these institutions (Dagher 1995; Hudson 1968; Salibi 1976). Between 1957 and 1964, government expenditures increased across all sectors, demonstrating the marked acceleration of state-building efforts under Shihab’s tenure (Hudson 1968; Traboulsi 2007).11 Among Shihab’s enduring legacies was the establishment of the National Social Security Fund (NSSF), a national social insurance program initiated in 1965 (El-Khazen 2000; Traboulsi 2007). The fund was designed to provide medical, maternity, and disability insurance, as well as family allowances, end-of-service indemnities, and pension benefits, to employees of formal-sector firms. Modeled after the French system, the NSSF contributed 25 percent of the fi nancing, and the remainder was supplied by contributions from employers and employees (Hudson 1968; Traboulsi 2007).12 Over time, the NSSF expanded to include more categories of workers and became one of the most important sources of health-care financing in Lebanon. Beyond social provision, the social security scheme aimed to promote national integration by redistributing income and fostering a commitment to the state (see Génissel, cited in Hudson 1968). As part of its big push for social development, the Shihab administration also aimed to improve the public school system. Shihab successfully implemented some educational reforms, which resulted in increased numbers of primary and secondary school students in the public schools, rising from 31 percent in at the start of his administration to 42 percent by 1964. Efforts to regulate private schools, however, largely failed. In January 1959, the government officially annulled policies promulgated after independence for the oversight and inspection of private schools, devolving the right of public school regulation to regional authorities with vague mandates to “supervise” private schools (Abouchedid and Nasser 2000, 62–63; Sbaiti 2008, 208, 210–11). Shihab’s successor, Charles Helou, continued the expansion of the public school system and created review committees to improve school curricula along the lines of the French system. These efforts faced major opposition, while

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government inefficiencies slowed the pace of the reforms. To compound the problem, private schools attracted better teachers through higher salaries and better working conditions, drawing students away from the public schools. Even in the pre–civil war period, the history curriculum was a major sticking point because some Christian, and particularly Catholic, educational institutions emphasized the Western orientation of Lebanon whereas Muslim educational institutions stressed its Arab heritage (Hudson 1968, 322). Despite these obstacles, the number of public schools continued to grow. In 1941, just before independence, Lebanon had 183 public primary schools and 1 public vocational school. By 1980, the government had established 1,336 primary schools, 132 secondary schools, and 18 vocational schools (Labaki 1988, 131). By the 1960s, the confessional backgrounds of students enrolled in public schools had become slightly less skewed, with Christians accounting for 35 percent and Muslims representing 65 percent of the student population; however, more public schools were established in Muslim and mixed areas than in predominantly Christian parts of the country (Labaki 1988, 136; Wehbe and El-Amine 1980, 43–45). Notwithstanding these government initiatives, Lebanon did not develop a broad system of social protection. Corruption within the government administration, a lack of coordination and expertise to ensure that reforms were implemented on the local level, and opposition from the fi nancial and commercial bourgeoisie as well as local clientelist leaders stymied Shihab’s development push (Hudson 1968; Salibi 1966, 1976; Traboulsi 2007). In addition, employers were able to evade their commitments under the new social security system by dismissing workers to avoid making social security payments (Traboulsi 2007). Under subsequent administrations, social development did not advance significantly and public spending slowed, in part due to opposition both from within the government and by powerful social groups. Apart from the creation of the NSSF, which expanded access to health care for a limited segment of the population, and some efforts to establish health-care facilities in rural areas, the public health infrastructure did not develop extensively after independence. Post-independence efforts to enlarge and centralize the public school system, revise curricula, and unify instruction and textbooks were also limited, in part because the constitution of the new Lebanese state enshrined the rights of confessional groups to run their own schools with little government oversight (Frayha 2004, 172). CIVIL WAR, MILITIAS, AND THE CONSOLIDATION OF NONSTATE PROVISION The civil war brought about the partial and, for some programs, total breakdown of the public social welfare institutions established in the 1960s, weakening the already feeble state administrative capacity and enhancing the

Political Sectarianism and the Residual Welfare Regime

45

importance of nonstate social provision. In part as a response to state failure, confessional groups in all Lebanese religious communities initiated or further developed their own social welfare programs. At the same time, both domestic and international NGOs proliferated in the domain of social provision. The decline of tax revenues as a result of falling output, rising emigration, and the takeover of some tax collection duties by militias, reduced the funds available for basic government operations, while the decision to print money led to high inflation (Hanf 1993). The civil war took a heavy toll on the public health infrastructure, in part due to the physical destruction, looting, and desertion of government-run facilities and in part because of its effects on the administration the Ministry of Public Health. Because its operations were centralized, the ministry could not easily coordinate the distribution of medical supplies, medications, and personnel, nor could it communicate and enforce health-related regulations during the war. In addition, staff members at public health facilities often could not reach their posts because of violent clashes and the disruption of the national transportation infrastructure (Kronfol 2004, 3). Major public health initiatives, such as vaccinations or maternal and child care, were donor-driven and often administered by international NGOs rather than state agencies. Protracted conflict therefore undercut the nascent primary health-care system and permitted the unrestricted growth of private health services.13 By the end of the war, government health-care provision was concentrated in secondary and tertiary care and targeted only the most disadvantaged, as well as government employees covered by specific insurance schemes. Because most public hospitals had been destroyed or shut down, the state was compelled to purchase services from private, for-profit institutions and NGOs became the most important providers of primary health services, particularly for those who could not afford the fees of private physicians. The civil war also took a heavy toll on public education. Over two-thirds of public primary school buildings were completely or partially destroyed, which partly explains declining public school enrollments during much of the war. Figure 2.2 depicts the number of students enrolled in public primary and secondary schools in the prewar and post-war periods. As the figure shows, the number of students educated in private schools rose and even exceeded those attending public schools during the war, but the ratio of public to private school students evened out in the 1990s, when public schools were renovated or constructed. During the civil war, schooling posed a problem for families. Budgetary cuts and reduced administrative capacity meant that government schools were poorly equipped. With increased hardship and the breakdown of state supervisory functions, teachers often neglected their professional commitments to take supplemental paid work to cover their expenses. Private schools were in far better condition but were too expensive for most families. Violent confl ict

46

Chapter 2 900,000

Number of students

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Public Private Total

600,000 500,000 400,000 300,000 200,000 100,000 0

1972–73

1991–92

1997–98

2005–2006

Year Figure 2.2 Students enrolled in public and private primary and secondary schools, selected years. Sources: Ministry of Education, Daleel al-Madaris (2006); Tabbarah (2000a, 7).

also forced schools to close regularly, causing students to miss months of school at a time and compelling school administrators to cut subjects such as art, history, and geography in favor of areas deemed more essential. In addition, the Lebanese University, the public university, split geographically and administratively as different religious communities opened their own branches in territories where their in-group members were concentrated (Hanf 1993, 358).

the establishment of militia-based welfare networks The territorial division of the country into about a dozen cantons controlled by different wartime militias challenged the coherence and sovereignty of the national state and further fragmented the welfare regime. Map 2.1 depicts the de facto partition of the country by different factions in the civil war. At the height of the fighting, the Lebanese national army controlled only a delimited portion of the country surrounding Beirut. Between 1978 and 2000, Israel occupied a “security zone” in southern Lebanon in conjunction with its proxy militia, the South Lebanese Army.14 Shi ʿa militias, mainly Amal and Hezbollah, operated in the south and east while Christian and Druze forces were largely concentrated in Mount Lebanon. At various times during the war, militias took over basic state functions by levying taxes and collecting customs duties in the territories they controlled, depriving the state of badly needed revenue and boosting the national debt (Beyoghlou 1989; Corm 1991; Snider 1984; Traboulsi 2007). Some militias established welfare programs to serve militia fighters and residents in their

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Primary Occupant Lebanese Army Lebanese Forces PSP Shi’a militias South Lebanese Army and Israel West Beirut Other local militias

Map 2.1 Territories controlled by militias in Lebanon (approx. 1983–1989). Source: Adapted from Verdeil, Faour, and Velut (2007). Map created by Nathan Einstein.

spheres of influence. Between 1985 and 1990, much of the Lebanese population lived under the control of various armed factions, which had largely ceased to fight each other—at least across sectarian lines—and were primarily focused on obtaining monopolies over the military and political representation of their respective in-group communities (Corm 1991; Hanf 1993). During the war, four organizations—the Christian Lebanese Forces, Druze Progressive Socialist Party (PSP), and Shi ʿa Amal Movement and

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Hezbollah—were the main militias engaged in the provision of social welfare. Their social programs were in part an outgrowth of the social-, educational-, and health-affairs wings that parties such as the Lebanese Forces, other Christian parties, and the PSP had established when they operated as nascent political parties in the pre–civil war period (Harik 1994). Resource-related factors, such as the existing infrastructure and material resources as well as the quality of human resources in the territories under militia control, shaped the decisions of militia leaders to launch social welfare activities. The Maronite Lebanese Forces and the Druze PSP were in a far better position than the Shi ʿa Amal Movement and Hezbollah to launch welfare programs in their fiefdoms, in part because they had older historical roots in Lebanon and in part because they commanded greater resources at the time. Predominantly Christian and, particularly, Maronite areas had more numerous and developed health-care institutions as well as transportation and communications infrastructure than territories with concentrations of non-Christian populations, including the Druze. The Amal Movement, which began as the military wing of the Imam Musa al-Sadr’s Movement of the Dispossessed, was too occupied with military struggles to launch organized social initiatives until 1984. Established in 1982, Hezbollah gradually expanded its service operations from Baalbek to other areas with large concentrations of Shi ʿa residents, such as the southern suburbs of Beirut and South Lebanon (Harik 1994). Political calculations, and not just resource endowments, were also important in militia decisions to initiate the provision of social services (Harik 1994). Even as they employed terror to maintain control over their respective communities, some militias promoted the provision of social services as a way of convincing in-group residents to remain in their homes. A former member of the Maronite Lebanese Forces, who was involved in creating and running the medical services of the organization during the war, claimed that Samir Geagea, who took over the leadership of the organization in 1985, pushed for the creation of the militia social services wing for precisely this reason.15 Similarly, a representative from a Hezbollah-affiliated social welfare organization claimed that a motivation for providing services in Shi ʿa areas during the war was to help people remain in their areas of residence.16 The variable development of militia social welfare programs created and exacerbated regional disparities in access to public goods and social services. In West Beirut, the situation was particularly chaotic during the 1970s and parts of the 1980s, when control over territory was fragmented among multiple competing militias and citizen groups launched largely futile efforts to deal with basic sanitation. The predominantly Christian East Beirut was more organized because the Lebanese Forces exercised more centralized control over this portion of the city and surrounding areas. Meanwhile, at the onset of the

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war in 1975 and 1976, the Christian Kataeb and Druze PSP, complemented by local community initiatives, took charge of the provision of public goods in different rural areas of Mount Lebanon. Beginning in the early 1980s, Amal and Hezbollah progressively developed social welfare networks in parts of the country with heavy Shi ʿa endowments. In a quasi-orchestrated division of predominantly Shi ʿa territories, the Amal Movement largely dominated the South province and gradually lost influence in the southern suburbs of Beirut to Hezbollah, which was already well established in the Bekaa. While Christian, Druze, Shi ʿa, and other militias divided up the country, Rafiq al-Hariri, a Lebanese Sunni from Sidon, gradually came to dominate politics in the Sunni community (Corstange 2007; Johnson 1977).17 With the support of the Saudis as well as a large fortune made in Saudi Arabia during the 1960s, al-Hariri established generous social programs and funneled aid to NGOs throughout Lebanon (see chapter 6).18 The social service programs of the wartime militias in Lebanon expanded as public demand for and vested interests in them increased. Judith Harik notes, “By the mid 1980s, social services and welfare foundations [by militias and political leaders] were de rigeur ” (1994). With the absence or breakdown of public welfare functions, the population sought alternative sources of social protection, contributing to the rise and consolidation of militia-based welfare during the war. Furthermore, as fear of other confessional communities increasingly gripped ordinary citizens (Corm 1991; Hanf 1993), people were reluctant to patronize welfare institutions run by out-group organizations. Recalling wartime patterns of access to health care, a Ministry of Public Health official observed, “During the war, many small, local NGOs created primary health care centers, which mushroomed according to patterns of civil strife. People would not go to the next village or to clinics run by nonco-religionists in the same village, while different militias took on some of the functions of the state during the war by running clinics, hospitals and schools as well as collecting customs duties and taxes in the territories they controlled.”19 Similar dynamics arose in the educational sector. Within their separate enclaves, dominant militias established their own primary and secondary schools, as well as private universities and branches of the national Lebanese University (Beyoghlou 1989, 36). Despite efforts during the pre–civil war and even wartime periods to expand public welfare functions, nonstate organizations, including religious charities, domestic and international NGOs and, most prominently, militia organizations, consolidated their roles as the critical providers and guarantors of social services and assistance (Beyoghlou 1989; Lebanese Center for Policy Studies [LCPS] 1999). The wartime surge in nonstate provision of public services had important legacies for the post-war welfare regime.

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1990–PRESENT: THE POST-WAR CONSOLIDATION OF NONSTATE PROVISION IN THE HEALTH AND EDUCATION SECTORS In the post-civil war period, from about 1990 to the present, the importance of nonstate providers in the welfare regime continued to grow and efforts to build or reform public welfare faced significant obstacles or operated inefficiently. Yet the state was hardly absent in the overall welfare system. In any welfare regime, the state has multiple roles: financing, regulation, and provision (Rothgang et al. 2005). In the post-war period, various public agencies and programs became the primary sources of patronage for most parties, political movements, zuʾama, and other local clientelist leaders. Through these programs, the state assured a minimum of social protection for the poor and provided a key source of financial support for nonstate providers. Inadequate regulatory capacity, however, created a form of hyperprivatization that led to macro-level inefficiencies and minimal oversight of nonstate providers (Oxfam International 2009). In the post-war period, many social welfare programs that had been initiated by militias evolved into institutionalized welfare agencies with branch offices and networks of social centers. Organizations linked to political parties that either did not have militia wings during the war or did not emerge until the post-war period also launched their own welfare programs. As I show in chapters 4 and 6, the experiences of Muslim and Christian political organizations and parties-cum-militias diverged in the post-war period. Unlike the Sunni, Shi ʿa, and Druze organizations, the Christian militias did not immediately transform their wartime social institutions into post-war party institutions and welfare agencies. After 2005, when Syrian forces withdrew from Lebanon, the Christian parties began to build or reconstitute their social programs. The growth and gradual predominance of nonstate providers, as well as the lack of public regulation over their activities in the post-war period, are evident in the education and health sectors.

Education in Post-War Lebanon During and after the civil war, the number of schools in Lebanon rose steadily, with a major increase in private schools. Figure 2.3 depicts the rise in the number of schools established in Lebanon since 1974, the year before the outbreak of the civil war, and demonstrates the marked rise in the number of private schools over the succeeding three decades. Within the private primary and secondary educational system in Lebanon, there are two types of schools: subsidized private schools, which receive government financial assistance on a per-student basis and target low-income families, and nonsubsidized private schools, which do not receive official aid and

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1600

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Year Figure 2.3 Primary and secondary schools in Lebanon, 1974–2006. Source: Ministry of Education, Daleel al Madaris (various years).

charge full tuition. Children enrolled in subsidized private schools often are placed in separate classrooms or school buildings from those in the nonsubsidized schools, even in schools run by the same parent organization.20 As Figure 2.3 shows, the number of nonsubsidized private schools accounts for the net gain in the share of private schools since the war erupted, while the numbers of subsidized private schools and public schools have steadily declined, although the latter rose in the 2000s. In practice, nonstate providers and, especially, sectarian parties control some public schools operating in the territories where they dominate.21 As a result, the absolute number of schools administered by sectarian organizations understates their weight in the educational system. The relative absence of state regulatory capacity over private schools accentuates the influence of sectarian organizations and other nonstate providers on the educational system. Official licensing requirements for all schools are designed to promote greater public regulation of private educational institutions but, in practice, have been largely ineffective. Because private schools educate the majority of Lebanese students, their relative immunity from state control means that much of the educational system may not conform to whatever national goals and standards have been established.22 Efforts to regulate and reform the educational system are complicated by the fact that some groups that run their own school networks, including sectarian parties and religious authorities, resist greater government oversight. Representatives from these organizations exert influence over state agencies

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and elected bodies, enabling them to resist state oversight of educational content and standards.23 Bureaucratic complexity also hinders the ability of the state to regulate the educational systems. Multiple ministries oversee different parts of the educational system and do not always coordinate their activities sufficiently. For example, four different agencies oversee the teacher training in, faculty appointments in, review of, and choice of curricular materials in secondary schools (Tabbarah 2000a, 11–12).

The Health System in Post-War Lebanon As a result of deficient state regulatory capacity and historical legacies from the civil war period and earlier, nonstate actors are also important in the health sector. Based on data collected through 2008, Figure 2.4 depicts the distribution of hospitals by affiliation, both private, for-profit institutions and those run by various religious and political organizations. In 2006, almost 150 hospitals officially existed in Lebanon, of which about 75 percent had limited capacities ranging from 5 to 100 beds and therefore could not operate efficiently or provide adequate acute care.24 About two-thirds of these hospitals were privately owned and managed, mainly as for-profit institutions run

100 90 80 70 Number

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p Sh art i D i y ru p ze Sun art pa ni y r C No ty o par ty hr nist a rc ia ffil har n ia ity t r Sh elig ed p i ii ou art sc y Su rel nn igio ha i us rity Ar rel i m g ch en iou arit y ia n s ch o N a on rga rit ni y -a za ffi l Pr iat tion iv ed at e, NG fo r- O Pu bl Inte pro ic rn fi / Za Go ati t im ve on /“ rnm al fe ud en t al ” l al ea de r

0

Affiliation Figure 2.4 Hospitals by affi liation (2008 estimates). Sources: Ministry of Public Health (2006); Syndicate of Hospitals in Lebanon (2007); author interviews.

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by private physicians (Ammar 2003; Syndicate of Hospitals in Lebanon 2007). Collectively, sectarian parties and religious charities also play an important role in secondary care. Because they obtain preferential treatment for supporters in institutions run by co-religionist charities and even by the public sector, sectarian parties can influence hospitalization in facilities beyond those in their own networks. Compared to private, sectarian, and religious institutions, the number of public hospitals is relatively limited. The number of NGO-run health clinics and dispensaries (small health centers that distribute pharmaceuticals) also expanded rapidly during the civil war and post-war periods, with NGOs accounting for 80 percent of these facilities across the country by the late 1990s (Ammar 2003). By 2006, NGOs, sectarian parties, religious charities, community groups, and family-based institutions operated roughly 800 health clinics, of which about 450 were fully functional and the remainder operated more sporadically and lacked trained medical personnel or adequate facilities.25 Figure 2.5 depicts the distribution of health clinics and dispensaries by affiliation, classified according to partisan, religious, and other types of affiliations. The figure shows the importance of sectarian parties and religious charities—especially Christian charities—in the provision of primary care. Although Christian political parties run relatively few institutions of their own, they compensate by facilitating access to services

90 80 70 Number

60 50 40 30 20 10

Su par nn ty ip pa rt ar y ty N or on C c hr -a h ist ar ffi ity ia lia n t e re d p Sh ligi ou arty ii s r Su elig cha r nn io us ity ir ch el Ar ig ar io m us ity en ia ch n ar or N ity g on a ni -a za Pu ffil tio ia bl n t ed ic /G N Za o G O im ver nm /“ fe e nt ud a al ”l l ea de r

ii Sh

D

ru

ze

C

hr

ist

ia

n

pa

rt y

0

Affiliation Figure 2.5 Clinics and dispensaries by affi liation (2008 estimates). Sources: Ministry of Public Health (2006); YMCA (2006); author interviews.

54

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in clinics run by in-group charities, which run about eighty clinics and dispensaries, as well as to private medical practices headed by sympathetic doctors. At the time of data collection in 2006 to 2008, Shiʿa and Sunni parties operated about thirty-six and thirty-five clinics, respectively, while co-religionist charities also operate many clinics and dispensaries. According to the National Health Accounts Survey conducted in 1998 by the Ministry of Public Health in conjunction with the World Health Organization and World Bank, facilities run by sectarian parties and religious charities constituted a relatively small percentage of total medical visits (about 12 percent) and an even smaller percentage of total health expenditures (about 2 percent), which reflects the low cost of the services they provide. But these organizations play a crucial role in primary health care. The study found that NGO-run centers accommodate up to 20 percent of total primary-care visits (Ammar et al. 2000). The figure has undoubtedly increased as the number of centers has grown, political organizations have expanded and upgraded their health services, and economic decline has compelled a broader share of the population to seek lower-cost medical care at NGO facilities. Whereas a routine visit to a private physician costs between 30,000 and 50,000LL (about US$20–33 in 2013), a consultation at clinic run by an NGO costs about 5,000LL (about US$3.30). The importance of political parties in primary care, however, surpasses these estimates of their weight in the system. First, party representatives use their connections to obtain subsidized care for supporters in facilities outside their own networks. Second, political parties and politicians facilitate access to health care for the nonwealthy elements of Lebanese society. NGO-run health clinics and dispensaries, including those run by sectarian parties, are critical for middle- and lower-income families in urban areas and are often the only facilities available in rural areas (Kronfol 2004, 16; Tabbarah 2000b).26 Although nonstate organizations predominate in the provision of health care, the public sector is the major source of financing for the health system. In 2006, the state accounted for almost 47 percent of total health-care expenditures, whereas out-of-pocket expenditures amounted to about 39 percent of healthcare spending. Employers and donors supplied about 10 and 2 percent, respectively, of spending on health care. Public spending on health care rose steadily since the civil war, although it dropped somewhat in recent years (Ammar 2009). A decade earlier, in 1996, government spending was only about 28 percent of total health-care spending, whereas out-of-pocket expenditures accounted for about 55 percent of total health-care expenditures (Ammar 2003; Kronfol 2004; Mehio-Sibai and Sen 2006; World Health Organization [WHO] 2013). The public hospitalization program, which is administered by the Ministry of Public Health, was largely responsible for the exponential growth of public health spending (Ammar 2003; Tabbarah 2000; Ammar et al. 2000). Established in 1961, the program covers 85 percent of hospitalization fees,27 as well as

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60 percent of high-tech ambulatory services such as magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) and computed tomography (CT) scans and 100 percent of cancer drugs. Additional drugs are covered on a discretionary basis. In 1992, the ministry extended its program to cover all expenses for cancer treatment, renal dialysis, open-heart surgery, and organ transplantation (Kronfol 2004, 4, 8). Representatives from all political parties and religious charities that run health programs—and particularly those with hospitals—emphasize that state coverage is an important source of income, even if reimbursements are increasingly delayed. The amount of state support for private health-care institutions ranges widely. For example, the Shi ʿi Imam Musa al-Sadr Foundation receives only about 10 percent of its annual funding from government sources, whereas the Druze Ain Wazein Hospital in the Chouf receives about 97 percent of its revenues from the government.28 For other hospitals, such as the American University Hospital, the Greek Orthodox St. George Hospital, and the Catholic Hotel Dieu Hospital, revenue bases are more diverse, including a mix of insurance and private-sector funds. In addition, some parties run clinics that have contracts with either the Ministry of Public Health or the Ministry of Social Affairs. Under the terms of such contracts, health centers receive a budget from the ministry and, in some cases, access to subsidized medications. Government capacity to cover hospitalization costs, however, has declined. Because of outstanding debts, some private hospitals routinely refuse patients without sufficient personal funds or private insurance to cover hospitalization costs (Balaa 2005; Chatilla 2007).29 The NSSF is a major source of health-care financing and the most important public insurer in Lebanon. Over time, the program has expanded its coverage to contracted staff in the public sector and people in a wide range of occupational categories, some of whom are not obliged to pay co-payments.30 Official estimates from the NSSF hold that 26.1 percent of the population benefits from the NSSF health coverage, although the 1998 National Health Accounts Survey indicated a lower coverage rate of 17.8 percent (Kasparian and Ammar 2001; Tabbarah 2000). In practice, a far smaller percentage of the population probably benefits from the NSSF health coverage because the agency is almost bankrupt and providers increasingly reject patients insured by the NSSF (Chatilla 2007). Other government agencies, including the Cooperative of Employees, Security Services, and the Ministry of Social Affairs, are also important in fi nancing the health-care system (Ammar et al. 2000; Kronfol 2004, 12). These funds are more generous than the NSSF in that they do not require contributions from employees and cover all ambulatory and hospital services (Tabbarah 2000).31 Table 2.1 summarizes the percentages of the population covered and benefits provided by the diverse public and private insurance schemes. Data on health insurance coverage of the population are contested, but all estimates indicate that more than 50 percent of the population is uninsured

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Table 2.1 Coverage and benefits of public and private insurance schemes Financing agency

Percentage of population covered

Benefits

Ministry of Public Health (MPH) program

42.7

85% hospitalization; immunization at MPH clinic; partial coverage for open-heart surgery, kidney transplants, and dialysis

National Social Security Fund (NSSF)

26.1 or 14.6a

90% hospitalization; up to 20,000LL for physician visits; up to 30,000LL for specialist visits, ambulatory care, pharmaceuticals; 90% open-heart surgery and kidney transplants, dialysis

Civil Servants Cooperative (CSC)

4.4

90% hospitalization, 75% (up to 12,000LL) for physician and specialist visits, 90% ambulatory care, 75% dental and ophthalmology, 90% preadmission costs for treatment abroad, partial coverage for open-heart surgery and kidney transplants, 100% dialysis, and education costs and other family benefits

Army

8.8

90% hospitalization; up to 20,000LL for physician visits; up to 30,000LL for specialist visits; 100% ambulatory care; 100% dental and ophthalmology; US$10,000 pre-admission costs for treatment abroad; 100% open-heart surgery, kidney transplants, and dialysis

Internal Security Forces (ISF)

1.9

General Security (GS) and State Security (SS)

0.4

Private insurance

8.0 (complete coverage) 4.6 (gap coverage)

Variable

Mutual funds

1.6

Variable

Source: Adapted from Ammar (2003, 25–26). a The National Social Security Fund (NSSF) reported that 26.1 percent of the population received health coverage through the fund, but a 1998 Ministry of Public Health survey found that only 14.6 percent of the population received benefits (Ammar 2003, 25).

(Ammar 2003). Nonetheless, through a patchwork of different funds, providers, and social support systems, the bulk of the population has access to basic health services, albeit with wide variation in the extent and quality of services. NGOs are the main reason for this broad access to medical care, especially for primary health services. But the cost burdens are not equitable; when measured by out-of-pocket payments, health-care-cost inequities are high (Kasparian and Ammar 2001; Salti, Chaaban, and Raad 2010).

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As a result of post-independence patterns of development, the financing and delivery of health care are highly fragmented in Lebanon. Private providers—sectarian organizations, religious charities, NGOs, and forprofit institutions—account for about 90 percent of the delivery of services and about 60 percent of health-care spending, whereas the state predominates in health-care financing. The system is therefore characterized by limited state regulation and a wide scope for private actors to supply and take credit for health care. As this historical overview shows, the welfare regime in Lebanon is poorly coordinated, creating a situation in which private actors—including sectarian parties—play a critical role in the direct provision of services and broker access to citizen entitlements. As in-depth analyses of the educational and health sectors demonstrate, the state has limited regulatory capacity, yet it plays a large role in financing both public and private services. Sectarian parties and other nonstate actors with political and fi nancial interests in the status quo capitalize on and help to perpetuate the underdevelopment of public welfare functions. In distinct historical periods—notably from independence to the eruption of the civil war, the civil war era, and the post-war period from 1990 to the present—state welfare capacities have fluctuated. The role of nonstate providers, however, has increased steadily, with a marked rise during the civil war period, when some militias launched public welfare programs in the territories they controlled and NGO service provision rose. In the post-war period, when militias converted themselves into parties and other parties emerged, nonstate actors in the welfare regime further expanded and consolidated their positions. The three historical eras identified in this chapter are also associated with the varied political strategies by sectarian parties. The next chapter analyzes these strategies in more detail, situating them in the institutional context of Lebanese politics. Subsequent chapters then show how political strategies and in-group competition have shaped patterns of the provision of social service by sectarian organizations.

3 Political Mobilization Strategies and In-Group Competition among Sectarian Parties

P

olitical life in Lebanon is structured along sectarian lines, ensuring the salience of religious identity in both formal and informal politics (Lieberman and Singh 2009). Eligibility to serve in government posts depends on sectarian quotas, and public resources are formally and informally distributed both explicitly and implicitly across sects. A bloody fifteen-year civil war was waged, in part, in response to the rigidity of this system (El-Khazen 2000; Khalaf 1987; Picard 2002; Salibi 1976; Traboulsi 2007), and the peace agreement that officially ended the war, the Taʾif Agreement, modified but did not eliminate institutionalized sectarianism (Hudson 1999; Salam 2003). It is no wonder, then, that the major vehicles for political representation in Lebanon are parties and movements associated with particular religious communities. Yet the shared characterization of dominant parties in Lebanon as sectarian should not suggest that they are alike. Although all maneuver within the same institutional context and aspire to hold and expand their shares of national power, sectarian parties in Lebanon have adopted distinct political strategies and face different political dynamics within their own communities. As I argue in subsequent chapters, these points of variation help to explain the distinct patterns of distribution of social benefits among the major sectarian parties. The chapter is divided into two main sections. The first part describes the larger political context in which sectarian parties operate in Lebanon, focusing on the nature of power-sharing institutions, the electoral system, and the methods used by parties to monitor and verify citizens’ partisan allegiances. The second part of the chapter traces variation in party political strategies and intrasect competition, the main causal variables. For each party examined in the book—the predominantly the Sunni Future Movement; the Shi ʿa Hezbollah and Amal Movement; and the Christian Kataeb, Lebanese Forces, and

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Free Patriotic Movement—the analysis traces its shifting political strategies and the nature of intrasect competition that it faced at distinct historical moments. The analysis of each party is situated within the same periods of postindependence Lebanese politics applied in chapter 2: the pre–civil war period (1943–1975), the civil war period (1975–1990), and the post-war period (1990– present). These distinct historical periods provide the backdrop to the adoption of different political strategies. The civil war period—and, especially, the 1980s—was the high point of militia politics, during which some sectarian organizations bypassed formal state institutions and instead constructed their own military units and engaged in other activities normally reserved for government authorities, such as tax collection. The post-war era and the renewal of elections, which had been suspended since the mid-1970s, facilitated a shift toward political strategies premised on participation in formal state institutions. In particular, the reinstatement of elections created the possibility for electoral participation. Nonetheless, as the core arguments of the book imply, the macropolitical environment is not determinative: the rehabilitation of the state and electoral institutions did not guarantee that all parties chose to pursue national power through formal state institutions. To the contrary, the different sectarian parties (and the same parties in different time periods) have pursued state-centric and extra-state political strategies to varying degrees. POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS IN LEBANON The Lebanese political system is based on a power-sharing arrangement that institutionalizes the category of sect as the main axis of political representation. This macropolitical environment conditions, but does not determine, the types of strategies that parties adopt and creates incentives for parties to seek monopolistic control over representation of their respective communities. This section provides a brief overview of the Lebanese power-sharing system, electoral rules, and methods employed by the parties to monitor citizen behavior, particularly at the ballot box.

Power Sharing in Lebanon Based on a system of consociational power sharing (Andeweg 2000; Lijphart 1977), the political system established at independence in 1943 institutionalized preexisting patterns of political sectarianism in Lebanon (Makdisi 2000). To this day, top government positions are allocated by sect, and the electoral system is based on formulas derived from the sectarian identities of registered voters. Lebanon boasts eighteen officially recognized ethno-sectarian communities. The Maronites and Greek Orthodox are the largest Christian

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communities in Lebanon, but smaller populations of Greek Catholics, Protestants, Evangelicals, Armenian Orthodox, and Armenian Catholics, among other groups, are also represented. The main Muslim communities are the Shi ʿa, Sunni, Druze, and Alawites (Beydoun 2003). In a country where political power is allocated ex ante on the basis of sectarian identity, religious demography is highly sensitive. As a result, the last official census was conducted in 1932, and therefore, precise figures on the religious distribution of the population are unavailable. Estimates of the proportions of the main religious groups range from 39 to 43 percent Christian of various sects, 25 to 35 percent Shiʿi Muslim, about 25 to 28 percent Sunni Muslim, and 5 percent Druze. Birth rates in these communities vary considerably, with the Shiʿa growing at the fastest rate (U.S. Department of State 2008). Sectarian identity is not only enshrined in the political system but also constitutes the basis for personal status in Lebanese society. The official, stateissued identification card lists the religious identity of the bearer. Although a 2009 circular issued by the Ministry of Interior granted citizens the right to request that their religious identity not be included on the card, personal status laws are still based on religion. For social institutions such as marriage, inheritance, and child custody, citizens are subject to the laws and courts affiliated with their official religious community, regardless of whether they practice or subscribe to the religion in question (Human Rights Watch 2009). For these reasons and due to social conventions, religious identity is generally perceived as descent-based (Chandra 2006) rather than elective or symbolic (Waters 1990) in political life and even in many social interactions. The National Pact (Al-Mithaq al-Watani), an unwritten agreement between leaders of the dominant Maronite Christian and Sunni Muslim communities, forms the basis for the post-independence Lebanese political system. Established at the end of the French Mandate in 1943, the pact specified the distribution of political posts according to sectarian identity and favored Christians and, especially, Maronites in political representation. The post of president was reserved for a Maronite Christian, the position of prime minister was granted to a Sunni Muslim, and, after much delay, the speaker of the parliament, initially a relatively weak post, was allocated to a Shi ʿi Muslim.1 Other government positions, including civil service and ministry staffing positions, were divided according to a fi xed formula of six to five in favor of Christians, based on the 1932 census (Hudson 1968; Khalaf 1987, 115–16). The power-sharing deal was maintained with relative stability for over two decades, despite a brief outbreak of civil violence in 1958 (Meo 1965). In 1975, when Lebanon’s fifteen-year civil war erupted.2 The Lebanese consociational system partially unraveled, and many state functions broke down. For some observers, the rigid system of political representation embodied in the National Pact was a root cause of the civil war (Hudson 1968, 1999).3 In particular, the regime was not equipped to adapt to shifting demographic realities such as

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the declining relative weight of Christians and the growth of the Shi ʿa community in the population. The Taʾif Agreement, negotiated in Saudi Arabia in 1989, officially ended the Lebanese civil war. Among its stipulations, the accord modified the sectarian distribution of power to reflect the demographic shift toward a Muslim majority in Lebanon by introducing greater powers to the offices of the prime minister and speaker of the parliament, held by a Sunni and a Shi ʿi, respectively, and by increasing the number of Muslim seats in parliament and other government offices to parity between Christian and Muslim representatives and civil servants. Although the pact also called for the gradual elimination of sectarianism as the basis for the political system, in practice it reinforced political sectarianism by continuing the consociational tradition of power sharing, albeit in a revised form (Hudson 1999; Salam 2003).

The Lebanese Electoral System Along with formal and informal arrangements for the distribution of political offices, the electoral regime also entrenches sectarianism in domestic politics. The basic rules of the electoral system have remained relatively stable since Lebanon gained independence, despite changes in district boundaries and seat numbers in various electoral laws. Elections were suspended during the civil war, but since the war, national elections have been held in 1992, 1996, 2000, 2005, and, most recently, 2009. Drawing on integrative powersharing arrangements (Horowitz 2000; Sisk 2003), which aim to promote multiethnic coalitions and to soften ethnoreligious cleavages, Lebanon has a party bloc system based on joint electorates with reserved seats. In this multimember system, seats in each district are allocated according to preestablished quotas for candidates from different sects, which are derived from the religious identities of registered voters at the district level. Thus, eligibility to run for office is based on confessional affiliation, and candidates may contest only those seats reserved for their own sect. The system is based on winnertakes-all rules; successful candidates receive the plurality or majority of votes for seats allocated to their particular sects. As a result, the main axes of competition occur within rather than across sects. At the same time, to promote multiethnic coalitions, all voters, regardless of sect, choose candidates from all the sects and for as many candidates as there are seats available in their districts, the key principle of bloc voting electoral systems (International Foundation for Electoral Systems [IFES] 2009).4 Politicians and political groups pay close attention to district boundaries, which shape the religious distribution of the voter populations, who tend to favor co-religionist parties and candidates and their coalition partners. Because the cultural demography of voter populations varies from district to district, parties may behave differently with voters from the same sects in

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different electoral districts and may adapt their forms of outreach to the electorate when district boundaries are modified. The 2000 and 2005 national elections included fourteen electoral district boundaries, which in most cases combined several qazas (administrative districts).5 The 2008 electoral law, which was applied to the 2009 national elections, reverted to the formula used in the 1960 electoral law, which generally took the qaza as the electoral district.6 As a result of the 2008 law, the number of electoral districts almost doubled and the average district size decreased. This reform partially appeased minorities and, especially, Christian politicians, who complained that their co-religionist vote share was diluted in larger districts, where Muslim leaders and organizations predominated, and that Muslim voters had undue influence in choosing the representatives of the Christian communities (El-Khazen 2000; 2003b, 67–68). The nature of the ballot and the rules regarding voter registration introduce additional complexities into the system. In the absence of an official ballot, the system permits voters to submit their choices on any unmarked piece of paper. Voters may write their choices on a blank paper provided at the polling station or, most commonly, they may submit prepared ballots with the names of selected candidates. Candidates and parties capitalize on the system by distributing preprinted ballots to voters in advance of elections or outside polling stations (IFES 2009). Voters can cross off (tashteeb) candidates from the preprinted ballots and even replace names with alternative names, but in practice, most choose the full slate and political and religious leaders urge their supporters and co-religionists not to practice tashteeb. The politics of cultural demography in Lebanon ensures that voter registration is a sensitive issue. In particular, it is extremely difficult to change one’s district of voter registration, lest confessional “imbalances” arise that are perceived to disadvantage or disproportionately favor religious communities and their associated political parties and politicians. In addition, the district of registration, which is derived from the father’s (or husband’s) district of origin, does not always correspond to the voter’s place of residence, whereas registration procedures entail substantial discretionary power to mukhtars (neighborhood and village-level officials) and local religious authorities (European Union 2005).

Monitoring the Political Behavior of Citizens Clientelist relationships are contingent on both the delivery of favors to clients and the ability of the patron to monitor the actions of clients to ensure their compliance with the terms of the exchange (Stokes 2007). In Lebanon, regardless of whether citizens live or vote in the district where they seek services or political intermediation, it is easy for parties to verify individual and

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family political behavior and, therefore, to reward voters for their electoral support and other forms of participation. Vote-buying is dependent on the penetration of local communities by party cadres, who monitor voter behavior even when actual ballot choices are not visible. In the case of Lebanon, electoral regulations and procedures greatly facilitate the process of verifying voter preferences. Parties distribute preprinted ballots with the names of all the candidates on their lists in a given district and obtain commitments from voters—and, more often, from the heads of families—to submit these ballots at their local polling stations without crossing off the names of any candidates on the list. In particular, parties target the heads of large families, whose members can number in the thousands. In competitive districts, some family representatives bargain with different parties to obtain the most extensive rewards in exchange for votes. Parties have developed elaborate, virtually foolproof and, under the current electoral law, perfectly legal procedures for verifying that voters actually fulfill their verbal commitments. After obtaining permission from the Ministry of Interior, parties place representatives at each ballot box in polling stations, which contain separate boxes for men and women and are organized alphabetically by family name. As voters arrive, party workers stand next to the boxes and check off whether a person has voted on their own lists. Throughout the day, party workers inside polling stations receive calls on their mobile phones from representatives based in the neighborhood or village to see who has and has not voted. If a family has not yet voted by a certain time, a party worker is dispatched to ensure that its members still intend to vote.7 When the polls close, party representatives are permitted to remain in the precincts to observe the ballot-counting process. In some stations, official election workers use an overhead projector to show the markings on each ballot to all observers. Parties profit from the opportunity to view the actual ballots by distributing distinct ballots to the heads of different families and recording which families received which ballots,8 enabling party workers in the precinct to count up the numbers of ballots received from each family and to ensure that voters did not cross off candidates on the party list. The multiplicity of ballot boxes organized alphabetically by family name also facilitates the monitoring process.9 Beyond polling stations, Lebanese political parties have multiple means of monitoring both electoral and nonelectoral forms of political participation. Linkages to community associations enable party officials to gather information on the political preferences and activities of local residents and to distribute material assistance to supporters on the grassroots level. Parties establish close ties with local elected officials such as mukhtars and with wellknown individuals in the community because they are key sources of information on the behavior of local residents. Mafatih intikhabiyya (literally

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“electoral keys,” prominent individuals who mobilize voters during elections in rural communities and urban neighborhoods) are particularly important for party machines. In addition, parties set up and capitalize on their own community-level networks. Party cadres sometimes go from house to house in the urban and rural areas where they are based to “register” families for the ostensible purpose of ascertaining socioeconomic need and to encourage neighbors and extended family members to vote during elections and to attend meetings and demonstrations. Party representatives and their allies come from the communities in their jurisdictions and therefore are well placed to observe and influence local residents, whose political preferences and actions are often well known through information transmitted via community-based social networks and visual displays of partisanship in the form of posters, stickers, the color of clothing and personal effects, and other symbolic forms on homes, cars, and accessories.10 This brief overview of Lebanese power-sharing institutions underscores the importance of religious identity in the system. The allocation of government posts by sect combined with the electoral system constitute and perpetuate sectarianism as the foundation of politics and ensure that religious identity is a critical axis for gaining access to state resources. As a result, consociational power-sharing systems may forge post-confl ict consensus among former combatants but are renowned for inhibiting the work of governance (Roeder and Rothchild 2005), and Lebanon is no exception (Zahar 2005).11 The purposive fragmentation of the system, a foundation of consociationalism, has ensured that no single ethnoreligious community formally controls the state. By design, then, the Lebanese state is weak and the business of governance, including providing for the basic needs of the population, is hampered by the complicated balancing acts among diverse communities and political leaders. In the next part of the chapter, I trace the political strategies of the major Muslim and Christian sectarian parties and patterns of intrasect competition in Lebanon across different historical periods. POLITICAL ORIGINS, IN-GROUP COMPETITION, AND THE EVOLUTION OF PARTY STRATEGIES The sectarian parties of the Sunni, Shi ʿi, and Christian communities in Lebanon are well matched for comparison. All face the same institutional rules, as described in the previous section; are perceived to represent particular sectarian communities, even as they emphasize their national credentials; and operate in a post-war political context characterized by efforts to rehabilitate state institutions and reinstate elections. Furthermore, substantial resource endowments in some parties facilitate a comparison of distributional behavior that has relatively low resource constraints. In particular, the Future

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65

Movement and Hezbollah boasted large budgets, thanks to generous external patrons and their own investment portfolios.12 These commonalities facilitate a focused comparison of the ways in which variation in intrasect competition and political strategies have shaped the distributional behavior of the major Lebanese sectarian parties. The Christian, Sunni, and Shi ʿi communities are characterized by distinct dynamics of intrasect contestation, which shaped party prospects of attainting political hegemony within their respective sects. For historical reasons, competition has been most intense among the major Christian parties—the Kataeb, Lebanese Forces, and Free Patriotic Movement—and least intense within the Sunni community, which the Future Movement largely came to dominate by 2000. Despite a history of deep rivalry, the Amal Movement and Hezbollah forged a practical alliance that largely muted competition between the two parties on the national political stage by the late 1990s. The major Christian and Muslim parties also adopted distinct political strategies over time. For each party, my analysis traces continuity and change across the wartime period, when state structures were greatly impaired and elections were suspended, and the post-war period, when competition within the formal political arena became possible. Significantly, as persistent variation in the political behavior of the major sectarian parties attests, the mere reinstatement of elections did not determine their political strategies. Rather, considered choices about whether to pursue national power through control over state institutions or through extra-state channels shaped their distinct political strategies. A historical grounding of the origins and strategic choices of these parties can counter potential concerns about endogeneity in the causal story, or more specifically the possibility that the same factors—or additional, unobserved factors—explain both the choices of political strategies and welfare distribution patterns.

The Future Movement Rafiq Al-Hariri’s political machine began to develop in the early 1980s in wartime Lebanon, although the Future Movement, the party that grew out of his movement, was not formally established until 2007, almost two years after his assassination in 2005. A brief overview of the origins and evolution of the movement during and after the civil war demonstrates that al-Hariri gradually came to dominate political representation of the Sunni community and, from the beginning, aimed to control state institutions and resources through electoral contestation and other tactics of a state-centric political strategy. Al-Hariri was born into a family of modest means from the southern Lebanese city of Sidon.13 As a young man, he worked as a contractor in Saudi Arabia, was a preferred contractor of the Saudi royal family, and became a multibillionaire by the early 1980s. Initially, al-Hariri’s civic involvement in

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Lebanon centered on humanitarian endeavors. In 1979, he established the Sidon-based Islamic Institute for Culture and Higher Education, which changed its name to the Hariri Foundation in 1984 when its headquarters were moved to Beirut. The Hariri Foundation became the charitable wing of the Future Movement. By 1982, al-Hariri became more overtly involved in politics through his various attempts to mediate the ongoing confl ict. Often, his diplomatic efforts were carried out on behalf of Saudi Arabia, which recognized his utility on the Lebanese political stage. In 1983, King Fahd named al-Hariri his official envoy in Lebanon. In this capacity, he shuttled frequently between Beirut and Riyadh to broker agreements between warring factions. Al-Hariri relied heavily on material incentives, offering money and other resources to sweeten proposed deals and buy compliance. He also used his wealth and influence to support key public and private institutions in Lebanon that were threatened with fi nancial collapse or disintegration. For example, he allegedly channeled monthly payments to the Lebanese army to prevent mass desertions due to unpaid salaries and to the American University of Beirut and the Lebanese American University, which suffered materially and academically as a result of the protracted destruction wrought by the war (Blanford 2006, 25–26, 30–33; Iskandar 2006, 59–60). Throughout the 1980s, al-Hariri’s humanitarian and political initiatives to broker peace were increasingly intertwined. At the same time, his own political ambitions developed. To further his goals and to promote his peacebrokering activities in Lebanon, al-Hariri sought to develop good ties with other key actors in the Lebanese political scene and to enlarge his popular appeal (Baumann 2011, ch. 2; 23–25; Blanford 2006, 33). By the mid-1980s, al-Hariri seemed determined to hold the premiership of Lebanon. It was widely acknowledged that he was trying to position himself for the position of prime minister in the government of Réné Mouawad, who was elected president in November 1989 and assassinated seventeen days after taking office. According to Blanford (2006, 37), Mouawad and key decision makers in Damascus, which held great sway over Lebanese politics, determined that it would be better for al-Hariri to be named to the post after legislative elections were reinstated. The president therefore appointed Elias Hrawi as prime minister and recruited Hariri to head the Council for Development and Reconstruction (CDR), which subsequently became a major source of patronage in the al-Hariri political machine (Adwan 2005; Blanford 2006; Leenders 2004). Both the immense resources at his disposal and the dynamics of political representation in the Sunni community facilitated al-Hariri’s subsequent political domination of his sect in the post-war period. First, al-Hariri bought off potential rivals during and after the civil war. An equal opportunity coopter, he sought to gain support from key players and institutions from all sects.

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Within the Sunni community, he focused in particular on the strategically important Sunni philanthropic association, the Maqasid, which had come to hold tremendous political sway in prewar Lebanon and essentially determined which prominent member of the community would hold the premiership.14 The economic foundations of the Maqasid were based on the organization’s ownership of prime real estate in the Lebanese capital, easy access to credit, and the fortunes of its major benefactors, prominent Sunni families from Beirut. During the tenure of President Shihab (1958–1964), the influence of these families was somewhat diminished as the administration sought to undercut the power of the zuʾama, which organized in opposition to some of his major state-building initiatives. As a result, the Salam family, which had controlled the Maqasid for decades, obtained fi nancial support for the organization from Saudi Arabia. During the war, the Maqasid’s coffers were further diminished as the destruction of buildings and infrastructure undercut the value of its real estate investments. The acquisition of property in Beirut by Solidère, the real estate development firm controlled by alHariri, also contributed to the decline of the economic profi les of the Maqasid and major Sunni families. To compensate former property owners for their real estate holdings in downtown Beirut, Solidère issued shares at low values, causing many to accuse Hariri and the company of cheating them out of the fair shares of the profits. Since 1996, when Saudi Arabia cut off aid to the Maqasid and transferred its support to al-Hariri, the old Sunni philanthropic organization has faced dire economic straits and has been forced to scale back its charitable activities (Baumann 2011, ch. 4; 38–42).15 The Maqasid and traditional Sunni elites from Beirut therefore emerged from the war in a weak position. As a result, it was relatively easy for al-Hariri to gain influence over the organization and to recruit some of its key board members to his own political and philanthropic initiatives during the 1990s. Second, fragmented power structures within the Sunni community in the Lebanese confessional system facilitated al-Hariri’s rise to power. As previously noted, traditional Sunni elites and the institutions they controlled had already experienced a serious erosion of power by the time that al-Hariri became involved in humanitarian and political mediation efforts in Lebanon. Al-Hariri’s efforts to marginalize and buy off these very families and organizations further contributed to the fragmentation of political power within the Sunni community. Beyond the traditional elites, other Sunni groups, too, were vulnerable to fragmentation and were weakened by the end of the civil war. The Mourabitun Sunni militia ultimately disbanded, and various Palestinian organizations became factionalized and, in any event, were not as vested in local politics and were largely expelled to Tunis in 1982 (Fisk 2002, 604). The Sunni community therefore lacked clear and strong leadership as Hariri’s political ambitions developed, and his actions both precipitated and profited from this state of affairs. Thus, although al-Hariri’s political movement

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actively targeted its messages to a national audience and was always selfdescribed as “non-sectarian,”16 the movement came to control representation of the Sunni sect first by taking control of existing Sunni political and social institutions and, later, by electorally defeating potential in-group rivals.17 Al-Hariri’s growing prominence on the Lebanese political stage and his gradual takeover as de facto leader of the Sunni community made him well placed to win elections in the post-war period. The 1992 elections, the fi rst to be held since April 1972, were characterized by little real competition. De facto Syrian control over the electoral process in many districts, as well as a boycott by the major Christian parties and candidates in protest of the electoral law, which maintained large districts that tended to dilute the influence of Christian voters, undercut the competitiveness of the elections. As a result, al-Hariri, like many candidates, won a seat in the new parliament with minimal campaigning and was appointed prime minister by President Elias Hrawi (El-Khazen 1994; Hudson 1997; Inter-Parliamentary Union [IPU] 1992).18 In the 1996 elections, al-Hariri was more aggressive in his efforts to gain seats in parliament than in the prior election, in part because he faced competition from established Sunni politicians such as Tammam Salam and Salim al-Hoss, who refused to participate in a joint list that the prime minister would control. Al-Hariri delayed the announcement of his candidacy until a few weeks before the elections were held. His last-minute announcement undercut the ability of Salam and al-Hoss to assemble strong lists because potential candidates in Beirut were reluctant to commit to their coalitions until al-Hariri made his decision. In the end, al-Hariri’s candidates won a resounding victory, claiming all seventeen seats that the prime minister’s alliance contested (Lebanese Center for Policy Studies 1996). Al-Hariri’s immersion in electoral politics intensified from the late 1990s onward. From 1998 to 2000, al-Hariri was out of power when the new president, Emile Lahoud, appointed Salim al-Hoss as prime minister after the parliament failed to elect a new premier.19 During this period, al-Hariri concentrated on building his electoral machine far more than in the past to ensure a victory in the upcoming elections (Baumann 2011, ch. 1; 24). Al-Hariri’s efforts paid off in the 2000 elections, which were characterized by widespread irregularities and corruption, including large-scale vote-buying efforts. AlHariri alone allegedly spent US$50 million on his campaign and those of his allies. Al-Hariri’s list, the Dignity List, won all eighteen seats in Beirut for which he fielded candidates, whereas the sitting prime minister, Salim alHoss, lost his seat in a Beirut constituency. Thanks to preelectoral alliances with Amal and Hezbollah, the supporters of those parties also backed his candidates elsewhere in Lebanon, enabling his coalition to obtain 92 of the 128 seats in parliament. With Syrian approval and the support of the new members of parliament, President Lahoud asked al-Hariri to form a new government (IPU 2000).

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After al-Hariri was assassinated on February 14, 2005, his son, Saad alHariri, took over the leadership of his political organization and, following the 2005 elections, was named prime minister. In 2007, the Future Movement was officially established and was confirmed at a convention held in Beirut two years later. With the expulsion of Syrian troops from Lebanon, the 2005 elections were considered the most free in the post-war period, although preelectoral bargains limited the extent of meaningful competition (Salloukh 2006). Al-Hariri’s movement won thirty-six seats while the March 14th Alliance, which was headed by al-Hariri and included politicians and parties opposed to Syrian involvement in Lebanese affairs, gained seventy-two seats, the majority bloc. The Hezbollah-Amal alliance won thirty-three seats and, after an alliance was established with the Christian FPM, it controlled a total of fifty-four seats in parliament (Lebanonwire 2005b).20 Especially after the July 2006 war with Israel, tensions emerged between the March 14th and March 8th alliances, which translated into intense competition in the electoral arena and allegations of widespread vote-buying by all sides (Corstange 2012; Lebanese Transparency Association 2010; Worth 2009). When all the votes were tallied in the 2009 elections, Future Movement candidates won twenty-six seats out of the seventy-one seats won by the March 14th Alliance, giving it the majority bloc in parliament and facilitating the reappointment of Saad al-Hariri as prime minister. In January 2011, the government fell after eleven ministers from the March 8th Alliance withdrew from the government over a dispute regarding the Special Tribunal for Lebanon (STL), which had been created to investigate the assassination of Rafiq al-Hariri.21 Najib Mikati was appointed as the new prime minister and, after months of negotiations, formed a new cabinet in June 2011. Until tensions escalated between the two opposing coalitions, the Future Movement concentrated almost exclusively on electoral contestation and, more broadly, on participation in state institutions as a strategy for gaining national power. After al-Hariri’s assassination, his political movement engaged in additional forms of political mobilization, particularly mass demonstrations as part of the Cedar Revolution. More recently, the party reportedly dabbled in more violent forms of political participation. In May 2008, street battles erupted in Beirut and parts of Mount Lebanon between Hezbollah and some of its allies, on one side, and members of the March 14th Alliance, notably the Future Movement and the Druze PSP, on the other. Thus, the Future Movement allegedly established its own security forces or protomilitia force, albeit a poorly trained and undisciplined force that fared poorly in its violent confl icts with the Hezbollah and other militia forces (Daragahi and Rafei 2008; Wikileaks 2008; Worth and Bakri 2008). These developments in the late 2000s indicate that the Future Movement had at least temporarily expanded its repertoire of political contestation tactics to include extra-state forms of mobilization.

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This overview of the origins and evolution of the Future Movement provides background on the nature of intrasect competition facing the organization and its political strategies across several decades. First, by the early 2000s, Hariri’s political machine had become the dominant Sunni political organization due to the weakness of its rivals and its own efforts to outmaneuver them. Second, the organization consistently and almost exclusively aimed to pursue national political power through formal state channels. Control over key government ministries and agencies and, particularly after the mid1990s, vigorous participation in electoral politics were the main strategies in the Future Movement repertoire. More recently, the Future Movement may have expanded its array of political strategies—at least temporarily—to include more violent tactics outside formal political channels, albeit on a comparatively smaller scale and with limited success. In subsequent chapters, I analyze the implications of the evolving political strategies of the Future Movement for its distributional behavior. We now turn to the other major Muslim and Christian sectarian parties in Lebanon.

Hezbollah From its inception, Hezbollah opted to pursue power in Lebanon through extra-state means and only gradually shifted its strategy to participate more centrally in formal state institutions. In this section, I detail the evolution of this organization from a militant actor pitching itself largely apart from the state—and often in opposition to the central government—into a key player integrated in high-level state offices. This historical account also shows how Hezbollah gradually became the dominant national organization within the Shi ʿi community, despite its history of competition with the Amal Movement, from which it emerged. Hezbollah began as a loose alliance of young Shi ʿa activists, including such future leaders as Sayyid Abbas al-Musawi, Raghib Harb, Sayyid Hassan Nasrallah, and Shaykh Subhi Tufayli. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, these individuals and others broke away from the Amal Movement to form a new group that later became institutionalized as Hezbollah (Norton 2007, 33–34; Qassem 2005, 66–68). The Israeli invasion is often cited as a major impetus for the creation of the organization, but Hezbollah did not emerge officially and adopt a more formal organizational structure until the publication of its Open Letter in 1985 (Qassem 2005, 62–63). The Open Letter specified the ideology of the group, its relations with Christians, its opposition to Zionism, its support for pan-Islamism and anti-imperialism, and its official stances on jihad and martyrdom.22 Based initially in Baalbek, a city in the Bekaa with a large Shi ʿa population, its founders fi rst established and trained a militia force with support from Iran and Syria. At this time, Hezbollah also established

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various charitable associations, largely modeled after Iranian bonyads (charitable trusts), in Baalbek (Abrahamian 2008).23 During the 1980s and beyond, Hezbollah social institutions spread to other regions of Lebanon, notably the South province and, especially, the southern suburbs of Beirut (see chapter 6). From the beginning, Hezbollah was first and foremost a resistance organization that aimed primarily at opposing the Israeli occupation of Lebanon (Qassem 2005, 79–80). The organizational hierarchy of the party reflects its central commitment to the jihad against Israel and all forms of oppression. As Naim Qassem, a founding member of Hezbollah, writes, party membership is reserved for those who “adopted the Party’s goals in their entirety, committed to Party organizational directives . . . and possessed general personal, religious belief, behavioural and jihad credentials which qualified them for entering the system . . .” (2005, 60). Furthermore, the party considers only a minority of supporters to be part of its inner core. In reference to the broader base of party supporters, Qassem notes, “All those who participate in rallies, activities and concerns of Hezbollah as well as those who support the Party’s ideology were considered as supporters of Hezbollah,” which he explicitly distinguishes from party members (2005, 61). Thus, Hezbollah established clear criteria for differentiating between its hard-core members and more marginal supporters and sympathizers. An important component of the self-justification of the organization has been its commitment not to use its weapons domestically but, rather, to concentrate its military activities on Israel.24 During the civil war, Hezbollah did not engage in sectarian warfare—that is, it did not engage in battles with organizations affiliated with other religious communities. The organization did, however, clash militarily with various Shi ʿa and secular groups operating in predominantly Shi ʿa areas during the war. In 1988 and 1989, Hezbollah waged a series of fierce battles with the Amal Movement in the southern suburbs of Beirut (Norton 2007, 43–44). As a result, Amal was largely ejected from the main municipalities of the southern suburbs, including Burj alBrajneh, Mreijeh, Ghobeiri, and Haret Hreik, and was forced to relocate to the neighboring peripheral areas, including Shiyah, Jnah, Horsh al-Qatil, and Cocodi (Harb 2010, 79). Throughout the 1980s, the organization also targeted leftist groups and militants, who were based in the South province as they launched their own military operations against Israel.25 Hezbollah initially faced formidable competition to become the dominant Lebanese Shi ʿi organization. As its clashes with Amal and its origins as a splinter group from this party indicate, Hezbollah had a long history of competition with Amal. A truce with Amal and subsequent tactical alliances reduced competition for national political representation of the Shi‘a, creating a relatively stable division of power within communal politics.26 In 1989, Iran and Syria brokered an agreement between the two parties to halt their violent

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clashes and divide control over territories with predominantly Shi ʿa populations. As a result of the accord, Hezbollah attained dominance over the southern suburbs of Beirut and maintained its control over the Bekaa, whereas the Amal Movement was permitted to retain its influence over South Lebanon and other parts of the country with the proviso that Hezbollah could maintain its military and political presence in the South province (Harb 2010, 79). From 1989 to 1992, Hezbollah initiated its transition from a predominantly militant movement to a political party participating in the formal institutions of parts of the state. After an internal debate about its political strategy (Qassem 2005, 80–81), the party chose to take part in national and municipal elections and built a reputation for running well-organized and disciplined political campaigns (Harb 2010). In the early 1990s, the organization denounced its stated goal of pursuing the establishment of an Islamic state in Lebanon and fielded candidates in all the post-war elections, including the parliamentary elections of 1992, 1996, 2000, 2005, and 2009, as well as in municipal elections held in 1998, 2004, and 2010. Since 1992, Hezbollah has steadily increased its representation in parliament, and in 2000 its national representation exceeded that of the Amal Movement for the first time.27 Competition between Amal and Hezbollah in the national electoral arena has been muted since 2000. A Syrian-brokered agreement compelled the two parties to field joint lists for parliamentary elections, effectively negotiating the distribution of seats ex ante between the two major Shi‘a parties. Although some hard-core activists were reportedly dismayed by these electoral bargains, expressed by crossing off candidates from the other party on electoral ballots (Hamzeh 2004, 117), many Shi ʿa citizens were relieved that the two parties were no longer in open confl ict.28 The strategic choice to contest elections marked an important juncture in the Hezbollah pursuit of national power in Lebanon. Participation in elections reflected the adoption of a more pragmatic political strategy and entailed ideological moderation.29 In this vein, in a statement issued in 1998, the Hezbollah leadership modified its previously stated goal of pursuing the establishment of an Islamic state, which it insisted could never come about by force (Alagha 2006, 156). Furthermore, as detailed in chapter 2, the particular rules of the Lebanese electoral system require parties to woo voters from other religious affiliations and from beyond their hard-core base. Thus, at least in the districts where it chose to contest elections, Hezbollah faced incentives to expand its popular appeal. Although the turn toward electoral politics indicated a major shift in its political strategy, Hezbollah did not dismantle its militia or abandon its commitment to armed resistance against Israel. Beyond militancy, the party had a long history of mobilizing its supporters at the grassroots level to initiate protests and strikes and to push for greater state provision of public goods. Even after Hezbollah joined the government, it continued to organize such

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actions and urged its followers to lobby the state for greater accountability (Harik 1994, 29). Thus, the decision to contest elections did not reflect a total renunciation of an extra-state strategy but, rather, the adoption of an additional dimension to its overall approach. Indeed, until 2005, Hezbollah was ambivalent about full-scale participation in national state institutions, especially at the executive level. The party declined to accept cabinet-level positions until the 2005 elections, despite the fact that its showing in the 2000 elections had previously qualified it to hold ministerial posts. By participating in the executive branch of government, the party could no longer depict itself as an opposition bloc within the parliament. The decision to join the cabinet in 2005 therefore marked a further shift in the Hezbollah strategy of political engagement, toward a state-centric strategy. In 2006, the Hezbollah leadership also chose to form alliances across sectarian and apparent ideological divides, an important step in expanding its national electoral appeal. An accord signed with Michel Aoun, the head of the FPM, established an alliance that endures to this day. The nature of power sharing, including the electoral system, encourages parties to forge crosssectarian alliances to sweep the ballot. Thus, the decision by Hezbollah to participate more fully in formal state institutions called for more engagement with other political blocs. In the post-war period, and especially after the assassination of former prime minister Rafiq al-Hariri, Hezbollah has expanded its repertoire of political strategies to include classic nonviolent forms of participation, notably sit-ins. In January 2007, Hezbollah, along with its allies in the March 8th Alliance, including Amal, the FPM, the Syrian Socialist Nationalist Party (SSNP), and other groups, withdrew their ministers from the cabinet and initiated a sit-in in downtown Beirut. The ostensible goal of the protest was to oppose the distribution of power within the government, although debates over the proper venue for a tribunal to investigate al-Hariri’s assassination, the right of Hezbollah members to bear weapons, and Lebanese-Syrian relations were the most important underlying causes of the standoff (ICG 2008b). The sit-in paralyzed the government and at least symbolically divided the capital for seventeen months. In May 2008, the standoff erupted in street clashes in parts of Beirut and Mount Lebanon. Later that month, the Qatari government brokered an agreement, the Doha Agreement, to end the political stalemate. This account shows that Hezbollah gradually became the dominant actor in Shi ʿi politics in Lebanon and that it has consistently prioritized an extrastate political strategy, although it has increasingly adopted a state-centric approach in recent years. The Hezbollah leadership made it clear that its struggle against Israel remained a central, if not the most important, objective of the party (Qassem 2005, 80), even as it participates in elections and aims to control the executive.

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The Amal Movement In contrast to Hezbollah, the Amal Movement made a calculated decision to favor a state-centric political strategy after the civil war. During and after the war, it faced intense competition from Hezbollah and was gradually relegated to second-class status as its rival expanded its support and influence within the Lebanese Shi ʿa community. Amal arose out of Shi ʿa political movements that emerged in the 1960s.30 For decades, major zuʾama families, such as the ʾUsairan, al-Khalil, al-Zain, al-Asʿad, and Hamad families had controlled the largely rural areas where the Shi ʿi population was concentrated. This wealthy elite dominated political representation of the Shi ʿa and generally neglected the interests of the majority of the community. In late 1959 or early 1960, the Imam Musa Al-Sadr, a Shi ʿi leader of Lebanese origin who was born in Qom, Iran, moved to Tyre in South Lebanon. Dedicated to the advancement of the community, he founded numerous social and cultural institutions to promote the development of the Shi ʿa. In 1967, the Lebanese government established al-Majlis al-Islami al-Shi ʿi al-Aʾla (Supreme Islamic Shi ʿi Council), which was designed to be a separate representative body for the Shi ʿa, whose interests had previously been represented by the official Sunni institution in Lebanon, Dar al-Fatwa. Al-Sadr was elected to be the first head of the Supreme Council in 1969 for a six-year term. Under his leadership, the Supreme Council issued many demands for the establishment of policies, funds, and agencies to promote the welfare and political standing of the Shi ʿi community in Lebanon. In response to pressure from al-Sadr and his allies, the government created the Council of the South, which was charged with promoting the development and reconstruction of the predominantly Shi ʿi South Lebanon.31 In 1974, in response to persistent neglect by the government, the growing influence of leftist groups among the Shi ʿa, and the apparent inability of the state to block the rise of armed militias throughout the country, al-Sadr launched the Harakat alMahrumin (Movement of the Dispossessed), a mass movement that aimed at mobilizing poor Shi ʿa to struggle to claim their rights and attain social advancement. Because of the limited state capacity to protect its citizenry from militia violence and Israeli attacks, al-Sadr increasingly pointed to the need for armed struggle in defense of the community. In 1975, a group of activists in AlSadr’s organization founded a military organization, Harakat Amal (Amal Movement).32 Al-Sadr remained the head of the organization, but he steadily lost popularity with the outbreak of the civil war in 1975 and disappeared mysteriously in Libya in 1978. In 1980, Nabih Berri, a member of the organization, became the head of the Amal Movement, positioning himself as the rightful heir to al-Sadr’s movement despite important ideological and

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strategic differences between the two men. To this day, the iconography of the party routinely depicts the two men alongside each other. By this time, Amal had built up a major militia with thousands of fighters and was fully involved in the civil war. The Amal militia was a key player in the resistance against the Israeli occupation, but, at the same time, it had developed an ambivalent and ultimately hostile relationship with Palestinian factions based in Lebanon. By 1982, Amal and various Palestinian groups, including Fatah, engaged in armed clashes and were in open confl ict. These tensions erupted in full force again between 1984 and 1986 during the War of the Camps, in which Amal besieged several Palestinian refugee camps in Beirut during armed battles with various Palestinian factions.33 As previously noted, Amal also fought against Hezbollah during the civil war. The Amal clashes with the Palestinian factions and with Hezbollah, among other Lebanese groups, as well as its resistance against Israeli attacks, demonstrate that the organization originated as an armed group and engaged in militia politics. Nevertheless, despite the strategic choice to engage in armed confl ict, the Amal Movement under the leadership of Nabih Berri did not shun participation in formal state institutions. Beginning in the 1980s, Berri has held successive positions in the Lebanese government. In 1984, Berri became a minister in a national unity government and orchestrated the establishment of the Ministry of the South (Norton 1987, 118). Between 1982 and 1992, he held various cabinet positions, including minister of justice, minister of water and electric resources, minister of the reconstruction of the South, minister of housing, and minister of state. An Amal Movement representative has headed the Council of the South since 1984 (Harb 2010, 69, 74). With the end of the civil war, the Amal Movement intensified its strategy of seeking national power through the control of state institutions. The transition to participation in the formal institutions of the state in the post-war period was relatively smooth for the party because its leadership had held government posts since the early 1980s and was responsible for the creation of ministries to promote the reconstruction of the South province. At the end of the war, the Amal militia officially disbanded, and its units were folded into the Lebanese army, although in practice it maintained a militia force that continued to participate in resistance activities against Israel until the Israeli withdrawal in 2000. Thus, the Amal Movement adapted relatively easily to the new political context in which most militias were officially disbanded and nonviolent contests over state power resumed, particularly in the electoral arena. In the post-war period, the Amal Movement has consistently fielded candidates in national and local elections and its members have held high-level posts in the government. Berri has served as speaker of the parliament since 1992 without interruption, and Amal Movement officials and allies have held key ministerial posts (Harb 2010, 69).

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The Amal Movement strategy of pursuing national power through government institutions has blurred the boundary between the state and the party. In some cases, party cadres hold concurrent positions in government agencies and party institutions (Harb 2010, 70). For example, a high-level Amal Movement employee in the social affairs wing of the party, whom I interviewed on several occasions, is also a full-time employee of the Ministry of Social Affairs. She found no contradiction or confl ict of interest in these dual appointments.34 On another occasion, when I asked a member of the Amal Movement to refer me to representatives of the party medical services agency, I was directed to an official in the Ministry of Public Health.35 The Amal Movement strategy of straddling state and party institutions differs markedly from the approaches adopted by Hezbollah, which only gradually integrated itself into the formal institutions of the state, and by the Future Movement, whose leadership sought control over state agencies virtually from the outset. Since the civil war, the party has prioritized a statecentric political strategy, profiting from its control over state agencies to distribute patronage to its supporters. With the rise of Hezbollah, the Amal Movement was gradually relegated to second-place status within Lebanese Shi ʿi politics, but the two parties have coexisted through electoral alliances since 2000 and through the adoption of distinct political strategies.

The Christian Parties The Christian parties face far more competition for intrasect domination than their Muslim counterparts. The dynamics of intrasect competition between the Kataeb, the Lebanese Forces, and the Free Patriotic Movement, and their precursors, has evolved since these parties were established and differ markedly from those of the Lebanese Shi ʿa and Sunni parties. During the civil war, some of the bloodiest clashes occurred among the Christian militias. In the post-war period, when all three Christian parties focused on state-centric political strategies, competition has played out in the electoral arena. Unlike the Muslim parties, which either defeated their rivals or established agreements to undercut intrasect competition, the Christian parties have been and remain intense rivals. Tracing the evolution of the three major Christian parties reveals the political strategies and the nature of competition among them. The Kataeb, which is derived from the Arabic word for “battalions,” was modeled after the Spanish and Italian fascist parties, and it is the oldest Christian party in Lebanon.36 Founded in 1936 by Pierre Gemayel and several other Christian leaders, including Charles Helou, who later became president of the Republic, the party has been dominated by the Gemayel family for much of its history. During the French Mandate period (1920–1943), the Kataeb emphasized Lebanese nationalist rhetoric, opposing both French occupation and Arab nationalism (El-Khazen 2003a, 608, 613; Tachau 1994, 330, 332).37

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The 1958 Crisis in Lebanon increased the appeal of the Kataeb within the Christian community. Gemayel’s strong support for the government in its standoff against the Egyptian President Gamal Abdel Nasser, including military backing by the Phalange militia of the organization, largely explained the growing popularity of the party among in-group members.38 In the 1960s, the party expanded significantly. President Camille Chamoun appointed Gemayel to the cabinet, and two years later the Kataeb leader was elected to the national parliament. In 1968, the Kataeb formed an alliance with other Christian parties, including Chamoun’s National Liberation Party and Raymond Eddé’s National Bloc, winning nine seats in the ninety-nine-seat National Assembly. Given the degree of high political fragmentation, this parliamentary bloc represented an important share of national representation (Collelo 1987). By the late 1960s, when political factions became increasingly militarized and violent clashes intensified, the Kataeb had established a large and wellorganized militia force.39 The party and its armed wing particularly appealed to Christian youth who were fearful of Palestinian and, more broadly, Arab nationalist influence in Lebanon (Tachau 1994). During the civil war, when militia politics were ascendant, the party was increasingly founded on traditional zuʾama principles as Amin and Bashir Gemayel, sons of Pierre Gemayel, largely controlled the political and military wings of the organization (Hamzeh 2001, 174). Under the leadership of the Gemayel family, the Kataeb was a key player in the Lebanese Front, a coalition of mainly Christian parties in opposition to the Lebanese National Movement, an alliance of leftist and Arab nationalist organizations. These two coalitions constituted the main opposing camps in the opening phase of the Lebanese civil war (Fisk 2002; Picard 2002). The wartime history of the Kataeb is intertwined with that of the Lebanese Forces (LF). Established in 1976, the LF emerged as an alliance of Christian militias that were all devoted to ejecting Palestinian forces from Lebanon. During the battle of Tal al-Zaatar, when Christian militias attacked a Palestinian camp, various Christian political and religious leaders formed the organization. The creation of a structure uniting the Christian militias enabled them to obtain weapons more cost-effectively and to standardize the training of troops, thereby increasing the efficiency and impact of their operations.40 On August 30, 1976, Bashir Gemayal was elected commander of a unified command structure under the aegis of the LF. Although the Kataeb was a dominant component of the LF, the organization was independent of the party (Snider 1984, 16). Under the leadership of Bashir Gemayel, who was assassinated in 1982, tensions rose between the Kataeb and LF (El-Khazen 2003a, 615). The LF was initially staffed by civilians, with lawyers, engineers, and university professors who were overwhelmingly Christian, and especially Maronite Christian, making up an important component of the force. The leadership created an effective fighting force, with a hierarchy structured according to a

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military ranking system. This configuration, as well as the fighters’ close familiarity with the mountainous areas of Lebanon, enabled the LF to fight effectively in both urban and rural terrains. Although the majority of fighters were volunteers, by 1982 the LF began to conscript some fighters from high schools, recruiting about 2,000 members each year. The Lebanese Front, a unified council for all Christian leaderships in Lebanon, further developed alongside the LF. The LF Joint Command Council became the real executive of both the unified militia and the Lebanese Front (Snider 1984, 10–13, 16). Under Bashir Gemayel’s leadership and continuing after his assassination, the LF became increasingly institutionalized. Multiple directorates were established to handle a variety of military and civilian affairs, including media outlets, a planning unit charged with rebuilding infrastructure and development initiatives, a consumer protection bureau, and organizations to provide public and social services (see chapter 6). Although the party claimed to be committed to rebuilding the Lebanese state, in practice it took on basic state functions such as taxation, conscription, and the provision of security in the areas it controlled during the war (Snider 1984, 17–20). As the LF grew, the Kataeb gradually fragmented and declined. In 1984, after Pierre Gemayel’s death, Elie Karamah, a Greek Catholic who was the deputy head of the party, took charge of the organization. This leadership change drove some of the hard-core Maronite base of the party to the LF, which was perceived to be more independent and militant in its relations with Syria. Rising LF influence in Christian East Beirut undercut Kataeb efforts to control this part of the city (Tachau 1994, 335). In 1986, George Saadah, a candidate supported by the LF, was elected to lead the Kataeb. At this point, however, the party was already factionalized, and the growing power of other actors, notably Samir Geagea, who was steadily gaining influence in the LF, partly eclipsed efforts to resuscitate the Kataeb party (El-Khazen 2003a, 615; Tachau 1994, 335). As this brief overview of the prewar and wartime histories of the Kataeb and LF demonstrates, both organizations were heavily engaged in extra-state politics even though they contested national elections, held cabinet positions, and professed to favor a strong Lebanese state at various points prior to and during the war. As early as the 1960s, the Kataeb had assembled a formidable militia force, which was a key perpetrator of violence during and before the civil war. From its inception, the LF was established as a militia force, which unified the military command structures of multiple Christian armed groups. Over time, the LF took on other functions, but it remained rooted in militia politics throughout the war. In the post-war period, both the Kataeb and LF were largely emasculated until the Syrian withdrawal in 2005. Both parties were forced to disarm, and their founding members and key actors withdrew from active participation in politics. With few other options, the Kataeb declared its allegiance to the new

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government of President Elias Hrawi, who took office in 1989, and supported the Taʾif Accord, which officially ended the civil war (Atlas and Licklider 1999, 47). Although it was one of the few Christian parties to back the agreement, the Kataeb was never rewarded by either the government or Syria for this decision. Indeed, the decision alienated many of its supporters, causing the party to lose even more influence in the Christian community (El-Khazen 2003a, 616). In the 1990s, the party splintered further when its new official leader, George Saadeh, maintained ties with Syria while others, including the Gemayel family, opposed this policy.41 Power struggles within the party heightened after the return of Amin Gemayel to Lebanon in 2000 after a twelve-year exile in France and following the election of his son, Pierre Gemayel, to the National Assembly. In 2002, when Karim Pakradouni was elected to head the party and backed the pro-Syrian President Lahoud, divisions intensified, resulting in the de facto emergence of two separate Kataeb parties. One faction was loyal to Lahoud and accommodated the Syrian presence in Lebanon, whereas the other was linked to Gemayel and joined the anti-Syria Christian Qornet Shehwan Gathering, an alliance of predominantly Christian anti-Syrian opposition groups established in 2001 (ElKhazen 2003a, 615–17, 622). Like the Kataeb, the LF led by Geagea reluctantly accepted the Taʾif Accord and declared allegiance to President Hrawi. In May 1991, the LF and other militias turned in their weapons as part of an official demilitarization process (Atlas and Licklider 1999, 47, 49). Although Geagea tried to form a political party to contest elections and vie for state power, the LF did not become an effective political force and the Syrian-controlled post-war government cracked down on all organizations affiliated with it. In March 1994, all activities of the party were banned. As an LF official attested, “One morning, I arrived at my office and found police all around confiscating materials. . . . We were so repressed that we couldn’t discuss our activities.”42 Geagea was then imprisoned on charges of ordering political assassinations during the war. The only militia leader to be convicted of crimes committed during the civil war, Geagea remained imprisoned until 2005, when the new parliament, elected after the Syrian withdrawal during the Cedar Revolution, voted to grant him amnesty. The LF leader’s open hostility to Syrian influence in Lebanon during the war years was widely interpreted as the major cause of his imprisonment and the dismantling of the organization in the post-war period. In 2000–2001, the LF was legalized, but a “loyal” leadership was imposed on the organization. Geagea denounced the party from prison and maintained the allegiance of LF supporters (El-Khazen 2003a, 613, 622; Tachau 1994, 324). After the civil war, when all militias except the Hezbollah forces were compelled to demobilize, the Christian parties no longer maintained a serious military force. As a result of Syrian repression and their limited resource

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bases, these parties were largely dormant until 2005. After the Cedar Revolution in 2005, when Syrian troops were expelled from Lebanon, the Christian parties, including the Kataeb, began to reconstitute themselves. The leadership of the Kataeb initiated negotiations with the people who had taken over the party with the backing of the Syrian Intelligence to ensure a smooth transition back to the control of the Gemayel family and its allies. In describing this transition process, Sami Gemayel commented, “The Kataeb leadership made a deal with Syrian agents to have the existing party officials disappear quietly so that the real Kataeb people could take over again.”43 After reclaiming the organization in 2005, the Gemayel family and other key players in the party prioritized state-centric politics. The Kataeb fielded candidates in national elections and had as its aim to hold cabinet-level positions in the executive branch. In the 2005 elections, the Kataeb won four seats, including a seat in the Metn (Mt. Lebanon II District), won by Pierre Gemayel, and seats in Baabda (Mt. Lebanon III District), Baalbek-Hermel (Bekaa I District), and the North (European Union 2005). Although the party lost its seat in the Metn in the 2007 by-election, it gained five seats in the 2009 elections in the Beirut I district as well as districts in Tripoli, Metn, Aley, and Zahle (National Democratic Institute [NDI] 2009, app. I). In accordance with its historical position, the party continues to present itself as a strong defender of Christian interests in Lebanon. The party website declares that the organization aims are to “preserve the free Christian presence in Lebanon,” disarm Hezbollah and various militias based in Palestinian refugee camps, and prevent the resettlement of Palestinians in Lebanon, thereby eliminating another factor that might further tip the demographic balance of the country in favor of Muslims (Kataeb 2012). Sami Gemayel is renowned for his strong statements in favor of Christian power in Lebanon and critical of the actions and alleged goals of Muslim organizations and groups, notably Hezbollah and the Palestinians (Smyth 2010). For example, on June 1, 2009, Gemayel spoke at a campaign rally for the Laʾihat al-ʿInqath al-Metniyya (Metn Salvation List), an alliance of pro–March 14th forces, including members of the Kataeb and LF and independent candidates. At the rally, Gemayel energized the large crowd by emphasizing the Christian identity of Lebanon and calling on young Lebanese Christians not to emigrate to maintain their demographic and political weight in the country.44 Like the Kataeb, the LF began to reconstitute itself in 2005. Former LF officials whose political activities had been suspended since 1994 formed a steering committee to guide the reintegration of the LF in Lebanese politics. After the Syrian withdrawal, the LF filed a series of lawsuits to regain party property that had been confiscated during the war.45 In the post-war period, when its militia was dismantled and operations banned, the LF was not in a position to engage in extra-state politics on a significant scale. Furthermore, party officials claim that they are committed to working through the state to

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further their political objectives. A party official noted, “We are a party that believes in the state, especially when it comes to security.”46 This comment emphasized the official position of the organization in favor of promoting state capacity and its opposition to the continued operation of the Hezbollah militia force. Since 2005 and especially since 2007, when the LF began to seriously build its electoral operations, the party has invested in a state-centric political strategy. Indeed, the position of coordinator of party electoral strategy was not created until fall 2007, indicating the efforts by the party to boost its electoral appeal and representation in state bodies.47 In the 2005 national elections, the LF gained one seat in the Christian district of Beirut I, two seats in districts in Mount Lebanon, and three seats in the heavily Christian areas of Bsharri, Koura, and Batroun. In the 2009 elections, the LF increased its share to eight seats by retaining its seats in Bsharri, Koura, and Mount Lebanon and gaining three seats in Zahle. The history of the FPM, headed by General Michel Aoun, is more recent and less intertwined with the other Christian parties. Although the FPM was formally established as a political party in September 2005, Aoun’s political ambitions and organization have longer roots, dating back to the period of his exile in France following the bloody close of the civil war in 1990. Toward the end of the civil war, Aoun, commander-in-chief of the Lebanese army, was appointed prime minister of a military government headed by Amin Gemayal. Aoun’s forces were engaged in some of the most violent and destructive clashes of the civil war. After the passage of the Taʾif Accord, Aoun began to attack the supporters of the agreement. Some of the worst fighting took place with Christian militia forces. In August 1989, after Geagea declared his support for the accord, Aoun fought with the LF, despite the fact that Aoun and Geagea had formed an alliance five months earlier (Tachau 1994, 324). When the sitting prime minister, Salim al-Hoss, who was backed by Syria, blocked Aoun’s appointment as prime minister, the army chief declared a “war of liberation” against the Syrian army (Muhanna 2009). Aoun rejected the Taʾif Accord and ordered parliament to dissolve it. Refusing to give up his own executive power, Aoun demanded that Syrian forces leave Lebanon and declared that Elias Hrawi, who had ordered him to give up his political and military posts, was the illegitimate president. At the request of Hrawi, Syrian forces attacked and defeated Aoun’s forces in bloody battles in and around Beirut. As a result of his defiant opposition to Syrian occupation, some Maronites viewed him as their most ardent defender in Lebanon (Atlas and Licklider 1999, 47–49). In 1990, after his defeat, Aoun began a fifteen-year exile in Paris, where he agitated against the Syrian occupation of Lebanon. For Aoun’s support base of young, middle-class, and predominantly Christian professionals, anti-Syrian resistance was the centerpiece of the movement. In Lebanon, however, Aoun’s

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movement received little attention. Some Lebanese, including members of the Christian community, accepted the Syrian occupation as a source of stability facilitating economic improvement in the country (Muhanna 2009). In May 2005, after the Syrian departure from Lebanon, Aoun returned to Lebanon and received a hero’s welcome from his supporters. Several weeks later, Lebanon held national elections, which were spaced out over a period of four weeks. The anti-Syria March 14th Alliance won, although little competition occurred in many districts due to preelectoral agreements between Hezbollah and Amal, on the one hand, and the Future Movement and other members of the March 14th Alliance, on the other. Aoun’s Change and Reform bloc made a strong showing by gaining 21 seats, the second largest bloc in the 128-member parliament. Talks between Aoun and Prime Minister Fouad Siniora, a member of the Future Movement, broke down, and the FPM did not attain cabinet posts in the government. After failing to reach an agreement with Siniora, Aoun initiated negotiations to form an alliance with Hezbollah. In February 2006, the FPM and Hezbollah signed the Memorandum of Understanding, which addressed joint positions on issues ranging from the nature of democracy and electoral reform to security arrangements in Lebanon.48 The agreement with the Shi ʿi party allied with Syria was a major shift in policy for Aoun, who had a long track record of vociferous opposition to Syrian involvement in Lebanon. Although the agreement alienated some of the FPM base, party leaders emphasized the strategic and moral justifications for the pact.49 Strategically, the agreement made sense on demographic grounds. With comparatively low birth rates and high levels of emigration, the Christian community is declining numerically, which could translate into waning political power in the context of the Lebanese sectarian power-sharing system. An alliance with the Shi ʿi organization was prudent given the growing demographic weight of the Shi ʿi community, in which Hezbollah commanded strong support. Many interpreted Aoun’s decision as part of his effort to attain the presidency after President Emile Lahoud’s tenure expired in 2007.50 The alliance with Hezbollah also accorded with Aoun’s vocal opposition to corruption in Lebanese politics. The FPM platform emphasizes state reform, the elimination of sectarian power sharing, and an end to cronyism in the economy and politics. The FPM frequently characterized the Future Movement, PSP, and other parties in the March 14th Alliance at that time as key actors in the rampant corruption and high debt plaguing the country (Muhanna 2009). To justify the alliance, the FPM leadership emphasized Hezbollah’s “clean” reputation and incorruptibility.51 According to party officials, the agreement had the additional positive effect of promoting better intergroup relations in the increasingly polarized Lebanese society. Indeed, the FPM website emphasizes Aoun’s own connections with Muslim Lebanese. His official biography states, “Although he was

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born in a Christian family with strong spiritual values, as a young boy, Michel Aoun succeeded to establish friendships with several Muslim comrades. He says, ‘We shared our meals and slept at each other’s houses. Their religious celebrations were ours and ours were theirs’ ” (Tayyar.org n.d.). Whether or not its opposition to political sectarianism is mere posturing, party representatives emphasized that the nature of the power-sharing arrangement requires the FPM to concentrate its efforts on the Lebanese Christian community.52 Like those of all major Lebanese Christian parties, Aoun’s political strategy has evolved during the post-war period. Although he employed violent, extrastate means to further his political goals during the war, in the post-war period Aoun’s political strategy has emphasized state-centric politics that is aimed at gaining executive and legislative offices. It is widely believed that Aoun’s greatest ambition is to attain the presidency. Although the FPM twice withdrew from the government to topple the majority, the FPM has generally worked within state institutions. In the post-war period, the party has not organized a militia and by all accounts does not aim to engage in violent clashes. This analysis of the major Christian parties reveals that all prioritized state-centric politics in the post-war period, despite their histories of extrastate militia politics during the civil war. Intrasect competition is intense among the Christian parties and has manifested most clearly in the electoral battles since 2005. In this chapter, I have focused on the political origins and evolution of the major Sunni, Shi‘a, and Christian parties in Lebanon from the civil war through the post-war periods. Based on these historical accounts, I highlight their evolving political strategies—whether premised on participation in formal state institutions or on extra-state modes of engagement—and the degree of competition they faced for political domination of their respective sects. Al-Hariri had electoral ambitions even before the reinstatement of national elections in the post-war period and the establishment of his political party, the Future Movement. Thus, during and after the civil war, the political strategy of the precursor to the Future Movement centered on gaining a greater share of the formal institutions of the state. For very different reasons, notably to provide a key source of patronage for its supporters, the Amal Movement, too, sought power through control over state agencies. Unlike these two parties, Hezbollah adopted a strategy of organizing outside of the state both during the civil war period, when it largely concentrated on its militia operations, and in the post-war period, when it gradually supplemented its political strategy to include participation in formal contests over state power. Although the Kataeb and Lebanese Forces had important militia forces during the civil war, the two parties were forced to disband their armed wings in the post-war period. Until 2005, when Syrian forces withdrew from Lebanon,

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all three Christian parties were suppressed and therefore played a marginal role in electoral politics until relatively recently. Intrasect politics also varied across the Sunni, Shi ʿi, and Christian communities in the post-war period. Al-Hariri profited from and perpetuated fragmentation within the Sunni community to attain political domination of his corresponding sect, although weak leadership and declining fi nancial resources have called into question the control by the Future Movement over Sunni politics in recent years. A Syrian-brokered arrangement tempered the fierce competition between the two major Shi ʿa parties, paving the way for electoral alliances in successive national elections during the post-war period, especially after the late 1990s. Contestation was most fierce among the Christian parties, which vied to present themselves as the rightful guardians of Lebanese Christians even while they claimed to reject sectarianism as a principle for organizing domestic politics. Political strategies and intrasect competition have shaped the distributional behavior of the major sectarian parties in Lebanon. To describe distinct patterns of allocating social benefits across these parties, in the next chapter I explore the geography of “bricks-and-mortar” welfare to assess the degree to which these organizations channel benefits beyond in-group communities. Chapter 5 supplements the spatial analysis with household-level data by examining the relationship between partisan allegiances and the receipt of shortterm benefits associated with vote-buying. Chapter 6 documents the welfare activities of the major sectarian parties across the historical eras examined in this chapter, tracing the linkages between political strategies and intrasect dynamics, on the one hand, and distributional behavior on the other.

4 The Political Geography of Welfare and Sectarianism

W

hom do ethnic or sectarian welfare organizations serve? Political parties and charities with ethnic or religious affiliations are generally presumed to cater to their own communities (Chandra 2004; Habyarimana et al. 2009).1 But the reality is often complicated, even in the most fractionalized societies. Studies of politics in Lebanon and common accounts by Lebanese citizens indicate that even parties that employ the most vehement sectarian rhetoric aim to serve members of out-groups. For example, in the aftermath of the civil war, Hezbollah reached out to Christian merchants and residents who returned to reclaim businesses and homes in the southern suburbs of Beirut (Harik 2004) and today serves members of other sects in its welfare institutions. Hezbollah has also sought out Christians whose homes and property were destroyed in the 2006 war with Israel to provide them with cash grants and other forms of material assistance.2 The Hariri Foundation is renowned for its educational scholarship programs that benefit Sunnis and nonSunnis alike. Thus, who is served or targeted by political organizations should be an empirical question and not assumed ex ante. In this chapter, I focus on the spatial implications of the core arguments of the book. Based on the arguments presented in chapter 1, parties such as the Future Movement, whose leadership long had electoral ambitions and which dominated politics in the Sunni Muslim community until recently, are more likely to establish institutions in mixed or out-group areas. Hezbollah and, to a lesser degree, the Amal Movement are more likely to favor in-group communities, albeit for distinct reasons. Intense competition over political representation of the community, as witnessed among the major Lebanese Christian parties, creates incentives to target in-group communities. To examine variation in party propensities to serve out-group areas, I explore the relationships between the places where sectarian parties establish

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welfare institutions and the sectarian composition and socioeconomic characteristics of the neighborhoods and villages in those areas. Through case studies of the main sectarian parties in chapter 6, I explore other spatial implications of the core arguments, including the changing locational patterns of welfare agencies over time, the different types of services offered in in-group versus mixed or out-group areas, and the relationship between electoral contests and the distribution of social benefits in distinct parts of Lebanon. In principle, collecting data on who benefits from the services of welfare agencies linked to sectarian parties should be a straightforward exercise, yet most will not release even aggregate data on beneficiary characteristics. In practice, the religious affiliations of beneficiaries are sensitive in Lebanon and other societies where power sharing enshrines identity as a foundation of the political system. Sectarian organizations often seek to mask exclusionary practices with inclusionary rhetoric. In Lebanon, political parties object to accusations of sectarian behavior, even though they are grounded in particular religious communities, use communal references in their rhetoric, and have no legal obligation to serve the national political community because they are not public agencies with universalistic mandates. Most parties emphasize their moral and altruistic motivations by insisting that their welfare programs serve all, irrespective of sect, and prioritize poor areas.3 Although representatives of most organizations insist that they do not collect data on the sectarian identity of beneficiaries as proof of their nondiscriminatory practices, there is reason to doubt this claim. First, even if parties do not officially or systematically collect such data, sectarian profiling is a standard practice in Lebanese society. Even without self-reporting, it is usually possible to deduce the sectarian identity of an individual based on his or her family name, village or town of origin, place of residence, dress, or other forms of outward appearance. Second, until recently, the Lebanese government required the inclusion of sectarian identity on official identification cards, and it is widely believed that sectarian parties track the sectarian affiliation and other demographic information of their membership and beneficiaries.4 If sectarian welfare providers will not share beneficiary information, how can patterns of welfare outreach be assessed? Spatial analysis permits a first cut at answering this question by identifying the communities that sectarian parties target. A comparison of the locations of welfare agencies with population characteristics of the surrounding communities indicates the degree to which sectarian and socioeconomic factors shape the observed welfare outreach patterns of sectarian welfare providers. In this chapter, I present the data and results from GIS analyses to assess the variation in the extent to which the major political organizations in Lebanon target out-group communities. The analysis therefore provides a macro- or community-level view of party distributional behavior. Before describing the data and analytical procedures, I first justify the

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use of location as a measure of the welfare outreach strategies of sectarian parties and to clarify the material and symbolic significance of the establishment of physical welfare agencies. THE SIGNIFICANCE OF BRICKS-AND-MORTAR WELFARE AGENCIES In Lebanon, the spatial locations of clinics, hospitals, and schools are widely viewed as a reflection of the target communities of providers. Lebanese welfare organizations face few if any legal or practical restrictions on the locations of private institutions,5 providers acknowledge that they purposively target specific communities with welfare programs,6 and beneficiaries interpret the locations of party-based welfare agencies as evidence of territorial and communal favoritism of sectarian organizations.7 Other categories of respondents with whom I conducted in-depth interviews, such as local development consultants, NGO representatives, and government officials, attested that they themselves interpret geography as an indicator for the propensity of parties to serve in- versus out-group communities and, therefore, as a critical means of evaluating party outreach priorities. My decision to collect and analyze GIS data therefore emerged from recommendations to “look at where they locate” during initial interviews in Lebanon in 2006. The leaders of social foundations linked to sectarian parties take great care in selecting the locations of schools, hospitals, and clinics. A committee within the Hariri Foundation Health Unit, for example, conducts impact assessments to determine the effectiveness of existing programs and forecast the impact for other areas under consideration.8 In 2008, the Free Patriotic Movement established a committee to plan social outreach programs.9 Other organizations described less formal procedures, noting that they target “needy areas.”10 Beneficiaries attested that geographical proximity was an important determinant of their choice of provider. Interviews and data from a national survey on access to social welfare in Lebanon (see chapter 5) show that individuals and families often seek and accept services from nearby providers, even if they are from out-group organizations. The locations of welfare agencies, therefore, capture the observable priorities of sectarian parties in their social initiatives and shape the decisions of beneficiaries in choosing providers.11 In diverse societies such as Lebanon, ethnic or religious groups tend to concentrate geographically—at a minimum at the level of urban neighborhoods or villages, and often at higher aggregations. Through a combination of local knowledge and official records, parties are aware of fine-grained differences in cultural demography and are capable of targeting benefits to specific ethnic or religious communities with precision. It is common knowledge that cities such as Beirut and Tripoli contain heavy concentrations of Sunni Muslims, Mount Lebanon has large Druze and Christian populations, and the South and parts

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of the Bekaa districts as well as the southern suburbs of Beirut include significant Shiʿa concentrations. But ordinary citizens are attuned to far more finegrained differences in the spread of Lebanese sects, which are often concentrated in adjacent villages and neighborhoods. In mixed, urban areas, locals are not only aware of variation in the composition of neighborhoods on a streetby-street basis but also know the religious identities and regional origins of families residing in different apartments within the same buildings. Similar politics of territorial control apply in other plural societies, where communal groups are associated with different geographical units. For example, in Iraq, villagers and urban dwellers became all the more aware of sectarian residential patterns with the increased political salience of sectarian identity since the first Gulf War and the spread of violence along ostensibly sectarian lines following the U.S. invasion of Iraq in 2003 ( Jabar 2003; National Public Radio 2006). Episodes of violence in India, Kyrgyzstan, and Rwanda, among other countries, reveal that citizens are attuned to the ethnic or religious identities of their neighbors or of neighboring communities, as evidenced by the brutal efficiency with which killings take place along identity-based lines (Brass 1997; Levy 2010; Straus 2006). The importance of control over territory is well established in studies of ethnic conflict (Kalyvas 2006; Kaufmann 1996; Walter and Snyder 1999), in which regions may define group identity and encompass valuable resources for waging war, such as armed combatants or access to transport routes and media outlets (Toft 2003; Weinstein 2007). Control over territory is also crucial for nonviolent forms of political participation, such as mobilizing participation in mass demonstrations or, more generally, building a loyal base of supporters whose political behavior, including responses to public opinion polls, signals the broad influence of an ethnic organization. First, territorial control may serve as a form of advertising by permitting the dominant local power broker to showcase party resources and capabilities, potentially boosting the reputation of a leader or organization. Second, the domination of physical space enables political leaders and their representatives to monitor the social and political behavior of local residents, a task essential to both state-centric and extra-state politics. Third, effective control over geographically defi ned spaces may thwart the ambitions of potential competitors by signaling that attempts to penetrate the region will at best be unsuccessful and at worst invite conflict. Finally, encroaching on the territory of another group, whether affiliated with the same ethnic or religious community or not, projects a message that the “invader” commands the resources to usurp other realms of authority.12 The establishment of physical structures for the provision of social service, or bricks-and-mortar welfare institutions, is particularly meaningful when territories—and the ethnoreligious communities that reside within them— are politicized. Most contemporary studies of the distributional politics of

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social benefits focus on mobile benefits that are not as rooted in specific places, such as food or cash, which are central to electoral clientelism (Diaz-Cayeros, Magaloni, and Estevez in press; Nichter 2008; Stokes 2005). Providers can easily transport these types of materials to specific communities according to their priorities, whether based on socioeconomic need, political calculations, cultural affinities, a combination of these factors, or other criteria. My focus on the physical structures of service delivery adds a distinct dimension to contemporary studies of distributional politics. Bricks-and-mortar clientelism signals a commitment to a community, facilitating a sense of solidarity and building or reinforcing boundaries of who belongs. This is especially meaningful in plural societies, where different territories are associated with stable endowments of cultural communities, often with corresponding party organizations, religious charities, or similar groups that demarcate their areas of control with posters, banners, and other symbols (see figures 4.1– 4.4). Physical welfare agencies project a far more powerful signal than the delivery of short-term benefits by party representatives in mobile units. The distribution of low-value, easily transported benefits, such as food, cash, or other material

Figure 4.1 A woman sells Hezbollah and Lebanese national flags, as well as posters of Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah, Hezbollah leader, in a southern suburb of Beirut, August 23, 2006. Source: Reuters/Eric Gaillard (Lebanon)—RTR1GMA9.

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Figure 4.2 Amal Movement poster in the southern suburbs of Beirut in 2009. Source: Photo by Melani Cammett.

aid, are often associated with vote-buying and, as such, can elicit cynicism from local residents, who view provider motivations as short term and calculated, ultimately damaging the reputation of the party (Diaz-Cayeros, Magaloni, and Estevez in press). High-fixed-cost projects, embodied in physical structures with equipment and regular personnel, however, show party willingness to invest in a community. A hospital, clinic, school, or vocational training center requires a substantial investment of money, time, and materials, reducing the chance that an organization will abandon the community. Although they may recognize the political motivations for establishing a health, educational, or vocational training institution in their area, residents perceive the longer-term value that bricks-and-mortar institutions can offer the community, even if they do not all directly benefit from services supplied by these institutions. When organizations use their own resources—and not just state patronage—the investment in physical infrastructure sends an even more powerful message of commitment. In the context of minimal public safety nets and ineffective states, bricks-andmortar welfare institutions also convey a sense of social protection and solidarity in the targeted communities. Citizens face great uncertainty in meeting their

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Figure 4.3 Poster of Saad Hariri in Beirut during the 2009 elections with photos below of Rafiq Hariri and two Future Movement supporters killed during the clashes and their aftermath in May 2008. Source: Photo by Melani Cammett.

basic social needs when welfare states are underdeveloped, as in much of the Global South. The establishment of a physical welfare agency that provides affordable quality services provides assurances of social support that resonate even among locals who have not sought or received services themselves. Thus, bricksand-mortar institutions are grounded in far more than material exchanges with communities and their residents. The presence and activities of physical agencies serve important psychological functions by providing real and perceived security and peace of mind. Bricks-and-mortar welfare institutions may also serve a performative function by establishing or reinforcing good governance credentials, especially when states or other providers are ineffective or corrupt. The provision of accessible and sufficiently high-quality social benefits can build or boost a reputation of competence and reliability within and beyond the areas where they operate. This is particularly valuable for political organizations that aim to win national support. In plural societies, where ethnic or religious cleavages

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Figure 4.4 Lebanese Forces poster of Samir Geagea in East Beirut in 2005. Source: Photo by Polaris.

are politically salient, a reputation for good governance may help parties gain the trust and respect of out-group communities. SPATIAL DATA We now turn to the data used to analyze the welfare-targeting activities of the main political organizations in Lebanon. To measure the degree to which sectarian parties target in- and out-group communities, I constructed a data set of the locations and affiliations of welfare agencies and relevant characteristics of populations and communities in surrounding areas.

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Levels of Analysis: Spatial Units and Administrative Divisions Each institution and set of population characteristics is linked to a particular mantaqa ʿiqariyya (zone), which is roughly equivalent to a census tract in the United States.13 The zone is a small unit of analysis and is nested within a larger set of administrative divisions within Lebanon. At the largest scale, official administrative units consist of six mohafaza (provinces): Beirut, Mount Lebanon, North, Bekaa, Nabatiyya, and South. These provinces collectively

Map 4.1 Governorates, districts, and administrative zones in Lebanon.

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contain twenty-six districts (qazas), which are further subdivided into 1,633 zones. Because Lebanon is only about 10,400 square kilometers, or 70 percent of the size of the U.S. state of Connecticut (CIA World Factbook 2013), the zone is a micro-level unit, permitting fi ne-grained analyses in descriptive inferences and statistical tests. Map 4.1 depicts zone boundaries in Lebanon. The data set includes observations for the 838 zones in which any type of public or private welfare provider is located. Many of the remaining zones are sparsely populated or mountainous regions with no inhabitants. In GIS research on the United States, critics claim that the use of the census tracts has no meaning to residents, who are unaware of this administrative boundary (Openshaw 1984). In Lebanon, however, zones have genuine

Mediterranean Sea

Jamia

Ain alMreisseh

Ras Beirut

Minet al-Hosn

Jounblat Hamra

Bab Idriss

Kantari

Manara

Al-Zarif

Snoubra

Serail

Sanayeh

Qreitem

Tallet Druze

Batrakieh

Rawsheh Ain al-Tineh

Dar al-Fatwa Mosseitbeh Tallet al-Khayat

Unesco

Map 4.2 Neighborhoods in West Beirut.

Wata

Burj Abi Haidar

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significance to residents because they correspond to the actual geographical boundaries of villages or urban neighborhoods and are constituent components of larger electoral districts. This is shown in Map 4.2, which depicts the names of neighborhoods in part of West Beirut. The city of Beirut is divided into sixty zones, which match well-known neighborhoods such as Hamra, Tariq elJedida, Burj Abi Haidar, Patriarcat, and Mar Mikhael. These neighborhoods correspond to units used in the zone-level analyses described in this chapter. In rural areas, zones also correspond to places with sociological meaning to Lebanese, such as the South Lebanese villages of Ait el-Chaab, Bint Jbeil, Maroun el-Ras, and Yaroun, which became known even to non-Lebanese because they were sites of heavy fighting during the 2006 war with Israel. Data collected at the zone level yield valid inferences because this unit corresponds with actual neighborhoods and villages. Electoral boundaries build on standard administrative divisions, particularly the qaza. In the 2000 and 2005 national elections, the fourteen electoral districts either corresponded to qaza boundaries or encompassed more than one qaza. The 2008 electoral law reduced the size of these districts, establishing the qaza as the main demarcation of an electoral district. The only exception was the city of Beirut, which was divided into twelve neighborhoods that encompass sixty zones, which were aggregated into three electoral districts.

Dependent Variables: Institutional Types The analyses use the spatial locations of party-affiliated welfare institutions as a measure of the welfare-targeting strategies of different political organizations. With the help of Lebanese research assistants, I coded all welfare institutions according to their religious, political, or other affiliation or ownership category. The main dependent variables (Future, Hezbollah, Amal, and Kataeb) are dichotomous, indicating the presence of welfare agencies linked to the Sunni Future Movement, Shi ʿi Hezbollah, Shi ʿi Amal Movement, and Christian Kataeb at the zone level.14 Table 4.1 provides descriptive information on the dependent variables.15 As the table shows, the size of party welfare networks varies considerably, ranging from nine institutions linked to the Kataeb party to fifty-five institutions run by Hezbollah. Compiled between 2006 and 2008, the spatial data set includes 3,286 welfare institutions operating in Lebanon, including clinics, dispensaries, hospitals, and schools.16 Information on the 480 clinics and dispensaries in the data set was derived from public records available at the Ministries of Public Health and Social Affairs and the World Health Organization; interviews with provider organizations; and the brochures, publications, and websites of political parties and charities. The Lebanese branch of the Young Men’s Christian Organization (YMCA) was also a critical data source. With support from a program based at the Ministry of Public Health, the organization

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Table 4.1 Descriptive statistics of the dependent variables (zone level)

Variable Future

Total number of agencies

Number of zones with agencies

40

32

838

Number of observations Mean

Standard deviation

Minimum

Maximum

0.038

0.192

0

1

Hezbollah

57

38

838

0.045

0.208

0

1

Amal

27

21

838

0.025

0.156

0

1

9

9

838

0.011

0.103

0

1

Kataeb

supplies medications for chronic diseases to most major clinics run by NGOs and, according to ministry officials, possessed more accurate and up-to-date information on functioning clinics in Lebanon than government agencies. The data on the 164 hospitals in the data set are based on sources from the Ministry of Public Health and the Syndicate of Hospitals. The data were cross-checked and coded based on qualitative data collected during interviews with provider organizations and officials from the Ministry of Public Health.17 Data on schools were obtained from the Daleel al-Madaris fi Lubnan, the official, biannual Ministry of Education guide to primary and secondary schools throughout the country. The guide includes separate lists for the three categories of primary and secondary schools in Lebanon, including public schools, nonsubsidized private schools, and subsidized private schools. In the guide, schools are subdivided by qaza and school district. According to the 2006 Daleel, there were 1,399 public schools, 1,024 nonsubsidized private schools, and 369 subsidized private schools.

Independent Variables: Sectarian and Other Population Data The population data include measures of the sectarian and socioeconomic compositions of the population and relevant community characteristics associated with each zone. Table 4.2 provides descriptive information on the independent variables. In a country where political power is allocated on the basis of sectarian identity and the last official census was conducted in 1932, population data are limited. At the time of data collection, estimates of the proportions of the main religious groups in the population ranged from 39 to 43 percent Christian of various sects, 25 to 35 percent Shiʿi Muslim, about 25 to 28 percent Sunni Muslim, and 5 percent Druze (U.S. Department of State 2008). Voter registration records from the Ministry of Interior constitute the most reliable and fine-grained source of data on the sectarian distribution of the population in each zone.18 Mukhtars (local elected officials), who serve as the main interface between residents and the state in the neighborhoods and villages within their

97

The Political Geography of Welfare and Sectarianism Table 4.2 Descriptive statistics of the independent variables (zone-level) Variable

Number of observations

Mean

Standard deviation

Minimum

Maximum

Fractionalization

752

0.122

0.171

0

0.656

Pct. Armenian

752

0.010

0.057

0

0.896

Pct. Christian

752

0.431

0.446

0

1

Pct. Druze

752

0.093

0.268

0

1

Pct. Shiʿa

752

0.275

0.421

0

1

Pct. Sunni

752

0.182

0.344

0

1

Population density

838

0.110

0.298

0.0000055

4.88

Land usea

838

2.364

0.686

0

4

Telephone landline coverageb

838

2.807

0.486

0

3

a Categorial measure based on coded land-development types: uninhabited and uncultivated areas (0), purely agricultural areas (1), rural areas with some residential communities (2), less-developed towns and urban areas (3), and most developed towns and urban areas (4). b Ordinal measure coded as: unpopulated areas (0), areas not covered (1), areas covered by wireless local loops (2), and covered areas (3).

jurisdictions, maintain careful records of local population changes, providing the information needed to update lists of registered voters in each precinct. Eligible voters, who must be at least twenty-one years old,19 are classified by place of residence, sect, and sex. On election day, voters cast their ballots in assigned boxes organized alphabetically by sex and sect at their designated precincts.20 Using voter records to derive data on the sectarian endowments of the population requires justification because of the peculiarities of the Lebanese electoral system. In Lebanon, the district of voter registration, which is derived from the father’s (or husband’s) district of origin, does not always correspond to a citizen’s place of residence, particularly in the Greater Beirut area (consisting of the city of Beirut and Mount Lebanon, and home to about half the Lebanese population). As a result, individuals and families who choose to vote may be obliged to travel substantial distances to cast ballots in villages and towns where they do not reside. Nonetheless, the Ministry of Interior voter registration data serves as a reasonable proxy for the sectarian composition of the population for several reasons. First, electoral demography shapes the behavior of political parties, particularly for those which prioritize state-centric political strategies. Even if voters do not reside in their electoral precincts, parties court them in their areas of residence and capitalize on this during elections. Indeed, political organizations often provide free transportation to distant electoral districts on election day. The Armenian Tashnaq Party is particularly renowned for the scale and efficiency of its voter transport operations, but most

98

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Figure 4.5 Taxis contracted by the Armenian Tashnaq Party waiting to shuttle voters to polls across Lebanon during the June 2009 national elections. Source: Photo by Melani Cammett.

parties offer similar services to ensure voter turnout. As figure 4.5 shows, the Tashnaq Party transported voters to the polls through a well-managed system of taxis dispatched across Lebanon during the 2009 elections. Second, parties often operate in urban and rural areas where the same voters reside and are registered to vote, enabling them to reach voters in the places where they actually live. Furthermore, most Lebanese retain close ties to their villages of origin. Weekly and seasonal traffic patterns attest that families who reside in Beirut and other major urban centers often spend weekends and summers in their villages of origin. As a result, citizens often turn to their elected representatives and local officials in both their villages or towns of origin and their places of residence to conduct administrative business or to seek intermediation or favors (Beydoun 2003, 78–79).21 The director of a local think tank noted, People go to their villages a lot. They remain very connected to their villages. They may not get their health and other social services there, but they go for other things such as getting favors done. Going to vote allows you to ask for a favor [from your representative]. Whoever is influential there will get all your documents for you. For example, if you live in Beirut and your grandmother needs to get an operation done in a Beiruti hospital, you will go to your village representative to ask him to make a phone call that will get your grandmother a bed in a hospital in Beirut. Even if I live in Beirut and vote in Zahle but I need a favor in Beirut, I need to go to Zahle [to get someone] to call the Ministry of Health.22

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The actual provision of services may not occur in a voter’s electoral district, but citizens seek the intermediation of officials either within their district of registration or from the same party as their elected representative. Third, both residential and voter registration patterns are relatively fi xed, particularly after the waves of migration in the mid- to late twentieth century and, more recently, since the conclusion of the civil war in 1990 (Verdeil 2005; Verdeil, Faour, and Velut 2007, 82). Population displacement during the civil war led to the longer-term homogenization of urban neighborhoods and villages, and it is difficult to change the district of voter registration because of the sensitivities of altering existing sectarian balances. For all these reasons, the relationship between access to social assistance and voting can hold even when people live and vote in different electoral districts. Finally, as I argue throughout the book, not all parties prioritize statecentric goals in their welfare operations. As a result, some organizations are less concerned about reaching communities where they are likely to receive electoral support and more focused on serving residents of communities that support their extra-state activities. For this reason, chapter 6 provides brief case studies of specific areas where parties both do and do not establish welfare agencies when assessing the implications of locational patterns for different types of political strategies. The key independent variable, Fractionalization, measures the degree of ethnoreligious fractionalization of the population at the zone level based on voter registration records. Fractionalization is defi ned as the Herfindahl index of heterogeneity among groups representing the politically relevant (Posner 2004a) cleavages in the country (Shi ʿi, Sunni, Christian, Druze, and Armenian).23 The variable is coded on a scale of 0 (no fractionalization, or perfect homogeneity) to 1 (extreme heterogeneity). At the zone level, the level of ethnoreligious fractionalization ranges from 0 to 0.66, with a mean of 0.12. The average zone where a welfare agency is located, therefore, has low levels of religious diversity. By gauging the heterogeneity of areas where political organizations establish welfare agencies, fractionalization measures the relative propensities of different organizations to target mixed communities rather than more homogeneous areas dominated by in-group members.24 The spread of welfare agencies linked to different political groups may be an artifact of demographic characteristics, notably variation in the distribution of sectarian groups across the national territory, rather than the result of a conscious strategy to reach out beyond the in-group in allocating welfare goods. In other words, the welfare outreach of sectarian parties may simply mirror the spread of in-group populations.25 As figure 4.6 shows, there is some variation in the national spread of different religious communities, which vary across different communal groups. In the figure, the x axis depicts the percentage of in-group members at the zone level, ranging from 0 to 100 percent, and the vertical axis depicts the major religious groups in Lebanon. The three largest religious

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Chapter 4

Distribution across zones

communities—Christians, Shi‘a Muslims, and Sunni Muslims—are spread over most of the national territory, but there is some variation in their distributions. Christians (especially Maronite Christians, the largest Christian sect in Lebanon) are spread across the broadest array of community types, which probably reflects their historical dominance in Mount Lebanon and other core areas of the future independent Lebanese state. Shi ʿa Muslims are slightly more concentrated at the upper and lower ranges of the x axis and have long been concentrated in the South and Bekaa provinces, with significant migration to the southern suburbs of Beirut beginning in the 1960s. Sunnis have traditionally dominated key urban areas such as Beirut, Sidon, and Tripoli, which tend to be more religiously mixed, although significant concentrations of Sunnis live in the north and west Bekaa regions. Thus, due to historical contingency, religious groups are not randomly spread across Lebanon, nor are they equivalently clustered. Sunnis tend to live in more heterogeneous areas than the Shi ʿa or even Christians. There are 214 zones in the country where Shi ʿa make up 90 percent or more of the population, compared with 113 such zones for Sunnis and 540 for Christians of diverse denominations. To control for the differential spreads of the distinct religious communities, I include variables to measure the percentages of the main religious communities at the zone level: Armenians, Christians, Druze, Sunnis, and Shi ʿa. The mean percentages of the different major religious communities at the zone level vary substantially, from 0.01 percent for Armenians to 0.43 percent for Christians. As expected, the minority communities, notably the Armenians and Druze, exhibit lower mean percentages than the larger communities, notably the Christians, Shi ʿa, and Sunnis.

Christian

Sunni Muslim

Shii Muslim 0.00

20.00

40.00

60.00

80.00

Religious communities Figure 4.6 Demographic spread of major religious communities in Lebanon.

100.00

The Political Geography of Welfare and Sectarianism

101

In some descriptive analyses, I use data on the sectarian identities of the actual resident population at the zone level in the Beirut and Mount Lebanon provinces, which collectively constitute about 50 percent of the national population. These data are derived from market-research surveys conducted by Statistics Lebanon during 2007–2008 of over 770,000 of the 829,000 households in the zones located in the two provinces.26 The research firm obtained sectarian information from 75 percent of households in Beirut and Mount Lebanon, and the results conform to informal assessments of the broad sectarian distribution of resident populations.27 Given its limited availability, the residential data are used only for descriptive analyses. For example, comparisons (in chapter 6) of the actual resident population and the voting population in communities where political organizations do and do not establish welfare institutions provide evidence for the ways in which different political organizations link welfare outreach to state-centric versus extra-state political strategies. Additional control variables measure socioeconomic and other theoretically relevant characteristics of the Lebanese population. The variable Population density measures the percentage of the national population residing in a given zone. It is critical to control for Population density because parties might concentrate welfare institutions in denser areas because they want to target the greatest concentrations of actual or potential supporters or because they want to serve the largest number of potential beneficiaries. The value of Population density, a continuous variable, ranges from an infi nitesimal value (0.0000055 percent) to almost 5 percent. The data are provided by the Lebanese Council for Development and Reconstruction (CDR) and catalogued in the data repository of the U.S. Agency for International Development ( USAID) Geographic Information Support Team (GIST).28 The variable Land use is an ordinal measure designed to capture a range of land-development types: uninhabited and uncultivated areas (0), purely agricultural areas (1), rural areas with some residential communities (2), lessdeveloped towns and urban areas (3) and most developed towns and urban areas (4). Based on information collected in 1998, the data are provided by the CDR and are accessible from the USAID GIST.29 Land-use values provide nuanced measures of the range of rural versus urban territories or, more broadly, the built environment across the national territory. Given that less-developed, rural areas tend to be underserved compared to urban areas in most countries, it is important to control for land use in the analyses. Furthermore, different sectarian communities are associated with different communal residential patterns. For example, for historical reasons, Shi‘a Muslims tend to be more represented in rural agricultural areas than are Sunni Muslims. The mean value of Land use, 2.36, indicates that the average zone is moderately urbanized. Finally, I included in the statistical analyses a proxy for the levels of socioeconomic development of different communities, average Telephone landline coverage measured at the zone level across the national territory. The variable

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Telephone landline coverage is an ordinal measure coded as unpopulated areas (0), areas not covered (1), areas covered by wireless local loops (2), and covered areas (3).30 In the absence of more direct measures of socioeconomic development, landline installations provide a useful substitute. Low-income households rarely install comparatively expensive fi xed lines, which incur monthly charges, opting instead for mobile phones or to forgo telephone service altogether. Although calls placed from mobile phones are extraordinarily expensive, calls received are free. Furthermore, text messaging, a widespread practice, provides a relatively inexpensive form of communication. Including a variable controlling for zone-level socioeconomic development is important because welfare agencies, which generally offer lower-cost benefits than do private, for-profit providers, theoretically target lower-income areas. Indeed, most providers insist that socioeconomic factors are the primary or sole considerations guiding the locations of welfare institutions, although most citizens are skeptical of their claims. The mean value of Telephone landline coverage is 2.8 out of 3, which suggests that many households are located in areas with available landline telephone networks.31 To supplement the Telephone landline coverage measure, I use descriptive data on income and ownership patterns of resident households measured at the zone level for the Beirut and Mount Lebanon provinces. Derived from the 2007–2008 household surveys conducted by Statistics Lebanon, the data group households into four socioeconomic categories: low-income (A), lowermiddle income (B), upper-middle income (C), and upper income (D). The categories are based on the self-reported, combined household income and ownership of a range of appliances and amenities such as mobile phones, cars, and refrigerators. These measures are used as further assessments of the degree to which socioeconomic development conditions the welfare-targeting strategies of political organizations. Because the data are available for only a limited geographical area, which overly restricts the institutional sample size, I use this measure of average household socioeconomic status for descriptive analyses only. SPATIAL ANALYSES In this section, I describe the results of descriptive and statistical analyses of the spatial data.32

Results: Descriptive Analyses As an initial assessment of the variation in the propensities of different parties to serve out-group communities, I descriptively analyzed the degree to which party-affiliated institutions are located in mixed communities. Each institution (the unit of analysis) is linked to information on the sectarian

The Political Geography of Welfare and Sectarianism

103

100 80 60 40 20 0 Future Hezbollah Movement excludes outside values

Amal

Kataeb

Sunni Shii Christian Charities Charities Charities

Figure 4.7 Propensity to target mixed or out-group communities (measured by fractionalization) by institutional type.

demographics of its zone, including its degree of ethnoreligious fractionalization. The selected institutional types are the Future Movement, Hezbollah, the Amal Movement, and the Kataeb Party as well as religious charities affiliated with the Christian, Sunni Muslim, and Shi‘a Muslim communities. Figure 4.7 is a box plot of the fractionalization index ( y axis) by the institutional type (x axis) at the zone level.33 The figure shows that these sectarian parties and religious charities locate welfare agencies in zones with a range of religious heterogeneity. Institutions tend to cluster at the lower end of the distribution, meaning that party-affiliated welfare agencies tend to favor more homogeneous communities, which are likely to have high concentrations of in-group members; nevertheless, there is sufficient variation in locational patterns to question the claim that these organizations solely target in-group communities. At a minimum, the data indicate that residents from diverse religious backgrounds inevitably come into contact with—and may even regularly use—services from out-group providers because these agencies are located in their neighborhoods or nearby. Most pertinent to the question of variation in welfare targeting, the figure shows substantial discrepancies in the propensities of the different organizations to set up agencies in out-group communities. The Future Movement has more institutions located in mixed areas than any other party-affiliated welfare organization or even religious charity. The median community type, represented by the bar within the boxes, shows that half of Future Movement institutions are located in communities with a fractionalization index of about 0.39 or higher. This far exceeds that of all other institutional types, indicating

104

Chapter 4

that the Future Movement serves many areas beyond its core bases in Sunni neighborhoods, towns, and villages. On the other end of the spectrum, Hezbollah targets areas with the lowest levels of fractionalization; the median community type where Hezbollah institutions are located has a fractionalization index of approximately 0.03. The welfare agencies of the party, in particular, are concentrated in a tight band of relatively homogeneous areas, with fractionalization levels ranging from 0.013 to 0.16. Although the Shi ʿi Amal Movement targets a broader array of communities—ranging from 0.014 to 0.49—than does Hezbollah, the fractionalization level of the median community where the Amal Movement welfare institutions are located (0.073) is also comparatively low. Similar to Hezbollah, the Christian Kataeb party tends to operate in relatively homogeneous areas. The median community type where Kataeb welfare agencies are located has a low fractionalization value of 0.038. A complementary pattern holds when the locations of party-affiliated welfare agencies are correlated with the percentages of in-group members at the zone level. Specifically, this analysis is based on calculations of the percentage of Sunnis in the zones where the Future Movement has established institutions, the percentage of Shi ʿa in the zones where Hezbollah and the Amal Movement operate institutions, and the percentage of Christians in the zones where the Kataeb Party runs institutions. Figure 4.8 is a box plot of the percentage of co-religionists ( y axis) by institutional type (x axis).

Propensity to Target In-Group Communities by Institutional Type 100 80 60 40 20 0 Future Hezbollah Movement excludes outside values

Amal

Kataeb

Sunni Shii Christian Charities Charities Charities

Figure 4.8 Propensity to target in-group communities (measured by percentage of co-religionists) by institutional type.

The Political Geography of Welfare and Sectarianism

105

The figure shows that the Future Movement establishes fewer welfare agencies in in-group areas than other parties do, with the median community type characterized by 58 percent Sunnis. Hezbollah, the Kataeb Party and, to a lesser degree, the Amal Movement are most likely to set up institutions in in-group areas. The median community type for Hezbollah shows that half of its institutions are located in communities that are more than 98 percent Shi ʿa. Likewise, the median Kataeb party institution is located in zones that are about 98 percent Christian. Although the median Amal institution is located in communities that are only 73 percent Shi ʿa, a quarter of the party welfare agencies are located in areas with more than 99 percent in-group members. The patterns of welfare targeting by Sunni Muslim, Shi ʿi Muslim, and Christian religious charities generally mirror the patterns of the political parties associated with the corresponding religious groups. Although charities tend to locate in a much broader spread of sectarian community types than do their more partisan counterparts, the median community types in which religious charities establish welfare institutions are similar to those of the partyaffiliated institutions and exhibit the same relative cross-group patterns. Although a full analysis of the welfare behavior of religious organizations is beyond the scope of this analysis, two points are worth noting. First, as emphasized in chapter 1, the boundaries between political parties and religious charities are porous. Parties often work closely with religious institutions to support their communities and even to mobilize political support. In Lebanon and in most other countries, religious institutions are often political actors in their own right, even if they do not directly field candidates in elections and they refrain from overt participation in national politics. Second, the locations of religious charities, many of which predate the establishment of modern Lebanon, are in part the result of historical legacies of foreign missionary activities or Ottoman- and colonial-era community-based welfare programs. (Chapter 6 addresses the relationships between specific political parties and religious charities.) Denying in-group favoritism and emphasizing charitable motivations, party-affiliated welfare providers often claim that socioeconomic need is the primary factor driving the locations of their agencies (Hankir 2008).34 As a preliminary means of assessing this claim, I explored the relationship between socioeconomic status (SES) and the locations of service agencies run by sectarian parties and religious charities. Based on data on residential populations in Beirut and Mount Lebanon provinces aggregated by zones, I compared the SES of the actual distribution of households with the SES of the average distribution of the zones where welfare agencies linked to the different parties and charities are located in this region (see figure 4.9).35 The set of bars in figure 4.9 labeled “Actual SES” shows the average distribution of households across the four categories of SES in Beirut and Mount

106

Chapter 4

60

40

20

0

Actual Future Hezbollah SES Movement High SES

Amal

Upper-Middle SES

Kataeb

Sunni Shii Christian Charities Charities Charities

Lower-Middle SES

Low SES

Figure 4.9 Distribution of households by socioeconomic status (SES) and propensity of institutional types to target different communities by SES in Beirut and Mount Lebanon provinces. Source: SES data from Statistics Lebanon (2008).

Lebanon provinces. The smallest number of households is classified as high SES, while the majority falls in the lower-middle followed by the uppermiddle SES categories. The figure reveals considerable variation in the degree to which political parties and religious charities target low-income households. Some parties and charities deviate considerably from the actual distribution of households in the two provinces. The predominantly Sunni Future Movement as well as Sunni charities differ most dramatically from the actual SES pattern by favoring upper-middle-income communities and serving fewer low-income areas than the regional average. Conversely, the Shi ʿi Hezbollah appears more responsive to SES, giving less attention to high- and upper-middle-income areas and placing the most emphasis on low-income areas of all groups, exceeding the regional average for this income category by a significant margin. After Hezbollah, the Shi ʿi Amal Movement appears most responsive to low-income areas.36 The Christian Kataeb Party favors lower-middle-income communities—even more than do Christian religious charities—but neglects the poorest areas in the Beirut–Mount Lebanon region. Thus, descriptive evidence based on household-level SES data provides mixed support for the claim that the welfare outreach of political parties is motivated by socioeconomic need. Not all the parties favor poor areas over others in the Greater Beirut region. The limited geographical scope of these data, however, precludes more defi nitive assessments of the welfare outreach

The Political Geography of Welfare and Sectarianism

107

of sectarian parties on a national scale. Furthermore, this descriptive analysis cannot untangle the relationship between SES and sectarian endowments, which undoubtedly affects the results. For example, many predominantly Shi ʿa communities in Beirut and Mount Lebanon provinces are home to lowincome families, which could explain why Shi ʿa political parties disproportionately target low-income communities in this region.

Results: Statistical Analyses The preceding discussion indicates that the Future Movement targets communities with higher proportions of out-group members than do other parties and that Hezbollah and the Amal Movement in particular tend to focus most intensively on in-group areas. However, greater confidence in this interpretation requires an analysis that controls for the unique demographic spread of religious communities in Lebanon as well as other factors that might shape the decisions of providers regarding the establishment of welfare programs, such as population density or socioeconomic development. As previously noted, religious communities are neither randomly spread across the national territory nor concentrated in similar patterns. To control for differences in sectarian endowments and other relevant factors, I estimated a series of ordinary least squares (OLS) models and compared coefficients across these models using seemingly unrelated regression (SUR). The dependent variables in the models denote the presence of one or more welfare institutions affiliated with the Future Movement, Hezbollah, the Amal Movement, and the Kataeb party; the unit of analysis is the zone in which sectarian parties established welfare agencies.37 The key independent variable is the ethnoreligious fractionalization in the zones where sectarian institutions locate. Other predictors are the percentages of religious groups in the zone where a given institution is located, which controls for the demographic spread of different religious communities. Additional independent variables address demographic characteristics such as population density, rural-urban development, and the level of socioeconomic development. SUR generates the covariances between estimators from different equations, permitting a joint test of hypotheses involving parameters in different equations. Because the values of the variables are collected on the same set of observations (i.e., zones), the error terms across the separate models are correlated. SUR enables the estimation of all models simultaneously while accounting for the correlated errors, leading to efficient estimates of the coefficients and standard errors (Tsai 2007; Zellner 1962). Thus, this technique allows direct comparisons of the propensities of the different sectarian parties to provide to mixed or more-fractionalized communities based on coefficients produced in separate OLS models.

752

752

752

−0.038* (0.025)

752

0.182 (0.165)

−0.185 (0.168)

0.123** (0.061)

−0.002 (0.055)

752

752

0.038 (0.062)

−0.001 (0.016)

−0.004 (0.012)

0.226*** (0.036)

−0.046*** (0.018)

0.113*** (0.028)

−0.024 (0.016)

−0.022 (0.021)

−0.217** (0.107)

−0.079** (0.037)

Hezbollah

6

752

0.021 (0.050)

−0.002 (0.010)

−0.021** (0.010)

0.106** (0.052)

0.007 (0.024)

0.084*** (0.031)

0.015 (0.019)

0.028 (0.026)

0.228 (0.225)

0.057 (0.053)

Amal

7

Notes: Values in parentheses are robust standard errors. * indicates p < 0.1; ** indicates p < 0.05; *** indicates p < 0.01; SUR, seemingly unrelated regression.

Number of observations

−0.005 (0.022)

0.026 (0.019)

−0.182 (0.165)

0.023 (0.060)

−0.074 (0.076)

−0.050 (0.059)

0.010 (0.021)

0.098*** (0.029)

−0.181 (0.165)

0.001 (0.053)

Constant

0.175*** (0.067)

Pct_Sunni

0.159*** (0.030)

0.022 (0.017)

−0.161 (0.165)

−0.170 (0.120)

−0.005 (0.014)

0.043 (0.059)

Pct_Shi ʿa

0.003 (0.014)

0.040* (0.024)

0.142 (0.307)

0.074 (0.052)

Telephone landline coverage

0.052 (0.061)

Pct_Druze

0.021 (0.021)

0.269 (0.257)

−0.015 (0.017)

Future

5

0.033** (0.015)

0.043 (0.058)

Pct_Christian

−0.020 (0.019)

0.080* (0.048)

Kataeb

4

Land use

0.047 (0.099)

Pct_Armenian

−0.002 (0.043)

Amal

3

0.140* (0.074)

0.146*** (0.056)

Fractionalization

Hezbollah

2

Population density

Future

Variables

1

Table 4.3 Presence of party-based welfare agencies in community (SUR)

752

0.180 (0.170)

−0.001 (0.005)

0.003 (0.005)

−0.005 (0.012)

−0.186 (0.168)

−0.183 (0.165)

−0.182 (0.165)

−0.162 (0.165)

0.139 (0.310)

−0.015 (0.0142)

Kataeb

8

The Political Geography of Welfare and Sectarianism

109

I first estimated the OLS regressions using SUR and included the fractionalization and the percentages of different religious communities as predictors. The model is expressed as follows: [Presence of party welfare agency] = α + βFrac + βPct_Armenian + βPct_ Christian + βPct_Druze + βPct_Shi ʿa + βPct_Sunni + ε

where the β terms represent coefficients estimated through OLS, α is a constant term and ε is a normally-distributed error term. Frac is religious fractionalization and the other variables represent the percentage of a given religious community at the zone level. Table 4.3 presents the results. In model 1, the dependent variable is the presence of a Future Movement welfare agency. The results indicate that the Future Movement institutions are positively correlated with fractionalization at the zone level ( p < 0.01). This finding suggests that the party locates welfare institutions in mixed areas, even after we control for members of its affiliated sectarian group as well as other religious communities. As expected, a significant endowment of Sunni Muslims exhibits the strongest substantive relationship with the presence of a Future Movement agency ( p < 0.01). The presence of populations from other religious communities, including Armenians, Christians, Druze, and Shi ʿa, is not associated with the presence of Future Movement welfare institutions. These results suggest that the Future Movement is likely to establish welfare agencies in mixed areas, even after we control for registered voters from the in- and out-group communities. Models 2–4 use the same variables to predict the presence of welfare agencies affiliated with the other sectarian parties in the analyses. In general, the results are quite different than those found in model 1 (which focuses on Future Movement institutions). As model 2 shows, only the percentage of Shi ʿa is significantly associated with the establishment of a Hezbollah institution. As expected, the presence of Shi ʿa in a given zone is positively associated with the outcome. In model 3, which predicts the presence of Amal Movement welfare institutions, fractionalization is positively associated with the outcome ( p < 0.1). In addition, the presence of Shi ʿa ( p < 0.001) and Christians ( p < 0.1) is also positively linked to the presence of Amal agencies. The existence of Amal institutions in areas with concentrations of Christians undoubtedly arises from the fact that some of the Amal clinics in the southern suburbs of Beirut are located in municipalities with significant concentrations of Christian voters, such as Haret Hreik. In reality, these municipalities are overwhelmingly populated by Shi ʿa residents and most Christians relocated to parts of Beirut or Mount Lebanon during the civil war or earlier. The establishment of Amal institutions in zones with Christian voters also partly explains the positive coefficient for the fractionalization variable. However, Hezbollah also has a

110

Chapter 4

large institutional presence in these zones, and the presence of its welfare agencies is not associated with fractionalization, supporting the claim that distinct political dynamics shape the varied patterns of welfare outreach in the two major Shi ʿa parties. As we see in model 4, the presence of Kataeb party institutions is not associated with fractionalization, although the coefficient is negative, nor is it correlated with the percentages of other religious communities at the zone level. The small sample size of Kataeb agencies (n = 9) partly explains these results. Models 5–8 add measures of population density, rural-urban land use, and socioeconomic development (as proxied by telephone landline coverage) to the prior models. The full model is expressed as follows: [Presence of party welfare agency] = α + βFrac + βPct_Armenian + βPct_ Christian + βPct_Druze + βPct_Shi‘a + βPct_Sunni + βPop + βLanduse + βLandline + ε

where Pop is Population density and Landline is Telephone landline coverage. Model 5 predicts the presence of a Future Movement welfare agency in a given zone. The results are similar to those in model 1. The coefficient for fractionalization remains positively associated with the establishment of Future Movement institutions but is no longer associated with the outcome, although it is not far from conventional levels of statistical significance ( p < 0.15). The association with the percentage of Sunnis in the zone remains positive and significant ( p < 0.05), while the presence of other religious communities is not associated with the establishment of Future Movement institutions. Increased population density and urbanization are positively related to the presence of Future Movement welfare agencies. This result probably arises from the fact that the base community of the party, Sunni Muslims, tend to live in more populated, urban communities. The association of Population density and urban communities with Future Movement institutions probably accounts for the reduced effect of fractionalization, which tends to arise in more urbanized areas. In all models, Telephone landline coverage is not significant but displays a negative coefficient. This negative relationship is expected because party welfare agencies, which offer subsidized services, tend to serve lower-income households and areas. Model 6 predicts the presence of Hezbollah welfare agencies. After controlling for the demographic and socioeconomic characteristics of com munities, fractionalization exhibits a negative relationship with Hezbollah institutions ( p < 0.05). The percentages of Armenians ( p < 0.05) and Sunnis ( p < 0.01) at the zone level are significant and are negatively associated with the presence of Hezbollah institutions. On the other hand, the coefficient for Shi ʿa exhibits strong statistical significance ( p < 0.000) and has a relatively important substantive relationship with the outcome. Population density has

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an equally strong positive and statistically significant association with Hezbollah institutions ( p < 0.000) and has the most substantively important association with the outcome. In model 7, which predicts the presence of Amal Movement welfare institutions using the full model, neither fractionalization nor the presence of Christians at the zone level is significant, as is true in model 3. As expected and like Hezbollah, its co-religionist rival, Amal welfare agencies are associated with the percentage of Shi ʿa ( p < 0.01) but not with the presence of other sectarian communities. Population density is positively associated with the presence of Amal institutions ( p < 0.05). The results also indicate that Amal institutions are less likely to be in urbanized areas ( p < 0.05). The results of model 8, which predicts the presence of Kataeb welfare agencies, are nearly identical to the fi ndings in model 4. Again, the small sample size and the location of the Mar Mikhael clinic in an area with a high percentage of Armenian registered voters might explain the anomalous negative relationship with Christians, the in-group community. SUR allows tests of the same predictor across multiple equations and, based on these results, chi-squared tests of the residuals in the different models enable an evaluation of the null hypothesis that the coefficient for fractionalization is 0 across the different outcome variables. Fractionalization is more consistently associated with the presence of a Future Movement welfare agency than with the presence of institutions linked to the other sectarian parties. Comparisons of the coefficient of fractionalization for the Future Movement (model 5) with the corresponding coefficients for the other organizations (models 6–8) indicate whether the impact of fractionalization varies with respect to different parties. A chi-squared test comparing the mean values of fractionalization for the Future Movement (model 5) and Hezbollah (model 6) indicates that the two parties do indeed respond differently to heterogeneity ( p < 0.05). This suggests that the Future Movement is more responsive to religiously diverse communities, while Hezbollah is less likely to establish agencies in mixed areas. A similar comparison of the Future Movement (model 5) and Kataeb (model 8) also indicates significant variation in the coefficient of fractionalization across the models ( p < 0.1). In the case of the Amal Movement (model 7), however, a chi-squared test does not support the claim the Future Movement and Amal vary with respect to fractionalization.

Discussion Based on a cross-sectional analysis, the fi ndings of this chapter point to spatial variation in the ways in which the different sectarian parties target their bricks-and-mortar welfare initiatives in Lebanon. The results generally indicate that ethnoreligious diversity is associated with the presence of a Future Movement welfare agency at the zone level. Conversely, the existence of

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a Hezbollah social institution is negatively correlated with heterogeneity. Both the Amal Movement and Kataeb are not significantly associated with fractionalization. Chi-squared tests based on the results of SUR indicate that the Future Movement responds differently to fractionalization than do the other parties, with the exception of the Amal Movement. These findings corroborate the arguments in this book. As I argue in chapter 1, when parties prioritize state-centric strategies, particularly by contesting national elections, they are more likely to reach out beyond in-group communities. An extra-state political strategy calls for a greater reliance on a hard-core group of activists, who tend to come from the in-group community. In addition, when parties face minimal competition within their respective group, they can afford to extend benefits to out-group communities because they are less obliged to prove their sectarian credentials. The positive association between zone-level heterogeneity and the presence of a Future Movement agency conforms to these expectations. First, as chapter 3 shows, the precursor to the Future Movement long prioritized state-centric political strategies, and the founder of the organization, Rafiq Hariri, had his eye on high-level political offices well before elections were restored in 1992 after the conclusion of the fifteen-year civil war. Furthermore, the party came to dominate political representation of its corresponding Sunni Muslim community in the post-war period. Having out-maneuvered potential rivals during and after the civil war, the party could afford to target more mixed areas (although not ignoring its in-group base). Thus, of all the parties analyzed in this chapter, the Future Movement is the most likely to target mixed areas. Likewise, these arguments explain the negative relationship between fractionalization and the presence of a Hezbollah welfare institution. The political strategy of Hezbollah entails favoritism of core supporters, who are almost exclusively from in-group communities. Although the party has progressively invested in a state-centric political strategy, notably by participating in national elections and holding high-level state offices, it has never abandoned its reliance on extra-state strategies, including the maintenance of a powerful militia force. In an earlier period, the legacy of the rivalry with the Amal Movement may have influenced the emphasis of Hezbollah on in-group areas. During the civil war and until the late 1990s, Hezbollah could not appear to neglect the Shi ʿa even if had wanted to do so. For the past decade or more, Hezbollah has been the dominant party in the Shi ʿi community. The presence of Kataeb welfare agencies is not associated with heterogeneity. The small sample size and the establishment of one of its major clinics in a neighborhood with a high concentration of Armenian registered voters probably explain why the fractionalization measure is not significant in the equations. Nonetheless, the negative coefficient on this variable is in the

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expected direction. The party, which strongly self-identifies as a Christian party, is largely located in in-group areas. Indeed, even the Mar Mikhael clinic, which is located in a district with many Armenian voters, is surrounded by a heavy concentration of non-Armenian Christians. Historically, leaders and organizations claiming to represent Lebanese Christian interests have had intense rivalries, manifested in some of the bloodiest clashes of the civil war. Particularly since the self-proclaimed Christian parties started to resuscitate themselves in 2005, these rivalries have continued most directly in the electoral arena. Seeking to present themselves as the true representatives of the Christian community, these parties underscore their decidedly Christian credentials. By favoring in-group communities in the provision of social benefits, the Kataeb and its co-religionist rivals aim to signal their strong commitments to in-group members. The Amal Movement spatial pattern of establishing welfare institutions is similar to that of Hezbollah, although they differ slightly in their associations with fractionalization. On the one hand, both parties are strongly responsive to the presence of in-group members in choosing where to establish welfare agencies. On the other hand, Hezbollah appears to avoid mixed areas, whereas this factor does not seem to shape the Amal Movement location choices, even after accounting for demographic and socioeconomic factors. The nature of the population data, which rely on the sectarian identities of registered voters, who do not necessarily reside in these areas, may at least partially account for this difference. The cluster of Amal Movement agencies in the suburbs of Beirut is located in areas with high concentrations of Christian voters but heavy endowments of Shi ʿa residents. But this is also true for Hezbollah, which established welfare agencies in the same or similar areas in the southern suburbs of Beirut with larger Christian voting populations. Instead, as I argue in more depth in chapter 6, the reliance of the Amal Movement on state patronage to reward its followers, maintain support, and bankroll its programs has compelled it to prioritize a state-centric political strategy in the post-war period. The use of public resources to fuel its patronage machine has compelled the Amal Movement to appear less overtly biased against outgroup members.38 The empirical analyses in this chapter highlight the variation in the propensity of different party-based welfare networks to target out-group communities in Lebanon. Even after controlling for factors that potentially affect decisions about where to set up welfare agencies, including the percentages of different sectarian communities, population density, urbanization, and socioeconomic development, some parties are more likely to operate bricks-and-mortar institutions in mixed areas than others. More specifically, the predominantly Sunni Muslim Future Movement is most likely to serve heterogeneous communities,

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while Hezbollah and the Kataeb Party do not tend to establish welfare agencies in such areas. And on average, the Amal Movement is slightly more likely to target mixed communities than Hezbollah. In the next chapter, I explore the micro-level politics of welfare. Based on fi ndings from an original national survey in Lebanon, chapter 5 assesses the relationship between political activism and access to social assistance at the household level and draws indirect inferences about the ways in which different political parties allocate social benefits. This is followed by more historically grounded and detailed accounts of party distributional behavior in chapter 6.

5 Political Loyalty and Access to Welfare

I

n 1998, after Israeli air raids incapacitated Lebanese power stations, a member of Rafiq al-Hariri’s staff contacted residents in the immediate vicinity of al-Hariri’s residence in Qreitem, the neighborhood in West Beirut where his political operations were based. The al-Hariri representative asked, “The prime minister has instructed us to provide electricity to his neighbors. Would you be interested in being connected?” When Ahmad, who lived in a building down the street from the al-Hariri residence, learned of the offer, he naturally accepted because al-Hariri’s power supply was continuous—and free of charge—whereas the generator he normally used offered limited and intermittent power. He then contacted the sahib al-motor, the man who leased the generator to his building, to inform him that he and his neighbor, Roula, would like to discontinue their prepaid subscriptions for generator power. When Ahmad requested a refund, the sahib al-motor replied, “Okay, I understand that Hariri would supply you with electricity; he wants your vote. But what does he want from Madame Roula?” Because Ahmad was registered to vote in an al-Hariri stronghold in Beirut, the generator operator was not surprised that the prime minister’s office would supply power to him. But he could not understand why the offer would extend to Madame Roula, who was registered to vote in a district in Mount Lebanon where candidates affiliated with the prime minister did not contest elections. Why would a politician waste his resources on those who could not support him at the ballot box? The sahib al-motor, like many Lebanese, viewed the provision of social services and public goods as part of a basic quid pro quo between politicians and constituents rather than a right of citizenship.1 More than two decades later, the same fundamental principles were still true in post-war Lebanon: politics shape access to basic services and help to guide the allocation of welfare goods by political organizations. Those who

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lack the financial means to purchase private health care, schooling, and basic infrastructure, such as reliable energy and water sources, are compelled to rely on charitable providers, including sectarian parties, which do not always incorporate purely charitable considerations in granting access to their services. Even to receive government services, which are legal entitlements for citizens, requires connections to influential individuals or the intercession of political or religious organizations. The basic observation that political factors guide the provision of welfare goods raises the question of how sectarian organizations decide whom to target with what types of welfare goods. As the previous chapter shows, GIS data provide a snapshot of the degree to which sectarian organizations target ingroup, mixed, and out-group areas. But this type of spatial analysis cannot adequately assess the second set of propositions outlined in chapter 1, which focus on the allocation of welfare goods at the individual or household level. How does the distribution of welfare goods at the micro level vary across sectarian organizations? Data from interviews with party representatives, development consultants, government officials, and ordinary citizens provide compelling evidence that sectarian organizations assess political commitments in determining whether and to what degree individuals and their families should receive services. But just as they hesitate to acknowledge that sectarian identity shapes welfare allocation, most party representatives deny that their own organizations discriminate according to the political preferences and behavior of potential beneficiaries. Although some party officials acknowledge on condition of anonymity that their parties reward or favor supporters with welfare goods, most prefer to accuse other parties of partisan bias while denying that their own organizations favor supporters. To evaluate the linkage between political behavior and welfare allocation, and to make broader inferences about the ways in which different sectarian parties distribute social benefits, we require additional data beyond interviews with the providers. This chapter relies on data from an original national survey conducted in Lebanon in April 2008, supplemented by in-depth interviews with party officials, welfare agency employees, local development consultants, and the beneficiaries of social service programs, to explore the possible associations between political behavior and access to social assistance. Data from the household survey provide a bottom-up perspective on the distributional behavior of different political organizations. By assessing distinct patterns of access to social benefits by supporters of different parties, the survey sheds light on variation in the welfare outreach patterns of sectarian organizations. To anticipate the findings, in this chapter I make two primary empirical claims. First, political activism is associated with increased access to social benefits across the board. Second, supporters of the Future Movement, far more than partisans of other organizations, receive higher quantities of the

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types of benefits most closely associated with electoral contestation. This second claim is consistent with the core arguments of the book because the party has prioritized a state-centric political strategy and faced few in-group threats to its political dominance of its community until recently. SURVEY DATA AND VARIABLES The survey instrument includes questions on access to fi nancial aid for health and educational services, the receipt of food, and other forms of short-term material benefits; religious identity and observance; political preferences; participation in political and religious organizations; and standard demographic questions. After the interview, survey enumerators also noted any political and/or religious posters or other materials displayed in the respondents’ homes as a supplementary measure of political and religious affiliations (Corstange 2008). Based on a nationally representative sample of 2,859 households across Lebanon,2 the survey sample captures a broad cross section of the Lebanese population in terms of gender, age, socioeconomic status, sect, and political affiliation. Data from the survey show that social assistance from nonstate organizations is substantial, with almost 52 percent of respondents reporting that they received some form of aid. Overall, 26 percent benefited from food and cash handouts, of which 63 percent reported that a political organization provided these items; 34 percent received financial aid for medical care; 27 percent of respondents with school-age children reported that they received fi nancial aid for school fees; and 25 percent reported that they received health services from a NGO. Although respondents were generally reluctant to admit that they received benefits from political organizations,3 18 and 3 percent claimed that a party-linked facility provided medical care and schooling, respectively. For several reasons, these figures undoubtedly underreport the degree to which respondents received social assistance, especially from political parties. First, social norms dictate that most families are reluctant to admit to fi nancial need. Second, it was surprisingly difficult to gather information on the affiliations of service providers—political, religious, or otherwise—from interviewees. Third, by necessity, the key measures of the dependent variable— access to welfare—did not include services supplied directly by party agencies or charitable organizations but, rather, focused on fi nancial assistance for a limited array of third-party services. Fourth, the probable underrepresentation of Muslims in the sample suggests that, if anything, the data underestimate access to social assistance from political or religious organizations. In general, welfare institutions are more centralized and more directly linked to political parties in Muslim communities than in the Christian communities. The dependent variable assesses access to welfare benefits, including food and material aid as well as financial support for medical services and schooling.

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(Appendix C lists the questions that provided the data for the dependent variable.) This array of services captures important components of the social programs and activities of political parties. Parties are renowned for distributing food, household items, and even cash during holidays and, especially, during elections. Monetary assistance and discounted medical services and school fees are also central to the welfare activities of political parties, which provide financial aid or arrange reduced prices for supporters at their own networks of clinics and schools or at institutions run by private, for-profit organizations or NGOs with sympathetic administrators. Parties also use their influence to facilitate expedited benefits from public programs or pay out-of-pocket fees for services largely covered by state agencies. The types of benefits captured in the survey are relatively low-cost, entail few fixed costs, and can be distributed easily, including from mobile units. Given these characteristics, these forms of assistance, especially food assistance and cash, are frequently employed as electoral incentives. As citizens and party representatives alike attest, political organizations reward voters with money or with boxes containing rice, lentils, sugar, cleaning supplies, and other basic household items. The dependent variable, Welfare, is measured on a four-point ordinal scale: no aid received (0), one type of aid received (i.e., food or fi nancial assistance for medical care or schooling) (1), two types of aid received (2), and all types of aid received (3). Thus, the values of the dependent variable range from no aid or the most basic benefit package, such as food assistance only, to the most extensive package of benefits, including all types of benefits covered in the survey. Table 5.1 depicts the coding and distribution of the measure of the dependent variable. As the table shows, on average respondents received minimal amounts of social assistance (0.77 units of welfare on a range of 0 to 3). The mean level of assistance for medical care (0.34 on a range of 0 to 1) was slightly higher than for food assistance (0.26) or schooling (0.27). Less than half the respondents (47 percent) reported that they obtained no welfare while 31 percent claimed to receive a single benefit, 18 percent reported that they received two types of benefits, and about 3 percent indicated that they received all three types of benefits. Thus, it was relatively uncommon to receive more than one type of welfare benefit and highly unlikely to gain all three forms of social assistance. The main independent variable of interest, the Political Activity Index (PAI), is an ordinal variable based on an additive index of responses to questions about different forms of political participation.4 (Appendix C provides the questions used to construct the index.) The survey captures diverse forms of political participation, including voting behavior, partisanship, volunteering for party organizations and attending party meetings, and the display of partisan materials such as posters or symbols at the respondent’s home, where survey interviews were conducted. The survey distinguishes between support

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Table 5.1 Measures of the dependent variable, Welfare, and its component forms of social assistance Number of observations

Mean

Standard deviation

Minimum

Maximum

Welfare (total social assistance)

1,913

0.772

0.857

0

3

Food assistance

1,913

0.260

0.439

0

1

Aid for medical services

1,844

0.344

0.475

0

1

Aid for school fees

Type of social assistance

1,273

0.270

0.444

0

1

Food aid by political organization

472

0.631

0.483

0

1

Health care by provider linked to political party

564

0.184

0.388

0

1

Health care by NGO

1,838

0.251

0.434

0

1

Schooling by provider linked to political party

1,190

0.037

0.189

0

1

Note: Welfare is measured on a four-point ordinal scale: no aid received (0), one type of aid received (i.e., food or financial assistance for medical care or schooling) (1), two types of aid received (2), and all types of aid received (3).

for and membership in political parties because in Lebanon party members tend to include only hard-core activists and cadres. Party support encompasses a much larger array of sympathizers and reflects partisan preferences in much the same way that membership in the Democratic or Republican parties indicates partisan alignment in the United States. These questions generally capture lower-risk forms of political behavior, and particularly those associated with electoral participation, rather than higher-risk, more politically sensitive actions such as participation in riots or service as a militia fighter. As a result, the measures of PAI mainly capture forms of political participation related to state-centric politics rather than an extra-state strategy. Table 5.2 shows the coding and distribution of the measures of the PAI. In the sample population, PAI ranges from 0 to 7, with a mean of 2.15 and standard deviation of 1.75. The Cronbach’s alpha coefficient for PAI is 0.68. As would be expected, more respondents reported lower-risk and less-timeconsuming forms of political engagement rather than riskier and more costly types of participation. For example, 68 percent of the sample claimed to have voted in the 2005 parliamentary elections and, of these voters, about 68 percent cast a ballot for the full slate of candidates proposed by their preferred political party. Whereas 45 percent reported support for a particular political party, only 9 percent claimed to be members of a party. About 17 percent volunteered for their preferred party during the 2005 parliamentary elections and 13 percent indicated that they participate in party activities outside

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Table 5.2 Coding and distribution of the independent variable PAI and its component forms of political activity Political activity PAI (overall)

Number of observations

Mean

Standard deviation

Minimum

Maximum

1,912

2.152

1.747

0

7

Voted in 2005 elections

1,901

0.687

0.464

0

1

Voted for full party list

1,285

0.680

0.467

0

1

Volunteered in 2005 national elections

1,866

0.167

0.373

0

1

Displays political posters/ materials at home

1,848

0.184

0.388

0

1

Support for party

1,896

0.455

0.498

0

1

Membership in party

1,902

0.091

0.288

0

1

Volunteered work for party

1,912

0.129

0.335

0

1

electoral cycles. Finally, the enumerators noted that only 18 percent of the interviewees displayed partisan posters or other materials at their residences. The average PAI score is higher for men (2.38) than for women (1.95) on the seven-point scale, but in practice women may receive more credit for activism than their lower scores suggest. PAI is measured at the individual level, yet in Lebanon political participation generally occurs at the level of households or even extended families. Women and youth therefore benefit from political activism carried out by husbands, fathers, and other male relatives. As a result, the PAI measure probably underreports the credit that parties accord to these demographic groups for political activism. For example, if a father is a known core supporter thanks to his attendance at meetings or community outreach on behalf of the party, family members are usually perceived as core supporters as well and will receive discounted services arranged by the party.5 As the historical overview in chapter 2 suggests, sectarian identity may affect access to social assistance. Although Christian welfare institutions were more developed historically, in the post-war period Muslim parties have developed and maintained more articulated welfare networks than their Christian counterparts.6 Supporters of different political organizations may also face variable access to social assistance. The different parties and political movements developed welfare networks of varying scales during and after the civil war (see chapter 6). In general, the Muslim parties, including the Future Movement and Hezbollah and, to a lesser degree, the Amal Movement, have more extensive and centralized welfare programs than their Christian counterparts. Indeed, with the partial exception of the Kataeb party, the Christian parties do not operate their own clinics, hospitals or schools, whereas the major Muslim parties all have social wings that run their own health and

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educational facilities. In part thanks to Saudi and Iranian fi nancial sponsorship, which has helped to fi nance the Future Movement and Hezbollah, respectively, the Muslim parties tend to have more extensive resources than their Christian counterparts, enabling them both to administer their own welfare programs and to direct more generous cash and in-kind assistance to their supporters. To assess and control for potential variation in access to services for members of different sects and party affiliations, I included dummy variables for sectarian identity—Shiʿi Muslim, Sunni Muslim and Christian— and membership in or support for the main sectarian parties.7 Table 5.3 depicts the breakdown of the sample by sectarian identity and partisanship. The survey sample captures the full array of sectarian groups, albeit with the slight probable overrepresentation of Christians and underrepresentation of Shi ʿa and, especially, Sunni Muslims.8 Although there is no official data on the current sectarian breakdown of actual residents, it is broadly accepted that Christians from diverse sects now constitute just under 40 percent and Muslims account for about 60 percent of the population (CIA World Factbook 2013; U.S. Department of State 2008).9 The Ministry of Interior provides data on the sectarian identities of registered voters at the local level based on information supplied by mukhtars (neighborhood and village-level elected officials).10 The measures of partisanship are particularly central to the analysis because they permit inferences about the distributional behavior of the different sectarian parties in Lebanon. The survey respondents represent a diversity of partisan alignments, with the overwhelming majority reporting support for the main sectarian parties. Of the 779 respondents who voted for or support a political party in Lebanon, approximately 21.4 percent belong to or support the Free Patriotic Movement, 12.7 percent belong to or support the Lebanese Table 5.3 Measures of sectarian identity and partisanship Number of observations

Mean

Standard deviation

Minimum

Maximum

Christian

1,913

0.426

0.495

0

1

Shiʿa

1,913

0.235

0.424

0

1

Sunni

1,913

0.190

0.392

0

1

Christian party

779

0.371

0.484

0

1

Future

779

0.187

0.390

0

1

Hezbollah

779

0.173

0.379

0

1

Amal

779

0.076

0.265

0

1

Variable Sectarian identity

Partisanship

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Chapter 5

Forces, 3 percent belong to or support the Kataeb, 18.7 percent belong to or support the Future Movement, 17.3 percent belong to or support the Hezbollah, 7.6 percent belong to or support the Amal Movement, 5.8 percent belong to or support the PSP, and 13.9 belong to or support other parties. I include measures of party membership and support because partisanship in Lebanon is generally expressed in terms of support. Only party cadres hold official membership in political parties, and as a result, few citizens are actually members of parties. Levels of political activism vary by sect and partisan identity. As Table 5.4 indicates, Druze respondents report the highest levels of political activism, which is not surprising given the enclave nature of the community. Because the Druze, who make up about 4–5 percent of the population (CIA World Factbook 2013), are a dwindling minority in Lebanon, their leaders organize community members to defend group interests through a network of associations in predominantly Druze areas and are renowned for active representation in government institutions. The data also show that Shi ʿa respondents are slightly more politically active than their Sunni or Christian counterparts. Those who reported another identity, which largely includes respondents who declined to report a sectarian affiliation, had the lowest political activity levels. Low levels of activism for nonaffiliated individuals are to be

Table 5.4 Political activity index by sectarian identity and partisan affiliation Sectarian identity and partisanship

Number of observations

Mean

Standard deviation

Minimum

Maximum

2.050

1.716

0

7

Sect Christian

814

Sunni

363

2.160

1.700

0

7

Shiʿa

449

2.388

1.796

0

7

Druze

76

2.934

1.941

0

7

Armenian Other

66

1.773

1.644

0

7

144

1.729

1.622

0

7

289

3.422

1.573

1

7

Partisanship Christian party Future Movement

145

3.476

1.449

1

7

Hezbollah

131

3.061

1.340

1

7

59

4.966

1.681

0

7

Amal Movement PSP Other Not reported

45

4.200

1.740

1

7

110

3.455

1.566

1

7

1,133

1.199

1.080

0

6

Political Loyalty and Access to Welfare

123

expected given that the sectarian political system in Lebanon ties political representation and access to resources to sectarian identification. Levels of political activism vary markedly across supporters of the different parties. Supporters of the Shi ʿi Amal Movement have the highest levels of political activism, followed by supporters of the Druze PSP (see table 5.4). Supporters of Christian parties report lower levels of activism, which may be in part due to the fact that these parties did not actively reconstitute themselves on the grassroots level until after the withdrawal of Syrian troops from Lebanon in spring 2005. Supporters of the predominantly Sunni Future Movement report still lower levels of political activism, which accords with the reputation of urban and, especially, Beiruti Sunnis for minimal political engagement.11 Hezbollah supporters exhibit particularly low levels of political activism. This fi nding may result from the fact that the forms of political activism captured in the PAI are central to state-centric rather than extra-state politics, which Hezbollah has prioritized. Accounts of Lebanese politics tend to link the major political parties to particular religious communities. But this interpretation overstates the association between sectarian and partisan identities and, at the extreme, conflates these distinct forms of identity. As Table 5.5 shows, the majority of supporters of sectarian parties in the sample come from the corresponding sect, which conforms with some defi nitions of ethnic or, in this case, sectarian parties (Horowitz 2000). The extent of in-group support for sectarian parties in the sample ranges from the Amal Movement, which attracts support from about 32 percent of the Shi ʿi community, to the Future Movement, which captures over 83 percent of Sunni citizens. The levels of correlation between sectarian identity and the co-religionist parties, however, reflect a partial mismatch between sectarian parties and in-group members because many people do not support parties, co-religionist or otherwise. Thus, it is analytically and empirically important to distinguish between religious and partisan identities. The analyses of the survey data include additional demographic variables to control for age,12 gender (1 = female), socioeconomic status, and the presence of children in the household (1 = yes), each of which might independently

Table 5.5 Relationship between partisan and sectarian identities

Sectarian identity

Partisanship

In-group partisans (%)

Correlation between sectarian and partisan identifications

Christian

Christian party

82.6

0.79

Sunni

Future Movement

83.3

0.84

Shiʿa

Hezbollah

63.1

0.71

Amal Movement

31.6

0.51

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Chapter 5

Table 5.6 Measures of main demographic control variables Number of observations

Mean

Standard deviation

Minimum

Age

1,911

3.534

1.191

1

8

Female respondent

1,911

0.536

0.499

0

1

Child in household

1,910

0.884

0.321

0

1

Socioeconomic variables

Maximum

Need (total)

1,913

1.671

1.438

0

5

Problems with mortgage

1,821

0.291

0.454

0

1

Lost job

1,881

0.102

0.302

0

1

Put medical treatment off

1,905

0.406

0.491

0

1

Borrowed money

1,908

0.546

0.498

0

1

Sold belongings

1,911

0.345

0.476

0

1

affect access to social services and welfare-seeking behavior. (See Table 5.6.) Low-income and needy individuals are more likely to seek and obtain welfare goods, and therefore it is essential to control for socioeconomic status in the analyses. It is also important to gather data on socioeconomic status because sectarian organizations and other types of providers generally claim that they allocate services according to need rather than political or sectarian identity. Because survey respondents are often reluctant to reveal household income and assets, particularly where tax evasion is widespread, I have therefore included a measure of self-reported need, which is constructed from an index indicating whether the respondent faced fi nancial or material hardship in the past year. (See Appendix C for the questions used to construct the index.)13 Many nonstate providers in Lebanon are linked to religious institutions and may favor co-religionists, especially those who seem more pious or at least demonstrate a greater commitment to their faith community. Some religious institutions also have informal ties to political parties, which may use their influence to obtain favorable treatment for supporters in religious charities. I therefore included measures of self-reported piety and participation in religious events outside regular services and celebrations organized by religious communities and organizations.14 (See Table 5.7.) It is critical to distinguish between piety and active participation in religious events. Whereas the former can be expressed privately, the latter is a more demonstrative form of commitment and therefore may more readily compel religious authorities to facilitate access to welfare for congregationalists. An extensive literature in the social sciences holds that ethnic and religious heterogeneity is associated with the decreased provision of public goods (Alesina, Baqir, and Easterly 1999; Easterly and Levine 1997; Habyarimana et al. 2007). To account for the ways in which community characteristics may shape

125

Political Loyalty and Access to Welfare Table 5.7 Measures of piety, religious participation, and religious fractionalization Number of observations

Mean

Piety

1,893

4.249

1.021

1

5

Religious participation

1,878

0.208

0.406

0

1

Religious fractionalization

1,913

27.691

19.307

Variable

Standard deviation

Minimum

0.390

Maximum

61.851

the respondent’s access to services, I included a measure of the degree of religious fractionalization in the administrative district in which the respondent resides.15 The variable measures the degree of ethnoreligious diversity of the population at the qaza level and ranges from 0, which denotes no fractionalization or perfect homogeneity, to 100, or extreme heterogeneity (see Table 5.7).16 The different religious communities have experienced varied historical trajectories of economic development and social advancement, which had helped to fuel conflict and tensions since at least the nineteenth century (El-Khazen 2000; Hudson 1968; Makdisi 2000; Norton 1987; Salibi 1988; Traboulsi 2007). Table 5.8 shows that average levels of socioeconomic status differ by sect and partisanship. The variation in the sample corresponds with our general expectations about the population: Christian respondents generally have higher socioeconomic status than most other groups, although Shi ʿa report even lower measures of financial hardship. This may arise from the comparative strength of Shi ʿa welfare institutions, which developed in recent decades, and is consistent with the claim that the Muslim parties, especially Hezbollah, do more for “their own” than do other parties. In addition, Christian parties and religious charities have more fragmented and less articulated welfare networks than Muslims, with the exception of the Catholic schools system, the Confédération Générale des Ecoles Catholiques au Liban (CGEC-L). The relationship between partisanship and socioeconomic hardship shows similar patterns. Supporters of the Shi ʿa parties, Hezbollah, and the Amal Movement, report the lowest levels of need, followed by supporters of Christian parties. This probably reflects the strength of the social programs and benefits available from the two Shi ʿa parties, whether from their own welfare institutions or through the distribution of state patronage (see chapter 6). The relatively low hardship level reported by supporters of Christian parties, which have less-articulated welfare programs, may, at least partly, result from the comparative wealth of the Christian communities. The relatively high levels of need reported by partisans of the Future Movement may be due to persistent problems of poverty in the predominantly Sunni areas of Akkar and elsewhere in North Lebanon, where the party has substantial pockets of support (Laithy, Abu-Ismail, and Hamdan 2008).

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Table 5.8 Mean socioeconomic status by sectarian identity and partisan affiliation Sectarian identity and partisanship

Number of observations

Mean

Standard deviation

Minimum

Maximum

Sect Christian

814

1.598

1.395

0

5

Sunni

363

1.926

1.508

0

5

Shiʿa

449

1.388

1.386

0

5

Druze

76

2.000

1.506

0

5

Armenian

66

2.379

1.465

0

5

145

1.828

1.376

0

5

Christian party

289

1.592

1.377

0

5

Future Movement

145

1.890

1.514

0

5

Hezbollah

131

1.420

1.386

0

5

59

1.305

1.193

0

5

Other Partisanship

Amal Movement PSP Other Not reported

45

2.000

1.595

0

5

110

2.127

1.521

0

5

1,134

1.654

1.434

0

5

RESULTS To assess the linkages between political activism and access to welfare, I run a series of OLS models.17 The dependent variable in all models measures how many benefits, if any, the respondent received (Welfare): no aid, one type of aid, two types of aid, or all three types of aid. Table 5.9 reports the results of these models. The analyses probe distinct aspects of the politicization of social benefits, including the linkage between access to social benefits and a range of factors: political behavior, piety, religious participation, sectarian identity, and partisanship. The results of the models describe correlations but not causal relationships between these factors and access to welfare. Furthermore, the possibility of reverse causation or omitted variables may bias the results. Later in the chapter, however, I present several reasons why the results are likely to depict a valid relationship between these variables and, if anything, underreport the effects of political activism and partisanship on the receipt of welfare in Lebanon.

Political Activism and Access to Welfare The most basic model, model 1 in table 5.9, includes the PAI and demographic variables. The results show that women, households with children,

Table 5.9 OLS regressions for the variable Welfare 1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

Dependent variable: Welfare (0–3) PAI

0.096*** 0.093*** 0.102*** 0.099*** 0.083*** 0.083*** 0.061*** 0.061*** (0.011) (0.012) (0.012) (0.012) (0.020) (0.020) (0.019) (0.019)

Age

−0.011 (0.016)

Female

0.177*** 0.185*** 0.185*** 0.208*** 0.204*** 0.208*** 0.120** (0.038) (0.040) (0.040) (0.040) (0.063) (0.064) (0.060)

Child in household

0.309*** 0.309*** 0.317*** 0.319*** 0.473*** 0.478*** 0.349*** 0.350*** (0.046) (0.047) (0.048) (0.049) (0.080) (0.081) (0.079) (0.080)

Need

0.061*** 0.062*** 0.058*** 0.053*** 0.075*** 0.077*** 0.070*** 0.072*** (0.013) (0.013) (0.014) (0.013) (0.021) (0.021) (0.021) (0.021)

−0.014 (0.016)

−0.019 (0.016)

−0.006 (0.017)

0.009 (0.025)

0.012 (0.025)

0.015 (0.024)

0.016 (0.024) 0.119* (0.061)

Piety

−0.019 (0.020)

−0.011 (0.020)

−0.012 (0.020)

−0.027 (0.030)

−0.031 (0.030)

0.007 (0.028)

0.004 (0.028)

Religious participation

0.085* (0.050)

0.066 (0.050)

0.109** (0.051)

0.141** (0.071)

0.134* (0.072)

0.146** (0.069)

0.134* (0.070)

0.002* (0.001)

0.002* (0.001)

0.003* (0.002)

0.003* (0.002)

Religious fractionalization

Christian party

−0.200** −0.217** −0.117 (0.089) (0.107) (0.095)

Future Movement

0.444*** 0.424*** 0.338*** 0.347** (0.102) (0.148) (0.103) (0.150)

Hezbollah

−0.081 (0.102)

Amal Movement

0.383*** 0.118 (0.133) (0.186)

−0.329** −0.054 (0.156) (0.103) 0.198 (0.148)

−0.184* (0.111)

−0.245 (0.164) −0.008 (0.201)

Christian

−0.077 (0.061)

0.075 (0.110)

0.159 (0.115)

Sunni

0.257*** (0.070)

0.071 (0.155)

0.048 (0.163)

Shiʿa

0.029 (0.067)

0.336* (0.171)

0.299 (0.187)

Constant

0.134* (0.077)

0.209* (0.110)

0.137 (0.113)

0.065 (0.123)

−0.083 (0.176)

−0.132 (0.182)

0.014 (0.205)

−0.060 (0.208)

Fixed effects Observations

1,906

1,858

1,807

1,807

736

736

765

765

R-squared

0.075

0.076

0.083

0.102

0.178

0.182

0.298

0.302

Notes: Values in parentheses are robust standard errors. *** indicates p < 0.01, ** indicates p < 0.05, * indicates p < 0.1.

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and financial need are all statistically significant ( p < 0.001) and positively associated with the receipt of social assistance.18 These fi ndings are not surprising because needy families, and especially those with children, are the most obvious candidates for social assistance and because, as the literature on clientelism shows, the poor are the most likely to be targeted for and susceptible to clientelist exchanges (Calvo and Murillo 2004). Nonstate providers, including those linked to sectarian parties, uniformly emphasize the importance of need in the eligibility criteria for their services. The fi nding that women are more likely to receive social assistance is consistent with the fact that women in Lebanon (and throughout the world) are more likely than husbands, fathers, and other male relatives to take charge of everyday family needs, accompany children to medical visits, and seek assistance from welfare agencies (Lawless and Fox 2010; Moghadam 2003). The results also indicate that religious diversity (measured at the level of the qaza) is associated with increased access to aid. This contradicts studies that link increased ethnic heterogeneity with poor development outcomes and public goods provision (Alesina, Baqir, and Easterly 1999; Easterly and Levine 1997). Many of these studies measure fractionalization at the national level, yet social provision and related outcomes may differ at subnational levels of analysis (Gerring et al. 2011). In Lebanon, the positive association between religious diversity and social assistance may arise because qazas that are more mixed are more competitive, and therefore the benefits associated with vote-buying, which include key components of the dependent variable, may be more plentiful in these areas. Most important, the fi ndings suggest that political activity has important effects on the receipt of social assistance. Across all models, PAI is statistically significant at the p < 0.001 level. This indicates that access to varied quantities of social assistance is associated with different levels of political activism. Model 1 shows that the chance of attaining more aid rises with increasing levels of political engagement, even after we account for basic demographic factors that might influence access to social benefits. An individual who actively supports a particular party and participates in political demonstrations and meetings is more likely to receive food assistance in addition to fi nancial aid for health care and, if applicable, schooling for her children than a person who is not politically active. As models 2–6 show, this finding holds even after we account for a progressively larger array of control variables, including piety, religious participation, religious fractionalization in the qaza where the respondent resides, sectarian identity, and partisanship. Models 7 and 8 demonstrate that the strong relationship between political behavior and access to social benefits persists in full models run with fixed effects at the qaza level. Political activism has meaningful substantive effects on access to welfare. Although the size of the coefficients for PAI may seem small across all models, the percentage change in access to social benefits with increased political

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activism is substantial.19 For example, based on the results of model 1, a woman who participates politically to the largest extent (PAI = 7) and who has average measures of children residing in her household, fi nancial need, piety, and religious participation receives approximately 1.38 units of welfare measured on a four-point scale. By contrast, a woman with minimal political activism (PAI = 0) and the same personal attributes obtains 0.71 units of social benefits. That is, an increase of 7 units of political activism yields an increase of 0.67 units of welfare; therefore, the highly politically active woman receives about 95 percent more social benefits—or almost twice the quantity of welfare—than the politically quiescent woman. These results are consistent with my propositions in chapter 1, notably that access to distinct quantities of welfare goods calls for different levels and forms of political activism. Core supporters, who undertake the most continuous and risky forms of political activism, are expected to receive more social assistance than marginal supporters or the uncommitted, who exhibit little or no political activism. The relationship between political activism and welfare holds across all the models, but the substantive effects of political behavior on the size of the coefficient decrease after we control for additional factors such as sectarian identity and partisanship and after the models are run with fixed effects at the level of the qaza. Based on the results for model 8, the highly politically active woman receives 57 percent more welfare than her politically inactive counterpart. The incorporation of a more complete array of control variables and fi xed effects in the models at least partially compensates for potential omitted-variable bias in the more basic specifications, and the substantive relationship between political behavior and access to welfare remains substantial.20

Piety, Religious Participation and Access to Welfare Models 2–8 incorporate measures of piety and religious participation. In all these models, piety has no statistically significant relationship with the receipt of social benefits. Religious participation, however, shows a consistent, statistically significant association with access to welfare, and its substantive effect is stronger after we control for sectarian identity and partisanship (models 4–8). After we introduce fi xed effects in the full model, the strength of the relationship drops somewhat ( p < 0.1 in model 8), but the substantive effects remain important. For example, based on model 8, a Sunni woman with average levels of all other demographic and identity-based attributes receives 16 percent more welfare if she participates in religious activities than if she remains inactive in such associations beyond major holidays and rituals in her community. These findings have important implications for the role of religion and religious organizations in the Lebanese welfare regime. Religious organizations play an important role in the social safety net, as direct providers of welfare

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and as brokers of access to social benefits provided by public or other nonstate organizations. The consistent association between religious participation (but not piety) and access to welfare indicates that outward engagement with a religious community (but not private commitment to faith) enables the receipt of more social assistance. Religious authorities may favor those who appear more engaged in their institutions over those who are more quietly pious. Those whose faith is expressed on a more personal basis may be less visible in their respective religious communities or may seem less committed to religious leaders, who facilitate access to welfare. The relationship between religious participation and the receipt of social benefits also implies that religious participation may be tantamount to a form of political participation, particularly because some sectarian parties effectively control or establish tight collaborative linkages with religious institutions in their corresponding communities (see chapter 6 for more on the ties between sectarian parties and religious charities). In a context where political representation is structured along sectarian lines, at least some types of participation in religious events and organizations are interpreted as forms of engagement in the political system.

Sectarian Identity and Access to Welfare Given the politicization of religious identity in Lebanon, it is important to evaluate the relationship between the respondent’s sect and access to welfare. Furthermore, sectarian identity is likely to capture access to benefits provided or mediated by religious organizations such as the Maronite Church and associated institutions; Sunni welfare organizations such as Dar al-Fatwa or the Maqasid; and Shiʿa organizations such as Mabarrat, the Supreme Islamic Shi ʿi Council, and the Imam Musa al-Sadr Foundation. As noted, some sectarian parties either work closely with or effectively control religious charities. Models 4, 6, and 8 incorporate variables for Christian, Sunni, and Shiʿi religious identities. The results of the analyses show mixed and inconsistent results with respect to the linkage between sectarian identity and access to social benefits. In model 4, the findings indicate that Sunni identity is strongly associated with the receipt of welfare ( p < 0.01) but that other sectarian identities are not significantly related with welfare. Sunnis received 0.26 units of welfare, a substantial amount given that political activism alone, regardless of sect, is associated with 0.1 units of welfare. This implies that to have the same amount of welfare as a Sunni, a citizen of unspecified religious identity would need to increase her levels of political participation almost threefold. However, these results do not hold across the other models, indicating that Sunni religious identity does not have a consistent relationship with access to welfare. Similar effects arise with respect to Shi ʿi religious identity. In model 6, which includes the full array of demographic, religious, and partisanship

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131

controls, Shi ʿi religious identity is strongly associated with access to welfare ( p < 0.01). Again, this result does not hold across the other models, indicating that this is not a robust relationship. In short, religious identity does not appear to have a strong and consistent relationship with access to welfare, and its effects disappear when other factors are introduced into the analyses.

Partisanship and Access to Welfare The dominant political parties in Lebanon all have sectarian foundations but, as previously discussed, sectarian identity is not synonymous with partisanship. The majority of supporters of sectarian political organizations are co-religionists, yet correlations between sectarian identity and co-religionist parties are low because many people do not support parties, co-religionist or otherwise. Measures of partisanship, therefore, provide a more appropriate bottom-up lens for analyzing the distributional behavior of sectarian parties in Lebanon. Models 5–8 incorporate measures of support for or membership in the main sectarian parties, including the Christian parties, the predominantly Sunni Future Movement, and the largely Shi‘a Hezbollah and Amal Movement. The most important and robust fi nding is that support for the Future Movement is strongly and consistently associated with increased access to social benefits ( p < 0.01). Indeed, after the presence of children in the household, support for this party exhibits the most substantively important relationship with social assistance. Partisans of the Future Movement have particularly high payoffs with respect to welfare, exceeding the effects of political activism by a wide margin. In model 8, Future Movement supporters receive 0.35 units of welfare, whereas a one-step increase in political activism is associated with the receipt of only 0.06 units of welfare. To convey the substantive impact of support for this party, it is useful to compare the differences in access to social benefits for a partisan of the Future Movement and a citizen without partisan affiliation. A Sunni woman with average levels of political activism and demographic attributes receives 44 percent more social assistance if she supports the Future Movement than if she does not endorse a political party. Furthermore, the same female supporter of the Future Movement increases her access to social benefits by 24 percent if she boosts her levels of political activism from the minimum to maximum levels. The statistical significance of Sunni religious identity no longer holds when the analyses include control variables for partisanship (see models 6 and 8). This suggests that partisanship, rather than sectarian identity, drives the positive, strong relationship between Sunni religious identity and access to welfare, as seen in model 4. The findings also indicate the degree to which supporters of the Future Movement are advantaged over supporters of other parties with respect to the receipt of social benefits. A Sunni woman who supports the Future Movement

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and exhibits mean levels of demographic attributes and political activism receives 43 percent more total benefits than a Shi ʿi woman with similar characteristics who supports Hezbollah and receives 11 percent more welfare than a Shi ʿi woman who supports the Amal Movement. Across models 5–8, support for the Christian parties is always negatively related to welfare, but it is statistically significant ( p < 0.1) only in the fully specified model with fi xed effects (model 8), indicating that supporters of these parties receive less welfare than backers of other parties. A supporter of a Christian party experiences a deficit of 0.18 units of welfare compared to other citizens. This is consistent with the fact that the Christian parties have less-developed welfare programs than their Muslim counterparts and that the health and social assistance programs of Christian religious institutions are more fragmented than those of Muslim charities. Thus, a Christian woman who supports a Christian party and exhibits mean levels of political activism and demographic characteristics receives 37 percent less total welfare than a Sunni woman who supports the Future Movement. At the same time, political activism can still facilitate access to welfare for supporters of Christian parties: a female partisan of the Christian parties who increases her level of political activism from the minimum to the maximum increases her total social benefits by 41 percent. When fi xed effects at the qaza level are introduced into the model, the strong statistically significant relationship between support for the Future Movement and access to welfare remains ( p < 0.01), but the substantive effects of this partisan identity are slightly diminished. This suggests that the nature of the relationship between partisanship and access to social benefits varies at the subnational level. This interpretation is consistent with the spatial analyses presented in the chapter 4 and is addressed in the next chapter. As I argue in chapter 1, the prioritization of state-centric and extra-state political strategies are important reasons why the Future Movement and other sectarian organizations exhibit varied forms of welfare outreach in different parts of the country. Certain districts and regions are more important for political strategies, either because they are key strongholds of supporters or areas with smaller pockets of supporters who are vital to electoral calculations. The incorporation of fi xed effects at the level of the qaza accounts for some of this variation. Variation in individual-level access to welfare sheds light on the distribution of social benefits by different sectarian parties. If these parties allocate social benefits in varied ways, then distinct sectarian identities and partisan affiliations should be associated with differential access to welfare at the individual level. Furthermore, the types of social benefits analyzed in the survey are relatively short term and mobile, and they entail low fi xed costs. As a result, they are more likely to be deployed for lower-risk forms of political participation such as voting in elections or serving as party volunteers around electoral cycles. Thus, co-religionists and supporters of parties that are more

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focused on state-centric political strategies should report higher access to welfare in the survey sample. Findings from analyses of the survey confirm that welfare allocation varies among sectarian parties in specific ways, as noted previously (see also ch. 6). The strong association between access to welfare and support for the Future Movement may arise from the fact that this party—like other major Muslim parties—has more centralized and extensive welfare networks than the Christian parties. This interpretation, however, does not explain why support for Hezbollah and the Amal Movement is not associated with access to welfare. Like the Future Movement and, to a much lesser degree the Amal Movement, Hezbollah has far more organized and comprehensive welfare programs than the Christian parties. Indeed, Hezbollah may have the most organized and generous social programs of all the Muslim parties in Lebanon. The nonassociation between support for Hezbollah and the receipt of social benefits seems counterintuitive in light of the vast party network of welfare agencies and reputation for providing generous benefits to its supporters. This apparent anomaly, however, points to a second explanation for these findings: The Future Movement has emphasized a state-centric political strategy in the post-war period more than all other parties and is renowned for turnout-buying during elections. Given that the short-term, low-cost forms of social benefits captured by the dependent variable are often distributed during electoral contests, supporters of parties that prioritize state-centric politics— in this case, the Future Movement—are more likely to receive such benefits. Conversely, parties that have historically prioritized higher-risk, extrastate forms of politics—notably, Hezbollah and, to a lesser extent, the Amal Movement—are likely to bestow higher-cost, more continuous benefits on a narrower range of supporters. As a result, on average Hezbollah and Amal supporters are not likely to receive more short-term benefits than supporters of other parties.

Demonstrated Political Loyalties, Access to Services, and the Limitations of the Findings The fi ndings from the national survey show a robust relationship between political activism and access to social welfare and provide insights into variation in the distribution of benefits by different sectarian organizations. Nonetheless, the survey has some built-in limitations, calling for supplementary forms of data. First, the statistical findings present merely correlations rather than causal assessments of the relationship between forms of political behavior and increased access to welfare. The structure of the models and interpretations imply that activism facilitates access to social benefits. The opposite relationship may hold, however, namely that the receipt of social welfare induces greater political activism because citizens boost their participation in

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partisan events to obtain benefits. Indeed, the assumption that the provision of social services induces political support is embedded in Western media coverage of Islamist welfare providers, who are presumed to gain grassroots support through social outreach.21 Theoretical models of electoral dynamics in divided societies and empirical evidence, however, support the claim that demonstrated political support more often results in increased access to welfare goods rather than the reverse, particularly for larger packages of benefits or for more continuous and higher fi xed-cost types of services. Theoretically, it is unlikely that parties bestow scarce benefits on those whose support is uncertain or who are firmly committed to opposing parties. The general lack of competition in Lebanese elections and particularly in the 2005 elections (Salloukh 2006; LCPS 2005), which were the reference point for many questions in the survey, provides little incentive for parties to woo nonsupporters or supporters of opposing parties. At most, parties try to raise turnout rather than court the uncommitted or nonsupporters. The logic of turnout-buying calls for rewarding established partisans with demonstrated histories of loyalty rather than luring more marginal supporters or nonsupporters (Nichter 2008). At the same time, the relationship between social assistance and political support is not just an instrumental transaction based on material exchanges. Many factors determine support for sectarian parties beyond the receipt of social assistance, including trust in or respect for their leadership, perceived threats from out-group sectarian organizations, the expectation (although not necessarily the reality) that in-group parties will serve one’s interests, and a feeling of communal belonging derived from alignment with in-group parties. Furthermore, in a social context where religious identity is relatively fi xed and where conflict waged in the name of sectarianism has stoked sectarian divisions, citizens tend to support in-group parties regardless of the benefits they receive (Chandra 2004). In this political climate, social assistance serves to reinforce community boundaries rather than create them. Empirically, in-depth interviews with elites and nonelites in Lebanon indicate that even food and other limited forms of material assistance such as cash handouts, which are often deployed for electoral purposes, are primarily used to reward existing supporters. Political participation, which for most people amounts to casting a ballot in national and local elections, is a virtual prerequisite for access to basic services supplied or brokered by political parties and for the intermediation of elected officials.22 As a representative from a small political party that aims to rival the Future Movement joked about the exchange of votes for services in Lebanon, “In the U.S., [providers] don’t ask if you are a Democrat or Republican before they give you a service. That’s what they do here.”23 Ordinary citizens expect to receive social benefits and favors in exchange for voting in elections, and when parties fail to reward electors, people feel that an unspoken contract has been violated. Even higher-income respondents,

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who may not have benefited directly from party services, claimed that parties that offer voters material benefits are deemed worthy of support.24 The nature of the survey questions used to construct the PAI also suggests that activism precedes the receipt of benefits. Some questions ask respondents to report forms of participation carried out during the 2005 elections; however, the survey, which was conducted in spring 2008, asked respondents to report aid received during the prior twelve months. Respondents did not vote or volunteer in the 2005 elections as a result of benefits received almost three years later. Arguably, respondents might demonstrate support for a party in anticipation of the need for social assistance in the future. Although most people probably do not consciously adopt such a long-term calculus to gain access to social services such as medical treatment, this kind of strategic behavior is consistent with the claim that demonstrated loyalties to sectarian organizations precede the receipt of benefits. Thus, for both theoretical and empirical reasons, it is likely that political support is generally established prior to the receipt of material benefits. A second limitation of the survey is that the results probably underreport the degree to which respondents receive social assistance. First, social norms dictate that most families are reluctant to admit to financial need. Second, the survey questions themselves offer only partial insights into citizen access to social benefits. By necessity, the key measures of the dependent variable— access to welfare—do not include services supplied directly by party agencies but, rather, focus on financial assistance for third-party services, an important component of party-based social assistance, or short-term material aid. Sensitivities regarding the political and religious affiliations of welfare providers may deter respondents from admitting that they sought assistance from such organizations. Furthermore, at the time of the execution of the survey in spring 2008, political tensions were high, and one month after the survey’s completion clashes broke out between opposing political factions in Beirut and elsewhere in Lebanon. This tense atmosphere undoubtedly made some respondents reluctant to discuss political issues. At the conclusion of the survey interview, enumerators asked respondents to rate their level of concern about discussing political matters: 63 percent reported that they often (21 percent) or always (42 percent) must be cautious when talking about politics in Lebanon. Finally, the probable underrepresentation of Muslims in the sample suggests that, if anything, the data underestimate the receipt of social assistance from political or religious organizations because welfare institutions are more centralized and more directly linked to political parties in the Muslim rather than in the Christian community. The data therefore probably yield conservative estimates of the strength of the relationship between political activism and access to welfare in Lebanon, among other things. The noninclusion of questions related to high-risk forms of political activism is a third limitation of the survey. Questions about political behavior on the survey could not capture more politically sensitive forms of activism such

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as participation in riots or service as a militia fighter. Pilot tests indicated that questions about such forms of political participation, at best, invited untruthful responses and, at worst, deterred respondents from participating in the survey, especially in the tense political climate prevailing during the execution of the survey. Yet such forms of political participation are relevant for some core activists in Lebanon and particularly for a portion of Amal, Hezbollah, PSP, and Future Movement supporters and even for some supporters of Christian parties. For example, the comparatively low political activism of Hezbollah supporters in the sample undoubtedly reflects the limitations of the survey research on higher-risk and more controversial modes of political participation.25 Despite these caveats, the survey data offer rich insights into the relationship between political activism and access to services and on the variation in the distributional behavior of different sectarian organizations. The findings generally correspond with expectations about the Lebanese social and political contexts, and are corroborated by spatial, interview, and other forms of data. The sahib al-motor from Qreitem in Beirut proved to be a shrewd observer of distributional politics in Lebanon: politicians and parties allocate welfare goods according to a political—and not just a charitable—logic. The fi ndings from a national survey on access to welfare and political participation support his assessments. More politically active individuals, who vote, attend party meetings, participate in demonstrations, and engage in other regular and visible expressions of commitment to a party, are more likely to receive services, even after we take into account differences in socioeconomic status, gender, age, religious participation, and piety. Furthermore, different types of supporters receive varied amounts of welfare goods—higher levels of political activism are associated with more comprehensive baskets of welfare goods. The survey also indicates that access to welfare varies by partisan affiliation, enabling a bottom-up assessment of the ways in which parties with statecentric versus extra-state agendas distribute social assistance. Variation in access to welfare by partisanship partially reflects differential resource endowments, which enable Muslim parties to support more extensive social programs than their Christian counterparts at this historical juncture. But wealth does not provide a satisfactory explanation for the partisan variation in access to welfare because supporters of Muslim parties with comparable resource endowments—the Future Movement and Hezbollah—receive different levels of social assistance. Given that the measures of the main independent variable largely capture forms of political activism related to electoral politics, supporters of parties that prioritize state-centric politics are more likely to receive social benefits. As a result, partisans of the Future Movement, which has emphasized electoral goals more consistently than other parties in the post-war period, report greater access to benefits than do supporters of the

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other parties; partisans of the Amal Movement and, especially, Hezbollah, which is renowned for prioritizing an extra-state political strategy, did not receive social assistance to the same degree. The survey data permit an evaluation of the relationship between different levels of political activism and access to varied quantities of social assistance but do not allow a more nuanced analysis of the political dynamics surrounding distinct types of welfare. In the next chapter, I amplify the analyses and suggest that different forms of political activism are associated with different types of social assistance.26 Because food assistance is generally provided out of mobile units that travel to targeted areas during circumscribed time periods—and, especially, during elections and holidays—the logistics of distributing food aid are relatively simple and the costs are low. Conversely, schooling and long-term, expensive medical care, which are both continuous and high-cost forms of assistance, require higher fi xed costs. Parties tend to allocate high fi xed-cost types of welfare to core supporters and other, low fi xed-cost types of aid to a broader base of marginal or less politically active supporters, who undertake the least risky and more short-term forms of political activity such as voting. Further survey-based research should more systematically assess whether different types of social assistance are associated with different forms of political activism. A full analysis of the welfare allocation practices of sectarian parties requires far more depth than survey and spatial data alone can offer. In the next chapter, I trace the linkages between shifting party strategies and intrasect political dynamics, on the one hand, and the allocation of welfare goods by the major Lebanese sectarian organizations during different historical periods, on the other hand.

6 Sectarian Parties and Distributional Politics

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he previous two chapters have described the broad welfare outreach patterns of the main Sunni, Shi ʿa, and Christian parties in Lebanon at the community and household levels. The spatial and survey data presented thus far provide snapshots of the welfare activities of these parties, but their distributional behavior has varied and evolved in different historical periods. Qualitative data from archival materials and interviews with elites and nonelites offer an important supplement. In this chapter, I trace the linkages between the shifting political strategies of the major sectarian parties and intrasect political dynamics, on the one hand, and the allocation of welfare goods by these parties across different historical periods, on the other hand. On net, the Future Movement, via its social welfare wing, has allocated resources most broadly, targeting both out-group members and marginal supporters with social benefits more than the other sectarian parties. The two main Shi ʿa parties have focused their social programs on in-group members, although some evidence indicates that the Amal Movement has adopted a more cross-sectarian approach than Hezbollah, which has focused its social programs more on in-group members and, especially, proven core supporters. The Christian parties, which are currently establishing or reconstituting their social welfare programs, direct benefits almost completely toward ingroup members. What explains the variation in the distribution of social benefits across the major Lebanese sectarian parties and over time within the same party? Comparisons across the Muslim and Christian parties highlight the ways in which intracommunal politics shape distributional behavior. For reasons addressed in chapter 3, the Future Movement, Hezbollah, and the Amal Movement currently face less competition for the political representation of their respective sects than do their Christian counterparts. These distinct intrasect political

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dynamics contribute to varied patterns of welfare outreach in the Muslim versus the Christian parties. At the same time, variation across the major Muslim parties indicates that the relative absence of intrasect competition does not determine distributional behavior. Comparisons of the Future Movement, Hezbollah, and the Amal Movement point to the importance of an additional factor—political strategies—in shaping the politics of allocating social benefits. In this chapter, following discussions of the welfare outreach of each party, I present descriptive analyses of electoral returns to tentatively assess whether welfare outreach actually won support for parties in Lebanon. FUTURE MOVEMENT The Future Movement long-standing strategy of seeking national power through state institutions and, increasingly, through electoral politics has implications for the development of its welfare programs and its evolving pattern of distributing social benefits. In particular, the emphasis on controlling state offices has called for efforts to boost the mass appeal of the organization. Given the nature of the electoral system and political realities in Lebanon, it was essential for al-Hariri to increase his popularity within the in-group, the Sunni community, which had to be the primary locus of his power base in the institutionalized sectarian political Lebanese system.1 In addition, if al-Hariri hoped to control the Lebanese political economy and to mold the country according to his vision, it was vital for him to secure support from other communities. In this section, I document the changing social programs of the Hariri Foundation, the social wing of the Future Movement, tracing the relationship between the political strategies of the party and its allocation of social benefits.

Social Programs of the Future Movement From the start, al-Hariri’s philanthropic initiatives explicitly targeted Lebanese from all sects. From its beginnings in 1979 through the 1990s, the Hariri Foundation was best known for its generous educational scholarships awarded to thousands of students, including many non-Sunnis.2 With a budget of more than US$1.5 billion, the program funded university education for about 35,000 Lebanese at home and abroad (Iskandar 2006, 57). In 1980, the foundation broke ground on its first bricks-and-mortar institution, the Kfar Falous Cultural and Medical Complex, which included a teaching hospital and medical center, a university with various specialized faculties, a power station, a residential complex, a vocational training school, and a sports complex. The location for the project, at the intersection of Sunni Sidon, the predominantly Shi ʿi South province, and the district of Jezzine, which has a

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large Christian population, was chosen purposefully to indicate the openness of the foundation to all Lebanese, regardless of sect (Blanford 2006, 21; Rafi k Hariri Foundation 2007b). The foundation established several primary and secondary schools during the war in majority Sunni as well as in mixed neighborhoods. Observers from diverse political backgrounds, including his critics, note that the foundation programs were open to applicants from all communities and attest to the multiconfessional pool of beneficiaries.3 Nonetheless, the charitable initiatives of the foundation operated within a larger sectarian system, which limited its ability to reach citizens from all communities. Although al-Hariri was genuinely committed to a multiconfessional Lebanon and used his scholarships to promote this vision by facilitating access to members of all communities, the scholarship program inadvertently bolstered sectarian politics. To extract the support of militia leaders and secure their commitment to various cease-fires and peace agreements during the civil war, al-Hariri was compelled to award some scholarships to their clients. These arrangements did enable him to reach other communities, albeit not necessarily according to meritocratic criteria, but they had the additional effect of strengthening the power bases of sectarian militia leaders (Baumann 2011, ch. 1, p. 24). Despite this important caveat, the educational programs of the Hariri Foundation represented the most rigorous and deliberate attempt by a political leader or party to serve citizens from all communities. This is especially noteworthy given the very real constraints by institutionalized sectarianism in Lebanese politics and the welfare regime (see chapters 2 and 3). In the post-war period, al-Hariri continued his educational scholarship program and gradually expanded the bricks-and-mortar components of his philanthropic endeavors. In the 1990s, the foundation opened two more schools in Sidon and the Tariq al-Jadideh neighborhood of Beirut, which are both heavily Sunni areas and are considered strongholds of the Future Movement. Given the important socialization dimension of education as well as the selection effects it generates—notably that in-group members and existing supporters are more likely than others to choose a school run by a particular sectarian party—it makes sense that the foundation would concentrate its educational institutions in predominantly Sunni communities, where its strongest support bases are found. Beginning in the late 1990s, the Hariri Foundation expanded its healthrelated activities. After the 2000 elections, the foundation aggressively expanded its health networks outside Beirut. In general, the foundation targeted areas with concentrations of Sunni voters or regions with significant Sunni settlements. Between 2001 and 2008, more than twenty Hariri Foundation health centers were opened in parts of Akkar, Tripoli, the Bekaa, Aley, and the Shouf, and several additional facilities were established in Beirut and Sidon, where the foundation had already developed a strong presence. One of

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the more recent centers was established in Tanayel, a town near the Bekaa city of Zahle, where about half of the registered voters are Sunni. In addition to its educational programs and bricks-and-mortar health-care institutions, the Hariri Foundation runs a social assistance program, the Muaʾssisat al-Shahid Rafiq al-Hariri lil-Mussaʿidat ʿAyniyyeh (Martyr Rafiq Al-Hariri Assistance Office).4 The program provides fi nancial and material assistance for needy individuals, often to cover the costs of medical treatment or supplies. Targeting those who lack any kind of health insurance, the office pays costs not covered by the government insurance program for the needy. Most beneficiaries receive one-time or limited payments rather than continuous benefits, and funds are almost always disbursed directly to institutions, such as hospitals or medical supply companies, rather than as direct payments to beneficiaries. The association also provides social aid during holidays such as Ramadan or Christmas, including cash payments and boxes of food.5 The organization does not assist with the costs of education, which is provided infrequently on a case-by-case basis through direct appeals to the office of Rafiq al-Hariri’s widow, Nazik al-Hariri, or to Saad al-Hariri. Based in the heavily Sunni neighborhood of Aisha Bakkar, the association has branch offices in the North province and Bekaa, including in Tripoli, Akkar, Baalbek, Sidon, Batroun, and Jbeil. Every morning, a representative comes from Tripoli with applications for assistance from the North. Thus, the Hariri Foundation has offices in diverse parts of Lebanon, including in some heavily Christian areas such as Batroun and Jbeil, but it does not operate in largely Shi ʿa regions in the South province.6 According to the association website, more than 92,000 families, consisting of 766,241 individuals, have received aid since 1986 through the organization’s program (Rafik Hariri Foundation 2007a). Officially, the Hariri social assistance program is not connected to the political party, and the director claims that it does not alter its distributional patterns during electoral cycles nor does it respond to the imperatives of electoral politics. In practice, however, the program is seen as a branch of the political machine associated with the Future Movement. The main office in Aisha Bakkar is literally plastered with posters and memorabilia depicting Rafiq al-Hariri, reinforcing its connection to the assassinated prime minister’s political organization. Unlike social and medical aid, food assistance is administered directly by the political party.7 The food aid program of the organization began in 1982 and is entirely supported by the Hariri Foundation. During the war, representatives from al-Hariri’s offices distributed over 1 million boxes of food aid. In recent years, the program expanded to include more communities in Koura, Batroun, Bsharreh, Baalbek, and the Bekaa, areas with mixed or heavily Christian populations. The official justification for this geographical expansion is to promote “sustainable development” by ensuring that food assistance programs match the spread of other Hariri Foundation health and social offices across the country. At present, the Future Movement food aid

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program has offices in all governorates in the country and coordinates the distribution of boxes through municipal representatives. The food program distributes boxes containing basic cooking items that can be stored easily, including lentils, fava beans, sugar, milk, cans of tuna fish and mortadella meat, pasta, cheese, cooking oil, margarine, biscuits, and chocolate spread (see figure 6.1). Due to the deteriorating financial conditions of the country, Saleh Farroukh, the director, claims that the number of families benefiting from the program has steadily increased to reach 500,000 households. In 2007, for the first time, the food aid program distributed mazout, fuel used by many households for heating. The distribution of this item, which occurred in the Beqaa, Akkar, the Shouf, Jbeil, Beirut, and some villages in the South province that the director declined to name, engendered accusations that the party used “political mazout” as a vote-buying strategy in the 2009 elections (ʿAwees 2008; Wehbe 2008). Farroukh vigorously denies these accusations, claiming that he initiated the mazout program to address increased economic hardship in cold areas posed by rising fuel prices. Flyers inserted in each food box clearly indicate the name of the provider, Jamʿiyyat Beirut lil-Tanmiyya al-Ijtamaʿiyya (Beirut Association for Social Development), and Farroukh himself describes it as the “social arm” of the

Figure 6.1 Food box distributed during Ramadan by the Beirut Association of Social Development, a charitable organization linked to the Future Movement. Source: Photo by Lina Mikdashi, Beirut, February 8, 2008.

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Future Movement. Established in 1997, it runs sixteen social centers, four nurseries, health centers linked to the Hariri Foundation Health Directorate, and a program for disabled children. Its facilities are located in neighborhoods in Beirut with diverse confessional characteristics, including some with heavily Sunni populations, such as Saqiat al-Janzeer and Tariq al-Jadideh; some with mixed Sunni and Shi ʿi populations, such as Zareef, Qasqas, Mosseitbeh, Ras al-Nabeh, and Unesco; and some with heavily Christian populations, such as Karm al-Zaitoun and Gemmayzeh. Other centers are located in nearby regions that are religiously diverse, including Rmail near Sidon; Bshamoun, a neighborhood outside Beirut with a mixed Sunni and Shi ʿi population; and ʿAramoun in Mount Lebanon. The director emphasizes that staff members are from mixed confessional backgrounds and that he is personally committed to a nonsectarian vision of Lebanon.8 By 2008, the Future Movement, through the Hariri Foundation and associated organizations, had built up an extensive welfare network, including many bricks-and-mortar institutions. The Hariri Foundation alone runs about thirty clinics, several mobile clinics, and at times has effectively controlled at least one public hospital, the Rafiq Al-Hariri Government Hospital in Beirut (see figure 6.2).

Figure 6.2 Rafiq Hariri Government Hospital with a photo of Rafiq Hariri on the façade. Source: IRIN News (2008).

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The organization also runs five primary and secondary schools and one university, the Lebanese-Canadian University, and it has affiliated social and food assistance programs. According to the director of the Martyr Rafiq AlHariri Assistance Office, the al-Hariri family paid about $100 million for social assistance alone in 2007.9

Political Strategies and the Distribution of Social Benefits The spread of the Hariri Foundation social programs, and in particular those connected with its expanding health-service infrastructure, coincided with al-Hariri’s increasing turn toward participation in national politics. In the 1996 elections and especially the 2000 elections, al-Hariri’s political machine increasingly emphasized grassroots mobilization as a supplement to elite-level deal-making to further its efforts to gain national power.10 Two weeks before the 1996 elections, the National Bureau for Refugees (NBR), a government agency created after the civil war to compensate displaced families, announced a settlement for the property and business owners in downtown Beirut who had been forced to accept low prices from al-Hariri’s Solidère Company. The announcement emphasized that the offer was issued with the “blessing” of Prime Minister al-Hariri. The deal was widely interpreted as a ploy to win support from Christians, who owned most of the property in the area, in the run-up to the elections (LCPS 1996, 181). In the 2000 elections, the Hariri Foundation organized a campaign to distribute fi nancial support for schooling to Beiruti families. The expansion of its health facilities across Beirut, including in mixed and Christian neighborhoods, created an important source of patronage in and of itself by providing employment opportunities for skilled and semi-skilled professionals (Al-Khazen 2002, 277–78). After the 2000 elections, the party and its associated social organizations began to spread beyond Beirut, reflecting its efforts to drum up support on a larger scale for the next elections. In 2008, the Hariri Foundation opened a health center in Zahle, one of the most hotly contested districts in the 2009 elections and the region that is credited with tipping the results toward the March 14th Alliance (NDI 2009). Some observers even accused the Future Movement of orchestrating a large influx of Sunni voters into the district in preparation for the elections. The rapid and geographically broad expansion by the Hariri Foundation of its health network was interpreted as an effort to boost the electoral appeal of the Future Movement.11 The distribution of food boxes by the Future Movement, particularly but not exclusively around electoral cycles, has earned the party a reputation for electoral clientelism.12 Interestingly, the Future Movement food assistance program, led by the Beirut Association for Social Development, is officially run by the political party rather than by the Hariri Foundation social

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assistance program, the Martyr Rafiq Al-Hariri Assistance Office, which claims to be organizationally distinct from the party. Beyond mouneh13 and educational scholarships, Hariri and his advisers evidently perceived and sought to gain from the potential connection between access to health care and grassroots political support—a linkage that had been exploited by political and religious institutions for decades if not for centuries in Lebanon. Unlike education, health care is more easily distributed and is more likely to reach and attract a broader clientele, including marginal supporters, the politically unaffiliated, and even out-group members. Health dispensaries, clinics, and hospitals can accommodate many more beneficiaries than can schools, which have limited spots. Some health services, especially for nonchronic, routine conditions, are relatively inexpensive and do not entail a protracted relationship between provider and beneficiary. If the patient perceives that she has received high-quality care for a reasonable price, health services can have high political payoffs for the provider beyond the satisfaction of improving the well-being of the population. Thus, health care can be a relatively cost-effective way to build political support. Furthermore, the establishment of a network of health-care providers and facilities not only can capitalize on economies of scale and improve the quality of care but can also provide a means of gathering information on a population. The Lebanese Directorate of Health and Social Services, a subsidiary of the Hariri Foundation, has developed a high-tech information technology (IT) infrastructure to track patient records on a national scale (Rafik Hariri Foundation 2007c). Staff members tout the medical benefits and efficiency gains of the software, which they have offered to share with the Ministry of Public Health as a platform for revamping the national health system.14 Observers and critics claim, however, that the seemingly generous proposal by the Hariri Foundation to provide the ministry with this software free of charge stems from a clear political agenda aimed at controlling this key service ministry and at gaining access to the personal records of millions of Lebanese. The IT system also allegedly provides a critical source of data deployed during electoral cycles to promote voter turnout by existing beneficiaries and known supporters.15 Spatial analyses (presented in ch. 3) indicate that the Future Movement tends to establish welfare agencies in more confessionally mixed areas than do other parties, and survey data suggest that the party is distinguished by the scale of its distribution of short-term, small-scale benefits, which are associated with vote-buying campaigns in Lebanon. Together, this information supports the claim that the Future Movement distributes benefits in a way that is consistent with a strategy of pursuing national power through state institutions and, particularly, through electoral mobilization. Interviews with elites, including present and former activists with the Future Movement, and with nonelite supporters of the party and beneficiaries of services provided by its social institutions substantiate these claims.

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A key implication of a political strategy premised on controlling formal state institutions is that a party seeks to build support beyond core supporters and even beyond in-group members. Interviews with citizens from diverse sectarian backgrounds confirm that the Hariri Foundation serves people from all sects, particularly through its health clinics, which are far more numerous and dispersed throughout the country than its educational institutions. First, in mixed and even non-Sunni areas, out-group residents attest that they benefit from Hariri Foundation medical services both within their neighborhoods and elsewhere. For example, Christian residents of Ashrafieh note that they regularly visit the nearby Hariri Foundation Karm al-Zeitoun clinic because it offers low-cost services to all beneficiaries regardless of sect.16 Second, out-group members emphasize that they receive good-quality care at Hariri Foundation institutions and have received generous support from the organization. A Shi ʿa resident of Shiyah in the southern suburbs of Beirut emphasized that she and her family have received good treatment in Hariri Foundation clinics. In the late 1990s, when she and her family were living in the central Beirut neighborhood of Ain al-Mreisseh, the Hariri offices provided generous financial assistance for a serious operation for her husband.17 Although he himself is an avid opponent of the Future Movement, a Sunni journalist and resident of Beirut emphasized that the Hariri Foundation provides high-quality, low-cost medical services and generally serves members of all communities, irrespective of sectarian identity.18 The Future Movement, like all nonstate providers and public agencies, for that matter, does not serve all areas. Rather, the generosity of the Future Movement may be in part contingent on the beneficiary’s place of residence or district of voter registration. Electoral calculations appear to shape which out-group (and even in-group) communities the party aims to serve. In some districts, out-group populations may constitute an important swing voter bloc. For example, the First Electoral District of Beirut, in which the Hariri Foundation established the Karm al-Zeitoun clinic immediately prior to the 2000 elections, reserves seats for two Sunnis, one Maronite, one Greek Orthodox, one Greek Catholic, and one Christian from a minority sect. Competition from other parties may also affect the quantity and quality of services offered to out-group members or nonsupporters. Both the Future Movement and Hezbollah operate welfare programs in the mixed area of Zuqaq al-Blat, a neighborhood in the Beirut Third Electoral District that reserves one seat for a Shi ʿi candidate and two for Sunni candidates. Residents of the neighborhood report that they have multiple options for good-quality, low-cost services and explicitly link this apparent good fortune to electoral politics. For example, a Shi ʿi woman attributes her comparatively broad access to services offered by providers linked to the Future Movement and Hezbollah to the fact that she lives in an electoral “battleground” area.19 Conversely, Sunni residents of Ouzai, a neighborhood near the southern suburbs of

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Beirut, claim that the Hariri Foundation neglects in-group members in her area because it falls in a voting district in which the Future Movement does not aim to extend its influence.20 Although the Hariri Foundation takes great pains to emphasize its nondiscriminatory approach to service provision,21 it is widely accepted that the distributional behavior of the Future Movement follows a political logic. Observers of their practices, such as development specialists and citizens residing in areas where the party operates, perceive that the Future Movement programs are highly politicized.22 Like all parties, the Future Movement does not distribute its largesse equally to all recipients. For the vast majority of its beneficiaries, it provides minimal rewards, such as food boxes or one-time cash payments, which are usually associated with turnout-buying efforts during elections.23 Even within the in-group, not all receive equal treatment. Of course, core activists, who organize and attend meetings and demonstrations and who participate in the life of the party, receive the most generous and continuous packages of benefits. A former employee of the Hariri Foundation noted, “For all welfare providers linked to parties, the families of members and supporters always get priority.”24 The case of a Sunni woman who lives and is registered to vote in the Third Electoral District of Beirut is representative of the experiences of hard-core supporters of the Future Movement in West Beirut, where many households display photos of Rafiq al-Hariri and Saad al-Hariri as well as other indicators of their commitment to the party. The woman emphasized that she and her family receive extensive benefits from the Hariri Foundation on a regular basis, including medical services as well as cash and food handouts, and reiterated her family’s total commitment to al-Hariri and his party.25 Another Sunni who lives and votes in the Beirut Second District, in which one-third of the seats are reserved for Sunni candidates, also highlighted the benefits her family receives for its visible support for the Future Movement. Her son works for a security agency linked to the Future Movement, which participated in militia fighting in May 2008. In return, he receives a modest monthly salary and regular portions of food assistance.26 Conversely, those who have not demonstrated their commitment to the party feel cut out of the benefits that more ardent supporters receive.27 In the aftermath of al-Hariri’s assassination, politics in Lebanon became increasingly tense. Growing hostilities between the Future Movement and Hezbollah, as well as the extended government walkout by the March 8th Alliance that culminated in the clashes of May 2008, reflected a period of destabilization in Lebanese politics. In this context, the Future Movement adopted additional political strategies outside formal state channels, including mass demonstrations and even participation in riots and the construction of an armed force. This shift was accompanied by a modification of its pattern of distributing social benefits to include heightened favoritism of core supporters, who are largely Sunni. A range of interviewees, including supporters,

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detractors, and even representatives of the Hariri Foundation itself, contend that the party has become increasingly “sectarian” in its rhetoric and outreach strategies, focusing more and more on in-group members and especially hardcore supporters at the expense of others.28

the future movement in karm al-zeitoun To trace the linkage between the political strategies and the distributional behavior of the Future Movement, it is useful to look more closely at the welfare outreach efforts of the party in specific areas. As table 6.1 indicates, the case-selection strategy compares areas with significant concentrations of in-group voters where the party does not operate welfare agencies (i.e., Ouzai) and a more mixed area with few in-group voters where it does run welfare institutions (i.e., Karm al-Zeitoun). The selected communities therefore represent areas where the Future Movement would and would not be expected to run social programs according to the logic of a statecentric strategy premised on gaining electoral support. The choice of these types of communities for more in-depth analysis enables an assessment of the relationship between political strategies and the provision of social welfare. The politics surrounding the establishment of the foundation clinic in Karm al-Zeitoun, an almost purely Christian neighborhood in East Beirut, merits more attention. In the eyes of some residents, and particularly the administrators of other health centers in the area, establishing a clinic in Karm al-Zeitoun was a surprising if not audacious move. East Beirut is historically Christian and includes a large Greek Orthodox community, which has long had roots in the area, as well as Maronites and other Christians, who settled in East Beirut neighborhoods later. The Green Line that separated East and West Beirut during the civil war was considered the dividing line between “Christian” and “Muslim” Beirut. The predominantly Christian character of East Beirut only intensified with the end of the civil war in 1990 and the associated trend toward sectarian homogenization of residential patterns.29 What explains the decision by the Hariri Foundation to establish a medical center in Karm al-Zeitoun? Representatives from the organization insist that socioeconomic need and humanitarianism are the main factors guiding the placement of social institutions (Hankir 2008).30 These motivations no doubt played a role, particularly on the level of individual staff members and

Table 6.1 Selected communities with Future Movement and Hezbollah welfare agencies Future Movement

Hezbollah

High out-group areas

Karm el-Zeitoun (Beirut 1)

Southern suburbs (Baabda/ Aley), Aamchit ( Jbeil)

Low out-group areas

Ouzai/Shiyah (Baabda)

Shiʿa villages in Jbeil ( Jbeil)

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volunteers.31 If socioeconomic factors account for the foundation decisions about where to establish its facilities, however, the choice of Karm al-Zeitoun, a neighborhood that is far more prosperous than many other urban and rural areas throughout the country, is perplexing. Furthermore, East Beirut already has a dense concentration of Christian religious charities that aim to meet the basic needs of local residents. Based on the logic of socioeconomic need, the Hariri Foundation might have diverted its resources away from Beirut to the North, which has become the most deprived part of the country—a region that also has a predominantly Sunni Muslim population (Laithy, Abu-Ismail, and Hamdan 2008; Mouchref 2008). Neighborhood residents interpreted the foundation choice of Karm alZeitoun as part of a broader effort to build electoral support for the Future Movement in the upcoming elections. As the director of a local church-based clinic commented, “It’s all for political reasons. . . . When elections come, the rates at the clinics go down and food aid increases. Then, little by little, these services disappear until the next electoral period.”32 The timing of the establishment of the Karm al-Zeitoun clinic fits with this account. The clinic was one of four Hariri Foundation health centers established in Beirut from January through July 2000, and a fifth was established in October in Ras Beirut, a neighborhood in West Beirut where the al-Hariri family was well established by this time. In 2000, parliamentary elections were held in two rounds on August 27 and September 3 (IPU 2000). Al-Hariri himself and many alHariri-backed candidates contested the elections in all three Beirut districts, providing an incentive to woo voters from across the city. In ascribing political motivations for the foundation establishment of the Karm al-Zeitoun clinic, it is important to specify the relationship between the neighborhood and electoral district. Karm al-Zeitoun is located in the First District of Beirut, which at the time included the neighborhoods of Ashrafieh (where the clinic is technically located), Mazraa, and Saifi, and allocated two seats to Sunni candidates and four to Christians. Arguably, the establishment of the clinic might be interpreted as an attempt to shore up support in the Sunni constituencies of the district. Yet, if this were the case, the foundation could have located the center in Mazraa, which encompasses more Sunni voters. In fact, the organization did open a clinic one month earlier in February 2000 in nearby Ras al-Nabaa, which is easily accessed from Mazraa and surrounding neighborhoods. Thus, the establishment of the center in Christian Karm aal-Zeitoun sent a powerful message that the foundation and, hence, the al-Hariri political machine, wanted to court nonSunnis in the electoral district—a message that was not lost on residents. Beyond charitable impulses, the establishment of the clinic was a logical move, given al-Hariri’s emphasis on winning elections and prevailing over in-group and even out-group rivals, and was indicative of his national political aspirations.

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the future movement in ouzai The relative neglect of Ouzai by the Hariri Foundation also illuminates the ways in which politics shape the distributional behavior of the Future Movement. A suburb of Beirut located just minutes from upscale, predominantly Sunni areas of West Beirut, Ouzai is home to a significant Sunni resident population. Indeed, one of the most prominent Sunni religious charities, the Dr. Mohammed Khaled Foundation, is based in the area and boasts a medical clinic, school, and orphanage catering to the Sunni community.33 Although parts of the area have luxury housing for high-income families and desirable seaside views, Ouzai has many low-income families, including a concentration of Sunnis who were displaced from the Qarantina district near downtown Beirut at the outset of the civil war.34 Although some displaced Sunnis who came to Ouzai during the war have been resettled or returned to their original homes, many other families remain. Among the resident Sunnis of Ouzai is a core group of Future Movement activists who prominently display photos of the al-Hariri family. During the clashes in May 2008, forces linked to the March 8th Alliance even targeted the homes of Future Movement supporters in the area (Now Lebanon 2008). Yet Sunni families complain that the Future Movement generally neglects the area. In an interview in December 2007, a woman from a displaced Sunni family in Ouzai complained about the treatment of her neighborhood by the party: [A]ll the MPs [members of parliament] of Beirut enter this house [during electoral campaigns], without exception. . . . They did nothing for me. . . . My goal was that one day when my children grow up, they can be employed. . . . When it comes to us, they know us only during elections. During elections, they send for us, and they welcome us, and they also welcome us during the caucuses in order to fill the seats. . . . We came here for only a week or more, we have been here for 32 years. Imagine, in the summer you fi nd fi re, in the winter you fi nd flooding. When it rains, water enters the homes of the people and the sea rises and enters the homes of the people. The parliamentarians come to see the misery and the situation. They come, make video clips and they leave. Did Shaykh Rafiq [al-Hariri] do anything for Dahiyeh? From the Summerland to Ouzai, we put up pictures and banners for the ministers and the MPs [of the Future Movement]; after the elections, we do not see anyone.35

Although Sunni residents of Ouzai are active supporters of the Future Movement and even volunteer for the party during electoral campaigns, their requests for the construction of a health facility in the area have not been granted. For example, the interviewee noted that local supporters unsuccessfully appealed to the Future Movement to construct a health clinic, arguing that a medical center would signal real commitment to Sunnis in Ouzai, whereas the periodic distribution of money and foodstuffs during holidays

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and electoral campaigns would be less effective. As a result of the neglect by the party, the interviewee claimed that its popularity has decreased among Sunnis in the area: “Al-Hariri and his bloc are losing popularity here. Their pictures are being ripped down. My husband was afraid we would reach this point, and he told them that opening a clinic is more important than disbursing money.”36 Why has the Future Movement neglected Ouzai despite its generosity in other parts of Greater Beirut, including in neighborhoods that lack major concentrations of Sunnis? Residents interpret the neglect of the area by the organization as an electoral calculation. The Future Movement has little incentive to invest in Ouzai because it is located in a district where the party does not seriously contest elections; the neighborhood falls in the Baabda voting district, an area dominated by Hezbollah. Even though Baabda hosts pockets of Sunnis, they account for only 6 percent of registered voters in the district. Although a Future Movement candidate, Bassem Sabeh, won a Shi ʿi seat in the 2005 elections, his successful bid was the result of a temporary alliance among the Future Movement, Hezbollah, and other parties that established joint lists of candidates in certain districts. This “marriage of convenience,” which did not reflect a commitment to shared principles or goals, essentially predetermined the election results (Salloukh 2006). By contrast, in the more competitive 2009 elections where no such arrangement was established, Sabeh was defeated and Hezbollah candidates won both Shi ʿa seats in the district. The Future Movement has poor prospects in Baabda and other Hezbollah-dominated districts, and therefore does not funnel resources into these areas to either entice voters or reward existing supporters. This overview of the development of the Future Movement social programs shows a clear linkage between the electoral ambitions of its leader, Rafiq al-Hariri, and the expanding welfare activities of the organization. AlHariri’s aim to gain national power through state institutions and participation in electoral contests created an incentive for his organization to adopt a broad pattern of distributing social benefits, including to more marginal members and to out-group communities. The distributional behavior of the party is not static, as indicated by the growing favoritism toward more established supporters, who tend to be in-group members. Despite the recent shift, the Future Movement has a long history of targeting more broadly than other sectarian parties, such as the predominantly Shiʿi Hezbollah. HEZBOLLAH Social programs have been a component of Hezbollah activities almost from its inception, although the scope and scale of its operations have expanded over time. The reasons for its engagement in social work are multifaceted. From the beginning, social provision was considered a party duty that accorded with

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Islamic traditions and institutions of charity. Party officials deny that instrumental political calculations motivated them to establish social programs. Naim Qassem notes: Westerners have suspected that Hizbullah’s social work was essentially aimed at recruitment, even where this was a natural consequence of the Party’s social activities. They have also suspected that people gathered around Hizbullah mainly in order to benefit from those services. While such services do have a considerable effect on the populace, the essence of participation ultimately resides in belief in the overall path. Social work serves to enrich supporters’ confidence in the viability of the Party’s cause and course. . . . (2005, 86)

Qassem contends that the Hezbollah social programs are not designed explicitly to gain recruits and that they do not explain support for the party. At the same time, he accepts that both are by-products of welfare provision. Although ideological commitments and altruism clearly play a key role in the decision of the organization leadership to maintain social programs, altruism and political goals are not mutually exclusive.37 The fact that Hezbollah does not offer programs to all needy individuals or to all marginalized areas— including areas with substantial concentrations of Shi ʿa residents—indicates that the party, like all parties, makes choices about whom to serve and where to operate.

Social Programs of Hezbollah Hezbollah runs a multitude of social programs focused on health, education, and material assistance as well as agricultural extension, infrastructure and construction, micro-credit, sports and youth clubs, media outlets, and religious institutions.38 The Muʾassasat al-Shahid (Martyrs’ Institution) serves the families of fighters or “martyrs” who died fighting for the Resistance, Hezbollah’s armed wing, which is focused on armed struggle against Israel. The agency provides housing, education, clothing, health services, and other social services for these families as well as job-placement services for the children of martyrs. Similarly, Muʾassasat al-Jarha (Institution of the Wounded) caters to fighters and civilians injured during wars or as a result of land-mine accidents. Benefits include monthly cash allowances, medical care, and rehabilitation services, which are located in four centers in the southern suburbs of Beirut, South Lebanon, and the Bekaa. The Lajnat Emdad al-Imam al-Khomeini (Islamic Emdad Charitable Committee) serves orphans and families in severe poverty. With support through donations from the Lebanese diaspora, each family receives a monthly income to buy food, medical services, education for school-age children, and jobplacement services for graduates. The Islamic Emdad runs its own network of

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schools with branches in Baabda in the southern suburbs of Beirut, Batroun in the North, and the West Bekaa, as well as centers for disabled children.39 The Jihad al-Binaʾ (Struggle for Construction Institution) was established in 1985 to restore buildings damaged by Israeli bombings. Later, the agency initiated larger-scale infrastructure projects across parts of Lebanon, including the repair of homes damaged by Israeli attacks, particularly in the South and Bekaa provinces, and has constructed the buildings that house the social and cultural programs of various Hezbollah institutions. The Struggle for Construction Institution also officially operates several schools that are linked to the party Al-Mahdi schools network (discussed later). To this day, the agency continues to remove waste from and provide potable water to residents of the southern suburbs of Beirut and other regions in Lebanon, activities that it initiated during the civil war (Qassem 2005, 83–84). Al-Hayaʾ al-Suhiyya al-Islamiyya (Islamic Health Unit) operates a network of hospitals, clinics, dispensaries, dental offices, and mobile clinics and runs various vaccination and health education campaigns.40 In 2008, the organization had sixteen clinics in its network, with one in Beirut, three in the southern suburbs of Beirut, six in the Bekaa, five in the South, and one in Jbeil in the North, in addition to several mobile clinics.41 The Islamic Health Unit is recognized as a major health-care provider in Lebanon and has cooperated regularly with Lebanese government bodies, including the ministries of Public Health and Education, as well as international organizations, such as the World Health Organization (WHO) and United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF), in sponsoring vaccination and health education campaigns, school health programs, and other initiatives.42 In addition to clinics in the Islamic Health Unit, Hezbollah runs six hospitals in Lebanon. Hezbollah established its first hospital, the Imam al-Khomeini Hospital, in 1982 with extensive support from Iran. Located in Baalbek, where Hezbollah originated, the hospital was established at the beginning of the existence of the organization and before its formal announcement in 1985. Several years later, Hezbollah spread its health network by opening a hospital in Nabatiyya in the South province. In 1988, it established its major hospital, the Rasoul al-ʿAzam Hospital, in the southern suburbs of Beirut, which also houses a walk-in clinic.43 Other institutions under the umbrella of the Hezbollah social affairs wing or affiliated with the party run their own parallel health institutions or arrange subsidized or free access to the centers of the Islamic Health Unit for their beneficiaries. For example, the Islamic Scout Organization, a youth group linked to the party, has six clinics in South province. Al-Difaʿa alMadani (Hezbollah Civil Defense) also has substantial health resources with about 75 ambulances, 125 regular volunteers, and as many as 3,000 volunteers during wartime (Al-Kifah al-Araby staff 1998).

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The Hezbollah Education Unit runs schools, provides educational scholarships, and supervises pedagogical training for the party educational institutions. Several groups of schools are associated with Hezbollah. The two major private school networks are the Al-Mahdi and Al-Mustapha schools, which include both private subsidized and nonsubsidized schools, complemented by schools officially linked to other Hezbollah institutions, including the Islamic Emdad, Martyrs’ Institution, and Struggle for Construction Institution. The Al-Mahdi schools of the Islamic Establishment for Teaching and Education network, the major Hezbollah school system, are dispersed across Baalbek, Sidon, and Tyre. The Al-Mustapha schools, run by the Islamic Religious Teaching Association, are not officially run by Hezbollah but are closely linked to the party because they are run by an important party leader, Naim Qassem. Al-Mustapha schools are largely concentrated in Baabda in the southern suburbs of Beirut. Schools officially linked to the Struggle for Construction Institution in the Ministry of Education biannual Guide to Schools in Lebanon complement the Al-Mahdi school network and are located in Baabda in the southern suburbs, Jezzine, Nabatiyya, and Marjayoun in the South, and Baalbek in the east. A handful of schools run by the Islamic Emdad and Martyrs’ Institution are located in the southern suburbs as well as in poor areas of the West Bekaa and Batroun with concentrations of Shi ʿa residents. In the post-war period, the social welfare institutions of Hezbollah developed far more extensively, in part thanks to generous funding from Iran but also as a result of donations from individuals, investments in private businesses, and revenue from religious taxes such as zakat and khums.44 The organization initiated or expanded a variety of formal institutions with diverse mandates, including social programs targeting militia fighters and their families, construction and agricultural development agencies, loans for incomegeneration projects, health centers, hospitals, schools, and social assistance for the poor.

Hezbollah Political Strategies and Social Welfare Outreach What are the implications of the Hezbollah political strategies for its welfare outreach? As I argue in chapter 1, extra-state forms of political mobilization that call on participants to undertake high-risk and iterated actions are associated with the distribution of more extensive and continuous social benefits. The case of Hezbollah fits this pattern. The party leadership and cadres as well as its official publications make no secret that their most developed welfare programs, such as the Martyrs’ Institution, exclusively support the families of fighters who have died or were injured in confl icts with Israel. The mission statements of these programs clearly specify that the families of those who were killed or injured while fighting in the militia wing of the party—the ultimate core supporters—receive the most comprehensive and continuous

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basket of welfare goods, whereas those who do not meet these eligibility criteria are excluded.45 The party conceptualization of its concentric circles of support maps onto different levels of social protection (Qassem 2005, 60–61). After the families of martyrs and the wounded, core supporters, or those with firmly established track records of supporting the party, furthering its goals, and participating in its events, receive comprehensive packages of benefits. Interviews with citizens confirm this claim. Families of individuals killed or wounded during the civil war attested to the generous benefits they received. More important, these benefits were extended proactively by the party, which approached the interviewees shortly after the death or injury of their spouses, without the respondents themselves seeking support on their own from Hezbollah.46 Beyond party cadres, supporters receive benefits on preferential terms. Core activists of the party generally receive services in Hezbollah institutions such as its hospitals, clinics, and schools, but individuals and families whose political sympathies for the party are well known and demonstrated through repeated actions receive special treatment. In the health sector, this often comes in the form of free or subsidized care. In the educational sector, the children of core activists may receive coveted spots in Hezbollah-run schools and reduced school-enrollment fees.47 Certain institutions appear to cater to and attract the most active party cadres. In particular, the Al-Mustapha network of schools generally serves the families of the core party cadres.48 Preferential treatment for established supporters should not imply that others are uniformly denied services by Hezbollah. The distribution of medical services is illustrative. In general, Hezbollah health clinics will not turn away nonsupporters (Karouny 2003).49 Representatives of local NGOs and even rival organizations attest that Christians and Sunnis living in areas where the party predominates receive quality medical care from Hezbollah institutions (Harb 2001, 4; Harik 2004).50 Similarly, interviews with Lebanese citizens underscore that their families and friends have received good treatment in Hezbollah clinics.51 For example, a Sunni resident of the southern suburbs of Beirut claimed, “There are Sunni families living in the southern suburbs and Hezbollah generally does not approach them. But these families do use Hezbollah’s health centers and always receive good care there. My mother recently had the flu and went to a Hezbollah clinic.”52 Thus, staff members at Hezbollah institutions do not deny services to out-group members but provide treatment on more favorable terms to established supporters who tend to be in-group members. This narrowed focus is reflected in the spatial locations of Hezbollah welfare institutions, which tend to operate in more homogeneous areas with in-group members than other parties (see chapter 3), particularly the Future Movement. This spatial pattern suggests that Hezbollah more consciously targets in-group communities, where its most ardent supporters live. Hezbollah officials openly

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affirm the party favoritism in in-group areas. An official of the Islamic Emdad specified that 86 percent of its beneficiaries are Shi ʿa and that the bulk of the Islamic Emdad programs are located by design in heavily in-group areas such as Baalbak, Hermel, and the southern suburbs of Beirut.53 Another Hezbollah official noted that the tendency of the organization to locate in heavily Shi ʿa areas increased the likelihood of attracting volunteers from the community to serve in the institution.54 The Hezbollah concentration on in-group areas should not suggest that the party favors all Shi ʿa indiscriminately. Not all in-group members are treated equally or are received with the same welcome in the party welfare institutions. A Hezbollah representative and ordinary citizens confirmed that the party distinguishes among in-group members in predominantly Shiʿa areas, favoring core supporters over others.55 A Shi ʿi man who resides and votes in Nabatiyyeh, a predominantly Shi ʿi city in the South province that was once a stronghold of the Amal Movement, claimed that he was told to seek aid elsewhere because he did not have a demonstrated history of supporting the party, had previously worked for Amal, and did not present himself as sufficiently pious. According to the interviewee, Hezbollah carefully screens applicants for its social assistance and is particularly attentive to the political behavior and allegiances of in-group members.56 Since it was established in the early to mid-1980s, Hezbollah has pursued a strategy of gaining influence outside formal state institutions. This approach has induced the organization to prioritize in-group members and, especially, core activists in the distribution of social benefits. In the post-war period and particularly after 2005, however, the Hezbollah leadership chose to boost the integration of the party into state institutions. The decision to contest elections and, particularly, to join the executive branch by accepting cabinet-level positions appears to be associated with a broadening of the distribution of social benefits by the party. The turn to electoral politics requires support from a broader array of communities than its traditional bases of support in Bekaa, South province, and the southern suburbs of Beirut. This strategic shift therefore created incentives for the party to extend benefits beyond its core supporters and, in some districts, even beyond the Shi ʿi community. As Qassem observes, “The decision to participate in elections created a set of new responsibilities and relationships. Plans and general policies were drawn, individuals were charged with seeing to the achievement of objectives, and focused guidance of all brothers was aimed at fostering ties with the populace, understanding civilians’ needs and pains and cooperating with the inhabitants of various towns and villages to resolve their concerns” (2005, 81). Thus, electoral politics and, more broadly, participation in state institutions compelled Hezbollah to engage in greater popular outreach. Participation in elections in the post-war period compelled two important shifts. First, the party adopted a conscientious effort to soften its image in

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out-group communities. In the immediate aftermath of the war, Hezbollah went out of its way to welcome and protect non-Shi ʿa residents of communities in the southern suburbs of Beirut, where the organization had become well entrenched (Harik 2004, ch. 5). More recently, after the party opened a clinic in the central Beirut neighborhood of Basta, interviews with local residents indicated that all residents receive care from the institution. Indeed, one respondent suggested that residents of the neighborhood are particularly fortunate because Hezbollah competes with other organizations, including the Hariri Foundation, in offering services, compelling all providers to treat them generously.57 Electoral calculations also likely explain the positive treatment of pro-FPM Christians by Hezbollah institutions after the two parties signed a memorandum of understanding in February 2006. The alliance, which brings together two parties with substantial followings in their respective communities, is widely interpreted as a strategic move designed to boost their popular and electoral appeal. Since the agreement was established, supporters of the FPM, who tend to be Christian, have benefited increasingly from services provided by the comparatively wealthy Hezbollah.58 Second, the strategic choice by Hezbollah to engage in electoral competition and, more generally, to participate more fully in the formal institutions of the state compelled it to engage with a broader segment of in-group members beyond its hard-core supporters. There is growing evidence that Hezbollah has started to select particular places to offer social services with electoral calculations in mind. A Maronite woman who resides in an almost purely Christian area of Mount Lebanon travelled to a Hezbollah office in the southern suburbs of Beirut to seek social assistance from the party in person. Although she was received cordially, the representative explained that he could not help her because she resided in a district where the party “does not organize.”59 In districts where non-Shiʿa constitute a swing voter bloc, such as Jezzine in the South or Baalbek in the Bekaa, Hezbollah allegedly provides generous social aid packages to out-group members.60 To illustrate the nexus of the shifting Hezbollah political strategy and evolving patterns of distributing social benefits, it is useful to look more closely at the evolving Hezbollah welfare programs in specific areas. As Table 6.1 shows, more in-depth analyses of the southern suburbs of Beirut and Jbeil are useful because they represent areas where Hezbollah has and has not (at least until recently) established welfare agencies, respectively. This paired comparison of areas with concentrations of Shi ʿa residents or voters therefore helps to trace the ways in which electoral calculations have and have not figured into the evolving strategic calculations of the party.

hezbollah in the southern suburbs of beirut Hezbollah is well established in the southern suburbs of Beirut. In the four main municipalities in the area—Ghobeiry, Bourj al-Barjneh, Haret Hreik,

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and Mrayjeh located in the districts of Baabda and Aley—various organizations run by or affiliated with Hezbollah operate at least four major clinics, the Rasoul al-Azam Hospital, and six schools. Many of these institutions were established in the 1980s and early to mid-1990s. Thus, Hezbollah welfare agencies are well entrenched in the area, predating the party decision to contest elections and certainly predating its participation in the executive branch of government. Through the lens of electoral politics, that the party has established the highest density of welfare agencies in these municipalities is paradoxical. In Baabda, only 23 percent of registered voters are Shi ʿa, whereas over 50 percent are Christian, and particularly Maronite Christian, although the district does include two seats reserved for Shi ʿa candidates. In Aley, Shi ʿa account for only 3 percent of registered voters and no seats are reserved for Shi ʿa candidates; there the vast majority of voters are Druze (53 percent) and Christian (43 percent).61 Why, then, would Hezbollah invest so much in an area where its hard-core supporters, who are overwhelmingly Shi ʿa, have relatively little electoral clout? An explanation for the Hezbollah investment in the southern suburbs must look beyond electoral motivations. Indeed, the dates of the establishment of many of its hospitals, clinics, and schools in these municipalities predate the reinstatement of elections (which were suspended during the civil war) and certainly precede the decision by the party to participate in the formal institutions of the state at the highest levels. To pursue political mobilization outside formal state channels, it was logical to prioritize the southern suburbs. Fielding and maintaining a militia and cultivating a corps of dedicated activists to promote and recruit for the organization at the grassroots level call for an emphasis on in-group areas, where the most ardent supporters are likely to be found. The municipalities and surrounding communities of Baabda and Aley are home to the largest urban concentrations of Shi ʿa. Beginning in the 1960s and reinforced by the Israeli invasions in 1978 and 1982, thousands of Shi ʿa migrated to the southern suburbs of Beirut from the villages and towns of the Bekaa and South Lebanon (Nasr 1985; Verdeil, Faour, and Velut 2007, 93–95). At present, about 500,000 Shi ʿa reside in the area, of whom about two-thirds migrated to the area (Harb 2010, 21), and certain municipalities are almost entirely Shi ʿa.62 Thus, by the mid-1980s, when Hezbollah constructed its fi rst clinics and schools in Haret Hreik and surrounding neighborhoods, a large resident Shiʿa population was already established. During the civil war, Hezbollah was largely focused on maintaining its militia to fight Israeli occupation. Thus, the initial motivations for Hezbollah to target the southern suburbs were linked to its prioritization of an extra-state political strategy. As the Hezbollah political strategy has evolved, however, its welfare institutions in the southern suburbs have come to serve additional purposes. Gaining

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support from the large Shi ʿi community residing in the southern suburbs promises electoral payoffs, even if the majority does not vote in Baabda or Aley. Shi ʿa residents of these districts maintain close ties with their villages of origin, and residential patterns in the municipalities of the southern suburbs tend to cluster along these lines. Of the approximately 500,000 Shi ʿa who live in the area, about 70 percent vote in South Lebanon and the Bekaa (Harb 2010, 78, 82), where Hezbollah has fielded candidates in both municipal and parliamentary elections since the early 1990s. Tight linkages between residents of the southern suburbs and their villages and towns of origin as well as party-financed transportation to polling stations throughout the country during electoral cycles ensure that services rendered in Hezbollah-controlled areas in the southern suburbs influence electoral support in predominantly Shi ʿa districts where Hezbollah fields candidates beyond Greater Beirut. Serving residents—but not necessarily voters—in the southern suburbs of Beirut therefore not only meets enormous social needs but also has the potential to gain or reinforce electoral support. The analysis of the development of Hezbollah in the southern suburbs of Beirut focuses on a community with large numbers of out-group registered voters. A closer look at the district of Jbeil, which has a significant concentration of Shi ʿa registered voters but where Hezbollah chose not to establish institutions until recently, lends additional insight into the political evolution of the party and its implications for the distribution of social benefits.

hezbollah and the shiʿa villages of jbeil Beyond the South and Bekaa, substantial communities of Shiʿa reside in Jbeil, where they account for almost 20 percent of registered voters. A group of about ten villages in the central and upper mountainous regions of Jbeil, including Qarqouraya, Bazioun, Afqa, Frat, Aalmat, Hjoula, Ras Osta, Lassa, and others, constitute a Shi ʿa belt in Jbeil. The civil war led to Shi ʿa migration from these villages, partly to the southern suburbs of Beirut and other areas outside of Jbeil. Many Shi ʿa also migrated to Amsheet, a coastal town in Jbeil, and specifically to the Kfar Saleh neighborhood, which grew rapidly during the war.63 The district includes one seat reserved for a Shiʿa candidate, providing an electoral incentive to distribute benefits to resident Shi ʿa in Jbeil. When the civil war ended in 1990, Hezbollah made some efforts to reach out to the Shi ʿa of Jbeil but did not prioritize the area. The organization began with informal study circles (durus diniyya), in which party clerics visited the qaza and held discussions with local men to increase their religious consciousness. In the immediate post-war period, Hezbollah also established some social institutions in the area, notably Al-Muʾassasa al-Khayriyya alIslamiyaa li-Abnaʾ Jbeil-Kesserwane (Islamic Charitable Institution for the Sons of Jbeil-Kesserwane) and occasionally arranged to have roads paved in the district, but it did not make a concerted effort to cultivate support among

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the Shi ʿa of Jbeil.64 Other Shi ʿa organizations also operated in the area, including the charity of Sayyid Muhammad Husayn Fadlallah, a prominent Shi ʿa cleric, and the Amal Movement. Hezbollah made no effort to compete with these groups or to step up its activities in Jbeil.65 Located outside of the main Hezbollah territorial bases where much larger concentrations of Shi ʿa reside, Jbeil was not a priority for Hezbollah. With the limited party interest in pursuing power through formal channels such as elections, there was little reason to funnel resources into Jbeil, where one seat in the district was reserved for a Shi ʿi candidate but the Shi ʿa communities were not as important as in the Bekaa, South, and Greater Beirut. In the run-up to the 2005 elections and particularly afterward, Hezbollah more actively targeted Jbeil with social benefits. In 2004, the Islamic Health Organization, the Hezbollah health care agency, established a clinic in Amsheet, a predominantly Christian village with a significant emigrant community of Shi ʿa from mountainous villages in the district. Hezbollah also obtained permits to establish seven additional clinics and is in the process of launching two of them in Amsheet and Mishan. After Iran sent supplemental resources to Hezbollah in the wake of the 2006 Israeli-Lebanese War, the party distributed material aid to residents of Jbeil and poured money into infrastructure, which locals refer to as “Iranian asphalt.” Long-time politicians in Jbeil as well as independent analysts with contacts in Hezbollah, claim that the party has decisively stepped up its social and political outreach in Jbeil since 2005.66 The revised stance of Hezbollah toward Jbeil from roughly 2005 onward is directly related to its decision to engage more fully in formal state institutions and especially in the electoral process. Although Hezbollah participated in a preelectoral bargain with al-Hariri, the Druze PSP, and the Amal Movement against Aoun’s FPM, observers from different political affiliations claim that the party endorsement of the alliance candidate for the Shi ʿi seat was mixed. In the end, the incumbent, ʿAbbas Hashem, who ran as an open supporter of the FPM against the alliance, held the seat.67 After the 2005 elections, Hezbollah made additional efforts to cater to the Shi ʿa of Jbeil. Electoral considerations were clearly at play. First, the 2008 election law separated Jbeil and the almost purely Christian qaza of Kesserwane into two electoral districts, thereby increasing the weight of the Shi ʿi vote in Jbeil. Second, the 2006 alliance of the party with the FPM, which faced competition from other Christian parties, called for Hezbollah to mobilize Shi ʿa voters in support of its ally. The consolidation of the Shi ʿi vote over time points to increasing efforts by Hezbollah to engage in electoral politics in the qaza. In 2000, Shi ʿa votes in Jbeil were divided across five lists, with no outright majority for any slate. In 2005, Shi ʿa votes were split across three lists, again with no majority and relatively close percentages won by each slate. In 2009, 89 percent of Shi ʿa voters cast their ballots for the Hezbollah-backed

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FPM candidate, and their turnout—approximately 68 percent—was the highest of all post-war elections in the qaza. Before the 2009 elections, Hezbollah did not exert much effort to influence voter choices or, as in 2005, sent out mixed messages to in-group voters. In 2009, however, after a concerted burst of post-2005 Hezbollah attention to the area, including increased service provision, the Shi ʿa of Jbeil suddenly evolved into a tight voting bloc analogous to the Shi ʿa of Baabda in the southern suburbs (Feghali 2005).68 The relative neglect of Jbeil by Hezbollah until the mid-2000s indicates that political calculations also affected the party decision not to reach out to certain Shi ʿa communities. In some neighborhoods and villages with high densities of in-group members, Hezbollah has not established welfare agencies and has limited the allocation of social benefits. The historical emphasis by the party on mobilization outside formal state institutions helps to explain this pattern. In general, Hezbollah has provided generous benefits to a more narrow set of core supporters, who undertake protracted, high-risk activities on behalf of the party. This fits with the findings from the spatial analyses presented in chapter 3, which shows that Hezbollah is more likely to establish agencies in areas with dense populations of in-group members who tend to be its most ardent supporters. In addition, analyses of the party activities in the southern suburbs and Jbeil conform with the results of the national survey on access to social benefits (see chapter 4), which shows that Hezbollah was less likely than the Future Movement and other sectarian parties to distribute the kinds of short-term, small-scale benefits associated with electoral mobilization during the 2005 parliamentary elections. AMAL MOVEMENT We now turn to the other main Shi ʿi party in Lebanon. The Amal Movement has a smaller resource base and relies more heavily on state patronage and public institutions to offer social benefits than do the Future Movement and Hezbollah. As a result, its social programs are less developed than those of the other two major Muslim parties.

Social Programs of the Amal Movement Despite its smaller resource base and reliance on state patronage as a distributional strategy, Amal runs its own networks of schools, medical institutions, and social assistance programs. As of 2008, Amal directly administered twentyseven different social institutions, which are concentrated in the South, Bekaa, and southern suburbs of Beirut. Al-Jamʿiyya Al-Lubnaniyya lil-Riʿaya AlSahiyya wal-Ijtimaʿiyya (Lebanese Association for Health and Social Protection) oversees the health and social service programs of the party. The Amal health network includes thirteen health clinics (which provide basic health

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services and vaccinations and, in some cases, have small on-site pharmacies) and two hospitals. A third hospital, located in the religiously diverse district of Marjayoun in the far south of Lebanon, is widely viewed as an Amal-controlled hospital but is officially a public institution. Amal Movement officials as well as party documents emphasize that the families of martyrs and those wounded, particularly in operations against Israel, as well as civilians injured by land mines left over from the Israeli occupation and subsequent invasions receive priority treatment in the party health and social facilities and programs (Amal Movement 2008).69 In addition to services provided by its own agencies, the party has sponsored or participated in vaccination campaigns and other public health interventions and has periodically donated medications and medical equipment to health-care facilities. The eponymous party newspaper, Amal, has reported on waves of children’s immunization campaigns launched by the party since at least 1979.70 The Amal Movement has devoted particular attention to programs targeting the disabled through Al-Jamʿiyya Al-Lubnaniyya lil-Ri ʿaya al-Muaʿqin (Lebanese Welfare Association for the Handicapped). Founded in 1984 by Randa Berri, the wife of Nabih Berri, the association runs activities and rehabilitation and vocational training programs for the disabled. Victims of land-mine accidents are a particular focus of the organization (Amal Movement 2008).71 With at least fifteen medical institutions, the party appears to administer one of the larger health networks in Lebanon, second only to the Future Movement and Hezbollah among nonstate providers of health care. In reality, however, the relatively large number of health centers belies the weak state of its in-house medical programs. First, as an Amal official attested, all its clinics were established during or at the end of the civil war, including some that were founded prior to the Israeli invasion of 1982. The party has no plans to expand its health network at this time. Second, visits in July 2006 and January 2008 to an Amal health center in Sabra, near the association main offices in Ghobeiry, revealed that the facilities are not well maintained. These visits, arranged by an Amal official, were to the Imam al-Hussein clinic, which was billed as a typical Amal health center. Staff members claimed that doctors at the facility treat about 420–450 patients per month and distribute medications for chronic diseases at subsidized rates through the program funded by the Ministry of Public Health and administered by the Lebanese YMCA. Arguably, the party had an incentive to show an example of a particularly wellmanaged center to a researcher. Yet the facilities were visibly run down and ill equipped. Piles of out-of-date and discarded medical equipment were stacked in a room located next to the reception area, which was unheated despite the cold temperatures during the second visit in January 2008. My discussions with the staff revealed that the center suffers from a perpetual lack of funds and basic supplies and could not meet the health needs of the community.72

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The provision of financial assistance and supplies for education by the Amal Movement dates back to at least the mid-1980s. Aid for schooling explicitly targeted the children of martyrs and known supporters of the organization.73 In the post-war period, the Amal Movement has devoted more resources to its educational programs than to its health facilities. Amal officially operates twelve schools: six subsidized schools that cater to lower-income families and receive public support, and six nonsubsidized schools. Half are located in various parts of the South province, while most of the remaining ones were established in the Bekaa; all were established after the civil war ended (Amal Movement 2005).74 The party did not expand its educational network to Greater Beirut until 2001, when it opened the Martyr Hassan Qassir High School in Biʾr Hassan. In some cases, the subsidized and nonsubsidized schools share the same facility even though they are administered separately and students do not always share the same classrooms, a commonplace practice in Lebanon.75 In all Amal schools, the children of martyrs and those wounded in attacks against Israel or as a result of Israeli operations receive priority and free tuition as well as funds for transportation and school supplies. Unlike the health and social assistance wings of the party, the education unit has expanded in the post-war period and has invested substantial funds in establishing or upgrading the existing facilities. The case of the Amal Movement school in Toul, the Martyr Bilal Fahas School (named after the alleged first Amal martyr in a suicide operation against the Israeli occupying forces) is illustrative. Established in 1990, the school recently underwent a total renovation and has developed its own promotional video to showcase its new facilities and student achievements. The first school constructed in the Amal educational network, the facility has about 3,000 students enrolled from kindergarten through high school and features state-of-the-art multimedia resources and newly refurbished classrooms and public meeting spaces.76 The relative neglect of the party medical centers compared to its educational institutions in the post-war period may also arise from the reliance on state resources as a source of patronage in the health sector. As described in chapter 2, the Lebanese health system is characterized by extensive state financing with minimal public regulation, facilitating the use of public resources for health care by nonstate actors and, particularly, by political and religious organizations. Any organization opting for a patronage-based approach to the distribution of social benefits can easily pursue this strategy in the health sector. In addition, when political and cultural actors are faced with a choice due to budgetary constraints, the inherent importance of schooling for socialization in organizational values and goals may induce them to devote more resources to building their own educational institutions. These considerations may have compelled the Amal Movement to establish its own bricksand-mortar institutions in the education sector and to devote more resources to schooling than to health programs.

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State Patronage and Distributional Behavior of the Amal Movement As a result of the Amal Movement decision not to expand its own health network in the post-war period, the party relies on a strategy of brokering access to health care and medications by public and private third-party providers. Amal Movement officials and its Association for Health and Social Protection direct supporters to specific clinics, dispensaries, private physician offices, and pharmacies to receive treatment and medications. At various times in post-war Lebanon, an Amal Movement representative has held the position of Minister of Public Health, facilitating party access to statefi nanced and approved benefits and prompting critics to point to the alleged abuse of public resources by the party. In 1996, Amal established a health insurance fund that provides support for families with members in the organization. Amal also has strong ties with certain hospitals, both public and private. The historical connections of Amal with the Imam Musa al-Sadr gives it a special relationship with the Al-Zahra Hospital in the southern suburbs of Beirut (Harb 2010, 71).77 In addition, the party has a full-time employee in charge of helping supporters obtain hospitalization when they require medical care. If a person does not have insurance, Amal also has a staff member who assists with fi nancial coverage for health services.78 The Amal Movement also has a history of facilitating admission to schools for its supporters. Until 2001, Amal did not run its own schools in the southern suburbs of Beirut but, rather, brokered access to private schools in the area, usually at a discounted rate. The party also provides some funding for schooling from its own resources. According to Mona Harb (2010, 71), in 1997 the party distributed 4,200 scholarships for private schools. Party officials, as well as scholars, uniformly acknowledge that the Amal Movement is a patronage party that relies on the distribution of public resources and offices as its main currency for rewarding supporters and members (Harb 2010; Norton 1987).79 Control over government bodies has given Berri and his movement a steady stream of benefits and favors to distribute on a discretionary basis. Harb notes, “It is through the distribution of these services that the Amal Movement maintains and regenerates its capacity for [political] mobilization” (2010, 69). Writing in the late 1980s, before the war had ended, Augustus Norton (1987) argues that the Amal Movement under Berri’s leadership replicated the clientelistic practices of the old landed elites, whose authority the Imam Musa al-Sadr had explicitly sought to overturn in the Shi ʿi community. The Council of the South, which has been headed by a member of the Amal Movement since 1982, is a major site of patronage for the party. The council activities are managed in an opaque fashion, and its budgets are not open to public scrutiny (Harb 2010, 74). In defense of the party, officials justify its use of state patronage for serving its constituents by

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emphasizing that the organization works within state institutions, thereby buttressing the state (Harb 2010, 73–74). As a result of its reliance on welfare as a source of patronage, the Amal Movement directs the bulk of social benefits to its existing supporters, who are almost exclusively Shi ʿa. Part of the reason for this emphasis on in-group members is the party legacy of extra-state political strategies, which entailed high-risk actions by core supporters who were almost uniformly Shi ʿa. Although the party no longer maintains a militia, it still supports the families of those who died during the war and in various actions against Israeli forces in Lebanon. An official from the party health programs commented, “The first priority goes to the martyrs of the Amal Movement. Amal is responsible for all of their health-care needs, even purchasing medications on their behalf. Martyrs, notably the families of martyrs, also receive full services in other sectors, notably in education. The wounded and handicapped in the Amal Movement also receive priority.”80 During the post-war period, the organization has emphasized state-centric political strategies, and therefore its core supporters tend to undertake less risky actions on behalf of the party than in the past. Interviews with Amal officials confirmed that the party tends to reward partisans and concentrates its social programs in areas with core, in-group supporters. In discussing the current welfare initiatives of the party, a high-ranking Amal official noted, “Amal does services in the areas where it is active.”81 Similarly, a staff member in the party health programs office emphasized that both socioeconomic need and political factors shape party decisions about where to establish centers: “We choose areas which are densely populated and poor. Amal members inform us about areas which need health services. We decided to open a center [in Burj Hammoud] because there are no other Centers operating there and they have Amal members living in the area.”82 Because its core supporters are almost exclusively Shi ʿa, the party directs its benefits to in-group areas. At the same time, with growing sectarian tensions in Lebanese politics since al-Hariri’s assassination in 2005, selection effects increasingly shape the allocation of benefits by all sectarian parties, including the Amal Movement. An Amal official claimed that People are starting to segregate themselves in a way that was not happening several years ago, before the assassination of al-Hariri. There are fewer Omars in the Dahiyyeh and Husseins in Tarik al-Jedideh. Rent is generally cheaper in the Dahiyyeh so lower income families, regardless of sect, would live there. Now it is becoming less common. Even patients that come to the Amal health network prefer specialists who are Shi ʿa or at least not Sunni. Recently, I encouraged a patient to go to a urologist who is based at a Makassed clinic. I had heard that this urologist is very good. The patient, a Shi ʿa woman, asked if there is another urologist I might recommend who is not Sunni. . . . Most

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Thus, parties not only direct benefits to core, in-group supporters but, increasingly, citizens have internalized a sectarian logic in seeking social assistance and services leading to a “spontaneous division of services.”84 The funding sources of the Amal centers also suggest that the imperative to reward existing supporters influences choices about where to open centers and whom to serve. An Amal Movement official involved in the party educational programs observed, “In Amal, we depend on participation by people or contributions. Some contributions come from wealthy Shi ʿa in Africa and the United States. This is a major source of fi nancing.”85 Because wealthy supporters are an important financial base for the party initiatives, Amal is more likely to direct social benefits to partisans. In addition, as a staff member from the Amal health program noted, the decision by the party to direct some of its limited resources to the operational costs of its centers indicates that it values welfare programs as a means of attracting and maintaining support.86 In short, the Amal Movement tends to funnel social benefits to in-group members and especially to existing core and marginal supporters.87 As the party evolved to embrace state-centric political strategies during and after the civil war, it has built a base of supporters who engage in a variety of low- and high-risk activities on behalf of the party. This network of partisans receives social assistance largely through the dispensing of state patronage but also through the Amal welfare agencies. Although competition with Hezbollah for political representation of the Shi ʿa has diminished since the late 1990s, this history of in-group competition has also compelled the Amal Movement to favor Shi ʿa citizens for the distribution of welfare benefits. The fact that Amal is in a subordinate position to Hezbollah in their alliance undoubtedly also compels officials to maintain the party image as defender of Shi ʿa interests. CHRISTIAN PARTIES At the end of the civil war, the major Christian parties and leaders were compelled to lay down their weapons and many, including the Christian organizations explored in this book, were repressed under Syrian rule. Since the Syrian withdrawal in 2005, when they began to resuscitate themselves and develop, the Lebanese Forces (LF), Kataeb, and the Free Patriotic Movement (FPM) have emphasized state-centric political strategies, specifically by participating in national elections and competing for top government posts. The fragmented landscape of political representation in Christian politics creates incentives for in-group parties to vie to become the dominant representative of the Christian community. As a result, the Kataeb, LF, and FPM target Christians almost exclusively and try to “out-Christianize” each other by

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emphasizing that each party is more attentive to Christian interests and needs than its rivals. Thus, the major Christian parties target in-group members almost exclusively with welfare benefits and emphasize in their pronouncements that they are working more effectively than the other parties to serve Christians. Within the community, each channels more generous benefits to its established partisans but are careful to offer some benefits to others to demonstrate its attentiveness to Christians as a group. In this section, I trace the welfare programs of the Christian parties from the wartime periods to the present. It begins with the civil war period, when the Kataeb and, especially, the LF, ran extensive welfare programs. In the post-war period, the parties did not attempt to revive their welfare operations on a significant scale until after the Syrian withdrawal. With the return of General Aoun to Lebanon in 2005, the FPM took preliminary steps to set up its own formal and informal social assistance schemes.

Christian Political Movements and Leaders during the Civil War Period The social welfare activities of Kataeb, the oldest of the major Christian parties, date back to the late 1930s. The Kataeb newspaper, Al-ʿAmal, which was in circulation from shortly after the inception of the party, documents various welfare initiatives undertaken by the party before and during the civil war.88 With the outbreak of the civil war, the party increased its welfare activities and established several committees to address challenges posed by the war. These included the Municipality Committee, which cooperated with local governments to oversee sanitation and other public infrastructure; the Health Committee, which was charged with providing free and subsidized medical services and with organizing vaccination campaigns; the Transportation Committee, which supervised the repair of roads; and the Supplies Committee, which coordinated the distribution of foodstuffs and monitored consumer prices in surrounding neighborhoods.89 Throughout the 1970s, the party stepped up its direct provision of health care by establishing clinics. Reports on the medical activities of Kataeb refer to activities by health centers in predominantly Christian areas, including Saifi Village, Ashrafieh, Fayadieh in Hazmieh, Ain al-Remmaneh, Jel el-Dib, Rmeil, Dawra, Kesserwane, Jounieh, Jeita, North Metn, and Zgharta. Some of these centers provided relatively extensive care with resident specialists in pediatrics, cardiology, gastroenterology, gynecology, and general surgery, among other fields. Through Al-Hayaʾ al-Shaʿabiyyah, a welfare organization linked to the party, the Kataeb also held regular vaccination campaigns.90 To support its militia activities, the Kataeb set up mobile health operations on the battlefront. A 1976 report in Al-ʿAmal declares, “One of the aims of the Health Department in the Kataeb Party is to emerge with the fewest possible losses among its fighters. For this purpose, the Health Department in North

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Metn has established dispensaries not more than 500 meters away from the battlefields. Ambulances park in front of the field dispensaries ready to go and pick up the injured from the battle and bring them to the dispensary. In the dispensary, the doctors assess the severity of the case and, based on their judgment, take the appropriate measures.”91 As this excerpt indicates, the Health Committee was integrally related to the militia wing of the party. During the war, the Social Committee of the Kataeb increased the distribution of food to the needy and aimed to serve internally displaced families. In some cases, this entailed the distribution of food packages; in other locations, the party set up cooperatives offering subsidized food to party members.92 The educational programs of the Kataeb were less systematically organized. Some of the party activities related to schooling were locally organized on an ad hoc basis, with community members taking charge of the educational needs of students who were prevented from attending school during periods of intense fighting. On occasion, the party distributed educational scholarships with contributions from expatriate supporters to cover fees for schools in Lebanon or even to enable students to attend foreign universities.93 During the civil war, the Kataeb social welfare programs generally targeted hard-core activists. Access to diverse resources and benefits was tied to militia service, enabling fighters to benefit disproportionately from organizational resources. An interview with a Maronite man whose brother was a Kataeb fighter illustrates how militia service brought access to resources, particularly from looting. The interviewee’s family originally came from Qattine, a predominantly Christian area in Kesserwane. He commented, “My brother was a fighter with the Kataeb. He adopted a very strong identity as a Christian Maronite fighting with a Christian party for a Christian country. The family house in Qattine was set up with money that he made from the Kataeb and from deals organized by the fighters. Among other things, he participated in the theft of the Beirut port in 1976. A lot of young men from the region were enrolled as fighters with the Kataeb because there were a lot of ‘benefits’ with the job and it was a poor region.”94 Similarly, another interviewee, a fifty-year-old woman who is Greek Orthodox by birth and Maronite by marriage, described how her husband became a Kataeb fighter and gained access to benefits. Because he was not a high-level figure in the party, he did not benefit as much as others. At the beginning of the summer of 1975, young men from outside Zahle started coming to the village. They were members of the Kataeb party, and they told the young men from the village that the village is threatened and that they were coming in to help them guard and protect it from intruders. The political mood in the village was anti-Kataeb, mainly dominated by the Communist Party and the pro-Syrian party. The Kataeb supporters started to recruit fighters from among the local young men. My husband became a member of the Kataeb militia. He started to leave the village more and more

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often to participate in training with the Kataeb and would come back home to the village to see me and to work a bit with his father on the land. . . . By the end of the summer, he took the Kataeb oath and became an official member. . . . When the Army split in 1976, the region was controlled by the Arab Lebanese Army [the leftist, pan-Arab coalition fighting an alliance of predominantly Christian militias, including the Kataeb]. The Leftist parties started threatening him, pressuring him to choose between staying in the village and leaving the Kataeb or staying with Kataeb party and leaving the village. When the Syrian army officially entered Lebanon, we had to flee the village. . . . At first, he kept fighting with the Kataeb. There were some material benefits; for example the militia members used to receive bonds for merchandise. For example, when the Kataeb took over the Beirut port, the militia members were allowed to take merchandise for themselves. But not all members had similar advantages. My husband was not one of the major figures in the militia. While some were allowed to steal heavy machinery from the port, my husband might have benefited from a box or two of whiskey. Overall, his affiliation with the Kataeb probably earned him about $6,000 to $7,000.95

Ultimately, the interviewee’s husband felt betrayed by the Kataeb, and he switched his allegiance to Aoun in the early 1990s. She claims that he changed his political views when he saw that the Kataeb were leading an organizedtheft business. He regrets that he was compelled to leave his hometown due to his affiliation with the Kataeb and “never received anything good in return.” Another respondent also pointed to the allure of material benefits in compelling young men to join the Kataeb. She described how the Kataeb established control in her region of Batroun in 1976. Until then, the village had been relatively apolitical, and some were opposed to the Kataeb. Some young men, however, joined the militia in the hope of benefiting from the thefts at the port and earned substantial sums of money selling illegal shipments of whiskey.96 After the militia fighters, Kataeb party members also received priority in access to benefits during the civil war period. A 1976 report in Al-‘Amal specifically calls on Kataeb members to come to a center in Hazmieh with their party identification cards to receive food assistance.97 Interviewees also described how the Kataeb actively discriminated between members and nonmembers in allocating social benefits. The testimony of the man from Qattine emphasized that, although his brother joined the Kataeb as a militia fighter, he and his family did not benefit because he refused to join them. As a result, he was denied service at a Kataeb-run clinic near his family’s village in Ghazir.98 The Kataeb welfare activities pale in comparison to those of the LF, which became the dominant provider and political force in the Christian community by the mid-1980s. At its height, the LF was very centralized and controlled 10–15 percent of the national territory. The organization ran programs in health care, educational support, material assistance, and provision of public goods. and it even, for a short time, administered its own taxation system in parts of Mount Lebanon.99

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As the umbrella organization of the diverse Christian militias fighting in the civil war, the LF was initially set up as a military organization. At the same time, Bashir Gemmayel established or revitalized a system of comités populaires (local committees), which were spread throughout territory controlled by the LF and coordinated by the LF central leadership. The committees worked on a local level to address the social needs of their communities and coordinated their activities with municipal councils, which were still functioning during the early 1980s even though municipal elections had been suspended. The LF health programs were among its most developed welfare initiatives. The LF first developed a stand-alone health-care program for militia fighters and their families, who received health care, dental care, and medications. Established in April 1981, the emergency response units aimed to cover the medical needs of LF fighters. The program started by covering the battlegrounds in Beirut and Mount Lebanon, using the Central Military Hospital to provide fighters and reservists with medical services. In 1982, the program was expanded to include dental care and established a system to maintain medical records of all LF personnel.100 The LF also paid all hospitalization bills for its militia members and their families. After Gemmayel’s assassination in 1982, the LF underwent a period of disorganization, and its welfare activities became less coordinated. In 1985, Samir Geagea took control of the LF and explicitly aimed to build the social welfare activities of the organization. After Geagea’s takeover, the LF leadership created Al-Tadamun al-Igtamaʿi (Social Solidarity Foundation), which had an educational branch that supported students at all levels, launched a food-rations program to ensure that families received food on a regular basis, and included a health program.101 In part to maintain the demographic weight of the territories it controlled, the LF also provided medical care for noncombatants. To coordinate its healthcare activities, it established a centralized office and a flagship clinic and pharmacy in Ashrafieh in East Beirut, which was largely under LF control. Furthermore, people in LF-dominated territory often traveled to Ashrafieh to visit its pharmacy and clinic, which offered primary care, pediatric, and obstetric and gynecological services as well as treatments for chronic illnesses. A program to perform open-heart surgery on qualified patients was one of the most expensive and highly publicized LF health initiatives. Party officials and announcements emphasized that eligibility was based strictly on medical and socioeconomic need.102 The LF office in Ashrafieh also coordinated relations with clinics in LF-controlled territory. The LF never had its own hospitals in LF-controlled areas but, rather, established relationships with existing public and private hospitals and paid the hospital bills of its fighters and members directly to these institutions. Regardless of the affiliations of these health-care providers,

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a former LF official claimed, the organization effectively controlled them because they were in LF-dominated areas.103 In the late 1980s, the LF Social Solidarity Foundation became increasingly active in providing social assistance to families.104 Officially established in March 1987, the organization provided subsidies on basic consumer goods, supporting about 5,000 families during its first six months of operations alone. Rather than distributing cash payments, the foundation supplied heating oil, subsidized consumer goods, and food coupons that covered about 60 percent of family dietary needs. The LF social program also provided material assistance for civilians whose homes were damaged by the war and ran an educational scholarship program.105 In addition to its health and social programs, the LF became a key provider of public goods in the territories it controlled, effectively replacing the state in important domains. The LF provided security by opening roads and passages where civilians could avoid sniper fire, particularly in Christian areas besieged by Druze militiamen in the Shouf. The organization also rebuilt or constructed roads to allow the transport of goods and maintained sanitation and water systems.106 The comités populaires were responsible for community initiatives related to sanitation, garbage collection, the construction and repair of local infrastructure such as bridges and roads, public awareness campaigns on health and environmental issues, and price monitoring. On occasion, the committees also provided educational scholarships to needy families and medicines to local health-care facilities.107 The first priority of LF welfare activities was reserved for its militia members. Militia fighters and their families received financial support and free medical services. Even after the LF extended its circle of beneficiaries, it clearly favored fighters and hard-core activists with its most extensive benefits. A 1987 announcement in Al-Maseera openly states the LF preference for its core supporters in the allocation of generous housing benefits: Comrade, do you have a housing problem? You—Lebanese, Christian, Displaced, especially if you are a member of the LF? Stay with us! Don’t worry. In two months, your patience will be rewarded when you receive your modern, fully equipped apartment, with easy to pay loans and incredible payment options. . . . It is an enormous housing complex funded by the National Trust in the LF. . . . Where would you like to live? You can be picky. Do you fancy living in the mountains of Jbeil? The beach is close by, nature is breathtaking. Or would you prefer to live in Breithij? Closer? How about Bwar-Kisserwane, or would you prefer to live in the North? Have you grown used to living in the capital? Dbayeh is close by.

The article explicitly promises LF members housing options in heavily Christian areas. In addition, the LF established free, specialized universitylevel courses for militia fighters.108

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Beyond militia fighters, card-carrying LF members were eligible for access to a party-run health insurance program. A 1988 article in Al-Maseera describes the documentation needed to gain access to this benefit: “Recently, we have replaced the ID card with a medical records card. . . . There are three conditions that a candidate must meet. Firstly, he must be a full-time LF member.”109 The remaining conditions specify the eligibility criteria for spouses and children. LF officials claim that the organization eventually came to support the general civilian population in the areas under its control. A high-level LF official involved in the party health program noted that all citizens in LF-controlled areas could go to the party clinics.110 Similarly, the head of the LF wartime health programs emphasized that they had been initially restricted to LF cadres and their families but later expanded to serve other people in the area. Socioeconomic criteria clearly shaped the allocation of LF benefits. The party developed an extensive system of verifying the socioeconomic status of applicants to its social programs. Nonetheless, as LF officials themselves acknowledge, officials and staff members were undoubtedly obliged to make choices about whom to serve given the enormous scale of need and program costs.111 At a minimum, the LF wartime social program clearly favored Christians, as evidenced by statements by its leadership and the geographic locations of the LF social programs.112 Various party pronouncements emphasized that the LF welfare programs aimed to “work internally within Christian society” and target “liberated areas,” which were predominantly Christian and, in any case, became increasingly homogeneous after the war-fueled internal population displacement.113 In describing the coverage of health-care and pharmaceutical costs for beneficiaries, a 1987 article in Al-Maseera emphasized that the LF health programs were designed to “combat need and poverty and provide Christians with basic social justice.”114 But not all Christians were equal, even after the LF welfare programs expanded to encompass broader segments of the population in territories it controlled.115 As indicated by the specific health care, housing, and social initiatives discussed here, cardcarrying members and especially hard-core activists and militia fighters benefited from its social programs most extensively.

Post-War Period (2005–Present) The end of the civil war brought the decline of the Kataeb and LF welfare programs. In March 1994, all LF activities were dismantled, and Geagea was imprisoned. As a former official of the LF Social Solidarity Foundation noted, “We were so repressed that we couldn’t discuss our activities until last year.”116 Elements of the Kataeb leadership struck a more conciliatory tone with the dominant power brokers in post-war Lebanon, and therefore, the party did not pose as much of a threat to the new order dominated by Syria and its

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allies. Furthermore, the Kataeb social programs had already been declining steadily after the LF gained relative dominance during the mid- to late 1980s. After 2005, when Syrian influence receded in Lebanon, the Kataeb and LF started to reconstruct themselves and, as part of these efforts, launched or relaunched their social assistance programs.117 The FPM, which was headed by Aoun in exile in France until his return to Lebanon in 2005, launched some social programs and received support for these efforts from Hezbollah following the alliance between the two parties in 2006. In the post-war period, the programs of the major Christian parties explicitly target Christians in an effort to shore up their credentials as the most trustworthy defenders of the community. Within the Christian community, the three parties favor their own loyalists but are careful to extend some benefits more broadly. In contrast to the major Sunni and Shi ʿa Muslim parties, the post-war Christian parties have limited welfare programs with minimal if any bricksand-mortar facilities. Interviews with numerous Lebanese Christian citizens affirmed that, compared to their Muslim counterparts, the Christian parties and religious charities have relatively underdeveloped social programs and offer few benefits.118 One interviewee exclaimed, “In this country, Christians got the wrong end of the deal!! Hezbollah helps their people. Our leaders do not help us!”119 The woman’s contention conforms with the fi ndings from the national survey on access to social assistance presented in chapter 5, which suggest that supporters of Christian parties enjoy access to fewer benefits than supporters of the Muslim parties, especially the Future Movement. None of the Christian parties run their own hospitals or schools and, therefore, the provision of medical and educational support occurs primarily through arrangements with third-party private or religious institutions.120 As of 2008, the Kataeb was the only Christian party with its own health clinics. Figure 6.3 depicts the pharmacy of the Kataeb clinic in the Mar Mikhael neighborhood of East Beirut. As seen in the figure, the image of Pierre Gemayel (assassinated in November 2006) has been taped onto the glass cabinets storing medications, alongside a photo of Amin Gemayel, his father and current head of the party. Beyond the limited number of Kataeb party health clinics, most social welfare from the Christian parties comes in the form of small cash handouts or prearranged discounted fees for medical services and schooling at Christian schools and private medical institutions run by supporters—forms of support that are inherently difficult to track systematically. Despite the relatively limited scale of the welfare activities of the Christian parties in the post-war period, it is possible to discern broad patterns in the ways that they allocate social benefits or broker access to assistance. Interviews with Kataeb partisans and critics alike indicate that the party overwhelmingly favors Christian beneficiaries. The director of a welfare agency linked to the Kataeb affirmed the organization emphasis on the Christian

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Figure 6.3 Photos of Pierre and Amin Gemmayel in the pharmacy of the Kataeb Party clinic in Mar Mikhael, East Beirut in 2007. Source: Photo by Melani Cammett.

community. Although she initially claimed that her center serves all citizens regardless of religious affiliation, the director conceded that her facility overwhelmingly serves in-group members: “In this center, we have about 397 registered beneficiaries of our various programs, and especially of the medical services. People mainly come from the area but they also come from Karm al-Zeitoun, Qarantina, and Sin el-Fil. . . . We even have some Muslim beneficiaries. We know from their names whether they are Muslim or not. But there are only about seven or eight Muslims who come to the center because there are not many Muslims in the area.”121 Within the Christian community, partisans appear to have privileged access to Kataeb benefits. Self-selection mechanisms undoubtedly play a role in assuring access to higher benefits for activists because partisans are more likely to frequent the institutions run by their preferred party. But demonstrations of support for the party clearly facilitate access to services. An interviewee whose family members are well-known and vocal supporters of the Kataeb in Sin el-Fil described how partisanship has facilitated access to treatment at a nearby Kataeb health facility. The family has good relations with the head of the municipality of Sin el-Fil, Nabil Kahale, a Kataeb politician.

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In part due to Kahale’s ties to the party, residents perceive that the Kataeb runs the Sin el-Fil municipal clinic, a perception corroborated by the inclusion of this clinic in the party list of affiliated health institutions. When the interviewee required a medical procedure, Kahale facilitated access to discounted services at the clinic and arranged for the party to pay the remaining fees not covered by the National Social Security Fund. The family track record of support for the Kataeb enabled the interviewee to receive medical treatment without payment via connections to party officials.122 Intense competition among the major Christian parties in the electoral arena since 2005 has compelled the Kataeb and its rivals to present themselves as the true defenders of the Christian communities. As a result, the parties point to their capacity to serve Christians by distributing social benefits or facilitating access to third-party services for in-group members. Where possible, they even try to attract or buy support from partisans of rival parties. A Maronite woman who lives in the Metn, a hotly contested district with a preponderantly Christian voter and resident population, described why she transferred her allegiance from the Kataeb to the FPM. The interviewee was a known core activist who, along with her family members, had worked for the Kataeb during the civil war. After an FPM member of parliament offered her more generous fi nancial assistance for health care, however, she became a member of Aoun’s party.123 The risk of defection suggests that the Christian parties neglect their existing supporters at their own peril. Although material benefits are by no means the only or even primary reason that citizens support a given party, they can sway some citizens, and the Christian parties are acutely aware of this risk. Thus, it is logical for them to reserve the most generous benefits for existing partisans. With its leader imprisoned and facilities either shut down or controlled by pro-Syrian figureheads in the post-war period, the LF was arguably even more repressed than the Kataeb.124 At the same time, the wartime legacy of a relatively developed social welfare infrastructure gave the LF an organizational advantage.125 After 2005, when Geagea was pardoned and released from prison, activists began to reconstitute the party and its affiliated welfare wings. In late 2007, a high-level party electoral strategist acknowledged that the party was in the process of resuscitating its welfare activities: “We don’t have services now. We’re in the process of developing them. We’re working on a health system now. . . . We have a support base that believes in us, believes in our vision for Lebanon. This is the basis for our support. We don’t buy it the way other parties do. . . . But we know we need to help our supporters, especially now that we are constituting ourselves into a real political party. We know we have to start organizing ourselves to provide for our supporters.”126 Although the LF official insisted that supporters do not back the party for material reasons, he claimed that the party was obliged to offer social benefits. Rewarding and maintaining existing supporters appears to be a major

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motivation for the party decision to reestablish its welfare program. At the same time, this should not suggest that the leadership is opposed to serving others, particular those with allegiances to rival parties. Nevertheless, as a member of the LF Executive Committee commented, “To tell you honestly, Aoun supporters wouldn’t want to come. In reality, it’s supporters and members of the LF.”127 Thus, the party is potentially open to serving others but recognizes that committed partisans of rival parties are unlikely to seek assistance from the LF. Like its rivals, the party must be wary of losing supporters by neglecting to serve its own established supporters. In reestablishing its health programs in the post-war period, the initial priority of the LF was to set up health insurance funds for members of the party, who allegedly numbered between 100,000 and 150,000 people. By 2008, the LF had created a subscription-based health insurance program with low fees. The fund is explicitly restricted to LF members, who receive a card that covers partial costs of services at participating offices. Membership entitles them to lab tests, X-rays, magnetic resonance imaging scans (MRIs), and other basic procedures, with about 60 percent of costs covered by the insurance program. The LF Health Committee also planned to construct clinics and dispensaries. As of 2008, the party aimed to launch six centers that would offer primary care as well as dental and specialist services. To staff these centers, the LF planned to take advantage of the fact that about 500 doctors are highly active in the party. At present, the party refers patients to these doctors, enabling supporters to receive discounted services. The new system would formalize the referral system and would employ these doctors on a part-time basis in LF health institutions. The LF Health Committee stipulates that services at the new centers will not be free to assure a higher quality of care.128 One welfare organization established during the civil war period has remained operational in post-war Lebanon. Auxilia, technically an NGO, is in reality linked to the LF. The organization maintains overseas offices in the United States, Europe, and Australia and has official, tax-deductible status as a “private, voluntary organization” under U.S. law. Created by the LF in the early 1980s, Auxilia runs a food assistance program for poor families and is setting up a program to provide orphans with assistance for schooling, health care, and food. Auxilia beneficiaries receive a monthly check that can be used to buy food from the organization’s cooperative nonprofit supermarkets, which are located in Baabda, Antelias, Jounieh, Jbeil, and Bijdarfe near Batroun— all Christian areas. Auxilia is self-financed, based on the annual subscription fees of members, although the land for at least one of the facilities was donated by a party supporter. Because the organization was officially an NGO and engaged primarily in charitable work, the Syrian-backed authorities permitted it to continue operating after the war, although at times staff members were obliged to work in a semi-clandestine fashion.129

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Interviews with ordinary citizens demonstrated that the general population is aware that the LF uses its connections to broker access to services provided by religious and private, for-profit institutions. For example, a Maronite man from Kesserwane recounted how party officials use their connections to principals and deans in schools and universities to arrange reduced fees for partisans.130 Similarly, another interviewee described how a friend who is a pharmacist and an activist in the LF provides subsidized drugs to established supporters of the party: “I know he helps out the people of Lebanese Forces. Everyone in the Lebanese Forces comes to him. It is like he is known in the area here. They say he is their doctor and he looks after them.”131 A supporter of the LF affirmed that she seeks support from the party when in need. The woman, whose family members are vocal and consistent supporters of the LF, emphasized that the party acts as a guarantor of her family’s security. Because her brother served in the LF militia during the war, her family is entitled to generous benefits from the party.132 As the previous account indicates, a proven track record of commitment to the party is associated with greater access to LF benefits. The families of militia fighters receive top priority in access to benefits, even in the post-war period. Beyond militia service, the LF, like other parties, favors people with a proven track record of support for the party. A Greek Orthodox woman emphasized that her brothers’ established commitment to the party enabled her to receive medical care for her son with government fi nancing. Wn: There was a certain political party that talked with the Ministry of [Public] Health for me to be able to do an operation for my son. Tb: Can you mention which party? Wn: The Lebanese Forces. Tb: They helped you? Wn: Yes, because my brother is with them. Tb: Did they ask you for any help or anything in return? Wn: No, because almost all my brothers are with them.133

To be sure, institutions run by LF members and supporters do not deny service to nonpartisans.134 Yet established supporters appear to receive the same services on better terms. An interview with a man from Kesserwane indicated that members pay lower prices at institutions that are run by party supporters. The interviewee, a strong supporter of the LF, used to work for the party by organizing activities, debates, and protests. He has not been as active in the party of late for personal reasons, but he remains a firm supporter. In discussing the health-care programs of the party, he emphasized the value of the LF insurance scheme, which enables cardholders to benefit from reduced fees in pro-LF facilities.

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Mk: There is a health care clinic in Yasouh al-Malak set up by the LF to help their supporters who live in the region. It is run by two doctors who are also supporters of the party. Tb: So it is only for the Lebanese Forces? Mk: No! Everyone has access to it but of course the supporters, those who have a membership identity card, pay a cheaper fee. Tb: What is the fee that you usually pay? Mk: It’s $15, a monthly subscription fee. Tb: What does this fee cover? Mk: It is like a full package for the supporters of the party. It is like insurance for those who are not well off and still need medical coverage. They can even get dental care with this sum that they pay! Tb: So they get medical coverage for free? Mk: Not for free, but the amount is very cheap compared to elsewhere! Tb: What if somebody goes to this health care clinic but is not a supporter of the party? Mk: Yes, he can still get assistance. Tb: But does the individual pay more? Mk: No not a drastic sum. It’s still relatively cheaper than any other place. They have done this scheme to be able to serve the largest number of people possible within the region and serve them with the purpose of getting them to be friendlier with the party.135

A proven track record of support for the LF facilitates access to more extensive and generous benefits, particularly through membership in its health insurance scheme. At the same time, nonmembers are not excluded from pro-LF health facilities and benefit from good prices, albeit on a smaller scale. In the context of electoral rivalry, it would be foolish for the LF or other Christian parties to entirely exclude nonsupporters within the Christian community from access to services. At the same time, more expansive packages of benefits, which are at present institutionalized in the LF health insurance scheme, are reserved for members both as a reward for existing support and as a potential source of attraction to the party. As the youngest of the main Christian parties, the FPM began to consider the distribution of social benefits only in the past five years. Although some rivals claim that it has ample resources and funnels benefits to supporters,136 the FPM has the least-developed welfare network of the three major Christian parties. As of 2008, officials claimed that the party offered no social services,137 a claim that was echoed in interviews with rivals and other observers.138 In addition, the social base of the FPM is less needy (Prothero 2009). The strong representation of middle-class professionals in the party membership may have reduced the imperative to initiate welfare schemes.139

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Whatever the reasons for the relatively slow start of the FPM in launching welfare activities, by 2008 the party had developed preliminary plans to establish some social programs. In response to a steady flow of requests for assistance with health-care costs, school fees, and other expenses, the party leadership decided to set up more formalized health-care and social assistance programs and began to investigate the possibility of establishing bricks-andmortar operations.140 The most visible program of the FPM, the 8 Oranges program, is a private mutual fund or rewards program rather than a vehicle for social assistance. Launched in 2005 by several FPM members, the program provides discounts to card holders at certain gas stations, supermarkets, pharmacies, and other commercial venues and offers members the option to purchase a personal accident insurance policy and receive health and dental insurance from a British company, Cumberland Insurance and Reinsurance, which sponsors the program. In addition, subscribers can benefit from reduced fees at clinics that have established contracts with the program. Subscribers pay an annual fee of $11 and, in return, gain access to discounted goods and services at participating establishments while the party receives 25 percent of the company profits (Tawil 2006).141 Representatives of 8 Oranges claim it is open to all, not just to FPM members (Tawil 2006). In practice, however, the program attracts and rewards FPM members. An activist with the FPM noted that it was designed primarily to target supporters of the FPM, who include those who attend all designated meetings, organize demonstrations, and collaborate on party events.142 At a minimum, participation in 8 Oranges is tantamount to a declaration of support for the party given the political symbolism of the logos and orangecolored products of the program. In Lebanese social and political life, the color orange is now clearly associated with the FPM and, therefore, has become a political statement. Furthermore, the 8 Oranges program explicitly draws its staff from the FPM membership: “We recruit FPM members and followers, because they suffered for 15 years, when they were sacked from their jobs just because they were FPM followers” (Tawil 2006). Beyond the 8 Oranges rewards program, the FPM had started to distribute benefits within the Christian community by 2006, in the aftermath of the Lebanese-Israeli war. During the 2006 war, General Aoun appointed a party activist to oversee the FPM war-relief effort, which was coordinated from offices and a depot in Jdeideh. This FPM member was in charge of finding temporary shelter in schools and private homes, arranging medical treatment by pro-FPM doctors, and delivering food and medications to the displaced. FPM activists, including many physicians, lawyers, and pharmacists, donated time and material to the war-relief effort.143 The FPM relief effort during the 2006 war entailed both serving the needs of displaced Shi ʿa who were temporarily housed in predominantly Christian

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areas throughout the country and channeling assistance to Christians in the South province, where the bulk of the destruction occurred. A Greek Orthodox woman from Jdeidet Marjayoun in South Lebanon recounted that the “Aounis” took charge of her region and, given their alliance with Hezbollah, distributed aid to Shi ʿa who had taken refuge in the predominantly Christian town. After checking the identity cards of the beneficiaries, the FPM gave out mattresses, food, medicine, and blankets, which they had obtained thanks to financial and material support from Hezbollah.144 The FPM also disbursed cash and material assistance supplied by Hezbollah to Christians in areas affected by the war in the South. Another Greek Orthodox woman in Jdeidet Marjayoun described how she received compensation for the destruction of her home after it was bombed by the Israelis. The woman noted that the FPM was distributing money, food, and construction supplies donated by Hezbollah to Christians in her area. She further contended that the entire neighborhood knew that people with connections to the FPM or Hezbollah were the major beneficiaries. (She and her family had voted for the FPM in the 2005 parliamentary elections.) Her account suggests that the FPM adopted partisan criteria in dispensing aid in the South. Furthermore, her testimony points to the political sensitivities of aid disbursement, which compelled Hezbollah to restrict its visible presence in predominantly Christian neighborhoods and towns and to work through the FPM to funnel aid to Christians after the July 2006 war.145 Like other parties, the FPM relies largely on personal connections to broker access to health care and other social services. On occasion, party officials and members of parliament contact the Ministry of Public Health to arrange for the public coverage of hospitalization fees for supporters. FPM members from the medical and pharmaceutical professions both volunteer their time and offer discounted services. Connections in professional syndicates, particularly among the Syndicate of Pharmacists, enable supporters to gain access to subsidized medications. A party official also noted that some clinics run by FPM members operate on an informal, voluntary basis to provide lowcost services on behalf of the party. The official noted that two of these facilities are located in Kesserwane and Batroun, both predominantly Christian areas.146 Some evidence indicates that the FPM, like most other parties, has distributed food assistance during electoral cycles.147 A woman whose family actively supports the FPM and resides in the hotly contested Metn district, where the FPM faced off against the LF in the 2007 by-elections, described the food aid that her family received from the party: Wb: We usually receive assistance and aid from people who are politically active. For instance my dad supports the FPM, so we are taken into consideration by this group of people when it comes to assistance and aid. . . .

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They send us a box of food on occasions or when we help them out. . . . My father and brothers . . . are supporters so when the FPM needs assistance they come to my father. Tb: What do they send you? Wb: A box that has food supplies in it . . . rice, pasta, tuna, oil, salt, milk, chickpeas. And they also give out household cleaners like Der General, Flash, and Jif.148

Other respondents corroborated that the FPM funnels assistance to active supporters and brokers access to subsidized medical care by pro-FPM doctors.149 Some respondents indicated that the party also distributes small-scale benefits to citizens who do not have a demonstrated record of support for the party. For example, a Maronite woman who lives in Sin el-Fil and whose family strongly supports the Kataeb party attested that the FPM disperses benefits broadly in her area and maintains a nearby depot in Bikfaya, where it stores goods for distribution. She claims, “They are giving to everybody. I know somebody who curses Aoun and then she goes and collects milk from the FPM every two weeks.”150 Political geography may shape party leadership decisions about where to distribute material assistance—Sin el-Fil is a Christian area located in the heavily contested Metn electoral district. Similarly, a Greek Orthodox woman who lives in Nabaa claims that the FPM brokers access to subsidized medical services to a broad array of beneficiaries in her community, irrespective of partisan track records. Wn: The FPM has a center also. They get medicine as donations so, after they check them out and if you have a correct and honest doctor’s prescription, they give medicine once a month to the patient. Tb: Where are these centers? Wn: Here, next to gallery Khabbaz. My sister-in-law goes and gets medicine from there every month. Tb: Is she a supporter of the FPM party? Does she have a membership card? Wn: No, she is not a supporter of the party. She has a card that only shows which medicine she needs to come and collect every month. Tb: She doesn’t support them or participate in their activities? Wn: No, not at all. All she did was go to the center with her husband’s prescription and all they said was they would give her a card so that they would know for sure that she would be coming once a month to get the medicine; and they did not ask anything in return.151

The distribution of social benefits to nonsupporters may increase the appeal of the party—an imperative for electoral contests. At least one interviewee claimed that the FPM responsiveness to her requests for medical assistance had compelled her to switch her allegiance to the party.152 This discussion of the welfare activities of the Christian parties suggests the broad patterns in their allocation of social benefits. During the civil war

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period, both the Kataeb and LF clearly funneled their most extensive benefits to fighters and their families. The Christian militias also developed healthcare and social assistance programs to serve their core activists during the war. In the post-war period, the Christian parties do not command vast resources but they take pains to depict themselves as serving the Christian community and not just partisans. Although not all Christian parties are viewed as equally sectarian in their ideology, they all favor Christians and Christian communities in distributing benefits or brokering access to thirdparty services. To be sure, the Kateab, LF, and FPM reserve their most generous benefits for loyalists, but they depict themselves as open to all potential beneficiaries, particularly in-group members. As a strategist for the FPM commented, “Unfortunately for now, Lebanon is based on a sectarian system. This is how people are represented. We are obliged to work with this system.”153 Given the imperatives of the Lebanese power-sharing system, coupled with the intense rivalry among the major Christian parties, even the FPM, which bills itself as nonsectarian, is obliged to present itself as the true representative of the Christians. As a result, like its competitors, the FPM prioritizes in-group members with social benefits. THE POLITICAL IMPACT OF WELFARE OUTREACH The linkage between political strategies and intragroup political competition, on the one hand, and welfare outreach, on the other hand, raises a deeper question about the efficacy of social provision as a political tool and not merely as a charitable endeavor. A full treatment of this question is beyond the scope of this analysis and is, in and of itself, a worthy topic for further research.154 Furthermore, as the central arguments in this book suggest, the dynamics of support-buying are likely to vary depending on the political strategy of the party offering social benefits. For parties that prioritize extra-state political strategies, appropriate data for assessing the political effects of welfare distribution are not readily available. Extra-state political strategies entail forms of political engagement that are inherently difficult to measure, such as participation in demonstrations and riots and service in a militia. For parties that adopt state-centric political strategies, however, electoral returns enable an initial assessment. Survey data indicate that voters themselves prioritize the provision of social services by their elected representatives in their voting calculus. In 2001, a poll asked citizens who voted in the 2000 national elections to list the two most important factors shaping their vote choices. Over 50 percent of the respondents listed the social service activities of the candidate as one of the two most important reasons for their vote (Chaoul et al. 2000, 29). The degree to which sectarian parties attract support from out-group members is a more refi ned indicator of the political efficacy of welfare

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outreach for parties that adopt state-centric political strategies. In Lebanon, however, data on sectarian trends in voting patterns are difficult to obtain. For the first three electoral cycles after the civil war in Lebanon, data on voter preferences disaggregated by sectarian identity are not available. For the subsequent elections in 2005 and 2009, local analysts do offer data on party vote share by sect; however, the assassination of al-Hariri and mounting regional Sunni-Shi ʿa tensions dominated these elections. Thus, fear-mongering and intergroup conflict masked the effects of clientelism on electoral trends in recent electoral cycles. With these caveats in mind, what do available data suggest about the impact of welfare outreach on electoral support? For the 1992, 1996, and 2000 elections, turnout rates by mohafaza (governorate) can serve as a crude proxy for sectarian voting trends because different governorates are associated with distinct sectarian endowments of voters.155 These rounds of Lebanese national elections were manipulated by Syria and pro-Syrian forces. During the 1992 and 1996 elections and, to lesser degree, the 2000 elections, competition was so restrained in most districts that the winners had effectively been determined in advance. As a result, these elections can be characterized as a referendum on preapproved candidates rather than a choice among competitors. Under these conditions, the participation rate by sect in each region provides a rough measure of which percentage of each sect supported the dominant list. Of course, this proxy indicator is crude and biased by the fact that some people did not participate because they resided outside Lebanon, were cynical about the lack of competition, and rejected all candidates. Nonetheless, others went to the ballot box to endorse the candidate of the locally dominant list and biases in the data are likely to apply in all districts, providing a rough relative measure of sectarian voting trends. Turnout rates by sect are particularly useful proxies for analyzing sectarian voting patterns in the 1992 and 1996 elections. In these two initial rounds of post-war elections, political life in Lebanon was largely orchestrated by a Saudi-Syrian alliance, elections were almost entirely devoid of competition, and the Syrian authorities nominated or preapproved many candidates. Largely in response to the Syrian suppression of Christian leaders and parties, Christians boycotted the polls at the highest rate. Al-Hariri was not permitted to form lists to compete in all regions. Even in Beirut, where he was relatively well established, al-Hariri was forced to include certain candidates and to leave some slots vacant on his lists. Similarly, Hezbollah and Amal were obliged to accept candidates from the Syrian Socialist Nationalist Party (SSNP) and Baath Party on their lists in Baalbek and the South. Other candidates were not even permitted to compete or, if they chose to run and won, their victories were annulled (LCPS 1996, ch. 4).156 Thus, under these conditions, the turnout rates largely reflected the percentages of voters who endorsed the dominant list in their districts.

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Table 6.2 depicts turnout rates by mohafaza, the smallest unit for which the data are available. Despite the relatively large size of this administrative unit, the results still yield valuable information because different governorates are associated with distinct sectarian endowments and political dynamics. What do the turnout rates indicate about the degree to which different parties gained support from out-group members? The variation in turnout rates between the 1992 and 1996 elections sheds light on this question. In the period between these two electoral cycles, al-Hariri, who was committed to a state-centric political strategy, intensified his bid to win elections and concomitantly started to build up his welfare programs, particularly in the Greater Beirut area.157 In the first post-war elections held in 1992, the electoral turnout was relatively low across all governorates and especially in Greater Beirut. Turnout rates in the heavily Christian governorate of Mount Lebanon show that many Christians did not vote in the elections. Recall from chapter 4 that Mount Lebanon has six qazas: Baabda, Jbeil, Kesserwane,158 Matn, Aley, and Shouf. The first four districts are mostly populated by Christians. The remaining districts, Aley and Shouf, are composed of a mix of Christians and Druze, although many Christians fled their villages after the War of the Mountain (a phase in the Lebanese civil war) during the 1980s.159 The low Christian turnout in the first post-war elections was largely due to the appeals of the community leadership. In the lead-up to the elections, the main Christian opposition parties and figures, including the LF, Kataeb, and Michel Aoun, called on their supporters to boycott the elections. The Maronite Church, which has great influence in the Christian community, backed this appeal. Furthermore, at this time, Muslim politicians had provided little incentive for Christians to participate. In particular, al-Hariri had not yet started to push hard to attract electoral support across all communities in the relatively diverse Beirut and Mount Lebanon regions. Turnout rates from the 1996 elections indicate that the political scene had changed in the intervening four years and provide suggestive evidence about the degree to which al-Hariri’s state-centric approach to welfare distribution

Table 6.2 Turnout rates by governorate in post-war national elections in Lebanon, 1992–2009 Election year

Beirut

Mount Lebanon

North

South

Bekaa

1992

16.2

22.2

30.8

38.1

46.2

1996

33

47.6

39.8

46.6

46.3

2000

35.8

35.3

46.2

44.9

39.1

2005

27.3

54.51

49.3

45.5

49.7

2009

36.1

58.05

49.4

53.11

54.03

Sources: Nohlen, Grotz, and Hartmann (2001, 184, 188); Saad (2005, 2009).

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garnered out-group support. In this election, the main Christian parties again declined to participate; however, the powerful Maronite Church adopted a more ambiguous stance on Christian participation. The sharp rise in the turnout rate in Mount Lebanon from 22 to almost 48 percent reflects a marked increase in Christian voter turnout. The case of Mount Lebanon, however, does not yield clear insights into the capacity of sectarian parties to capture the votes of out-group voters because in the 1996 elections candidates from al-Hariri’s coalition, Hezbollah, and the Amal Movement were not major participants in the electoral lists in these districts.160 Instead, electoral returns in the mixed city of Beirut and the predominantly Shi ʿa South province are more useful for assessing the effects of welfare distribution on electoral support. Political developments in Beirut between the 1992 and 1996 elections point to the success of al-Hariri’s welfare outreach in the city. Over the course of the civil war, the city of Beirut had become increasingly divided into two main regions—the largely Christian East Beirut and predominantly Muslim (and mainly Sunni) West Beirut. After the war, communal tensions remained high and segregated residential and commercial patterns persisted, but the city retained large concentrations of both Muslim and Christian voters. This demographic overview provides important background for interpreting the results of the 1996 elections in Beirut, where voter participation more than doubled from the prior election. This development would be impossible without a substantial uptick in the Christian electoral turnout because the urban demography did not change markedly in the early 1990s and participation by Beiruti Sunnis was unlikely to spike so dramatically. The data on turnout rates in Beirut confirm this expectation. As Figure 6.4 shows, voters from all sects increased their participation, but this trend was especially pronounced among Christian voters. Maronite participation increased more than tenfold, Orthodox participation rose more than sixfold, and Armenian participation more than quadrupled between the 1992 and 1996 elections (LCPS 1996, 189). Support for al-Hariri among Beiruti Christians undoubtedly stemmed in part from his position in the government, which enabled him to provide services. In addition, as detailed in this chapter, al-Hariri used his own private funds to distribute social benefits to the population. The Hariri Foundation provided scholarships to Lebanese students studying abroad during the war and gradually expanded its welfare network in Beirut and elsewhere in Lebanon during the 1990s. In addition, unlike his Sunni rivals in Beirut, notably Salim al-Hoss and the Salam family, al-Hariri had established good relations with Christian leaders and parties such as Amine Gemayel and the LF during the 1980s. Turnout rates from the South province also support the claim that welfare outreach yielded electoral gains. Between the 1992 and 1996 elections, participation increased by 8 percent. Given that half of the South was occupied by

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1992

35

1996

30 25 20 15 10 5 0

Sunni

Shia

Maronite

Greek Orthodox

Armenian

Figure 6.4 Voter turnout by sect in the 1992 and 1996 Lebanese national elections. Source: Lebanese Center for Policy Studies (1996, 189).

Israeli forces, blocking local residents from voting, this is a large margin. In part, support for Hezbollah among the Shi ʿa after the 1996 war with Israel explains the rise in turnout, but Christians also participated in growing numbers, particularly in the Zahrani region near Sidon. Furthermore, Shi ʿa voters alone cannot account for the sharp uptick in turnout in the South because most of the Shi ʿa districts, including Bent Jbeil, Marjayoun, and a large portion of the region around Tyre, were still occupied by Israel at the time, blocking voters in these areas from participating in the elections. Shi ʿa citizens had already voted in relatively large numbers in the prior elections, and it is unlikely that the Shi ʿa turnout would increase by such a wide margin between the two electoral cycles. Under these conditions, it is likely that the distribution of social benefits and patronage by Nabih Berri through the Council of the South helps to explain rising turnout rates in the South. Controlled by Berri’s Amal Movement, this public agency had a large budget and aimed at providing services for people in the South, who suffered the most from the Israeli occupation and protracted war. The Christians of Zahrani were among the beneficiaries of the patronage disbursed by the council and other Amal Movement organizations and funds (LCPS 1996, 216, 222–23). Thus, the increase in turnout in the South between the 1992 and 1996 elections entailed a greater Christian participation, which was probably motivated in part by benefits disbursed from state agencies controlled by the Amal Movement. For the 2000 elections, turnout rate remains a valid proxy for some governorates, notably the predominantly Shiʿa South and Bekaa, but it is less useful for other regions, such as Beirut. In Sunni-dominated areas and especially in Beirut, al-Hariri had not yet fully consolidated his political dominance over

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the Sunni community, and he waged a real electoral battle against his Sunni rivals (LCPS 1996, ch. 6). Thus, in the case of Beirut, the turnout did not reflect voters’ endorsement of a dominant list. In the 2000 elections in the South, the turnout remained relatively constant; the South had been liberated from Israeli occupation only several months earlier. Nonetheless, Berri’s candidates from the Amal Movement may have gained additional support from the Christians of Jezzine, which had been liberated one year before the rest of the occupied regions of the South. After the Israeli withdrawal, the Council of the South played an important role in extending services to Jezzine, which became a relatively solid base of support for Berri until the 2009 elections. In the North province, the notable increase in turnout may reflect inroads by al-Hariri in this region. In this election, al-Hariri placed his own candidates on lists headed by local politicians, including Suleiman Franjieh, Najib Mikati and Issam Fares. Reports indicate that al-Hariri gained support from Christians in the Koura region.161 The turnout rates for the 2005 and 2009 elections provide a less valid foundation for assessing the political effects of welfare outreach, although precise data on sectarian voting trends are available.162 By 2005, the combination of al-Hariri’s assassination and mounting domestic and regional tensions, ostensibly along Sunni-Shi ʿa lines, strongly affected voting patterns (Feghali 2005). Thus, the politics of fear and factional tensions became strong motivations for voter choices, confounding the effects of service provision. Nonetheless, the results of the 2005 and 2009 elections demonstrate several relevant trends. Tables 6.3a, 6.3b, and 6.3c depict the vote shares for Hezbollah, the Amal Movement, and the Future Movement by the sects of registered voters in districts where each party fielded candidates.163 A comparison of the returns of the two elections indicates that Hezbollah increased its share of Christian support substantially in all districts where the party fielded candidates. This is probably due to the alliance between Hezbollah and Aoun’s FPM beginning in 2006. Many Christian FPM supporters undoubtedly voted for Hezbollah to express their endorsement of Aoun’s decision to ally with the Shi ʿa party; however, the receipt of social benefits from Hezbollah, which placed more emphasis on a state-centric political strategy after 2005, may have reinforced this trend, particularly in the aftermath of the 2006 war. The Amal Movement, too, gained a greater share of Christian voters, although not to the same extent as Hezbollah. Tensions between Berri and Aoun tempered Christian support for Amal, particularly in the Jezzine district (South 2) where the two parties ran competing candidates. Nonetheless, given that Amal and Hezbollah ran joint lists in these elections, the overall trend toward increased support for the Amal Movement undoubtedly arose from the alliance with the FPM. The Future Movement share of the Christian vote also improved across the board, largely due to the strength of its Christian allies. As expected, in the context of rising regional and domestic

Table 6.3a Vote share of Hezbollah by sect of registered voters in the 2005 and 2009 national elections (%) Shiʿa

Sunni

Christian

District

2005

2009

2005

2009

2005

2009

Bekaa 1 (Baalback and Hermel)

83

95.2

22.2

13.8

20.8

61

South 1 (Saida, Zahrani, Bent Jbeil, Tyre)

91.5

94.8

69.3

47.3

37

69.7

South 2 (Marjayoun Hasbaya, Jezzine, Nabatiyyeh)

90.3

92.3

70.1

21.6

53.9

67.4

Mount Lebanon 3 (Baabda-Aley)

86.7

88

79.2

52.7

22.1

48.4

Table 6.3b Vote share of the Amal Movement by sect of registered voters in the 2005 and 2009 national elections (%) Shiʿa

Sunni

Christian

District

2005

2009

2005

2009

2005

2009

Bekaa 1

80

94.8

21.2

14.3

20.6

61.9

Bekaa 3 (West Bekaa)

60.1

88.1

53.5

21.7

26.4

48.6

South 1

91.1

93.8

65

49.9

40.7

72.4

South 2

89.8

87.2

69.1

52.6

57.1

49.9

Table 6.3c Vote share of the Future Movement by sect of registered voters in the 2005 and 2009 national elections (%) Shiʿa

Sunni

Christian

District

2005

2009

2005

2009

2005

2009

Bekaa 2 (Zahle)

n.a.

1.9

n.a.

89.1

n.a.

47

Bekaa 3

52.1

2.6

55.9

69.9

24.2

44.9

North 1 (Akkar, Becharre, Donieh)

n.a.

n.a.

71

74.3

34.5

43.2

North 2 (Tripoli, Zgharta, Menieh, Koura, Batroun)

n.a.

n.a.

71

73.6

35.5

49.7

Mount Lebanon 3

71.1

11

74.6

46.1

28.3

47.9

Mount Lebanon 6 (Chouf )

67.5

20.4

80.7

77

34.2

47.5

Source: Data provided by the Beirut Center for Information and Research, Beirut, Lebanon.

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tensions, Hezbollah lost Sunni vote share and the Future Movement lost Shi ʿi electoral support. Although political developments beginning in the mid2000s complicate efforts to draw inferences about the impact of welfare outreach on cross-sectarian voting behavior, the observable trends are consistent with the claim that state-centric political strategies garnered support from out-group voters, particularly across Muslim-Christian lines. Comparative analyses of the distributional behavior of the major Sunni, Shi ʿa, and Christian parties in Lebanon provide insight into the question of why and how sectarian organizations distribute social benefits across and within their respective religious communities. The Sunni and Shi ʿa Muslim parties differ from their Christian counterparts in their levels of in-group competition for political representation. The relatively intense rivalry among Christian parties generates ethnic out-bidding dynamics, compelling the leaders of these parties to position themselves as the “true” representatives of Lebanese Christians. This intense intrasect competition compelled the Christian parties to concentrate their social benefits on in-group members, even as they adopted state-centric political strategies in the post-war period. The comparative lack of in-group competition among Sunni and, to a lesser degree, Shi ʿa parties gives the Muslim parties more freedom to make overtures to out-group members and communities. At the same time, variation in the distributional behavior of the Muslim parties—especially between the Future Movement and Hezbollah—reveals the limits of an account focused entirely on in-group competition. The distinct political strategies constitute a key additional explanation for welfare allocation by sectarian parties. Rafiq al-Hariri historically aimed to attain national power by working through formal state institutions and, particularly, by playing electoral politics and controlling high-level government positions. These strategic choices created incentives for the Future Movement to reach out with social benefits beyond its core supporters and even to out-group members, although sectarian tensions and the recent (albeit seemingly temporary) establishment of an armed force spurred an evolution in the distributional behavior of the party. Profiting from political fragmentation within the Sunni community, al-Hariri came to dominate the representation of the sect and therefore had the freedom to reach out beyond Sunnis more easily than other leaders. This may be changing at present. Constituents are increasingly questioning the capacity of his son, Saad al-Hariri, to lead the movement, and new, local Sunni leaders are emerging (Mohsen 2012; Wood 2012). The Amal Movement, too, has traditionally banked on a strategy of working through state institutions and controlling public offices, in this case because it is dependent on state patronage for rewarding its members and supporters. This reliance on public-sector resources, including control of public health institutions, has compelled the Amal Movement to offer some benefits beyond

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its hard-core supporters. That said, its history of competition with Hezbollah and its origins as a movement promoting the Shi ʿa community ensure that the vast majority of its benefits are funneled to in-group supporters. Conversely, Hezbollah favored a strategy of mobilizing outside formal state institutions from the outset. The party has prioritized extra-state political strategies, including the maintenance of a militia force largely deployed in its ongoing struggles against Israel and, more recently, in defense of the al-Asad government in Syria. As a result, Hezbollah funnels generous and continuous aid packages to its core supporters, who undertake high-risk, time-intensive actions on its behalf. Greater participation in state institutions in the post-war period and especially since 2005, however, has compelled the party to allocate social benefits more broadly. In the next chapter, I explore the plausibility of the core arguments using additional cases, including the Sadrist Movement in Iraq and the Bharatiya Janata Party in India.

7 Welfare and Identity Politics beyond Lebanon

I

n the preceding chapters, I have explored the linkages between political imperatives and the allocation of social benefits in the major sectarian parties of Lebanon. In this chapter, I extend the discussion by examining the political strategies and distributional activities of the Sadrist Movement in Iraq and the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) in India. Both of these organizations have associated welfare wings, albeit with varying degrees of development and institutionalized in distinct ways, and appeal to identity-based constituencies in their pronouncements and deployment of symbols. Both the Sadrists and the BJP maneuver within national institutional contexts that enable them to carry out variable political strategies in distinct historical periods. Thus, at different times, they may work through formal state institutions by contesting elections or holding state offices, whip up grassroots participation in mass demonstrations, and even take part in violent modes of politics such as riots or militia warfare. These organizational case studies therefore probe the plausibility beyond Lebanon of the arguments developed throughout the book. THE SADRIST MOVEMENT IN IRAQ The Lebanese and Iraqi political contexts feature important similarities, particularly after the toppling of the Iraqi Ba‘athist regime in 2003. References in Arab political discourse to the “Lebanonization of Iraq” (Lubnanat ʿIraq; i.e., the recurrence of instability combined with entrenched external meddling in domestic politics) point to the parallels between the two countries (ICG 2004; Mashkour 2010). In particular, the predominance of sectarian parties linked to specific ethnic and religious communities, and the institutionalization of a power-sharing system in Iraq echo key features of the Lebanese

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political system (Shadid and Dagher 2010). Thus, as a first cut, it is logical to assess the degree to which the core arguments of this book apply to Iraqi sectarian parties. The Sadrist Movement, led by Moqtada al-Sadr, a Shi ʿi cleric, is an appropriate case for our plausibility probe. After the U.S. invasion of Iraq in March 2003, multiple Shi ʿa organizations emerged to vie for political representation of the sect and for influence on the national political scene. The three main groups—the Daʿwa Party, the Islamic Supreme Council of Iraq (ISCI),1 and the Sadrist Movement—have a long-standing presence in Iraqi and Shiʿa politics, although they vary in their domestic social bases, linkages to Iran, and relationship with the former Baʿathist regime led by Saddam Hussein. During Baʿathist rule, the Daʿwa Party 2 and ISCI were based outside Iraq, with major branches in Iran and elsewhere in the Middle East and Europe. The precursor to the Sadrist Movement, however, was always based in Iraq and had more ambivalent ties to Iran as well as a distinct relationship with the Baʿathist state.3 Among other factors, this enduring presence in Iraq gave the Sadrists an initial organizational advantage in the post-invasion jockeying for influence among Iraqi citizens. The Sadrist Movement is an important force in domestic politics in post2003 Iraq, has varied its political strategy in recent years, and supplies social benefits both through its own bricks-and-mortar offices and through the government ministries it controls or has controlled. Until 2008, the Sadrist Movement concentrated its efforts on militia warfare, although it also consistently participated in national and regional elections. The demobilization of its militia force combined with an official turn toward political and social work in 2008 marked an important shift in the political strategies of the organization. Evidence suggests that this political evolution is associated with a broadening of its distribution of social benefits. When the organization prioritized militia politics and was heavily engaged in violent activities, it directed its social benefits and patronage spoils mainly toward its militia fighters and its core supporters in the areas it controlled. The turn to less violent tactics and more active participation in state institutions was accompanied by social outreach to more communities. In part due to intrasect competition in the Iraqi power-sharing system (Shadid 2010a), however, the organization remains focused heavily on in-group communities.

The Militant Beginnings of the Sadrist Movement At the time of the U.S. invasion of Iraq, Moqtada al-Sadr was not a respected figure in the Iraqi Shi ʿi establishment. Not only was he young, but he lacked the religious credentials of his father, Grand Ayatollah Mohammed Sadiq al-Sadr, and uncle, Ayatollah Baqir al-Sadr, and of the Najaf-based Shi ʿi clergy. Nonetheless, al-Sadr managed to mobilize quickly to become an

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important figure in Iraqi national politics. Al-Sadr capitalized on his family legitimacy among segments of the Iraqi Shi ʿa and made use of elements of the organizational network that his father had developed to build his political organization (ICG 2004, 27–28).4 Several factors compelled al-Sadr and his key supporters to invest most heavily in militia politics in the aftermath of the U.S. invasion of Iraq. The treatment of al-Sadr and his followers by the U.S.-led Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA), interactions with other Iraqi Shi‘a organizations, al-Sadr’s relative lack of access to material and institutional resources within the Shiʿa community, and the loose organizational structure of the movement propelled the nascent Sadrist organization toward violence as its primary political strategy in 2003 and 2004. First, the CPA consistently depicted al-Sadr as radical and an extremist while lauding the organizations of his competitors as moderate. Al-Sadr’s strong opposition to the U.S. occupation antagonized his relations with the CPA, which excluded the emerging Sadrist movement from the political process. After the CPA announced the formation of the Interim Governing Council in July 2003, al-Sadr denounced its members. Then, in response, al-Sadr set up a parallel governing authority and established an armed militia, the Jaysh al-Mahdi, which took control of some urban areas with large concentrations of Shi ʿa, particularly Sadr City. Tensions between the United States and al-Sadr continued to ratchet up, reinforcing the exclusion by the CPA of the Sadrists from mainstream politics. In 2003, a U.S. helicopter tore down a Sadrist flag, provoking a huge outcry and condemnation of the U.S. occupying forces. In March and April of the following year, U.S. forces shut down the Sadrist newspaper and arrested one of the senior leaders of the movement. These actions, which al-Sadr and his followers viewed as aggressive infringements, touched off months of fighting between the Sadrist militia and U.S. forces, particularly in the southern, predominantly Shi‘a cities of Najaf and Karbala (Cockburn 2008, ch. 12; ICG 2006, 9–11). The protracted confl ict between the United States and the nascent Sadrist movement demonstrated that the United States did not view the Sadrists as a legitimate political organization, although it embraced the other major Shi‘a groups. Al-Sadr’s strident opposition to the United States and the exclusion of his movement from the political process contributed to the decision to mobilize outside formal state channels and to pursue power through violent means. Second, the treatment of the nascent Sadrist Movement by other Shi ʿa organizations and the marginalization of the movement from traditional centers of Shi ʿi authority also compelled al-Sadr to mobilize militarily rather than through the newly established state institutions. The Sadrists and other Shi ʿa groups, notably the Daʿwa Party, ISCI, and leaders of the hawza in Najaf, viewed each other with mutual suspicion. Tensions increased after the Daʿwa Party and ISCI chose to participate in the interim government established by the CPA. Al-Sadr denounced the leadership of the two parties as lackeys of

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the United States and as traitors to Iraq who had returned from the relative safety of exile under Saddam’s rule to profit from the new situation (ICG 2006, 11). Thus, the major Shi ʿa leaders and organizations did not oppose and even actively supported the CPA exclusion of al-Sadr from the transitional political institutions. Al-Sadr’s poor relations with the Shi ʿa clerical establishment based in Najaf affected the material foundations of his movement, providing an additional incentive for him to pursue violence as a political strategy. Al-Sadr’s distance from the major Shi ʿa religious institutions and his lack of religious credentials meant that he lacked the authority to collect religious taxes, such as the khums. As a result, his organization did not have access to the same level of resources as its competitors. In the aftermath of the U.S. invasion, looting and extortion were rampant. The relative poverty of the Sadrist Movement and the low socioeconomic status of its support base provided incentives for the construction of an armed wing to participate in, or otherwise profit from, the looting. The spoils of looting constituted an important source of revenue for the organization during the first two years of the occupation. In May 2003, the Sadrist office went so far as to issue a fatwa (religious opinion) condoning the appropriation of state resources. This decision further undercut the legitimacy of the organization among some and contributed to its image as a band of thugs. In response to this negative reaction and pressure from the Shi ʿa clerics, the fatwa was later rescinded (ICG 2006, 8). Finally, the loose organizational structure of the Sadrist movement encouraged the adoption of political strategies that entailed violent actions. In its early stages, the organization was highly decentralized, and it was unclear whether al-Sadr actually commanded authority over all the disparate elements that claimed to work under the banner of the Sadrists. As a result, alSadr would not have been able to rein in violence perpetrated in the name of his organization even if he had wanted to do so. Until he established a more coherent structure, it was virtually impossible for him to adopt a more conciliatory political strategy. As Wendy Pearlman (2011) argues, the adoption of nonviolence as a strategic choice requires organizational discipline and strong leadership, both of which were severely lacking in the movement at this stage.

Reconsidering Political Engagement After the defeat of his forces in the 2004 clashes with the United States in Najaf, al-Sadr opted to participate in the political process. During a period of seclusion, al-Sadr declared a truce and reformulated his strategy. In an interview with Al-Arabiyya in January 2006, Al-Sadr explained his political evolution: “The Sadrist movement first resorted to peaceful resistance, then to armed resistance, and finally to political resistance. . . . [E]very situation requires its own response” (cited in Cockburn 2008, 165). This strategic shift

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was an implicit endorsement of the approach that had been adopted by other major Shi ʿa political players. The Shi ʿi establishment, notably the Grand Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani, the head of the Najaf hawza, had opted for guarded cooperation with the United States. In light of the demographic weight of the Shi ʿa community and the strength of the Shi ʿa organizations in post-Baʿathist Iraq, a strategy premised on political participation promised to pay off. In December 2004, the Shi ʿa parties formed an electoral coalition, the United Iraqi Alliance (UIA), backed by the Shi ʿa religious establishment. After forswearing violence, the Sadrists joined the alliance, calculating that participation in a winning coalition would facilitate access to power and to much-needed resources from the public sector. In the December 2005 elections, in which representatives were elected to the national parliament for four-year terms, Sadrist candidates made a strong showing. Sadrist representatives won 32 out of 275 seats, enabling al-Sadr to control a strong parliamentary bloc. Al-Sadr used his newfound political influence to extract control over key service ministries, such as health and transportation. He also used his de facto status as kingmaker to push for the resignation of Iyad ʿAllawi as prime minister and his replacement by Ibrahim al-Jaafari, a key Daʿwa Party official who had always been more conciliatory toward the Sadrists (Cockburn 2008, 165–66). Al-Sadr’s strategic shift toward political participation called for a concerted effort to discipline his movement and compelled him to present himself as a more moderate leader. In late 2004, al-Sadr began to distance himself from the more violent elements of the organization and adopted softer rhetoric visà-vis other Iraqi groups and the political system itself. Defying all expectations, al-Sadr managed to attain a measure of coherence within his organization and to forge a political movement that became influential in Shi ʿa and national politics. At the same time, the U.S.-led CPA and the other Shi ʿa parties realized that they could no longer exclude the Sadrists without destabilizing the system. Although al-Sadr’s forces were defeated in Najaf, his standing grew within the Shi ʿi community. His strident opposition to the occupation resonated with a growing sentiment in the Iraqi public, and his lack of religious credentials and exclusion from the Shi ʿi religious establishment may have appealed to the marginalized, poorer elements of the Shi ʿa, who did not feel represented by the other Shi ʿa parties with more elite social bases (ICG 2006, 8–9). As a result, the United States and the interim government led by Prime Minister Iyad Allawi realized that the political incorporation of al-Sadr’s representatives was a prudent, if not necessary, move (Cockburn 2008, 166; ICG 2006, 10–11). Al-Sadr’s popular appeal among poor Shi ʿa was an important asset for winning elections and gaining legitimacy for the Iraqi government. Al-Sadr’s turn toward electoral participation in 2004 and 2005 marked an important shift in his political strategy but should not suggest that he

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permanently forswore violence. During the height of sectarian warfare in Iraq, the Sadrists were heavily implicated, although it is difficult to know how much violence was actually orchestrated by the central leadership. Many of the alleged Sadrist militia units perpetrating the violence were not actually controlled by al-Sadr and his deputies, reflecting the persistent organizational incoherence of the movement. Indeed, throughout 2006 and 2007, al-Sadr repeatedly called for an end to sectarian killings and condemned the murder of innocent civilians, often to no avail. Although militia leaders claimed to be affiliated with the Jaysh al-Mahdi, many were thugs who acted out of their own material self-interests or used the generalized violence to settle personal scores. Nonetheless, the Sadrist movement was blamed for the worst of the violence and was branded as the main enemy of the Iraqi government (Al-Jazeera Arabic TV 2010; Cockburn 2008, 184–86). By mid-2007, however, al-Sadr had regained some control over the disparate units claiming to act in his name. Despite various potential provocations by other militant factions in Iraq and by U.S. forces, al-Sadr called on his followers to practice restraint. Although some local members of the rank and file disagreed with his approach, al-Sadr’s demands were increasingly respected (Cockburn 2008, 195). During this period, al-Sadr walked a fi ne line between participation in the state and condemnation of its collaboration with the United States. On several occasions in late 2006 and 2007, al-Sadr pulled his representatives from the government to signal his opposition to the continued U.S. occupation, although he never attempted to bring down the governing coalition. The periodic withdrawal of the Sadrist bloc from parliament was also politically expedient because it distanced the movement from the shortcomings of the Iraqi government. State failure to provide basic public goods such as security, electricity, water, and the food rations on which millions of Iraqi families depended led to increased popular dissatisfaction with the government (Cockburn 2008, 192–93; Gordon 2008).

Disavowing Violence After intense fighting for about two years, both along ostensibly sectarian lines and within the Shi ʿi and Sunni communities,5 al-Sadr once again shifted his strategy toward more peaceful participation in formal politics. Tensions between the Iraqi government and the United States, on the one hand, and the Sadrists on the other, came to a head in spring 2008. In March, al-Maliki initiated a major military offensive against the Sadrists in Basra. U.S. pressure to crack down on the Jaysh al-Mahdi, as well as the prime minister’s desire to weaken the Sadrists before the upcoming provincial elections slated for late 2008, compelled al-Maliki to crack down on the movement. When it became clear that the Iraqi military was not up to the task, the U.S. military openly moved into Sadr City, Basra, Najaf, and other parts of the south. Recognizing

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that this was a battle his units could not win, al-Sadr again called a truce and went into seclusion, ostensibly to pursue religious studies. Al-Sadr’s declaration of a new cease-fire in August 2008 marked another shift in the political strategy of the movement. The U.S. and Iraqi government crackdown on Sadrist militia fighters had weakened the organization, and the movement’s association with bloody civil violence had tarnished its reputation. These factors compelled al-Sadr to once again formally renounce violence and to declare that his movement would henceforth focus on social and cultural issues. A brochure published on the organization website and distributed among its followers emphasized that the group would now focus on educational activities and religious training and work to promote social justice (Chon 2008). To underscore the ongoing opposition of the movement to the U.S. occupation, al-Sadr called for peaceful protests to be held on the fi rst Friday of Ramadan every year until the U.S. withdrawal. To assert his control over the organization, al-Sadr emphasized that anyone who violated the cease-fire would no longer be part of his organization (BBC News 2008a, 2008b, 2008c; Chon 2008). The new strategy adopted in August 2008 included continued participation in elections. In the January 2009 provincial elections, Sadrist candidates ran under the Independent Free Movement list and allied with al-Maliki’s list in some districts against the ISCI (ICG 2009, 11). The Sadrist list placed third after al-Maliki’s State of Law list and the ISCI list, receiving almost 10 percent of the total vote and 43 out of 440 seats, and this was critical to the incumbent prime minister’s overall electoral success in some governorates. The Sadrists made a strong showing in the parliamentary elections held in March 2010. Benefiting from its grassroots networks, the movement led a disciplined campaign. Leaflets distributed in poor Shi ʿa neighborhoods and sermons delivered during Friday prayers by Sadrist clergy urged voters not to support the secular candidates and not to split their votes among multiple lists (Shadid 2010b). Part of the National Iraqi Alliance coalition, which was led by Jaafari and included most Shi ʿa parties except for al-Maliki’s State of Law bloc, the Sadrists won by far the largest bloc of seats in the alliance, capturing 40 out of 325 seats. The substantial parliamentary bloc once again granted the party kingmaker status in Iraqi politics, a position that the organization used to its advantage.6 In the negotiations over cabinet formation after the election, the Sadrists signaled their power by holding an unofficial referendum open to all Iraqis to select a prime minister (Thaker and Williams 2010). After months of negotiations, the Sadrists ultimately backed al-Maliki’s bid to retain the premiership, using their leverage to extract control over key ministries and government posts (Healy 2010). Sadrist politicians also increasingly emphasized their technocratic and governance credentials. A party official in Maysan province emphasized the moderate face of the group: “We want to

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show the world we are a modern people, an intellectual people. . . . We don’t want to be radical Islamists. I tell my supporters, don’t dress all in black or carry weapons” (cited in Healy 2010). Some members have even attended public-speaking courses in Lebanon and Turkey, and the party sends out regular news bulletins on its efforts to provide public goods and establish new community centers (Healy 2010). On January 9, 2011, after his return from religious studies in Iran, al-Sadr gave a speech in Sadr City in which he declared his support for the state and urged his followers to give the new government a chance. In the same speech, however, he hinted that he might withdraw his support for the government if the U.S. forces remained in Iraq and if public services remained poor (Shadid 2011).

The Social Welfare Activities of the Sadrist Movement After the U.S. invasion in March 2003, al-Sadr moved quickly to establish a basic social welfare network in Iraq and especially in Baghdad. In part, his efforts benefited from a preexisting network of mosques and social welfare institutions established by his father, Sadiq al-Sadr, under Saddam’s rule. But this network did not emerge intact from years of repression. Furthermore, al-Sadr’s legitimacy as his father’s successor was contested, inhibiting his ability to gain control over all the institutions in the network; some clerics allied with al-Sadr’s father did not align themselves and their institutions with the son. Al-Sadr’s tenuous hold over his father’s former social networks and the fragmented state of these networks meant that he lacked extensive resource and infrastructural bases at the time of Saddam Hussein’s ouster. To compensate for al-Sadr’s limited resource base and his marginalization from established Shi ʿa institutions, factions of his supporters appropriated the offices of the Baʿath Party immediately after the U.S. invasion. The movement then transformed these offices into branches of its Maktab al-Sayyid al-Shahid al-Sadr (Office of the Martyr al-Sadr, in reference to Sadiq al-Sadr) and established Al-Hayaʾat Al-Ijtimaʾiyya (social units) within them. From these social units, which were formally established in 2004, the movement distributed small-scale cash and material assistance (blankets, fuel, basic foodstuffs, and clothing) in limited areas, mainly in Sadr City. In 2004 and early 2005, these agencies, along with mosques and husseiniyyas (community gathering places for Shi ʿa) run by sympathetic clerics, constituted an important bricks-and-mortar component of al-Sadr’s network.7 In addition to the branches of the Office of the Martyr al-Sadr, the nascent Sadrist movement established some health clinics in 2004 and 2005. Often, clinics were opened in cooperation with local doctors in densely populated, low-income areas of Baghdad. These basic health-care facilities offered medical consultations for nonurgent conditions, administered vaccines, and dispensed medicines from small in-house pharmacies at prices about 30 percent

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below market rates. These facilities were all established in areas with majority Shi ʿa populations and served all patients who came to them.8 Like many other emerging political organizations at this time, the Sadrists supplemented their health network by taking control of the public health facilities and supplies in their areas of control.9 After al-Sadr finally called on his followers to return goods looted in the aftermath of the U.S. invasion, some of the returned supplies were directed to mosques and clinics run by the movement. Beyond small-scale material aid and health care, the Sadrists developed an infrastructure of “shadow” services, including judicial, social, and health services in the areas they controlled. These activities enabled the movement to secure its control over specific neighborhoods in Baghdad and some southern cities and towns, and generated an opportunity for dispensing patronage, particularly by providing jobs to its followers and some services to the local population.10 The scale of the Sadrist welfare operations remained limited due to a lack of resources. Indeed, at this time, the movement could not even afford to pay regular salaries to its fighters in the Jaysh al-Mahdi. Instead, the militia fighters were largely self-fi nanced, using violence to expropriate public and private resources as a form of compensation (ICG 2006). Al-Sadr’s inability to pay his militia fighters undoubtedly contributed to the fragmentation of and lack of discipline in the Jaysh al-Mahdi. To the chagrin of al-Sadr, some local militia leaders began to accept payments from Iran. Nonetheless, even in 2003–2005, when the movement had an extremely small budget, Sadrist offices made a point of dispensing cash and material assistance to the widows and orphans of slain militiamen. Thus, despite its resource limitations, the movement clearly prioritized its militia operations at this time. In addition, despite the relatively small scale of Sadrist welfare activities in the first two years after the U.S. invasion, the network clearly played an important role in the lives of Shi ʿa supporters in Sadr City and other Sadrist strongholds. Its activities laid the groundwork for the development of the movement in subsequent years. Even its opponents recognized the significance of the movement welfare networks. For example, Ray Odierno, who served as the commanding general of the U.S. forces in Iraq from 2008 to 2010, emphasized in several statements that the U.S. government hoped to undercut the Sadrist Movement social welfare activities, which he claimed were helping to undermine the central government (Al-Manarah Staff 2008). After the defeat of the Sadrists in Najaf in 2004, the movement placed greater emphasis on its welfare programs and downplayed its militant activities. Hazem al-Araji, a leader in the movement based in Baghdad, was instrumental in promoting this shift. Arrested by the CPA in September 2004, al-Araji was released in August 2005 and took charge of the social affairs unit. Al-Araji and Riyad al-Nuri, another Sadrist leader who administered the welfare activities of the movement, emphasized the prioritization by the movement of social outreach over armed resistance (Cochrane 2009). In an

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interview in 2005, al-Araji claimed that the social affairs unit had already “distributed millions of dollars to the poor in southern cities to purchase cattle for farms and supplies for small grocery stores, and [provided] food, medicine and clothes to 30,000 families.” Both Nuri and Araji claimed that the movement social welfare activities were a natural reflection of the work of Sadiq al-Sadr, whose movement had always catered to poor and marginalized Shi ʿa. Nouri claimed, “The fighting prevented what we were thinking from the start” (Shadid 2005b). The nature of the movement welfare activities further evolved after 2005, when the Sadrists won seats in the national parliament. Participation in state institutions facilitated their access to resources on a much larger scale. Sadrist representatives were appointed to head key social ministries, including the ministries of Health, Transportation, Agriculture, Tourism and Antiquities, and Provincial Affairs and Civil Society (IraqSlogger 2007; Patten 2007). Control over the ministries was an important and immediate way to gain access to resources, particularly because the state controls oil revenues and has always been a major source of employment in Iraq (Cockburn 2008, 170). Patrick Cockburn observes: The movement now increasingly had access to money and jobs. Both were important in order to secure political allegiance and to compete with SCIRI, which controlled local government in most of southern Iraq. Many Mahdi Army [ Jaysh al-Mahdi] members might not be paid directly, but they were given secure jobs in the government where the Sadrists were in control. Jobs, handouts, and political loyalty went together as in U.S. cities controlled by Irish-American political machines a century ago. In each neighborhood in Sadr City there was a Sadrist office, with a social supervisor in charge of giving monthly salaries to the very poor. (2008, 271)

This newfound access to resource and patronage opportunities had important political implications. First, dependence on public institutions for material gain made the movement less likely to antagonize other political actors and to act blatantly against the state.11 Second, the ability to compensate militia members through government jobs and their attendant benefits enabled al-Sadr to reward his most loyal supporters and to establish greater control over his movement. Third, the scale of benefits to existing recipients could be expanded, potentially shoring up greater support for the movement as it became more deeply engaged in constitutional politics. Finally, the movement could now potentially offer benefits to a broader array of beneficiaries in areas where it sought to cement its influence. The Sadrists were particularly keen to gain control over the Ministry of Health, which was headed by Ali al-Shemari, a Sadrist official, from May 2006 to April 2007.12 Under al-Shemari’s tenure, the ministry reportedly became a site of torture and detention and factions of the Jaysh al-Mahdi

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sometimes used official government ambulances to transport fighters. Under Sadrist control, the ministry also allegedly shut down some hospitals and clinics in non-Shi ʿa areas, fueling accusations that the Shi ʿa were disproportionately benefiting from state social expenditures (Younes and Rosen 2008). Ironically, then, the ministry designated to protect the health and well-being of the population became associated with death and destruction during this period, greatly damaging the reputation of the Sadrist Movement. In 2007, al-Shemari resigned from his post when the Sadrist Movement withdrew from the government, and Salih al-Hasnawi, an independent Shiʿa politician, became the new minister of health. Even under al-Shemari’s successor, however, the ministry retained many Sadrist employees, including some who were accused of perpetrating killings in the ministry facilities (Tarantino et al. 2009).13 And even after al-Shemari stepped down, large photos of Baqir alSadr and Sadiq al-Sadr remained at the entrance to the ministry (Levinson 2008). Thanks to its control over the Ministry of Health and other government agencies, the Sadrist Movement gained access to substantial resources and facilities. This enabled it to claim credit for the services provided by officially public institutions, such as the Imam Ali and Al-Sadr Hospitals in Sadr City, which came under de facto control of the movement.14 Sunnis and Shi ʿa opponents of the movement often felt unwelcome and even endangered in public health institutions. The movement also used public resources to finance its own, ostensibly “private” network of health-care facilities, which are administered by the Sadrist Institute for Management Development. Based in Najaf, the institute trains workers to staff its health and other social institutions. After al-Sadr formally disbanded the militia and announced the new organization emphasis on social and cultural activities, the Sadrist network of social institutions began to expand. Like most other parties and movements in Iraq, the Sadrists used public resources to fund their own initiatives (Tavernise 2006).15 An expert on social development in Iraq estimated that there are about 11,000 NGOs currently operating in Iraq, of which about 90 percent are affiliated with political groups, including the Sadrists. After officially registering an NGO with the state, political organizations receive government funds and access to community centers. Most have a low capacity and achieve little or no tangible developmental impact. For example, the Ittihad al-Shaab (People’s Union) works alongside the husseiniyyas and mosques run by sympathetic clerics to help existing supporters and mobilize additional support for the Sadrist movement.16 Nevertheless, during the height of the civil war from 2006 to 2008, the Sadrist social institutions were vital to service provision in Sadr City and other areas under Sadrist control, particularly given the failure by the state to provide public goods and social assistance to the population. Internally displaced people (IDPs) attested that representatives from the Sadrist movement assisted them in registering with official state agencies so they could gain

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access to rations provided through the Public Distribution System (PDS), which are normally very difficult to transfer after displaced Iraqis move to a new neighborhood. The Sadrists also supplied food, cooking oil, clothing, and cash assistance to Shi ʿa resettling in their areas of control. According to a report published by Refugees International in 2008, the Sadrist offices became the largest “unofficial aid agency” in Iraq during this period (Younes and Rosen 2008).17 Over time, the Sadrists gained access to additional sources of funds beyond the public sector, including from the Iranian government,18 Sadrist offices outside Iraq, and sympathetic clerics. In addition, the movement established a kind of solidarity fund to provide social assistance to supporters in its areas of control. Every Jaysh al-Mahdi member was required to donate 10,000 dinars (about US$8) per month to the Office of the Martyr al-Sadr, which then used the funds to support displaced families as well as the families of martyrs who had died in combat. This system not only expanded the general appeal of the movement but also strengthened the militia by providing incentives for fighters to work through the Jaysh al-Mahdi in the knowledge that the fighter’s family would be compensated should he die. In addition, individuals who found jobs through the movement, such as employees of Sadrist-run ministries, were expected to donate 50,000 dinars (about US$40) per month to the fund. After al-Sadr’s 2008 proclamation that the Sadrist Movement would henceforth pursue social and cultural activities, many of the former offices of the Jaysh al-Mahdi were transformed into centers for cultural and religious studies. Grouped under a new organization, the Markaz Baqiyyat Allah al-Thaqafi (literally, Cultural Center of the Works of Allah), these reconstituted institutions aimed to instruct supporters of the movement and particularly fighters from the Jaysh al-Mahdi in religious matters.19 The headquarters of the Cultural Center of the Works of Allah is located in the Baghdad neighborhood of al-Kadhimiya near the mausoleum of the Imam al-Kadhim. The Sadrists established six other offices in various neighborhoods of Baghdad, particularly in Sadr City,20 and in various southern towns and cities where the movement had preexisting offices. The main office in Baghdad is in charge of distributing regular payments and aid to the families of martyrs of the Jaysh al-Mahdi and to the poor. The office also distributes special gifts and clothing during important occasions and holidays. Like the Hezbollah Islamic Emdad in Lebanon, the Cultural Center of the Works of Allah also has a network of donation boxes in neighborhoods where it is well established and has affiliated mosques, where donations are often solicited during Friday prayers.21 Through its distributive activities, the movement has played a critical economic role in neighborhoods falling under its sway.22 In distributing social benefits, both derived from its own resources and from the public sector, the movement favored its supporters, who were almost exclusively in-group members. Sadrist welfare agencies did not cater to Shi‘a supporters of other

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parties, its main competitors. With its grassroots presences at the neighborhood and village level, it was easy for representatives of the organizations to identify supporters, even marginal sympathizers who had not undertaken highly costly or risky activities on behalf of the organizations. A Sadrist official based in Basra noted that the movement branch offices relied on personal knowledge of which families are loyal to the organization in determining whom to reward with social benefits.23 Sensitive to the public relations benefits of philanthropic work, the Sadrist movement made a point of publicizing its charitable activities after the declared shift in its political strategy toward social and cultural activities. In 2009, the main Sadrist website24 chronicled a variety of initiatives. Representatives of the movement distributed cold beverages during exam periods and school supplies at the beginning of the school year to students in Najaf and presented gifts to the families of newborns in hospitals in Nasiriyya. In Mosul, the local Sadrist welfare office opened a blood donation center to address the damaging effects of “explosions and terrorist attacks” on the population, and it organized a free circumcision ceremony for local families. A Sadrist office in Shatra advertised computer classes for local residents. Two types of charitable activities advertised on Sadrist websites related most directly to forms of political participation undertaken by the organization. First, in Ninawa, the Sadrists distributed bottled water in polling centers during the provincial elections, attesting to the engagement by the organization in constitutional politics. Second, a Sadrist website25 noted that the Social Committee for the Office of Sadr distributed gifts to the families of the martyrs of Jaysh al-Mahdi. At a ceremony organized in honor of the families, Sadrist parliamentarians thanked the families for their sacrifices. Photos of the event depict the representatives kissing and hugging orphans of the deceased. The evolution of the locations of Sadrist movement social offices in part reflects the efforts by the movement to expand its territorial reach with its increased engagement in state politics.26 Map 7.1 depicts the locations of Sadrist social institutions in Baghdad as of 2009.27 The shading in the map depicts the proportion of Shi ʿa residents in a given Baghdad neighborhood. Initially, the movement focused on areas in the capital with core supporters where it had solid control, such as Sadr City and the Shuʿala and Hurriya neighborhoods of Kadhimiyya District. Sadrist institutions were almost all established in areas with either Shi ʿa-dominant or -majority populations. Two institutions operating in Baghdad prior to 2006 were located in districts that initially had more mixed populations, al-Kadhimiyya and Karradah. In such districts and in areas with Shi ʿa of different political affiliations, the movement located its offices within mosques rather than in stand-alone facilities. By 2006, Baghdad experienced a dramatic demographic shift, with more ethno-sectarian homogeneity and an increasing Shi‘a predominance in many neighborhoods. As a result, these two institutions that had been

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1 3 1

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Map 7.1 Sadrist offices in Baghdad (post-2007). Note: The map shows gradations of Shi ʿa population endowments: “dominant” (76–100% Shi ʿa), “majority” (51–75%), “mixed” (26–50%), “minority” (1–25%), and “non-Shi ʿa” (0%). Sources: Data on the shifting sectarian endowments of Baghdad neighborhoods are derived from The Gulf/2000 Project 2008–2011 and the Special Inspector General for Iraq Reconstruction (SIGIR 2011). The shapefi les (www.melanicammett.net) provide metadata on the construction of the map, which was created by Nathan Einstein.

established in previously mixed communities came to be located in Shi ʿamajority and -dominant areas. In addition, by 2007, three more Sadrist offices were opened in the capital, all in Shi ʿa-dominant or -majority areas, including two in parts of Sadr City

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and one in the district of al-Rashid. Many Sadrist offices in Baghdad were known to be used by the Jaysh al-Mahdi, especially in 2006–2007, when the civil war was in full swing, and these offices focused primarily on providing social assistance to widows and orphans of the families of Sadrist fighters killed during clashes with the United States and other Iraqi groups.28 The establishment of Sadrist institutions outside Baghdad followed a broadly similar pattern. (See Map 7.2.) The bulk of the offices were established in the Shi ʿa-dominant districts and Sadrist strongholds of the south,

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Map 7.2 Sadrist offices in Iraq (approx. 2009). Sources: Data on the sectarian endowments of Iraqi provinces are derived from The Gulf/2000 Project 2008–2011, an interactive map on the PBS Frontline (2004) website, SIGIR 2011 and the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency (2003). The map was created by Nathan Einstein.

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notably in Najaf, al-Kut in Wasit Province, and al-Amarah in Maysan Province, among others. In addition, Sadrists opened offices in a few districts with more mixed communities and with Shi ʿa-minority or enclave populations such as Kirkuk, Samarra in Mosul Province, al-Khalis in Diyala, and al-Balad in Salah al-Din Province. The case of Kirkuk suggests the ways in which the spread of Sadrist offices reflected the shifting political strategies of the organization. In 2008, the Sadrists expanded beyond their traditional power bases in Sadr City and parts of southern Iraq to Kirkuk. The Sadrist office in Kirkuk was established in a historically Sunni neighborhood, Cité d’Altess’ine.29 This expansion into previously uncharted territory reflected the desire of the movement to spread its national influence beyond its traditional base, with the turn toward constitutional politics. Kirkuk is home to a large Arab community that had settled in the city as part of Saddam Hussein’s drive to “Arabize” this strategic and resource-rich city, which was historically populated by Kurds and Turkomans. As various Shi‘a parties sought to spread their influence in a bid for national power, a power struggle emerged between the Sadrists and ISCI in Kirkuk, where, analysts say, the Sadrists gained the upper hand.30 Reflecting the keen interest by the movement in building electoral support in Kirkuk, a delegation from the Sadrist political leadership visited the city in October 2009 to meet with the head of Pedagogical Institute, a branch of the Ministry of Education. During the meeting, the officials discussed the possibility of using schools in Kirkuk as polling stations during the upcoming 2010 elections (Alsadr Online 2009). This rudimentary mapping of the spread of Sadrist offices within Baghdad and across Iraq suggests that the bricks-and-mortar operations of the movement corresponded to its evolving political strategies. The political evolution of the Sadrist movement entailed a shift from almost exclusively extrastate militant tactics toward full engagement in constitutional politics. This change occurred in two iterations, fi rst, after the defeat of the movement in Najaf in 2004 and, then later, after its defeat in Basra and Baghdad by U.S. and Iraqi government forces. Recognizing the utility of participation in state institutions, including the promise of access to much-needed resources, the leadership of the movement opted to field candidates in elections through electoral coalitions, accept cabinet-level positions, and emphasize its social and cultural credentials. The provision of social welfare, through its own formally independent offices or through state facilities, has become an increasingly important component of Sadrist movement activities, and evidence suggests a broadening of the categories of the beneficiaries of its social assistance. The movement remains almost exclusively focused on in-group members—competition with other Shi ʿa parties, notably ISCI and the Daʿwa Party, ensures that the Sadrists remain focused on Shi ʿa communities.31 But the movement has attempted to expand its appeal beyond its traditional core

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bases of geographical support. The establishment of social and political offices in Kirkuk, an area where it did not traditionally organize, may reflect efforts by the movement to gain legitimacy and electoral support among residents in this strategically important city. In addition, although it does not cater to the active supporters of its Shi ʿa-party competitors, Sadrist social offices distribute benefits broadly to families who demonstrate political sympathies for the movement. BHARATIYA JANATA PARTY IN INDIA A brief account of the social welfare activities of the Hindu nationalist BJP in India indicates that the broad logic of the arguments holds outside of the Middle East. Like sectarianism in Lebanon and elsewhere in the Middle East, Hindu nationalism in India is fundamentally a political phenomenon rather than an expression of religious beliefs. The goal of Hinduism is not so much to enforce religious orthodoxy but, rather, to forge political unity among Hindus, who are characterized by caste, linguistic, class, and other divisions (Varshney 2002). Further research is needed to explore in more detail the extent to which the imperatives of state-centric versus extra-state strategies shape the allocation of social benefits beyond South Asia and the Middle East.

The Political Origins and Ideology of the Bharatiya Janata Party The BJP is widely viewed as the most prominent Hindu nationalist political party in India. Formed in 1980, the BJP is the successor to the Bharatiya Jana Sangh party, a Hindu nationalist party that was dissolved in 1979 due to factional differences. A well-institutionalized party, the BJP has achieved national prominence and, at various points in the past few decades, has even won sufficient votes in national elections to become the dominant party in the Lok Sabha, the Indian parliament. Like its predecessor, the BJP is closely associated with the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), an umbrella organization of multiple Hindu nationalist groups that has been associated with militancy and even inciting riots at various times in its history.32 Established in 1925, the RSS encompasses about sixty groups, known collectively as the Sangh Parivar, or the “family of associations,” inspired by Hindu nationalist messages and either directly affiliated with the RSS or started by its members (Embree 2005; Hardgrave 2005). Drawing on a number of Hindu practices and institutions, the RSS aims to inculcate a commitment to India as a Hindu nation. Beginning in the 1930s, the RSS spread across northern and western India, the traditional geographical bases of the Hindu nationalist movement (Basu 2001; Hansen 1999, 93).33 Nevertheless, the BJP is not synonymous with the RSS and, indeed, the two organizations are officially distinct and sometimes even at odds with each

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other, yet they are closely intertwined. The senior leadership of the BJP, including the two most well-known figures, Atal Bihari Vajpayee and L. K. Advani, is largely derived from long-time activists in the RSS, whose leadership had called for the formation of a political party dedicated to Hindu nationalism (Embree 2005, 176; Hardgrave 2005, 190–93). The RSS and Hindu nationalist organizations more generally fi nd their strongest supporters in upper-caste Indians.34 The policies and ideological positions of the RSS and BJP have historically alienated lower-caste groups and the urban and rural poor. In particular, the opposition of these two Hindu nationalist organizations to quotas reserving government posts for minorities and Dalits (Scheduled Castes) as well as their vocal criticisms of the use of public land by slum dwellers and hawkers clearly serves the interests of their elite, upper-caste constituents. Such policies are also appealing to the growing middle class in provincial towns (Basu 2001, 169; Hansen 1999, 167, 197). At the same time, the majority of the population, classified as “other backwards classes,” stands to benefit from such policies. The demographic weight of the Scheduled Castes makes them an important voting bloc that even the BJP cannot ignore. In addition to its upper-caste orientation, the anti-Muslim rhetoric and positions of the BJP and its affiliates in the Sangh Parivar also have decidedly sectarian overtones. The RSS has a track record of denouncing Muslims for “centuries of political oppression, for their denigration of Hindu traditions and desecration of Hindu temples” (Hardgrave 2005, 188). The BJP and its affiliates have also consistently accused the Indian National Congress (known as the Congress party) of favoring Muslims over Hindus (Basu 2001, 168).

The Political Evolution of the Bharatiya Janata Party The BJP has experienced tensions internally and with the RSS, on which it has depended for grassroots activists. On the one hand, the party branch of the Hindutva (Hindu nationalist movement), has adopted a pragmatic strategy aimed at electoral victories, has accepted secular norms, and has advanced an economic platform appealing to the urban middle classes and rural landowning peasantry. On the other hand, the party has engaged in mobilization efforts focused on cultural issues, such as opposition to cow-slaughter and the support for the construction of temples in contested sites while deploying Hindu symbols and appeals (Hardgrave 2005, 190–93). The BJP has retained its ties to the RSS, which provides its grassroots support base and militant cadres but which has simultaneously presented a more moderate face in an effort to broaden its appeal. As part of this strategy, it has formed electoral alliances with other parties opposing the historically dominant Congress party. This has placed strains on the BJP because it needs to dilute its message to expand its electoral support among the general population

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but in the process it risks alienating its hard-core base, which constitutes the backbone of its organizational strength (Hardgrave 2005, 193–94, 196–97).35 Thus, the BJP alternates between acting as a “militant social movement” and a “moderate party-based approach” in its political strategies (Basu 2001, 163, 183). At different times and in varied constituencies, its distinct BJP social movement and party identities have paid off in the electoral arena. Since the 1980s, the BJP has steadily increased its electoral share in national politics (Varshney 2002, 244–45). In the elections of 1984, when it adopted a moderate approach, the BJP won two seats with 7.4 percent of the vote. In part due to a backlash within its RSS base as well as the perception that its moderate approach cost it votes, the BJP adopted a more overtly Hindu nationalist line after the 1984 elections, abandoning efforts to pursue coalitions with less ideologically compatible partners (Basu 2001, 169). By the late 1980s, the BJP capitalized on growing communal tensions, particularly tensions surrounding the campaign to build a temple to the Hindu God Ram on the site of the Babri Mosque in Ayodhya, which ultimately led to violent riots and hundreds of deaths. The 1989 elections were a watershed moment for the BJP, which became the third largest party in India by winning 11.4 percent of the votes (Varshney 2002, 72). The party appeal was greatest in districts with long-standing Sangh Parivar organizational networks as well as constituencies where communal tensions and new patterns of caste mobilization had undercut support for the Congress party (Hansen 1999, 163). In 1991, when Hindu-Muslim violence spiked, the BJP capitalized on a growing sense of insecurity among the Hindu population to win 122 seats, or 20.3 percent of the vote. At the same time, the BJP was careful not to associate itself too closely with the violence. Whereas BJP leaders concentrated their official pronouncements on critiques of the Congress party, other elements of the RSS made extremist communal statements (Basu 2001, 171; Embree 2005, 198; Hansen 1999, 163). With large-scale violence resulting from the Ayodhya campaign, the rhetoric of RSS affiliates became increasingly unpopular and the BJP suffered major losses in the 1993 legislative elections, particularly in states where it adopted its most militant stance and where the riots were most extensive. In response, the party leadership chose to pursue a more moderate approach by emphasizing its programmatic appeal with a new focus on socioeconomic issues and economic liberalization.36 In some districts, BJP candidates even attempted to reach out to Muslim voters by calling for the integration of Muslims into mainstream politics and society, although these efforts were viewed with much cynicism (Hansen 1999, 225). Outreach beyond the BJP elite base, however, has not extended across sectarian lines in any meaningful way. As Varshney (2002, 245) notes in his discussion of electoral dynamics in the states of Ahmedabad and Surat, “Unlike the Congress party, the BJP aims to

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build bridges only across the various castes of Hindu society. . . . Their aim is Hindu unity across the various castes, not Hindu-Muslim unity.” After distancing itself from the Ayodhya riots and adopting a more conciliatory posture, the BJP increased its vote share to 20.3 percent in the 1996 parliamentary elections, becoming the single largest party in the legislature, albeit with insufficient representation to form its own government. In the 1998 elections, its vote share rose to 25 percent with greater support beyond its geographical core in the “Hindu heartland,” again constituting it as the largest party in parliament but requiring it to establish alliances with other parties to form the government (Basu 2001, 178, 183–84; Chandra 2004, 205–6; Embree 2005, 169; Hansen 1999, 161, 197, 199; Hardgrave 2005, 198– 204; Jaffrelot 1996, 539; Varshney 2002, 72–73). The BJP reinforced its moderate rhetoric and policy pronouncements in its campaigns for the 1999 elections, which were held after the government collapsed. As the head of the National Democratic Alliance (NDA), a coalition that included most of its partners in the 1998 elections and a few new ones, the party abandoned all references to building a temple on the site of the Babri Mosque (Basu 2001, 180). The fragmented and plural nature of Indian society has compelled the BJP to adopt a center-right position in the political spectrum. At the same time, this orientation poses challenges for the party, which has faced its greatest obstacles in capturing the vote of increasingly mobilized lower-caste members, who constitute about 52 percent of the population (Varshney 2002, 85). The BJP has had some success in gaining support among lower-caste communities but it is not uniform. In Gujarat, for example, politicians representing lower-caste and tribal voters have blocked the appeal of the BJP, and caste remains a politically salient form of identity (Varshney 2002, 245). In subsequent national elections in 2004 and 2009, the BJP vote share declined while the Congress party and, especially, regional parties gained. The 2004 electoral defeat came as a surprise for the BJP leadership and even for the Congress party, which did not expect to win until at least the next electoral cycle. Centered on the relatively moderate Vajpayee, the BJP India Shining electoral campaign, which emphasized both economic improvement and government stability, had boosted support for the party and was an important component of its shift to a more moderate platform and coalition-building strategies. The emphasis on governance also appeared to divert attention from its relative inaction following violent communal riots in Gujarat in 2002. As a result of the campaign, the BJP had felt confident that it would win in the early elections called in 2004 (Mehta 2004; Nayar 2005, 71–73). The 2009 elections brought further losses for the BJP, whose vote share declined in twenty-four out of twenty-eight states, culminating in its worst electoral performance in two decades. Whereas Congress party gained in sixteen states, the regional parties were the real winners, earning more valid votes than the Congress party and BJP combined, confirming a trend that

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began in the 1990s ( Jaffrelot and Verniers 2011, 1096, 1099; Mehra 2010, 4; Sadanandan 2009, 660). Some observers claim that the leadership change from Vajpayee to Advani several years earlier, marking a reemphasis on a more hardline Hindu nationalist stance, was partly to blame for the BJP losses in the election. Whereas Vajpayee appealed to both the nationalist base and a broader secular public, Advani and other BJP leaders were more polarizing figures (Sharma 2010, 144–45). Socioeconomic factors also explain the BJP decline and point to the class foundations of the party. Although the party and its allies have maintained the support of more privileged strata, for whom the India Shining campaign had great appeal, a smaller portion of the very poor supported the party (Mehra 2010, 7). The persistent marginalization of rural areas proved to be a weak spot of the BJP, and the Congress party emphasized precisely this point in its electoral campaigns. By identifying itself with the poor and branding the BJP the party of the rich, the Congress party capitalized successfully on the perceived elitism of its opponent (Nayar 2005, 78). To summarize, over time the BJP adopted more populist rhetoric aimed at expanding its appeal among the poorer segments of society to attract broader support (Hansen 1999, 159). The inclusion of candidates from the Scheduled Castes and tribes as junior partners on its electoral slates also broadened support for the traditionally upper-caste party among lower-caste voters. As a result, the increased support for the party among marginalized groups helps to explain its electoral victories in the 1990s. By 1998, the share of support for the BJP from the Scheduled Castes had exceeded that of the upper castes (Chandra 2004, 267, 269; Jaffrelot 2005, 278).

The Social Welfare Activities of the Bharatiya Janata Party and Sangh Parivar The BJP shift toward political moderation had important implications for the evolution of its welfare outreach. Over decades, the Sangh Parivar established extensive social programs across parts of India, with its welfare initiatives and institutions numbering in the thousands. A variety of organizations linked to the RSS are the key actors in the social welfare network of the movement. These institutions include those devoted specifically to charitable work, including youth camps, schools, health clinics and dispensaries, and women’s groups. RSS institutions also take an active role in providing relief after natural disasters such as floods, which take a heavy toll on the poor. Although the Congress party used to undertake such activities, the social welfare initiatives of that party have declined over time. By the late 1980s, RSS-affiliated organizations ran about 13,000 schools and the movement educational network continued to expand, reaching 19,741 schools that collectively enrolled more than 2.4 million students and employed more than 80,000 teachers by 2003 (Thachil and Herring 2008, 453; Varshney 2002, 246–49).37

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Most RSS affiliates, including the BJP, are engaged in welfare outreach and run their own programs, but the major RSS agency for social work is the Seva Bharati (Service of India). Founded in 1979, the Seva Bharati runs clinics with free medical care, ambulances, and schools and has profited from the general decline or underdevelopment of public welfare programs (Hansen 1999, 191; Jaffrelot 1996, 530). The reliance on NGOs for social provision has increased with rising state budget deficits.38 The Sangh Parivar emphasizes education as a key means of socialization to its Hindu nationalist agenda. Within education, curricular reform is a major focus. The RSS and its affiliates view the dominant curriculum, especially in the field of history, as being imbued with a secularist interpretation supported by the Congress party. Through its positions in key ministries and government agencies, the party has supported and brought about reforms to revise history textbooks in compliance with a Hindu nationalist interpretation (Hardgrave 2005, 206; Jaffrelot 2005, 279). Beyond academic subjects, the movement promotes a core curriculum that involves physical education, yoga, music, Sanskrit, moral and spiritual education, and cultural knowledge. The curriculum supported by the Hindu nationalist movement promotes controversial interpretations of history, notably the claim that the Babri Mosque at Ayodhya is the birthplace of the Hindu deity Ram. It also endorses the protection of cows, which Hindu nationalists view as the “mother of all beings and abode of gods” (Basu 2001). When the Jana Sangh and later the BJP have held public offices, the party has prioritized educational policy reform, specifically of the history curricula in Indian schools. A 1996 study conducted by the National Council of Educational Research and Training (NCERT) found that many textbooks in the Vidya Bharati schools affiliated with the RSS were “designed to promote bigotry and religious fanaticism in the name of inculcating knowledge of culture in the young generation” (cited in Ramakrishnan 1998). The welfare outreach of the Hindu nationalist movement in India has long historical roots and is an integral component of the cultural and religious beliefs and practices of its affiliated organizations. For example, in the 1920s, the RSS provided drinking water to needy communities, and during the Partition of India and Pakistan in 1947, the RSS carried out large-scale relief work for Hindu refugees coming from Punjab and Sindh (Hansen 1999, 95; Jaffrelot 2005, 212). The Sangh Parivar welfare efforts became far more institutionalized with the creation of the Seva Bharati in 1979. The prevention of conversion to other religions, such as Christianity and Islam, was also an important motivation for the establishment of welfare outreach, particularly among marginalized populations (Chattopadhyay 2004; Hardgrave 2005, 195; Jaffrelot 2000, 359). Thus, the welfare programs of the Sangh Parivar were not originally explicitly aimed at political gain.

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As the movement became more explicitly involved in politics, first through the establishment of the Jana Sangh and later the BJP, grassroots social welfare activities became harnessed to its political goals. As Christophe Jaffrelot argues, “The traversing of social and political space by means of a network largely borrowed from the RSS and the implementation of social welfare activism were to be the two complementary wings of the Sangathanist strategy [which] . . . would, in the long term, naturally bring the Jana Sangh to power . . .” (1996, 154). As with any organization, including the Lebanese sectarian parties analyzed in this book, the motivations for providing services are complex and cannot be reduced to a unidimensional support-buying strategy. At the same time, the goal of building grassroots political support is clearly an important component of RSS activities. The rising BJP electoral fortunes documented earlier are in part due to its ability to mobilize around sectarian issues and to forge coalitions with other parties. But the grassroots welfare work of the Hindu nationalist party has also enabled it to expand its support. As Jaffrelot (2005, 211) notes, social welfare constitutes the bulk of its local, grassroots work—an activity that has surprised many observers of Indian politics given the high-caste elite base of the BJPs. To maintain and expand its appeal, the BJP, and the RSS more generally, recognized that cultural factors such as the Hindu ideals of asceticism and discipline alone would not be sufficient. The RSS adjusted to the changing tastes and orientations of the Indian public by developing its social welfare activities and expanding its socialization efforts through the establishment and expansion of its network of schools ( Jaffrelot 1996, 530). The social welfare activities of the BJP and its organizational partners are an important tool for recruiting support, particularly among the marginalized populations to which the party does not have natural appeal (Chatterji 2003; Jaffrelot 2005, 214; Ramakrishnan 1998). As Thachil and Herring argue: The BJP has employed a different array of strategies in order to expand its support base. . . . [T]he most important recruitment tactic has been the grassroots efforts of its organizational affi liates—most notably under the auspices of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS). The RSS established specific wings devoted to social programming aimed at Dalit and Adivasi voters, including a network of Vidya Bharati schools, and medical services operating through both Seva Bharati and chapters of the Vanvasi Kalyan Parishad in tribal strongholds. These service-providing affi liates have provided the BJP with a massive organizational base from which to launch its recruitment of lower-caste voters. (2008, 453)

The social welfare activities of other RSS affiliates explicitly target Dalits, adivasis (tribal peoples), and the rural poor. In some remote localities, Sangh

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Parivar institutions and programs may constitute the only sources of welfare. These categories of beneficiaries are not only the most needy, determined according to socioeconomic criteria, but, more important, constitute the populations most vulnerable to religious conversion by Christian or Muslim missionaries (Hardgrave 2005, 189–90; Thachil and Herring 2008, 453). Social welfare outreach has also proved to be useful for gaining and preserving support beyond the natural BJP elite constituency while not alienating the core (Breeding 2008, 23). On the one hand, the provision of social welfare is clearly a logical strategy for outreach to populations that are otherwise excluded from access to services: “This scheme has proved particularly worthwhile for the Hindu nationalists since these social groups have been growing rapidly and neither the RSS nor its affiliates had ever succeeded in putting down roots within them. It was difficult for a movement dominated by high castes to reach this working-class population set apart by many sociocultural features . . .” ( Jaffrelot 2005, 212). The provision of social welfare creates a grateful potential support base, not only among the direct beneficiaries but also within the broader community where service delivery takes place (Thachil 2012). As Thachil and Herring argue, “The Sangh Parivar’s services are often the most dependable cues Dalit and Adivasi voters have from any political front that the party will look out for their material well-being” (2008, 453). On the other hand, the BJP upper-caste constituency actually supports the provision of social services, even if on the surface it appears to contradict its economic and social policy preferences. The elite supporters of the party view the delivery of social welfare not as a handout but as a means of promoting good moral behavior among lower-caste people. At the same time, charitable work enables the party to maintain its commitments to liberal economic policies and opposition to institutionalized preferences for marginal populations (Thachil and Herring 2008, 456). The emphasis on charity as a key component of welfare regimes is in line with neoliberal visions of economic reform and has been emphasized by other identity-based groups that have relatively elite foundations, such as the Islamist Justice and Development Party in Turkey (Bugˇ ra and Keyder 2006; Eder 2011). Beyond electoral support, the delivery of social services offers opportunities for socialization, even if RSS affiliates do not emphasize this goal during initial encounters with beneficiaries (Jaffrelot 2005, 221; Thachil and Herring 2008, 453–56). Ultimately, social service provision enables Seva Bharati and other Hindu nationalist providers to convey “what is good for society and how [the needy] can be useful to society” through their charitable activities (Seva Bharati tract, cited in Jaffrelot 2005, 213). As Jaffrelot (2005, 216) acknowledges, it is difficult to assess the political impact of the provision of social welfare, but evidence suggests that services have won votes for the BJP.39 Thachil’s systematic national and subnational research in India indicates that

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the Sangh Parivar charitable outreach has garnered electoral support among Dalits and adivasis (Thachil 2012). To summarize, the RSS and BJP are closely associated but not synonymous. Not all institutions in the Hindu nationalist movement focus on gaining electoral support. As a political entity, BJP adopted a more populist rhetoric than many Sangh Parivar entities to expand its appeal among the poorer segments of society and attract broader support (Hansen 1999, 159). The RSS has accepted the BJP turn toward moderation as a necessary move to retain allies as part of coalition politics. At the same time, part of its acceptance of the more moderate BJP line stemmed from the perception among RSS elites that it would be more able to implement educational reforms in line with Hindu nationalist goals and to limit government legislation of such issues as quotas as long as the party holds public offices ( Jaffrelot 2005, 295). In short, as the party has moderated its messages and behavior over time, it has aimed to reach a broader array of potential constituents via its social programs. A Growing body of research indicates that the distribution of social benefits by identity-based parties is not unique to Lebanon, Iraq, and India. Political parties and organizations with ethnic and sectarian affi liations and appeals provide basic health care, schooling, and social assistance in other countries in Asia. Evidence suggests that these parties favor their existing supporters, who tend to be in-group members, when distributing or facilitating access to social welfare but that these parties may use social benefits to attract broader support under certain political conditions (Bugra and Keyder 2006; Flanigan 2006; Hamayotsu 2011; Harrigan and El-Said 2009; Hefner 2000; Latief 2010; Shadid 2002, 131; Thachil 2012; Wiktorowicz 2004). When states do not offer universal access to basic public goods and social services, welfare can be an arena of political contestation, encouraging identity-based NSPs to establish or expand the distribution of social benefits. Even where access to power is not contingent on ethnicity or religion, parties, movements, and other nonstate actors may use the provision of social services as a means of building support, among other motivations. For example, Hamas in Palestine has modified its political strategy over time to range from more state-centric approaches (e.g., when it contested and won national power in the 2006 elections) to more militant approaches after the split with Fatah and the “civil war” in the West Bank and Gaza in 2007.40 As its political strategies have evolved in response to changing local and regional conditions, Hamas has exhibited varied patterns of distributing and brokering access to social benefits: Prior to the 2006 elections, it is widely acknowledged that Hamas allocated social benefits broadly. After the armed confl ict with Fatah and its takeover of Gaza in June 2007, Hamas has funneled social benefits more exclusively toward its proven core supporters and has even denied

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comparable benefits to Fatah supporters (ICG 2003b; Mishal and Sela 2006; Roy 2011).41 Similarly, as noted in the introduction of this book, the AKP in Turkey used the distribution of “white goods,” or basic household appliances, to drum up support during the 2009 elections (ANF News Agency Staff 2008; Demir 2009; Kuwait Times Staff 2009; Milliyet Staff 2007). When states do not provide social protection for citizens, ethnic and sectarian parties and movements, as well as a broad array of nonstate actors, are important guarantors of well-being. Under these circumstances, groups with political affiliations can use service provision to reward and even gain political support while meeting the pressing needs of populations and acting on their own commitments and principles of social justice.

Conclusion: The Consequences of Welfare Provision by Identity-Based Organizations For any people to develop and maintain a sense of political community, it is necessary that they share a common vision of their past. —Salibi (1988, 216)

T

he distribution of social benefits by ethnoreligious organizations in the Middle East, Asia, and other regions of the Global South highlights the connections between identity politics and social welfare. Both sectarianism and the provision of social services entail the construction of boundaries of inclusion and exclusion, and through their welfare activities, identity-based organizations create or perpetuate group membership. At the communal level, analyzing the conditions under which sectarian organizations extend benefits beyond in-group areas illuminates the political geography of sectarianism. At the individual or household level, the degree to which parties favor core supporters or offer services more inclusively unpacks the mechanisms of clientelism. While recognizing that charitable concerns, ideological commitments, and the desire to address socioeconomic needs motivate the provision of social assistance by sectarian organizations, in this book I focus on the more overtly political dimensions of their social welfare activities. Two major political factors shape how sectarian parties allocate welfare goods. First, the main party political strategy affects whether benefits are disbursed more inclusively or exclusively. State-centric political strategies, which entail participation in the formal institutions of the state, including national elections, increase the probability that sectarian organizations cultivate linkages with and, hence, distribute social benefits to out-group communities and to in-group members beyond their core activists. An extra-state political strategy, in which organizations operate outside formal state institutions and even challenge state

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authority through militancy, compels sectarian organizations to funnel benefits to their most ardent loyalists, who tend to be in-group members. Second, the degree of competition for political representation of the sect influences the distribution of benefits, particularly in polities where identity is explicitly politicized and institutionalized in power-sharing arrangements. Competition from serious in-group rivals compels sectarian organizations to prioritize in-group members through an outbidding dynamic. In this concluding chapter, I address the potential economic and political implications of the distribution of social welfare by sectarian organizations. Social provision by identity-based parties can shape the design and functioning of welfare regimes, particularly in the context of weak state capacity to provide social protection. Yet the effects of their welfare activities are not clear-cut—although the welfare programs of sectarian organizations may create or perpetuate fragmentation in welfare regimes, their activities provide much-needed support, particularly for the underserved portions of the population. Social assistance by sectarian organizations also raises questions about the effects of institutional design on intergroup relations and the construction of national political communities. IDENTITY-BASED PROVIDERS AND FRAGMENTATION IN THE WELFARE REGIME In much of the Global South, nonstate actors are and have long been a vital part of welfare regimes. In the context of fiscal crises and weak state capacities, international fi nancial and donor institutions advocate the reduced direct government provision of public goods in developing countries on the grounds that scarce resources can be devoted to other areas of state capacity-building, such as security or regulatory activities, and that some aspects of health care and other social services may be better fulfilled by private actors ( James and Birdsall 1992; Hulme and Edwards 1997; Klein and Hadjimichael 2003; Salamon 1995; World Bank 1997, 162–63; 2004). Furthermore, nonstate actors such as local and international NGOs may have technical and efficiency advantages that enable them to be more effective providers (Brinckerhoff 1999; Brown 1998, 228, 230–35; Heins 2008; Lewis and Kanji 2009; Putnam 1993; Smith and Lipsky 1993, 3). Even in the most developed welfare states, civil society organizations—including religious or ethnic organizations— play an important role in the provision of social service (Salamon 1995; Allard 2009; Hacker 2002; Smith and Lipsky 1993). As described in chapter 2, nonstate providers, including identity-based providers such as sectarian organizations and religious charities, have long been the dominant providers in the Lebanese welfare regime. The limits on state intervention in the economy as well as a long history of social provision by foreign missionaries, local churches, and Muslim associations provided fertile

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ground for the emergence and consolidation of sectarian welfare providers before, during, and after the civil war in Lebanon. The welfare activities of sectarian parties and their precursors arguably helped create and certainly reinforced a tendency toward fragmentation in the Lebanese welfare regime. Empowered by a power-sharing system that explicitly allocates representation along religious lines, sectarian parties are powerful actors in the Lebanese state. Given their vested interests in key aspects of the existing welfare regime, they constitute important de facto sources of blockage to meaningful reform of the system. The structure and operation of the health-care system illustrate the ways in which sectarian politics and parties effectively perpetuate the fragmentation of the welfare regime and inhibit its reform. This lack of coherence has produced inefficiencies in the overall welfare system and has contributed to suboptimal social outcomes. Through a patchwork of different funds, providers, and social support systems, the bulk of the Lebanese population has access to basic health services, albeit with a wide variation in the extent and quality of services. Nonstate providers, including agencies and intermediaries linked to sectarian parties, are the main reason for this broad access to medical care, especially for primary health services. But cost burdens are not equitable. If measured by use rates, inequities in health care are relatively low; when measured by out-ofpocket payments, however, health inequities are high (Ammar 2003, 9; Salti, Chaaban, and Raad 2010), although they have declined since the late 1990s (Ammar 2009, 92–93). Furthermore, because the indirect state role in the health-care system is largely through health-care fi nancing, the population generally does not recognize the importance of public contributions and agencies to medical services and public health. This precludes the ability of the state to claim credit for social provision, undercutting a potential source of citizen attachment to the national political community and potentially fueling low trust in government (Levi and Sacks 2009). In the context of a relatively weak state regulatory capacity, not all NGOs meet minimum quality standards and nonstate providers often take full credit for services supplied with government financing.1 On net, the importance of sectarian parties, religious charities, and other NGOs for the direct provision of services, as well as the relative lack of public regulation of their activities, has mixed implications. On the one hand, the diverse array of nonstate providers and brokers facilitates relatively broad access to some health services and assistance; on the other hand, the overall system is fragmented and poorly regulated, which contributes to inefficiencies and suboptimal social outcomes. Power-sharing arrangements and the associated logic of patronage politics promote the duplication of government health programs and initiatives. For example, parallel yet uncoordinated health programs run by the Ministry of Public Health and the Ministry of Social Affairs have resulted in inefficiencies.

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The Ministry of Public Health operates or contracts out public clinics that provide basic services for the poor and, through a cooperative program with the YMCA, supplies subsidized medications.2 Through a national network of social centers, many of which run small-scale vocational training courses or programs aimed at the elderly or disabled populations, the Ministry of Social Affairs also provides curative and preventative medical care, vaccinations, reproductive health services for mothers and children, and health education campaigns.3 Throughout much of the 1980s and early 1990s, the two ministries operated as a single agency with the same minister presiding over issues related to both health and social affairs.4 The creation of two separate ministries in the mid-1990s allegedly occurred in response to complaints about sectarian and partisan imbalances in the control of government offices. In practice, the establishment of two distinct ministries provides increased access to patronage opportunities for politicians and party machines and promotes inefficiencies. Despite overlapping missions, the ministries of Public Health and Social Affairs have not coordinated their efforts. For example, under the auspices of the CDR, the government agency in charge of monitoring, tendering, and implementing reconstruction and development projects, the Ministry of Public Health planned to build twenty-one new public health centers and rehabilitate eleven existing centers. At the same time, the Ministry of Social Affairs, which had a network of 85 social development centers and 208 satellite centers, planned to incorporate health services in some of its outposts. As a result, the two ministries launched separate public health initiatives in the late 1990s (Kronfol 2004, 9). The structure of health financing also illustrates the disjointed nature of the system and its implications for the overall operation of the welfare regime. As described in chapter 2, at least seven different public agencies oversee different aspects of health-care financing. Given the wide range of supervising bodies, the harmonization of diverse health financing schemes is difficult. Without interagency coordination, it is virtually impossible to monitor payments and use and to ensure that providers comply with official regulations. Recognizing the unsustainability of health-care financing in Lebanon, the World Bank recommended the creation of a single-payer system or, at a minimum, the incremental development of a social insurance system based on existing programs such as the NSSF (Kronfol 2006; World Bank 2000, 15). The existing system of health financing has had negative ramifications of the health-care system. First, public coverage of hospitalization fees for needy citizens—a key source of patronage for sectarian parties—has promoted an oversupply of hospitals, and particularly of small facilities that cannot capitalize on economies of scale or provide adequate care. As a result, Lebanon has a high ratio of hospital beds to population (2.88 beds per 1,000) (Ammar 2003, 13–14).5 Private insurers shift costs to the public sector whenever possible, while private providers invest disproportionately in high-tech services to the neglect of basic health needs (Tabbarah 2000b, 19–21). Second, the system

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neglects preventative medicine in favor of specialized and curative care, whereas small clinics run by NGOs, some of which have contracts with the Ministry of Public Health or Ministry of Social Affairs, are major primarycare providers but do not coordinate their efforts effectively. The nature of health personnel reflects this imbalance: Almost 75 percent of doctors are specialists rather than generalists. In addition, Lebanon has one of the highest concentrations of physicians in the world but a chronic undersupply of nurses, with 2.4 doctors per 1,000 residents and only 1.3 nurses per 1,000 residents (Tabbarah 2000b, 16, 32; WHO Statistical Information System 2005). The relative neglect of primary health care and the absence of insurance schemes to cover the costs of basic pharmaceuticals have created a niche for sectarian parties and other nonstate providers, which use the situation to their advantage. The power-sharing system and the investment of sectarian parties and leaders in the status quo have inhibited the reform of the health system, among other policy areas (Ammar 2003, 5). Since the end of the civil war, the Ministry of Public Health has initiated multiple health-system restructuring efforts, often in cooperation with international donors. Despite some successes, notably in controlling some costs and reducing out-of-pocket payments (Ammar 2009), many of the goals of these reforms remain unfulfilled. Beginning in 1993, the government launched a health-sector rehabilitation and reconstruction program. In the wake of the destructive civil war, the program aimed to strengthen the institutional capacity of the Ministry of Public Health, improve primary health care by building a national system of public health centers, strengthen hospital management, and restructure the healthfi nancing system. The World Bank granted $37 million to support the reform program but, by the end of the decade, the primary goals of the plan had not been met (Kronfol 2006, 25; World Bank 2004). Since then, the Ministry of Public Health has launched additional reform programs, including initiatives to regulate and streamline the primary health-care system. Under the terms of one program, clinics and dispensaries must register with the ministry and meet minimum standards to receive accreditation, which brings official budgetary support and access to free or subsidized medications.6 Sectarian parties that run health programs or broker access to health services have opposed efforts to introduce regulations that might undercut their activities or expose them to greater scrutiny (Ammar 2003, 5).7 Beyond administrative duplication and obstacles to reform, inefficiencies in the welfare regime may have contributed to suboptimal health outcomes. Macroeconomic data suggest that Lebanon has underperformed with respect to basic health indicators, at least until recently. In 2006, Lebanon spent about 9 percent of its gross domestic product (GDP) on health, a level equivalent to total health-care spending in the Scandinavian countries but with far inferior health outcomes. With a per capita health expenditure of $608 in 2006, life expectancy in Lebanon was seventy years and the under-five mortality was

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31 per 1,000 live births. In comparison, Costa Rica, with a similar level of economic development, spent 7 percent of its GDP on health in 2006 and achieved a life expectancy of seventy-eight years and an under-five mortality of 12 per 1,000 live births (WHO Statistical Information System 2008). Even when benchmarked against other countries in the Middle East with comparable or lower GDP per capita levels, Lebanon has lagged behind. For example, in 1990, Lebanon, Syria, and Jordan had similar life expectancy and child mortality rates; a decade later, however, Syria and Jordan exhibited superior health outcomes, whereas the rate of improvement in Lebanon had stagnated, particularly for child mortality. Overall, in 2000, the World Health Organization ranked health expenditures per capita in Lebanon forty-sixth but the prospects of child survival eighty-eighth and the performance of the health system ninety-first out of its 191 member countries (WHO 2000, 153). Multiple factors beyond the structure of the health-care system contribute to suboptimal health outcomes. At a minimum, the fragmented health-care system has produced and perpetuated an informal insecurity regime, a set of institutional arrangements in which people rely heavily on community and family relationships to meet their security needs (Gough 2004). This type of system does not constitute a solid foundation for assuring social protection, particularly for the poor and disadvantaged. As a result of high health-care costs and unfulfilled population health needs, both Oxfam and the World Bank point to Lebanon as a negative example for the design of health-care systems in developing countries (Oxfam International 2009; World Bank 2004). Until recently, studies of nonstate providers, especially NGOs, pointed to a relatively benign explanation for their role in welfare regimes. In response to unmet social needs in the context of absent or low-capacity public welfare functions, these actors are considered vital elements of the social safety net (Brinckerhoff 1999; Brown 1998; James and Birdsall 1992; World Bank 1997, 2004). Yet these accounts neglect the political dimensions of some types of providers and the potential effects of the fragmentation of service delivery and regulation ( Janoski and Gran 2002; Kymlicka and Norman 1995; Jordan and van Tuijl 2006; Lewis and Kanji 2009; Wood 1997, 81–82). Sectarian parties and other identity-based political groups provide vital services to underserved communities. Their programs and efforts to broker access to social assistance, however, may establish or reinforce inequalities in the access to basic needs and further politicize social cleavages. The educational programs of identity-based providers may have particularly divisive effects. EDUCATION, HISTORIOGRAPHY, AND NATIONAL INTEGRATION Like the health sector, the educational system in Lebanon is also fragmented, weakening the overall system and contributing to the perception that public

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schools are inferior. The major problems in the Lebanese educational system stem from the lack of state regulation of curricula and school administration. Data on student-teacher ratios and teacher qualifications hint at the problems associated with poor government oversight. Public primary and secondary schools suffer from a persistent oversupply of teachers because the appointment of teachers has become a form of state patronage. International standards suggest that a ratio of approximately fifteen students per teacher is appropriate. In 1998, Lebanese public schools had nine students per teacher. This figure marks a significant drop from 1946, when the system had an average of thirty students per teacher, and reflects patronage-induced overstaffing of public school teachers. The administrative weakness of the state educational system also promotes and sustains inadequate teacher training. In the aftermath of the civil war, many teachers were accredited through a special examination but had not received a post-baccalaureate teaching certificate, which is required for primary and intermediate school teachers; a university degree; or teaching diploma, which is required for secondary school teachers. The qualifications of contractual teachers, who serve as temporary substitutes and are often political appointees, are not always verified. A higher percentage of private school students pass the baccalaureate examinations than their counterparts from public schools, indicating that, on net, private schools prepare students more effectively to meet the national educational standards. At the same time, public school teachers enjoy greater job security and benefits than private school teachers, who may be dismissed more easily and do not receive commensurate pension benefits (Tabbarah 2000a, 18–20, 26). Public schools continue to suffer from chronic under-funding as well as the widespread public perception that they are of inferior quality (Frayha 2004, 177; Tabbarah 2000a, 18–20). Persistent challenges to the reform and unification of the curricula in sensitive subjects, such as history, civics, and religion, pose particular problems for post-conflict reconciliation and the construction of a sense of a national political community. Given the important socialization role of education, the lack of consensus on a national curriculum in these key areas has cemented and even exacerbated sectarian divisions within Lebanese society (Frayha 2004, 177). The experience of post-war curricular reform and the teaching of national history in schools run by sectarian and religious organizations in Lebanon illustrate the difficulties of arriving at shared narratives. The fragmentation of the curriculum predates Lebanese independence and, despite repeated calls for the unification of the national history curriculum, little progress has been made. With the creation of independent Lebanon in 1943, Bishara al-Khouri, the Maronite president, and Riad al-Solh, the Sunni prime minister, were greatly concerned about the emphasis on foreign history—especially French history—in both the public and private schools. Soon after independence, the prime minister announced plans to create a secondary school curriculum that would apply to all private and public

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schools. The following year, in 1944, the government convened a commission to establish a national curriculum, but the body soon split into two factions: Sunni Muslims versus Maronite Christians. Whereas a representative of the Sunni Makassed called for the greater regulation of foreign and private schools, the Maronite archbishop and representatives of the Maronite AlHikma school system called for greater emphasis on the distinctiveness of the Lebanese identity in the national curriculum.8 In 1946, the commission reached an agreement, establishing Arabic as the official language and depicting Lebanon in an Arab context while tracing the origins of the country to the Phoenician period. In 1949, the Ministry of Education endorsed a new set of textbooks for secondary schools that were designed by a group of history teachers. Despite multiple reform efforts in subsequent decades and a civil war in the interim, the history curriculum remains largely unchanged today. Teachers in the diverse Lebanese schools do not appear to adhere to the official textbooks, such as they exist. Private schools are not obliged to use the texts approved by the Ministry of Education and face less stringent curricular requirements, which stipulate teaching materials that “accord with” the official curricula. In reality, government oversight is not enforced, and school principals freely admit that the state makes no efforts to monitor their practices. With the exception of the ninth- and twelfth-grade programs, when students must pass national exams, private school teachers and administrators make little attempt to follow the official curricula. An official in the Ministry of Education claimed, “For private education, the authority of the Ministry of Education is limited. . . . All inspection and approval only applies to the public schools. You don’t have the right as an inspector to go to the private schools except with subsidized schools, which receive some government funds.”9 All the interviews I conducted with administrators, principals, and teachers in private schools confirmed that state agencies do not regulate what is taught in the classroom—especially in private schools. The teaching of subjects such as history and religion is hotly contested. Each school system linked to a religious community or sectarian party uses its own teaching materials, replacing or supplementing the existing history textbooks, which are the same as those used prior to the outbreak of the civil war in 1975. A study of history textbooks used in the major religious schools conducted before the civil war concluded that all primary school books, including those used in public schools, emphasized that individual identity is rooted in one’s confessional community. Furthermore, the study found, depictions of Lebanese history, a major source of contention within Lebanese society, diverged in public, Christian, and Muslim schools. In public and Christian schools, Lebanon’s Arab identity was downplayed and its Phoenician heritage was emphasized, particularly in textbooks used by Christian institutions. These books also highlighted the importance of the presidency, a post reserved for a Maronite Christian, and depicted the French Mandate period in

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a positive light. In Muslim schools, however, textbooks mentioned the Phoenician period only in passing, placing greater emphasis on the independence of Lebanon and Syria from French rule. These books situated Lebanon in the Arab and Islamic worlds and mentioned the Palestinian problem, which was depicted as both an Arab and Islamic confl ict (Wehbe and El-Amine 1980, 137–40).10 Efforts to reform and unify the history curriculum have encountered formidable obstacles (Bashshur 2003; Fattah 2007).11 A 1968 reform of the history curriculum introduced greater emphasis on the Arab roots of Lebanon, which was in line with Arab nationalist sentiment and opposed by elements of the Christian and, especially, Maronite communities. Because it did not garner the support of the entire government, the 1968 attempt at curricular reform failed (Frayha 2004, 174). Two decades later, curricular reform was again prioritized in the Taʾif Agreement. The agreement called for increased state control over private schools and the content of textbooks as well as an overhaul of the history and civic education textbooks to promote greater national integration. A branch of the Ministry of Education, the Educational Center for Research and Development (ECRD), which was established in 1971 to oversee educational planning, curricular development, the writing of textbooks, and teacher training, was designated to oversee the reforms. To guide the reform process, the ECRD assembled a Consultative Committee composed of government and UN Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) officials as well as representatives from public and private schools, including Islamic, Christian, and secular schools. An additional group, the Majlis al-Shura, composed of six religious scholars representing the Maronite, Greek Orthodox, Greek Catholic, Sunni, Shi ʿi, and Druze communities, was established to review the curricula. Although the committee produced curricula for all subjects that were subsequently approved by a presidential decree, the process of translating them into a common curriculum and textbooks for sensitive topics such as history and civics was fraught with difficulties.12 A major sticking point was the representation of Lebanese national identity, which was polarized around the perennial question of the Arab versus Phoenician roots of Lebanon. On June 22, 2000, Presidential Decree No. 3175 approved the history curricula, which had been developed by the ECRD and the Majlis al-Shura. Subcommittees were then created to write textbooks for grades 2–12. After textbooks were completed for grades 2–6, the minister of education suspended their distribution because he objected to a reference to the “Arab conquest” of Lebanon in the seventh century in the third-grade textbook. The issue remains unresolved. Religious groups also opposed the new textbook on both ideological and economic grounds, given that they would have to abandon multiple series of textbooks, for which they had standing contracts, in favor of the official unified textbooks (Frayha 2004, 188). When asked which textbooks they adopt

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for teaching history, school administrators and teachers told me that they continued to use the pre–civil war textbooks supplemented by “handouts” that they created themselves. Some officials from religious and sectarian party schools openly admitted that their versions of Lebanese history reflected the views of their particular religious authorities, which do not necessarily conform to those articulated in the official curricula. As one school principal noted, “The history curriculum is completely politicized. It does not deal with facts.”13 No school administrator or teacher agreed to share copies of their in-house materials for teaching national history. State failure to formulate and implement a history curriculum is a testament to weak state regulation of education and to the penetration of the state by sectarian and religious groups with conflicting agendas. The reform of civics education, which is designed to promote a sense of national citizenship by addressing topics such as government institutions, citizen rights and duties, and family relations, was less problematic than the revision of the history curriculum. In 1927, the fi rst civics textbooks for primary schools were published in Arabic. The books stressed the importance of national solidarity and patriotism, presenting France as the ideal modern nation. Civics did not become a separate subject of study in secondary education until after independence. Like the history textbooks, the civics textbooks were intended for use in both public and private schools, but it is not clear that private school teachers actually adopted the books. With little state oversight, the private schools often incorporated their own perspectives on national identity and civic education alongside or in place of the national curriculum (Sbaiti 2008, 240, 243–46). In 1973, civics education was dropped from the national baccalaureate examinations, which effectively meant the abandonment of the subject from school curricula. The Taʾif Agreement called for the reinstitution and updating of the civics curriculum and, in 1997, these goals were achieved. Struggles also erupted over the role of religious teaching in public schools. Religious education was not traditionally part of the official curricula in Lebanon, but after the war, religious authorities began to call for the inclusion of religion as a standard school subject. Overcoming deep differences in other realms, such as their divergent perspectives on Lebanese historiography, Muslim and Christian clergy lobbied jointly to promote religious education, producing a handbook on the basic principles of their distinct religions. In response, the ECRD committee proposed a curriculum that would highlight the shared values of Christianity and Islam in a single textbook, but the clergy favored a system with separate textbooks on each religion. Meanwhile, some secularist groups objected to the incorporation of religious teaching in the schools altogether (Frayha 2004, 188–91). A substantial body of research associates ethnic, religious, linguistic, and other forms of diversity with poor development outcomes, whereas a sense of

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“national political community” arguably facilitates a more effective provision of public goods (Alesina, Baqir, and Easterly 1999; Easterly and Levine 1997; Lieberman 2003; Miguel 2004; Tsai 2007).14 This is likely to apply on a national scale, where larger-scale redistribution is facilitated by a sense of solidarity to a common polity, rather than on a local scale, where people can potentially develop denser social ties and shared concerns through more frequent contact and the experience of working with common resource pools.15 The reverse may also hold true: The provision of public goods on a national scale may promote the development of a shared sense of national political community. Over time, shared solidarity and the effective provision of public goods are likely to be mutually constitutive. Indeed, as noted in chapter 2, in the late 1950s and early 1960s Lebanese president Fuʾad Shihab based his efforts to construct a public social security system on the premise that it would foster greater citizen commitment to a common national identity. If a shared commitment to the national good is needed for the provision of improved social services and public goods, then the supply of benefits by identity-based organizations may be cause for concern. To the extent that sectarian organizations dole out benefits to their core in-group supporters, they are less likely to foster shared commitments to a national polity through their distributional activities. The potentially detrimental impact of their social programs on national integration is most visible in the education sector with its socialization effects. In post-conflict societies, national historiography is particularly sensitive (Levy 2004). Struggles over national narratives greatly complicate the process of devising curricula for subjects such as history and civic education, thereby hindering the construction of national solidarities that may facilitate redistribution. Although it does not include an obvious socialization dimension, health-care provision through a wellregulated health-care system may also foster social cohesion as citizens come to view a publically regulated system, rather than communal providers, as the ultimate guarantor of social risk.16 INSTITUTIONAL DESIGN, DISTRIBUTIONAL POLITICS, AND INTERGROUP RELATIONS The arguments in this book also contribute to debates about the impact of formal institutions on distributional politics. Both theory and empirical evidence suggest that different types of formal institutions provide incentives for politicians to provide public goods and social services in distinct ways, but how democracies (or nondemocracies, for that matter) allocate welfare goods across their territories and among their citizens remains contested (Keefer and Khemani 2005; Min 2012; Ross 2006). The fi ndings in this book are most relevant to the ways in which institutions affect the allocation of social benefits along ethnic or religious lines.

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A substantial body of research links heterogeneity with the poor provision of public goods (Alesina, Baqir, and Easterly 1999; Easterly and Levine 1997; Miguel 2004; Posner 2004a). Ethnic or sectarian groups generally favor members of their in-group, especially in the context of politicized identity-based cleavages, due to norms of reciprocity and trust among in-group members and/or a greater capacity to police redistributive behavior within in-group networks (Habyarimana et al. 2007). The conditions under which diversity does not impede redistribution, however, remain unclear, and ethnoreligious diversity may not even be the most important factor explaining the underdevelopment of social policy or the poor welfare outcomes in many plural societies (Baldwin and Huber 2010; Gao 2011; Gerring et al. 2011). If superior redistribution among in-group members is the central tendency, particularly at the national level, it is important to know more about when and why identity-based groups serve out-group members. Studies of the effects of ethnoreligious heterogeneity tend to focus on the distribution of stateprovided or sponsored benefits and services; however, some nonstate actors run private welfare networks. Parties that work within public institutions have official obligations and face more normative pressure to serve all citizens regardless of sect because their resources are derived from national collective institutions. Ethnic or sectarian groups that use their own resources to provide services have more discretionary power and face fewer public expectations to deliver to broad constituencies beyond their in-group members. It is therefore even more surprising when nonstate actors with private welfare institutions serve out-group members. My arguments suggest reasons why identity-based groups might serve outgroup members, highlighting the central role of incentives from political institutions. In particular, parties that prioritize state-centric politics and are dominant within their respective communities are more likely to cater to out-group members. The first condition—a state-centric political strategy— accords with existing scholarship on democratic politics and redistribution. Based on the logic of electoral politics and related accountability mechanisms, many contend that democracies provide more public goods and social services to their citizens than autocracies (Acemoglu and Robinson 2006; Boix 2003; Bueno de Mesquita et al. 2004; Dahl 1971; McGuire 2010; Min 2012; Sen 1999).17 Electoral rules, therefore, can provide incentives to parties to reward existing supporters and to attract additional supporters. In plural societies, however, not all political institutions automatically promote cross-communal generosity to the same degree. The empirical evidence in this book shows how existing electoral rules and boundaries provide incentives for Lebanese sectarian parties that opt for a state-centric strategy to serve out-group members. The nature of the Lebanese electoral system, which is currently based on integrative institutions (Horowitz 2000; Reilly 2001), compels party leaders to emphasize their national—and not just sectarian—

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credentials in seeking votes. As described in chapter 3, the Lebanese electoral system, a majoritarian system based on joint electorates with reserve seats, allocates seats for candidates from specific sects but requires them to win support from all voters regardless of sect. The need to attract out-group voters is a primary motive to serve beyond their own communities. The second component of the argument, which focuses on the degree of in-group competition for political representation of the sect, generates some counterintuitive implications for redistribution. In power-sharing systems, including the Lebanese consociational system (Hudson 1997; Lijphart 1977), parties face incentives to become the dominant political representative of their respective communities. Once they achieve political supremacy within the in-group, sectarian parties are less vulnerable to outbidding from ingroup rivals and, therefore, do not need to showcase their sectarian credentials with the same zeal. Under conditions of political dominance, then, parties enjoy more room to provide benefits to out-group members. Paradoxically, less competition—in this case, from in-group parties—is associated with a greater breadth of welfare generosity. Although competition is generally assumed to boost accountability, under certain conditions competition can limit the extent of welfare provision. Both aspects of the core arguments—the choice of political strategy and the nature of competition for political representation of the sect—highlight the effects of integrative institutions in spurring welfare provision to outgroup members. A brief contrast between the incentives of existing electoral rules previously described and the hypothetical effects of a proposed new electoral law in Lebanon underscores this point. In December 2012, Maronite leaders appointed a committee to liaison with government officials to discuss an electoral law presented by the Orthodox Gathering, a group of businessmen, politicians, and Greek Orthodox clerics, established to protest the alleged marginalization of the Greek Orthodox sect in Lebanon. The proposed electoral reform would create a single district rather than the multiple electoral districts enshrined in the current and prior electoral laws. The proposed law also requires that citizens vote only for candidates from the same confessional identity. This stipulation would create eleven different sect-based electoral contests, with seats allocated by proportional representation rather than multiple mixed districts based on a majoritarian system (Daily Star 2012; Galey 2013; Meguerditchian 2012).18 The electoral reform has become highly controversial, with civil society groups and some parties and political leaders opposing its adoption. The bill further entrenches sectarianism in the political system by undercutting the integrative properties of the Lebanese electoral system. Under the current system, parties have an incentive to woo out-group voters, particularly in districts with seats allocated to multiple sects. The new system would eliminate this mechanism for promoting cross-communal linkages.19 Voting would be

230

Conclusion

organized along strictly sectarian lines, whether or not voters self-identify with a given sect. Even voters who have opted to eliminate sectarian identity from their identity cards, as a 2009 law permits, would be obliged to vote only for candidates from the corresponding sect of the family (Galey 2013). In February 2013, the Lebanese parliament provisionally approved the Orthodox Gathering–Maronite proposal with the backing of the major Christian and Shi ʿa parties, despite vocal opposition. Although the proposed reform would eliminate regional inequalities created by the disproportionate representation in parliament of smaller districts, it would strengthen inequalities along sectarian lines. The Orthodox Gathering–Maronite proposal effectively stipulates that candidates from different sects entail varied numbers of votes to be elected. For example, a Sunni candidate would need 34,512 votes, whereas a Maronite candidate would require 20,655 votes to be elected (Chambers 2011). Political calculations have shaped the decisions of major political leaders to support the bill. In general, Christian politicians contend that the new law would increase Christian representation by enabling Christian voters to elect in-group politicians rather than Muslim voters, who cast the deciding votes in the election of Christian candidates in some districts under the current system. It is perhaps most ironic that Aoun supported the overtly sectarian bill, given his long-standing rhetorical opposition to sectarianism and claims to be a nonsectarian leader. Given the disparities in votes needed to be elected, however, it is not surprising that Aoun, a Maronite, supported the bill, while the predominantly Sunni Future Movement did not. Beyond mathematical calculations, political developments in recent years have also shaped partisan reactions to the bill. For example, Aoun has wagered that he will garner the most votes in the Christian community, in part because leading rivals have announced their decisions not to contest the upcoming elections. Conversely, in the Sunni community, the rise of potential competitors has worried Future Movement politicians, particularly with an electoral system based on proportional representation rather than majoritarianism.20 If adopted, the Orthodox Gathering system could alter distributional politics in Lebanon. The integrative properties of the current electoral system motivate sectarian parties to allocate welfare benefits across communal lines. If sectarian parties are compelled to target in-group voters while neglecting other citizens, they will probably channel resources to their own communities even more exclusively. The current power-sharing system places a premium on achieving dominance over the political representation of the sect, a status that paradoxically frees sectarian parties to cater to out-group members, as noted previously. Under the proposed system, sectarian parties would still aim to achieve political hegemony in their communities, but they would attain this position by winning support from in-group members only. As a result, sectarian parties would have little incentive to funnel benefits beyond

The Consequences of Welfare Provision

231

in-group members, even when they enjoy dominant status in their respective communities. The provision of social benefits across communal lines may have additional political ramifications beyond the expansion of access to welfare to a broader portion of the citizenry. In principle, cross-communal welfare provision and, more generally, inclusive rhetoric could promote intergroup reconciliation in polities with high tensions and even violence along ethnic or religious lines. For example, as described in chapter 6, Hezbollah serves members of outgroup communities and even goes out of its way to welcome them into its institutions in areas where it has a developed infrastructural presence. Christians and Sunnis from these communities express trust in and favorable opinions of the organization. Alliances forged at the national level among parties linked to different religious communities, such as the Hezbollah-FPM alliance, may also have trickle-down effects, compelling members of distinct communities to view each other with less suspicion.21 These anecdotal observations raise questions for future research on the impact of inter-group generosity on attitudes toward out-group members and organizations. To the extent that the distribution of social benefits across ethnic or religious lines promotes greater inter-group contact, then members of different communities may develop more positive assessments of each other. This proposition finds support in the contact hypothesis, or the claim that inter-group interactions promote greater reconciliation (Allport 1954; Pettigrew and Tropp 2008).22 The provision of social benefits to out-group members does more than stimulate intergroup contact. Beyond this, it entails an outlay of resources, symbolizing a commitment or sacrifice across communal lines that may affect attitudes more positively than interactions alone. Yet the longer-term effects are likely to depend on whether out-group provision is a matter of convenience— that is, a temporary electoral strategy that citizens may view with cynicism— or a longer-term effort that enables parties to develop a sustained presence in out-group communities. As I argue in chapters 1 and 4, not all electorally motivated forms of social provision are short term. In some instances, sectarian parties set up bricks-and-mortar institutions, which have greater sunk costs and therefore signal a greater commitment, in areas with few in-group voters and residents. Welfare provision in and of itself is unlikely to forge intergroup reconciliation. Social peace is often contingent on the actions of ethnic elites (Brass 1997; Wilkinson 2004) and requires macropolitical interventions, which depend on the consent of communal leaders. Institutional design such as integrative electoral systems, policy measures such as affirmative action or balanced school curricula, and the promotion of intergroup engagement in civil society organizations are likely to produce greater improvements in social peace (Horowitz 2000; Varshney 2007a, 15). Future research should address

232

Conclusion

how, if at all, the allocation of welfare benefits to out-group members by identity-based organizations affects intergroup relations net of macropolitical institutional and policy interventions. Ultimately, the potential effects of electoral institutions on distributive politics and intergroup relations are contingent on whether a sectarian or ethnic party opts to participate in electoral politics and, more generally, to work through formal state institutions to advance its goals in the first place. A core argument in this book emphasizes that the choice of political strategy affects the distribution of welfare. Not all parties choose to prioritize statecentric strategies of political mobilization in the first place. As noted in chapter 1, the adoption of a given political strategy is shaped by historically contingent and context-specific factors. These may include military defeat, which raises the probability of participation in state institutions by undercutting the capacity for resistance; resource constraints, which induce organizations to gain access to potentially lucrative public resources by working through the state; or in-group advancement, which may give an ethnic or sectarian party the freedom to cater to out-group members without incurring blame for neglecting in-group needs. The decision to participate in statecentric politics may also reflect a prior degree of moderation and a corresponding willingness to reach out across communal lines, at least among the prevailing factions of an ethnic or sectarian organization.23 RESEARCH AGENDAS: IDENTITY POLITICS AND NONSTATE WELFARE The politics of social welfare by identity-based groups opens up a research agenda with multiple directions. The focus on diverse forms of welfare in this book raises questions about the distinct distributional politics of different types of social goods. What are the political dynamics associated with health services, schooling, material aid, and other welfare goods? At one extreme, education entails a protracted relationship with school administrators, teachers, and staff and includes the most overt socialization component. At the other extreme, short-term benefits such as cash or food packages may be distributed on a one-shot basis, such as for vote-buying or on holidays and other special occasions, and are generally distributed from mobile units and need not entail an established relationship between the provider and beneficiary. Diverse types of welfare benefits therefore imply distinct linkages between parties and citizens with varied implications for the construction or reinforcement of political loyalties. Furthermore, broad sectors of social welfare such as health or education should be disaggregated, as chapter 6 suggests. Health care comes in a variety of guises, ranging from short-term routine visits to medical institutions to the treatment of chronic and more life-threatening conditions. Arguably, patients

The Consequences of Welfare Provision

233

and their families develop distinct types of relationships with providers, depending on their medical issues. Similarly, educational benefits can include one-time grants for school supplies or tuition, the brokerage of access to coveted spots in a private school, or scholarships provided to fund educations over multiple years. Interviews with party representatives and citizens in Lebanon indicate that core activists enjoy access to a broader array of longterm benefits than do citizens with less-articulated partisan loyalties. Future research should explore more explicitly the ways in which these long-term relationships between parties and core supporters arise, how social benefits either induce or cement their emergence, and the ways in which partisan ideological commitments interact with social benefits to spark or consolidate partisan loyalties. A second issue that deserves further exploration is the quality of the provision of social welfare, a question not addressed systematically in this study. Research and media reports contend or imply—but do not demonstrate—that Islamists are especially adept at providing public services and are often more capable than national governments (Alterman 2000; Bayat 2002; Berman 2009; Hamzeh 2001; Harik 1994; Ismail 2001; Keyman and Önis¸ 2007; Walsh 2003). This claim deserves rigorous analysis, particularly given the apparent importance of Islamist and other types of religious and ethnic organizations as nonstate providers in the Global South and in light of the ascendance of Islamists in the aftermath of the Arab uprisings. Under what conditions do Islamists actually provide public goods and social services well, whether through government agencies or private welfare networks? A related question focuses on the impact of the provision of social services and public goods by Islamists. Studies of the charitable activities of Islamists either explicitly or implicitly assume that the provision of social welfare garners political support or, at a minimum, leads to favorable assessments of these organizations (Alterman and von Hippel 2007; Hilsenrath 2005; Milton-Edwards 2006). How does the supply of social benefits actually affect the political behavior and attitudes of beneficiaries? To the extent that Islamist welfare provision engenders loyalty, it is vital to explore whether the actual provision of goods and services or perceived procedural fairness induces support (Levi and Sacks 2009; Levi, Sacks, and Tyler 2009). Furthermore, in line with efforts to disaggregate the political dynamics of distinct types of social services, it would be valuable to examine whether different forms of health or educational assistance elicit more support than others and whether these effects vary by gender or across citizens of different socioeconomic, religious, political, or other social profiles. Nonstate actors, including sectarian parties and Islamist organizations, are key features of the welfare landscape, particularly in the Global South (Gough et al. 2004). Nonstate providers are not uniform, their relationships with states vary, and, consequently, their political implications for state capacity,

234

Conclusion

accountability, equity, and citizenship are diverse (Cammett and MacLean 2011). Identity-based providers are important in parts of Asia and the Middle East, at a minimum, and share some characteristics with other types of nonstate providers that mix politics and social welfare.24 The consequences of welfare provision by nonstate actors that incorporate political criteria into the supply of services are complex. On the one hand, nonstate providers fill a gap and may serve marginalized and needy communities. In the absence of their social welfare activities, it is not clear that other providers would cater to these communities or that public agencies would rise to the occasion. Nonstate providers do not necessarily replace or substitute for capable state actors. On the other hand, identity-based providers or those with political goals may distribute benefits on a discretionary basis with overt or covert exclusionary criteria. Thus, the normative implications of welfare provision by sectarian actors are not self-evident. Pére Gregoire Haddad, the founder of the nonsectarian Mouvement Social, a prominent Lebanese NGO, contends, “Confessional organizations divided the country and they divided the mentalities of the Lebanese people.”25 As the director of a Lebanese NGO observed, however, “Without [the social programs of sectarian groups], Lebanon would have been poorer than India.”26

Appendix A List of Elite Interview Respondents and Provider Questionnaire

Table A.1 Interviews with Elite Respondents Code

Title

47b

Professor, Political Science

61 26

Organization

Location

Date

American University of Beirut

Ras Beirut, Beirut

June 7, 2004

Official

Ministry of Social Affairs

Badaro, Beirut

June 9, 2004

Professor, Political Science

American University of Beirut

Hamra, Beirut

June 10, 2004

44

Professor, Political Science

American University of Beirut

Hamra, Beirut

June 10, 2004

49

Official

American University of Beirut

Hamra, Beirut

June 10, 2004

109a

Professor, History

Lebanese-American University

Hamra, Beirut

June 11, 2004

15a

Consultant

UNESCWA

Ras Beirut, Beirut

June 11, 2004

70a

Director

Lebanese Institute for Economic and Social Development (ILDES)

Sin el-Fil

June 13, 2004

48

Official

Ministry of Education

Ghobeiri

June 14, 2004

65

Professor, Sociology

American University of Beirut

Hamra, Beirut

June 14, 2004

101a

Representative

YMCA/Lebanon

Sin el-Fil

June 15, 2004

80

Consultant

UN Development Programme

Badaro, Beirut

June 16, 2004

97

Director

Issam Fares Association

Ashrafieh, Beirut

June 18, 2004

5

Researcher

Faculty of Health Sciences, Balamand University

Ashrafieh, Beirut

June 19, 2004

Table A.1—continued Code

Title

Organization

Location

Date

103

Official

Al-Qard Al-Hassan, Hezbollah

Haret Hreik

June 19, 2004

68a

Official

Caritas Liban

Sin el-Fil

June 19, 2004

35a

Council Member

Druze Foundation for Social Welfare

Verdun, Beirut

June 21, 2004

35b

Council Member

Druze Foundation for Social Welfare

Verdun, Beirut

June 21, 2004

55

Professor, Political Science

American University of Beirut

Hamra, Beirut

June 21, 2004

98

Council Member

Druze Foundation for Social Welfare

Verdun, Beirut

June 21, 2004

42a

Official

Amal Movement

Hamra, Beirut

June 21, 2004

3

Project Director

Ministry of Health

Badaro, Beirut

June 22, 2004

41

Official

Ministry of Administrative Reform

Badaro, Beirut

June 22, 2004

52

Official

Ministry of Health, Directorate of Medicines/Hospitals

Mathaf, Beirut

June 22, 2004

63

Professor, Sociology

University of St. Joseph

Ashrafiyeh, Beirut

June 23, 2004

96

Professor, Political Science

American University of Beirut

Hamra, Beirut

June 23, 2004

15b

Consultant

UNESCWA

Hamra, Beirut

June 24, 2004

70b

Director

Lebanese Institute for Economic and Social Development (ILDES)

Sin el-Fil

January 9, 2006

101b

Representative

YMCA/Lebanon

Sin el-Fil

April 13, 2006

69

Consultant

UN Program on Governance in the Arab Region (POGAR)

Hamra, Beirut

April 15, 2006

79

Director

UN Program on Governance in the Arab Region (POGAR)

Hamra, Beirut

April 15, 2006

89a

Director

Bridges-Josour

Jel el-Dib

April 17, 2006

10

Official

Social Solidarity Program, Lebanese Forces

Jel el-Dib

April 27, 2006

62a

Official

Medical Services, Lebanese Forces

Jel el-Dib

April 27, 2006

99

Consultant

World Bank/Lebanon

Badaro, Beirut

May 4, 2006

Table A.1—continued Code

Title

Organization

Location

Date

70c

Director

Lebanese Institute for Economic and Social Development (ILDES)

Sin el-Fil

May 4, 2006

25

Representative

Dr. Mohamad Khaled Social Foundation

Ouzai

June 5, 2006

86

Representative

Mouvement Social

Badaro, Beirut

June 5, 2006

120

Former Teacher

Makassed

Hamra, Beirut

June 5, 2006

19a

Representative

Dr. Mohmad Khaled Social Foundation

Ouzai

June 5, 2006

19b

Representative

Dr. Mohmad Khaled Social Foundation

Ouzai

June 5, 2006

115

Doctor

Hariri Foundation Medical Center

Tariq al-Jadideh, Beirut

June 7, 2006

76a

President

Amel Association

Moseitbeh

June 7, 2006

73

Staff member

Caritas Health Clinic

Sin el-Fil

June 8, 2006

28a

Official

Hariri Foundation

Ouzai

June 8, 2006

68b

Official

Caritas Liban

Sin el-Fil

June 8, 2006

22

Representative

Greek Orthodox School System

Hamra, Beirut

June 13, 2006

37

Official

Mouvement Social

Badaro, Beirut

June 13, 2006

60

Official

Ministry of Public Health

Mathaf, Beirut

June 13, 2006

53

Official

Farah (Druze NGO)

Kfar Heem

June 14, 2006

76b

President

Amel Association

Moseitbeh, Beirut

June 14, 2006

81

General Director

Dar al-Fatwa

Aisha Bakkar, Beirut

June 15, 2006

6a

Representative

Health Services and Social Services, Hariri Foundation

Tariq al-Jadideh, Beirut

June 15, 2006

6b

Representative

Health Services and Social Services, Hariri Foundation

Tariq al-Jadideh, Beirut

June 15, 2006

6c

Representative

Health Services and Social Services, Hariri Foundation

Tariq al-Jadideh, Beirut

June 15, 2006

59

Representative

Entrepreneurial Devt Foundation

Hamra, Beirut

June 16, 2006

66

Official

Dar el-Fatwa (health clinic)

Aisha Bakkar, Beirut

June 16, 2006

17a

Official

Education Program, Makassed

Hamra, Beirut

June 17, 2006

Table A.1—continued Code

Title

Organization

Location

Date

46

Professor, Urban Planning

American University of Beirut

Ras Beirut

June 19, 2006

82

Professor, Sociology

Lebanese University

Ras Beirut

June 19, 2006

51

Representative

Ordre de Malte (health clinic)

Ain El Remmane

June 21, 2006

84

Staff member

Makassed

Aisha Bakkar, Beirut

June 21, 2006

113

Staff member

Makassed Hospital

Aisha Bakkar, Beirut

June 21, 2006

13

Representative

Farah Social Welfare Association

Kfar Heem, Chouf

June 22, 2006

9

Official

Dar Al-Aytam

Beirut

June 23, 2006

18

Staff member

Greek Orthodox School System

Ashrafiyeh, Beirut

June 23, 2006

12

Official

Imam Musa al-Sadr Foundation

Sour

June 26, 2006

78

Staff member

St. George Hospital Univ. Medical Center

Ashrafiyeh, Beirut

June 26, 2006

23

Representative

Lebanese Association for Educational Studies (LAES)

Clemenceau

June 27, 2006

112a

Representative

Rene Moawwad Foundation

Ashrafiyeh, Beirut

June 27, 2006

1

Official

Fadlallah Organization

Haret Hreik

June 28, 2006

27

Staff member

Makassed Health Clinic

Tariq al-Jadideh, Beirut

June 28, 2006

116

Staff member

Makassed Health Clinic

Horj, Beirut

June 28, 2006

109b

Professor, History

Lebanese-American University

Hamra, Beirut

June 28, 2006

101c

Representative

YMCA/Lebanon

Sin el-Fil

June 29, 2006

38

Representative

Lebanese Welfare Association for the Handicapped (Amal Movement)

Patriarcat, Beirut

June 30, 2006

117

Doctor

Makassed Health Clinic

Tariq al-Jadideh, Beirut

June 30, 2006

11

Professor, Education

American University of Beirut

Hamra, Beirut

July 3, 2006

64a

Official

Islamic Emdad Charitable Committee, Hezbollah

Biʾr al-ʿAbid

July 4, 2006

Table A.1—continued Code

Title

Organization

Location

Date

64a

Official

Islamic Emdad Charitable Committee, Hezbollah

Biʾr al-ʿAbid

July 4, 2006

88

Representative

St. George Hospital Univ. Medical Center

Ashrafiyeh, Beirut

July 5, 2006

20

Doctor

Al-Saida Greek Orthodox Health Clinic

Ashrafiyeh, Beirut

July 7, 2006

75

Consultant

Ministry of Education, Lebanon

Sin el-Fil

July 7, 2006

95

Staff member

Greek Orthodox health Clinic

Ashrafiyeh, Beirut

July 7, 2006

7a

Official

Amal (Lebanese Association for Healthcare)

Ghobeiri

July 7, 2006

16

Professor, History

Lebanese University

Hamra, Beirut

July 8, 2006

24

Representative

Ain Wazein (Druze hospital in Chouf)

Chouf

July 10, 2006

91a

Representative

The Beirut Center

Hamra, Beirut

July 11, 2006

6b

Staff member

Health and Social Services, Hariri Foundation

Tariq al-Jadideh, Beirut

Jan. 9, 2007

6b

Staff member

Health and Social Services, Hariri Foundation

Tariq al-Jadideh, Beirut

Jan. 9, 2007

47a

Professor

Metn University

Hamra, Beirut

Jan. 11, 2007

7b

Staff member

Health Program, Amal Movement

Ghobeiri

Jan. 11, 2007

74

Consultant

Independent

Hamra, Beirut

Jan. 12, 2007

17b

Official, Education Program

Makassed Philanthropic Islamic Association

Hamra, Beirut

Jan. 12, 2007

14

Professor, Education

American University of Beirut

Hamra, Beirut

Jan. 15, 2007

21a

Journalist

Independent, formerly of Daily Star

Hamra, Beirut

Jan. 15, 2007

68c

Representative

Caritas Liban

Sin el-Fil

Jan. 15, 2007

91b

Staff member

The Beirut Center

Hamra, Beirut

Jan. 15, 2007

4

Official

Mabarrat Association

Ghobeiri

Jan. 17, 2007

112b

Representative

Rene Moawwad Foundation

Ashrafiyeh, Beirut

Jan. 17, 2007

77

Official

Erfane Association

Sidiqin, Chouf

Jan. 18, 2007

Table A.1—continued Code

Title

Organization

Location

Date

85

Official

Erfane Association

33

Staff member

Mokhtarat (research firm)

Jel el-Dib

Jan. 19, 2007

45

Official

Ministry of Health

Mathaf, Beirut

Jan. 20, 2007

31

Representative

Al-Majmouaʾa

Zarif el-Blatt, Beirut

Oct.22, 2007

Sidiqin, Chouf

Jan. 18, 2007

36

Director

Statistics Lebanon

Dekwanneh

Oct. 22, 2007

29

Staff member

St. George Catholic School

Zalka, Metn

Oct.23, 2007

83

Representative

PSP

Hamra, Beirut

Oct.25, 2007

28b

Official

Hariri Foundation

Ouzai

Oct.25, 2007

71

Official

Free Patriotic Movement

Jdeideh

Oct.26, 2007

89b

Staff member

Bridges-Josour

Jel el-Dib

Oct. 26, 2007

93

Representative

Lebanese Center for Policy Studies (LCPS)

Sin el-Fil

Oct. 29, 2007

106

Staff member

Secretariat Général des Ecôles Catholiques au Liban

Beit Mary

Oct. 29, 2007

110

Staff member

Maronite School

Antelias

Oct. 29, 2007

54

Official

Social Assistance Program, Hariri Foundation

Aicha Bakkar, Beirut

Oct. 30, 2007

72

Official

Lebanese Forces

Jounieh

Oct. 30, 2007

2

Staff member

Catholic School

Qornet Chehwane

Oct. 31, 2007

94

Staff member, Health Program

Makhzoumi Foundation

Mazraa, Beirut

Nov. 2, 2007

64b

Official

Islamic Emdad Charitable Committee, Hezbollah

Basta

Nov. 2, 2007

76c

Representative

Amel Association

Moseitbeh

Nov. 5, 2007

87

Staff member

Amel Association

Chiyah

Nov. 6, 2007

34

Official

Kataeb Party

Bikfaya

Nov. 9, 2007

92

Former official

Future Movement

Mazraa, Beirut

Nov. 9, 2007

57a

Official, Education Program

Mabarrat

Biʾr Hassan

Nov. 9, 2007

100

Representative

Lebanese Association for Democratic Elections (LADE)

Zarif, Beirut

Dec. 10, 2007

101d

Representative

YMCA/Lebanon

Sin el-Fil

Dec. 10, 2007

40

Official

Hikmat Amin Hospital, Nejdeh Shaabiyyeh

Nabatiyyeh

Dec. 11, 2007

Table A.1—continued Code

Title

Organization

Location

Date

56

Staff member

Hikmat Amin Hospital, Nejdeh Shaabiyyeh

Nabatiyyeh

Dec. 11, 2007

118

Nurse

Hikmat Amin Hospital, Nejdeh Shaabiyyeh

Nabatiyyeh

Dec. 11, 2007

119

Doctor

Hikmat Amin Hospital, Nejdeh Shaabiyyeh

Nabatiyyeh

Dec. 11, 2007

68d

Official

Caritas Liban

Sin el-Fil

Dec. 12, 2007

69d

Official, Medical Program

Caritas Liban

Sin el-Fil

Dec. 12, 2007

67

Staff member

Kharroubi Hospital

Sarafand

Dec. 13, 2007

105

Staff member, Marjayoun/ Hasbaia Branch

Amel Association

South

Dec. 15, 2007

102

Journalist

Washington Post

Marjayoun

Dec. 16, 2007

58

Official

Social Medical Dept., Lebanese Red Cross

Spears, Beirut

Dec. 17, 2007

111

Staff member

Pierre Gemayyel Social and Medical Centers, Kataeb

Mar Mikhael

Dec. 18, 2007

104

Staff member

Umam Center for Research and Documentation

Haret Hreik

Jan. 9, 2008

42b

Official

Amal Movement

Hamra, Beirut

Jan. 10, 2008

8

Staff member

Associated Press

Hamra, Beirut

Jan. 16, 2008

107

Official

Health Program, Amal Movement

Ghobeiri

Jan. 17, 2008

57b

Staff member

Education Program, Mabarrat

Biʾr Hassan

Jan. 17, 2008

7c

Staff member

Health Program, Amal Movement

Ghobeiri

Jan. 17, 2008

39

Staff member

Mabarrat Association

Ghobeiri

Jan. 18, 2008

39

Staff member

Mabarrat Association

Ghobeiri

Jan. 18, 2008

114

Professor, Environmental Studies

American University of Beirut

Hamra, Beirut

Jan. 21, 2008

62b

Official

Lebanese Forces Medical Services

Gemmayze

Jan. 21, 2008

90

Official

Shia High Council

Ghobeiri

Jan. 23, 2008

108

Official

Al-Mashariaʾ Al-Islamiyya Al-Khayriyya (Ahbash)

Mosseitbeh

Jan. 23, 2008

43

Official

Education Program, Amal Movement

Toul

Jan. 25, 2008

Table A.1—continued Code

Title

Organization

Location

Date

30

Staff member

Food Program, Hariri Foundation

Zarif, Beirut

Feb. 8, 2008

21b

Journalist

Independent, formerly of Daily Star

Hamra, Beirut

March 15, 2008

32

Staff member

Hariri III School

Tariq al-Jadideh, Beirut

June 15, 2008

121

Official

Free Patriotic Movement

Rabieh

July 1, 2008

50

Official

Nejdeh Shaabiyyeh

Mar Elias

Dec. 12, 2008

122

Analyst

International Crisis Group

Ramallah, Palestine

June 11, 2009

123

Journalist

Associated Press

Ramallah, Palestine

June 14, 2009

124

Journalist

Associated Press

Ramallah, Palestine

June 14, 2009

125

Representative

Bisan Center for Research and Development

Ramallah, Palestine

June 15, 2009

126

Representative

Norwegian Refugee Council

Ramallah, Palestine

June 15, 2009

127

Legislator

Hamas/Change and Reform Bloc, PNC

Ramallah, Palestine

June 16, 2009

128

Professor

Sociology Dept., Birzeit University

Ramallah, Palestine

June 16, 2009

129

Legislator

Hamas/Change and Reform Bloc, PNC

Ramallah, Palestine

June 16, 2009

130

Legislator

Hamas/Change and Reform Bloc, PNC

Ramallah, Palestine

June 16, 2009

131

Legislator

Hamas/Change and Reform Bloc, PNC

Ramallah, Palestine

June 16, 2009

132

Researcher

Birzeit University

Birzeit, Palestine

June 16, 2009

133

Representative

Al-Multaqa

Jerusalem, Palestine

June 17, 2009

134

Staff member, Microfinance Program

UNRWA

Jerusalem, Palestine

June 17, 2009

135

Official

UNRWA

Ramallah, Palestine

June 17, 2009

136

Representative

Near East Consulting

Ramallah, Palestine

June 17, 2009

137

Staff member

CHF/West Bank and Gaza

Al-Bireh, Palestine

June 18, 2009

138

Representative

Human Development Center

Mar Elias Camp, Beirut

June 22, 2009

Appendix

243

Table A.1—continued Code

Title

Organization

Location

Date

139

Consultant

Development Organizations

Hamra, Beirut

June 23, 2009

140

Former Representative/ UNIFIL, Professor/AUB

United Nations

Hamra, Beirut

June 23, 2009

141

Representative

Consultative Center for Studies and Documentation, Hezbollah

Biʾr Hassan, Lebanon

June 24, 2009

142

Official

Free Patriotic Movement

Raouche, Beirut

June 25, 2009

QUESTIONNAIRE FOR ELITE INTERVIEWS (PROVIDERS) (English translation) A. Background Information on the Institution 1. What is the name of your organization? 2. When was it created? 3. Who founded it? Who were the individuals who originally started it? 4. Why did the founders decide to create it? What were their goals and motivations? 5. Where did the institution get its initial funding (i.e., start-up capital)? 6. What are the organization’s current funding sources? 7. What is the governing structure of the organization? a. Who is the director? b. How is s/he appointed/elected? c. Is there a board of directors or other governing council that oversees its activities? 8. Is the organization affiliated with other organizations or political parties? B. Service Provision by the Institution 1. Health Sector Activities (if relevant) a. Services provided Can you provide the following information on your organization? i. ii. iii. iv. v.

What services do you provide in the health sector? How many clinics do you have? How many hospitals do you have? Where are these clinics located? How do you recruit staff?

244

Appendix

vi. What are requisite qualifications? vii. Who determines qualifications? b. Eligibility i. Who is eligible for your organization’s health services in clinics? ii. In hospitals? iii. How is eligibility determined? What are the eligibility criteria? iv. Who established these criteria? v. What do beneficiaries pay for the institution’s services? Are they expected to do any volunteer work in exchange for access to your services? c. Beneficiary Profiles i. What is the typical background of the beneficiaries (i.e., regional origin, age, gender, party affi liation)? d. Staff Information i. Who are the staff (i.e., physicians, nurses, administrators)? ii. What are their qualifications? iii. How are they recruited? iv. What is the background of the staff (i.e., regional origin, age, gender, party affiliation)? 2. Education Sector Activities (if relevant) a. Services provided Can you provide the following information on your organization? i. What services do you provide in the education sector? ii. How many primary schools do you have? iii. How many secondary schools do you have? How many students? iv. What is the background of these students (i.e., socioeconomic, etc.) v. How many pedagogical training centers do you have? vi. Where are these schools and training centers located? vii. Who sets the curriculum? viii. What are requisite qualifications? ix. Who determines qualifications? x. How many students are in these schools? b. Eligibility i. Who is eligible to send their children to your schools? ii. How is eligibility determined? What are the eligibility criteria? iii. Who established these criteria? iv. What do beneficiaries pay for the institution’s services? c. Beneficiary Profiles i. What is the typical background of the beneficiaries (i.e., regional origin, age, gender, confessional?)

Appendix

245

d. Staff Information i. Who are the staff (i.e., teachers, administrators)? ii. What are their qualifications? iii. How are they recruited? iv. What is the background of the staff (i.e., regional origin, age, gender, party affiliation)? 3. Food Aid and Short-Term Assistance (if relevant) a. Services provided i. Do you provide food assistance and other short-term material assistance? b. Eligibility i. Who is eligible for these services? ii. How is eligibility determined? What are the eligibility criteria? iii. Who established these criteria? iv. Are beneficiaries expected to do any volunteer work in exchange for access to your services? c. Beneficiary Profiles i. What is the typical background of the beneficiaries (i.e., regional origin, age, gender, party affi liation)? d. Staff Information i. Who are the staff (i.e., physicians, nurses, administrators)? ii. What are their qualifications? iii. How are they recruited? iv. What is the background of the staff (i.e., regional origin, age, gender, party affiliation)? C. State-Organization Relations 1. Health Sector (if relevant) i. Do you work with or collaborate with any state institutions or agencies in your health-focused activities? ii. If so, which ones? iii. Do you have any funding or any other assistance from the state? iv. What is your opinion about the activities of relevant state agencies and ministries in the health sector? What are the contributions of state agencies in the health sector? Are you satisfied with their activities? Do you think these agencies should be doing something different? 2. Education Sector (if relevant) i. Do you work with or collaborate with any state institutions or agencies in your education-focused activities? ii. If so, which ones? iii. Do you have any funding or any other assistance from the state? iv. What is your opinion about the activities of relevant state agencies and ministries in the education sector?

246

Appendix

a. What are the contributions of state agencies in the education sector? b. Are you satisfied with their activities? c. Do you think these agencies should be doing something different? D. Future of the Organization 1. IF HEALTH-RELATED: Do you have plans to expand your healthrelated activities into other geographic areas—neighborhoods, communities, towns, villages? a. If so, how do you decide where to provide services—i.e., which communities to target? b. What communities are you considering? 2. IF EDUCATION-RELATED: Do you have plans to expand your education-related activities into other geographic areas— neighborhoods, communities, towns, villages? a. If so, how do you decide where to provide services—i.e., which communities to target? b. What communities are you considering? 3. IF SOCIAL ASSISTANCE-RELATED: Do you have plans to expand your activities related to food and other short-term assistance programs into other geographic areas—neighborhoods, communities, towns, villages? a. If so, how do you decide where to provide services—i.e., which communities to target? b. What communities are you considering? 4. Do you have plans to expand into other activities? a. If so, what kinds of activities and why? E. Personal/Professional Background of Respondent 1. What is your position in this organization? 2. How long have you been in this position? 3. What kind of training did you receive by the organization before beginning this position? 4. What is your educational background? 5. What prior work experience did you have? F. Referrals 1. Are there other individuals that we might be able to speak with in this organization? 2. Are there other individuals that we might be able to speak with in your community? Thank you very much!

Appendix B List of Nonelite Interview Respondents and Questionnaire

T

o supplement the interviews with providers, I hired and trained a team of six Lebanese graduate students to conduct in-depth, semi-structured interviews with beneficiaries (n = 135). After selecting the interviewers through a competitive hiring process, I held a two-day training session on interviewing techniques with the team members, who then conducted pilot interviews and met as a group and/or individually with me on a weekly basis to discuss their results and refi ne their interviewing techniques. These fulltime interviewers each conducted fifteen to thirty interviews with coreligionist beneficiaries from the five main sects during a three-month period in winter 2007–2008. The interviews focused on the health, educational, and material assistance programs from which interviewees benefit or have sought services, the types of organizations that provide these services, and the political and religious beliefs and behaviors of interviewees. Sampling of interviewees was nonrandom to maximize the chances of fostering candid dialog and exchange during the interviews. Given the sensitive nature of the topic and increasingly tense political climate in Lebanon, selecting interviewees through referral chains and personal connections improved both access to respondents and interview quality. The interviewers purposively varied respondents according to key criteria, notably gender, age, political allegiances, and place of residence. Table B.1 lists interviews conducted with beneficiaries of social programs; names and other identifying information have been omitted to protect their identities.

Table B.1 Nonelite Respondents

Code/date

Age

TB_1_102407

24–27

TB_2_102907

36

TB_3_110207

40–45

TB_4_110607

44

TB_5_110707

27

TB_6_110807

Sex F

Sectarian identification

Place of residence

District of voter registration

Maronite

Baskinta

Metn

F

Greek Orthodox

Sid el-Baushrieh North

F

Maronite

Mtayleb

n.a.

M

Maronite

Sarba

Keserwane

M

Maronite

Ashrafieh

Jbeil

late 50s

F

Maronite

Nabaa

North

TB_7_110907

40–45

F

Armenian Orthodox

Burj Hammoud

Burj Hammoud

TB_8_110907

35–40

F

Christian

Nabaa

Qana (South)

TB_10_112507

71

M

Maronite

Faraya

n.a.

TB_11_120607

63

M

Evangelical (reg. Maronite)

Ein el-Remaneh Bekaa

TB_12_121107

47

F

Greek Orthodox

Sin el-Fil

TB_13_121207

40–45

F

Maronite

Furn el-Shebbak Jezzine

TB_14_121307

40–45

F

Greek Orthodox

Nabaa

Shouf

TB_15_121507

38

F

Greek Orthodox

Burj Hammoud

Burj Hammoud

TB_16_121607

51

F

Greek Orthodox

Sin el-Fil

Bekaa

TB_17_121807

42

F

Maronite

Nahr El-Mot

North

TB_18_122107

31

F

Maronite

Sabtiye

Bekaa

TB_20_122707

25–30

F

Maronite

Adonis

Deir al-Ahmar

TB_22_122807

37

M

Orthodox

Jbeil

Batroun

TB_23_010308

50–55

F

Orthodox

Adonis

Ain Saade

TB_24_010408

40–45

F

Maronite

Dekwaneh

Shiyah

TB_25_022808

55–60

F

Maronite

Metn

n.a.

SM_1_102107

mid-40s

F

Evangelical (reg. Latin)

Adonis, Jounieh Baabda

SM_2_110307

mid-60s

M

Greek Orthodox

Ashrafieh

Aaita Al Fakhar, West Bekaa

SM_3_103107

mid-40s

F

Maronite

Khonshara

Khonshara

SM_4_110207

mid-to-late 60s

F

Maronite

Sin el-Fil

Kfarshima

SM_5_110307

late 60s

F

Maronite

Hboub, Jbeil

Hboub, Jbeil

SM_6_110707

late 20s

M

Shi i

Airport Rd., Beirut Suburbs

South Lebanon

SM_7_111507

early to mid-40s M

Greek Orthodox

Ashrafieh

Asrafieh

Sin el-Fil

Table B.1—continued

Code/date

Age

Sex

SM_8_111607

50s–60s

M

SM_9_111607

late 40s

M

SM_10_111607

mid- to late 30s

M

SM_11_111607

Sectarian identification

District of voter registration

Jeitawi, Ashrafieh

n.a.

Evangelical

Ashrafieh

Beirut

Christian

Ashrafieh

Beirut

late 30s–early 40s M

Evangelical (orig. Ashrafieh Maronite)

Beirut

SM_12_111607

early 50s

Maronite

Ashrafieh

Assia, Batroun

SM_13_111607

mid 40s

M

Greek Orthodox

Ashrafieh

East of Sidon

SM_14_112007

60s-70s

F

Maronite

Sin el-Fil

Sin el-Fil

SM_15_113007

mid-40s

F

Greek Orthodox

Burj Abi Haidar, Zuqaq El Blat, Beirut Beirut

SM_16_120607

early 50s

M

Greek Orthodox

Jdeidet Marjeyoun

SM_17_120607

mid-30s

F

Greek Orthodox

Gʾiteweh, Beirut Jdeidet Marjeyoun

SM_18_120707

34

F

Evangelical

Mar Elias

Tyre

SM_19_120807

50

F

Maronite (orig. Greek Orthodox)

Sin el-Fil

Ashrafieh

SM_20_120907

83

F

Greek Catholic

Furn ElChebbak

Tyre

SM_21_120907

late 40s

M

Maronite

Hay Barbour

Ftouh, Kesserwane

SM_22_121907

early 50s

F

Maronite

Dbayyeh

Metn (orig. Ashrafieh)

SM_23_121907

late 70s

F

Maronite

Khonshara, Metn

Khonshara, Metn

SM_24_122007

58

F

Maronite

Kaslik

Haret Sakher, Jounieh

SM_25_122207

late 20s

F

Maronite

Tyre

n.a.

SM_25_122207

early 30s

M

Maronite

Tyre

n.a.

SM_26_122207

mid-40s

M

Maronite

Qana

Dbayeh

SM_27_122207

60

M

Maronite

Tyre

Tyre

SM_28_122207

early 70s

F

Greek Orthodox

Tyre

Tyre

SM_29_122207

45

F

Greek Orthodox (by marriage)

Jdeidet Marjeyoun

Jdeidet Marjeyoun

SM_30_122307

50

F

Maronite (orig. Greek Orthodox)

Qattine

Kesserwane (orig. Zahleh)

F

Christian

Place of residence

Jdeidet Marjeyoun

Table B.1—continued

Code/date

Age

Sex

Sectarian identification

Place of residence Mar Elias

District of voter registration

SM_31_122607

60

F

Greek Orthodox (by marriage)

Msaytbeh, Beirut

SM_32_122707

75

F

Greek Orthodox Nabaʾa (orig. Maronite)

Kfarshima

LM_1_102307

late 60s

F

Shi i

Dahiyeh

South

LM_2_110107

50s

F

Shi i

Jabal Lubnan

South

LM_3_110507

87

F

Shi i

Dahiyeh

South

LM_4_110807

70s

F

Shi i

Shiyah, Dahiyeh Zahleh

LM_5_110807

~50

F

Shi i

Al-Hara, Dahiyyeh

South

LM_6_110807

~30

F

Shi i

Dahiyeh

South

LM_7_110807

27

F

Shi i

n.a.

South

LM_8_110807

20s/50s

o

Shi i

Dahiyeh

South

LM_9_110807

late 50s

F

Shi i

Shiyah

Beirut

LM_10_110807

late 50s–60s

F

Shi i

Dahiyeh

Zoukak el-Blat

LM_11_111007

70s

M

Shi i

Nabatiyyeh

South

LM_12_111007

late 30s–early 40s F

Shi i

Dahiyeh

Jbeil

LM_13_111007

late 40s–early 50s M

Shi i

Dahiyeh

Baalbek

LM_14_111007

60s

F

Shi i

Dahiyeh

South

LM_15_111007

late 50s–60s

M

Shi i

Dahiyeh

Bekaa

LM_16_111307

50s

F

Shi i

Dahiyeh

Hermel, Bekaa

LM_17_121507

40s

F

Shi i

Sidon

Sidon

LM_18_121507

60s

F

Shi i

Sidon

Beirut

LM_19_121507

late 30s

F

Shi i

Sidon

Nabatiyeh

LM_20_121507

60s

F

Shi i

Ghaziyeh

Sidon?

LM_21_121507

late 60s

F

Shi i

Ghaziyeh

Beirut

LM_22_122707

late 50s

F

Shi i

Sidon

Sidon

LM_23_122707

late 40s

F

Shi i

Sidon (orig. Bint Sidon Jbeil)

LM_24_122707

70s

F

Shi i

Tyre

Tyre

LM_25_122707

late 50s

F

Shi i

Sidon

Dweir

LM_26_122707

late 30s

F

Shi i

Ghaziyeh

Ghaziyeh

LM_27_122707

late 60s

F

Shi i

Ghaziyeh

Ghaziyeh

LM_28_122707

70s

F

Shi i

Ghaziyeh

South

Table B.1—continued

Code/date

Age

Sex

Sectarian identification

Place of residence

District of voter registration

LM_29_022008

40s

F

Shi i

Shiyah

Bent Jbeil

LM_30_022008

mid-60s

F

Shi i

Shiyah

Ghbayreh, Alghadir

JO_1_121507

mid-40s

F

Sunni

Ne meh

Beirut, Mdawar

JO_2_122207

early 30s

F

Sunni

Ne meh

Beirut, Mdawar

JO_3_122207

mid-30s

F

Sunni

Ne meh

Beirut, Mdawar

JO_4_122207

early 30s

F

Sunni

Ne meh

Beirut, Mdawar

JO_5_122207

mid-30s

F

Sunni

Ne meh

Beirut, Mdawar

JO_6_122207

mid-30s

F

Sunni

Ne meh

Bekaa

JO_7_122207

late 40s

F

Sunni

Ne meh

Beirut, Mdawar

JO_8_011908

70

F

Sunni

Tripoli

Tripoli

LS_1_102307

40–45

M

Druze

Btater

Btater (Aley)

LS_2_102307

38–42

M

Druze

Btater

Btater (Aley)

LS_3_110507

23

M

Druze

Ramlieh

Ramlieh (Aley)

LS_4ab_110607

37

F

Druze

BaysTyre

BaysTyre

LS_5_111807

35–40

F

Druze

Simkanieh

Simkanieh

LS__6_111807

42–47

F

Druze

Simkanieh

Simkanieh

LS_7_111807

48

M

Druze

Simkanieh

Kfar Fakoud (near Simkaniyeh)

LS_8_112407

22

M

Druze

Ramlieh

Ramlieh

LS_8_112407

43

F

Druze

Ramlieh

Ramlieh

LS_9_112407

58–62

F

Druze

Ramlieh

Ramlieh

LS_10_112407

47

F

Druze

Aley

Aley

LS_11_120807

28

F

Druze

Ramlieh

Ramlieh

LS_12_120907

42–46

F

Druze

BaysTyre

BaysTyre

LS_13_122907

38–42

F

Druze

Simkanieh

Simkanieh

LS_13_122907

60–65

F

Druze

Simkanieh

Simkanieh

LS_14_123007

54

F

Druze

Ramlieh

Ramlieh

LS_14_123007

60

M

Druze

Ramlieh

Ramlieh

Table B.1—continued

Code/date

Age

Sex

Sectarian identification

Place of residence

District of voter registration

LS_15_12302007 38

M

Druze

Ramlieh

Ramlieh

LS_15_12302007 42

F

Druze

Ramlieh

Ramlieh

LS_16_123007

42

F

Druze

Ramlieh

Ramlieh

LS_16_123007

50

M

Druze

Ramlieh

Ramlieh

ZS_1_102207

late 50s–early 60s F

Sunni

Beirut

Baabda

ZS_2_1023007

40s

F

Sunni

Beirut

Beirut (3rd district)

ZS_3_110907

30s

M

Sunni

Jiyye

Beirut (2nd district)

ZS_4_111707

late 60s

F

Sunni

Beirut

Beirut (2nd district)

ZS_5_111707

late 60s

F

Sunni

Beirut

Beirut (2nd district)

ZS_6_112207

40s

F

Sunni

Beirut

Beirut (3rd district)

ZS_7_112407

late 30s–early 40s F

Sunni

Sidon

n.a.

ZS_8_112407

40s

F

Sunni

Sidon

NB: Recently received Lebanese nationality; originally Palestinian.

ZS_9_112707

mid-to-late 40s

F

Sunni

Beirut

Beirut (formerly Irsal, Bekaa)

ZS_10_120207

early 40s

F

Sunni

Damour

Mazraa (Beirut, district 1)

ZS_11_120407

30s

F

Sunni

Beirut

Mazraa (Beirut, district 1)

ZS_12_120707

70s

F

Sunni

Beirut

Mazraa (Beirut, district 1)

ZS_13_120707

late 40s–early 50s F

Sunni

Rmeileh

Chouf

ZS_14_120907

early 50s

F

Sunni

Saint Simon/ near Ouzai

Beirut (Beirut, district 1)

ZS_15_011908

60s

F

Sunni

Tripoli

Tripoli (Bab el Ramel)

ZS_16_011908

60s

F

Sunni

Tripoli

Tripoli (1st District)

Appendix

253

QUESTIONNAIRE FOR INTERVIEWS WITH LEBANESE CITIZENS I. INTERVIEW INFORMATION AND EVALUATION (TO BE FILLED OUT BEFORE AND AFTER INTERVIEW.) INFORMATION ON INTERVIEWEE: 1. Code: _________________________ 2. Name of village/town/neighborhood in city where interview was conducted: ___________________________________________________________ 3. Describe community in which interview was conducted: 1 = A big city 2 = The suburbs or outskirts of a big city 3 = A town or small city 4 = A country village 5 = A farm or home in the countryside 6 = Other ___________________________________ 4. Interview Site: _______________________________________________________ (i.e., place where interview was conducted. For example, reception room of respondent’s house.) 5. Gender of interviewee F _________ M _________ 6. Religious/confessional identification of interviewee ___________________ INFORMATION ON INTERVIEWER: 7. 8. 9. 10.

Interviewer name: ___________________________________________________ Interviewer gender: (Perceived) Religious/confessional identification of interviewee Mode of access to interviewee: (i.e., how made initial contact with interviewee and/or relationship with interviewee.) _________________________________________________________

11. 12. 13. 14.

Language used in interview: ______________________________________________________ Date of Interview: _________ Time of Interview Start: _________ Time of Finish: _________

II. OVERALL INTERVIEW QUALITY: (CHECK AS MANY AS APPLY) _______ 1. No major problems, respondent cooperative. _______ 2. Respondent at first reluctant, but satisfactory interview and all responses obtained.

254

Appendix

_______ 3. All responses obtained but respondent seemed insincere in his/ her answers. _______ 4. Respondent reluctant and several responses not obtained. _______ 5. Respondent encountered difficulty with questions due to personal physical problems or problems of recall. _______ 6. Interviewer did not cover one or more topics. _______ 7. Interview interrupted or other persons were present. If so, who was this? [CHECK ALL THAT APPLY] _______ 1 = Husband/wife/partner _______ 2 = Son/daughter (inc. step, adopted, foster, child of partner) _______ 3 = Parent/parent-in-law/step-parent/partner’s parent _______ 4 = Other relative _______ 5 = Other nonrelative _______ 6 = Don’t know 9. Were there any particular parts of the interview for which you doubted the respondent’s sincerity? 10. Note any other impressions of interview: III. GREETINGS AND INTRODUCTION OF PROJECT INCLUDING VERBAL INFORMED CONSENT Thank you very much for agreeing to share your experiences with me about your access to social services in Lebanon. This project is part of a study by a researcher affiliated with the Center for Population and Health Studies at the American University of Beirut. I am a researcher/graduate student at __________________. We want to learn more about how people in Lebanon gain access to basic healthcare, schooling on the primary and secondary levels, and short-term assistance. We would like to learn from you and others about what types of social services are available in your community. Your answers will be kept confidential. They will be put together with those of over 100 other people we are talking to in order to get an overall picture as well as with responses from a larger national study of over 2,000 families in Lebanon. It will be impossible to pick you out from what you say. Please be as candid as possible. There are no right or wrong answers. Just tell us what you think. If we should come to a topic you do not want to discuss, just let me know and we can go on to another topic. Your participation in this research is completely voluntary. You are free to refuse to participate without causing any problems to me or anyone else, including to yourself. If you do participate, we will not use your name in any reports, unless you want your name to be used. While there is no immediate benefit for participating, the results will provide a better picture of social and economic conditions in your community.

Appendix

255

We intend to share the results of the study with others so that they can better understand the challenge of social service provision in Lebanon and hopefully conditions will improve over the long term. The interview should take about one hour. If you have any questions about the research, feel free to ask them while we are here or contact me later. Do you have any questions that you would like to ask? [PAUSE] [IF SO, WRITE DOWN QUESTIONS.] Can you participate in the project? Yes _________ No _________ Can I record this interview? Keep in mind that we will not share the recording with anyone. Yes _________ No _________ IV. QUESTIONNAIRE A. ACCESS TO HEALTHCARE Let’s start by talking about health facilities in your area.

Clinics 1. What health clinics (mustawssafat) are located in this area? 2. What clinic do you go to if you or a family member gets sick or if you just need a check-up? [IT MAY BE APPROPRIATE TO INCLUDE A COMMENT TO THE EFFECT OF “GOD WILLING, YOU AND YOUR FAMILY WILL NOT BECOME SICK.”] 3. How did you learn about this clinic? 4. What are the fees? Does the clinic provide fi nancial assistance? Are there other types of financial assistance available? If so, what are they? 5. Which organization runs the clinic that you use? 6. How long have you been going to this clinic? 7. Why did you choose this clinic?

Hospitals 1. What hospitals are located in this area? 2. What hospital do you go to if you or a family member gets sick or needs medical attention? [IT MAY BE APPROPRIATE TO INCLUDE A COMMENT TO THE EFFECT OF “GOD WILLING, YOU AND YOUR FAMILY WILL NOT BECOME SICK.”]

256

Appendix

3. How did you learn about this hospital? 4. What are the fees? Does the hospital provide fi nancial assistance? Are there other types of financial assistance available? If so, what are they? 5. Which organization runs the hospital that you use? 6. How long have you been going to this hospital? 7. Why did you choose this hospital?

Pharmacies 1. What pharmacies are located in this area? 2. What pharmacy do you go to if you or a family member gets sick or needs medical attention? 3. How did you learn about this pharmacy? 4. What are the fees? Does the pharmacy provide fi nancial assistance? Are there other types of financial assistance available for medicines? 5. Which organization runs the pharmacy that you use? 6. How long have you been going to this pharmacy? 7. Why did you choose this pharmacy? B. ACCESS TO SOCIAL SERVICES: EDUCATION

Next, let’s talk about schooling in your community. 1. What kinds of schools are there in your community? Are there public schools? Private, nonsubsidized schools? Private, subsidized schools? 2. Do you have children? [IF SO, GO TO FOLLOWING QUESTIONS.] [IF NO CHILDREN, ASK:] If you had children, where would you send your children to school? Why this school? 3. Are any of your children currently in primary or secondary school or were they in school recently? [PROMPT INTERVIEWEE TO TELL MORE ABOUT HIS/HER CHILDREN—I.E., AGE, GRADE] 4. What kind of school does your child attend? Is it public or private? If private, are they subsidized or nonsubsidized? [REPEAT FOR EACH CHILD.] 5. Does the school provide financial assistance to help cover the costs of school fees and expenses? Are there other types of financial assistance available to families? 6. What is the name of the school that your child attends? 7. Are you involved in the school? Do you attend school meetings? Are you a member of the school board or any other school-related committee?

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C. ACCESS TO SHORT-TERM FINANCIAL/MATERIAL ASSISTANCE 1. Are there institutions that provide short-term loans in your community? These might be credit associations, voluntary organizations, religious organizations or political groups. 2. Are there any institutions that provide food, household supplies, building materials or other types of material assistance in your community? 3. How do you know about these institutions? Where did you hear about them? 4. Have you ever benefited from any fi nancial or material assistance from these institutions? [IT MAY BE APPROPRIATE TO INCLUDE A COMMENT TO THE EFFECT OF “GOD WILLING, YOU AND YOUR FAMILY WILL NOT FACE HARD TIMES.”] [IF YES, GO TO FOLLOWING QUESTIONS.] [IF NOT, ASK:] Where would you go if you needed short-term financial or material assistance? 5. What did you receive? 6. Which organization runs the association that helped you or that you would turn to for help? What is the name of the association? 7. Why did you turn to this organization for assistance? D. CIVIC PARTICIPATION Now let’s talk about the organizations that people join in your community. 1. Have you contacted local government officials or other types of community representatives about an issue facing your family or community? If so, whom did you contact and what did it concern? 2. Are you a member of any kinds of civic, social, religious, or political clubs or organizations? 3. How active are you in this organization? In what ways do you participate in the organization? Do you attend meetings? If so, how often? Why did you decide to join this organization? [REPEAT QUESTION FOR ALL CLUBS OR ORGANIZATIONS.] E. POLITICAL PARTICIPATION Now let’s talk about political organizations in Lebanon. 1. Are you a member of a political party? 2. How long have you been a member of this party? 3. Why did you join this party?

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4. If you are not a member of a political party, do you support a particular party? 5. How long have you been a supporter of this party? 6. Why do you support this party? 7. How active are you in this party? In what ways do you participate in the party? Do you attend meetings? If so, how often? 8. Did you vote in the 2005 National Assembly elections? 9. If so, where did you vote? In which district? 10. If you voted, how did you get to the polling station? 11. Who did you vote for (i.e., individuals, a list, or a mix)? 12. Why did you vote for this individual, list, or combination? F. RELIGIOSITY Now let’s talk about the role of religion in your life. 1. How important is religion in your life? Do you pray a lot? Do you attend religious services? 2. Are you involved in any committees or organizations in your religious community? PART V: BASIC PERSONAL AND SOCIAL INFORMATION And finally could you tell me more about your and the other members of your household. 1. How long have you lived here? Where are you registered to vote? 2. Are you originally from here? If not, where are you from originally? 3. How many people—including children—live here regularly as members of this household? 4. What is the last grade or class that you completed in school? What degree do you hold? What degrees do others in your family hold? 5. Do you work? If so, what do you do? Do the other adult members of your household work? If so, what do they do? 6. How long have you been working? How long have your family members been working? 7. How would you describe your fi nancial situation? 8. Do you: Own or rent house? Have plumbing and electricity? Save money for the future? Own other consumer goods such as TV, satellite dish, telephone, cell phone, stereo, refrigerator, car, moped? 9. What is your annual income? [OBSERVE THINGS IN THE HOME—NUMBER OF ROOMS, APPLIANCES AND OTHER CONSUMER GOODS IN THE

Appendix

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HOME SUCH AS TV, SATELLITE DISH, TELEPHONE, CELL PHONE, STEREO, REFRIGERATOR, CAR, MOPED.] VIII. END OF INTERVIEW Thank you very much for your time and effort. Your participation is really valuable for this research and will promote a better understanding of how people cope with economic pressures and how social service provision works in your community and in Lebanon overall. Please feel free to ask any questions you may have about me or this research. If you would like to contact me at a later time, here is my contact information. [PROVIDE CONTACT INFORMATION.]

Appendix C National Survey Questions

T

his appendix provides key questions from a national survey of households that I designed and implemented throughout Lebanon during March and April 2008 with the assistance of field research teams from Statistics Lebanon, a Lebanese research firm. I composed the survey questionnaire in English and hired a bilingual professional translator who is a native speaker of Arabic to develop an Arabic-language version for implementation in the field. To check the validity of the translation, I hired a bilingual professional translator who is a native speaker of English to carry out a back-translation of the survey. In addition, I personally reviewed both the Arabic translation and English back-translation versions of the survey. Input from technical staff at Statistics Lebanon and Lebanese scholars who have fielded surveys in their country was also valuable in designing the questions, and pilot tests in different regions of Lebanon enabled me to refine and discard questions. Before executing the pilot tests, I ran a training session with the heads of the regional field-research teams from Statistics Lebanon to review question wording and enumeration procedures. Next are the English translations of the survey questions used to construct the individual-level variables discussed in chapter 5.

SELECTED SURVEY QUESTIONS FOOD: 301.1. In Lebanon, many different types of institutions provide gifts such as household supplies and baskets of food [husus ghithaiyya]. These might be voluntary organizations, religious organizations, or political parties. In the past three years, have you received any gifts or material assistance from such organizations?

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1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK] FOOD AID BY POLITICAL ORGANIZATION: 301.5. Is the organization that provided you with these materials affi liated with a political party or movement? 1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK] 301.6. With which political party or organization is the facility affiliated? [Open-ended] HEALTH (MEDICAL AID): (Questions repeated for clinic facility attended most frequently and additional facility that respondent attended less frequently.) 103.6. Some health clinics or medical offices offer financial assistance for their services. This might be in the form of a payment waiver, reduced prices or reimbursement for all or part of the cost. Did you receive any fi nancial assistance from the institution you visited for these medical services? 1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK] 103.7. Some governmental and nongovernmental organizations provide fi nancial assistance to help people pay for the costs of visits to the doctor. Did you receive any fi nancial assistance from another organization to help pay for the cost of these medical services? 1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK] HEALTH CARE BY NGO: (Questions repeated for clinic facility attended most frequently and additional facility that respondent attended less frequently.) 103.3. To which of the following kinds of institutions did you go most frequently? 1 = Government-run clinic 2 = Private facility run [mustawsif ] by a nongovernmental organization [muaʾsassat gheer hukumiyya] 3 = Private doctor’s office [1ayada]

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4 = Other [Open-ended] 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK] 104.1. Do you or any of your family members go to any other privately run facility? 1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK] [IF YES, GO TO QUESTION 104.2. IF NO, GO TO PART B/ QUESTION 201.1.] HEALTH CARE BY PROVIDER LINKED TO POLITICAL PARTY: (Questions repeated for clinic facility attended most frequently and additional facility that respondent attended less frequently.) 104.10. Does the facility or organization that provided these services have any affiliations with political parties or organizations? 1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK] [IF YES, GO TO QUESTION 104.11. IF NO, GO TO PART B/ QUESTION 201.1.] 104.11. With which political parties or organizations is the facility affiliated? [Open-ended] EDUCATION (SCHOOLING AID): 204.7. Some schools provide tuition fee waivers, reduced fees or reimbursement for all or part of school fees. Did anyone in your household receive any of these types of fi nancial assistance from the school? 1 = Yes 2 = No SCHOOLING BY PROVIDER LINKED TO POLITICAL PARTY: (Questions repeated for each child under age 25.) Is the organization that runs the school affi liated with a political party or movement? 1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK] [IF YES, GO TO QUESTION 104.11. IF NO, GO TO PART B/ QUESTION 201.1.]

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104.11. With which political party or organization? [Open-ended] AGE: What is your age bracket? 1 = 18–25 2 = 30–35 3 = 35–40 4 = 41–50 5 = 51–60 6 = 61–70 7 = 71–80 8 = 80 and above INCOME: Which income range best reflects your household’s total monthly income? Please include the income of all household members and any income which may be received by the household as a whole, including remittances from abroad. 1 = Less than $500 2 = $501 to $1,000 3 = $1,001 to $2,000 4 = $2,001 to $3,000 5 = Greater than $3,001 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK] OWN: 604.

Do you own or rent your place of residence? 1 = Own 2 = Rent 3 = Confiscated 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK]

610.

Do you or anyone in your place of residence own a . . .?

ITEM

1 = YES 2 = NO 98 = DON’T KNOW [DON’T ASK] 610.1. Television 610.2. Satellite dish 610.3. Telephone (residential fi xed line) 610.4. Cell phone 610.5. Stereo 610.6. Refrigerator 610.7. Car 610.8. Moped

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NEED: For each of the following, please tell me whether or not it is something that has happened to you or your immediate family during the past year. Have you . . . 605.

Had problems paying your rent or mortgage? 1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK]

606.

Lost your job or been laid off? 1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK]

607.

Put off medical treatment because you didn’t have the money? 1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK]

608.

Had to borrow money? 1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK]

609.

Sell things that you own? 1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK]

RELIGIOUS COMMITMENT: Other than attending for religious obligations, have you attended meetings, served on a committee, or volunteered in your religious community or place of worship in the past six months? 1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK] 502.2. How often do you attend meetings or volunteer at your place of worship? 1 = More than once per week 2 = Once per week 3 = Many times per week 4 = Once per month 5 = Many times per year 6 = Once per year 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK]

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PIETY: Do you consider religion to be an important part of your life? 1 = Not important at all 2 = Unimportant 3 = Neither important nor unimportant 4 = Important 5 = Very important 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK] POLITICAL ACTIVITY INDEX: 401.1. Some people volunteer or work for their preferred political party or groups associated with it, perhaps by helping out around elections, serving on committees, planning events or staffi ng events. Have you volunteered for or worked for a group affiliated with a political party? 1 = Yes 2 = No [IF YES, GO TO QUESTION 401.3. IF NO, GO TO QUESTION 401.4.] 401.3. On average in the past twelve months, how often did you attend meetings of this group? 1 = More than once per week 2 = Once per week 3 = Several times per month 4 = Once per month 5 = Several times per year 6 = Once per year or less 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK] 401.4. Did you or a member of your family volunteer or work for a political party in the 2005 National Assembly elections? 1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK] 402.1. Did you vote in the 2005 National Assembly elections? 1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK] [IF YES, GO TO 402.2. IF NO, GO TO 403.1] 402.2. Did you vote for a complete list of candidates? 1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK]

266

Appendix

404.1. Are you a member of a political party? 1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK] 404.3. Do you support a political party? 1 = Yes 2 = No 98 = Don’t Know [DON’T ASK] SECT 501.1. Lebanon has about 18 officially recognized confessional groups. With which of the following groups do you identify most closely? [Open-ended] PARTY SUPPORT: 404.4. Which party do you support? [Open-ended] POST-INTERVIEW QUESTIONS FOR SURVEY ENUMERATORS ONLY: 801.

Did the respondent’s home or attire include any political symbols or messages? 1 = Yes 2 = No [IF YES, GO TO QUESTION 801.a; IF NO, GO TO QUESTION 802.]

801a. Which political party was represented in these symbols or messages? 802.

Did the respondent’s home or attire include any religious symbols or messages? 1 = Yes 2 = No [IF YES, GO TO QUESTION 802a.]

802a. To which religious sect or community did these symbols or messages refer? 1 = Christian 2 = Muslim 3 = Druze 4 = Other ____________________

Notes

Introduction 1. Author interview: official, Lebanese Forces, Jounieh, October 30, 2007. 2. Although I do not assume fixed categories or identities, I employ language such as sectarian organizations or parties to refer to groups that either express linkages to or are associated with particular religious communities. In chapter 1, I elaborate on my understanding of sectarianism and sectarian groups. 3. Interview by Zina Sawaf: Sunni woman, Beirut, December 7, 2007. 4. Interviews by Lamia Moghnie: Shiʿi woman, Shiyah, November 1, 2007; Shiʿi woman, Shiyah, November 8, 2007; Shiʿi woman, Sidon, December 15, 2007. 5. Author interviews: official, United Nations Development Programme-Lebanon, Beirut, April 13, 2006; director, Lebanese NGO, Jel el-Dib, June 7, 2006; Ministry of Public Health official, Beirut, June 13, 2006; director, Lebanese Center for Policy Studies, Beirut, October 29, 2007; official, Lebanese Red Cross, Beirut, December 17, 2007; Lebanese journalist, Beirut, January 16, 2008. 6. Indicators of state weakness and failure arguably encompass a broader array of factors than the monopoly over the legitimate use of violence within a given territory (Weber 1946 [1919]), including the ability of the state to provide basic public services such as sanitation, clean water, national transportation systems, and even programs to assure the basic welfare needs of its population (Fund for Peace 2011; Rice and Stewart 2008; Soifer 2012). 7. In Latin America and East Asia, state-run welfare regimes are more articulated than in Africa, other parts of Asia, and the Middle East, offering less scope for parties, movements, and other nonstate actors to use service provision as a political tool (Haggard and Kaufman 2008). Of course, as studies of patronage and clientelism in Latin America show (Calvo and Murillo 2004; Diaz-Cayeros, Magaloni, and Estevez in press; Stokes 2005; Weitz-Shapiro 2006), parties may use discretionary access to state programs as a form of patronage, but they do not generally operate major welfare networks independently from the state.

1. Welfare and Sectarianism in Plural Societies 1. In the U.S. context, Waters (1990) points to the high degree of fluidity in identity available to whites as opposed to minority populations, and especially those with fewer socioeconomic opportunities. 2. For Varshney (2007b, 288), constructivist approaches to identity, which hold that socioeconomic and political processes shape identity, imply long-term processes.

268

Notes to Pages 10–24

3. Author interviews: director, Hikmat Amin Hospital, Nabatiyya, December 11, 2007; staff member, Hikmat Amin Hospital, Nabatiyya, December 11, 2007; board member, Al-Nejda Al-Shaʾabiyya, Beirut, December 12, 2007. Betty Anderson, personal communication, Department of History, Boston University, January 17, 2009. 4. Based on five separate polls conducted by Statistics Lebanon from August 2007 through June 2008, an average of 36.2 percent of Sunnis reported that Saad Hariri, the head of the Future Movement, is their preferred political leader. (An average of 30.5 percent reported that they preferred no political leader, revealing the high levels of political disaffection.) By contrast, only 0.44 percent of Shiʿa and less than 10 percent of the full sample, which included Lebanese from all sects, declared their support for Hariri. 5. Public goods are nonexcludable (i.e., those who have not paid for them are able to use them) and nonrivalrous (i.e., one user’s consumption does not impede another’s use of the good, at least not until consumption reaches a point of saturation). 6. Outbreaks of cholera, endemic in parts of the Global South and often occurring in the wake of destructive conflict, attest to the salience of sanitation and water to public health and overall social welfare. 7. I use the term nonstate provider to refer to any international or domestic organization that provides social services in a given national context outside the agencies or programs run by the government of that country. Nonstate providers encompass multiple categories of international and domestic actors, and the lines between state and nonstate, or public and private, are often far blurrier than these analytical categories suggest, particularly because nonstate providers may help to implement or may benefit from state-run social programs. 8. Nonetheless, the UN Declaration of Human Rights (1948) establishes social security, health, a minimum standard of living, and education as universal rights. 9. In the United States, nonprofits play a key role in the delivery of services (Allard 2009; Salamon 1995). But state and federal regulatory capacity in the United States is far more articulated than in many developing countries. 10. For example, in some post-communist societies, doctors increasingly demand fees for health care even though it is officially offered as a universal, free service (Cain et al. 2002; Cook 2007). 11. In Lebanon and many other societies in Asia, Africa, and the Middle East, it is more accurate to conceptualize politics at the household rather than the individual level. Political parties often treat families as a bloc, soliciting votes or other forms of political support from an entire household or extended family and allocating benefits accordingly. 12. Author interviews: representative, social assistance program, Hariri Foundation, Beirut, October 30, 2007; former official, Future Movement, Beirut, November 9, 2007. 13. In this system, seats are reserved for members of different sects depending on the sectarian endowment of registered voters in a given district, but voters from all sects vote for all candidates, irrespective of sect. Chapter 2 describes the Lebanese electoral system in more detail. 14. On this point, see also Corstange (2008, ch. 4). 15. Author interview: official, Consultative Center for Studies and Documentation, Hezbollah, Biʾr al-ʿAbid, June 24, 2009. 16. Author interviews: director, Al-Qard Al-Hassan, Hezbollah credit agency, Haret Hreik, June 19, 2004; director, Educational Programs, Amal Movement, Toul, January 25, 2008. 17. Of course, even under these conditions, they cannot overlook existing supporters. Beyond the distribution of government seats, elections signal the grassroots appeal of parties, a source of leverage in and of itself. Thus, parties are likely to value the reliability of existing supporters. 18. Sectarian parties that represent enclave communities, or small minority groups preoccupied with maintaining the coherence and viability of the community, are an exception. Even these parties, however, seek national power, perhaps by acting as a swing voting bloc or king-making coalition partner. 19. I am grateful to Pauline Jones Luong for emphasizing the potential signaling effects of party rhetoric. See Schwedler (2011), a review article on Islamist “moderation,” for more on the power of public pronouncements as markers of ideological shifts. 20. Mainwaring argues that, in the context of regimes with fragile electoral systems, “parties play two games: an electoral game in which their objective is to win votes or seats, and a regime game in which their objective is to influence the outcome of conflicts over political regimes” (2003, 5).

Notes to Pages 27–41

269

21. Hezbollah support for the Assad regime during the Syrian civil war may have tempered support for the party, but this has not produced a surge in popularity for the Amal Movement, which also remains ostensibly pro-Assad (Meo, Sherlock, and Malouf 2012). 22. The socialization effect of schooling also suggests that providers are most likely to attract core supporters with educational programs. 23. Because I am dealing with the distribution of welfare by political parties in a national context, I focus here on domestic nonstate providers, which are more likely to be engaged in local politics than international providers. Of course, international aid and development organizations can also engage with local politics (Easterly 2008; Jennings 2007), but their involvement is less direct. 24. Religious charities might favor the pious or, if they emphasize religious principles of social justice, might cater to the poor. Nonsectarian parties grounded in leftist or nationalist ideologies might give preference to the poor or those who articulate support for their visions for society. Nonaffiliated humanitarian NGOs theoretically base their service provision on socioeconomic need without consideration for ideological or religious factors. In practice, however, considerable variation in welfare allocation exists within each category; different religious charities or political parties may place more or less emphasis on rewarding those who share their religious or ideological orientations, whereas NGOs may not behave so nobly, especially if they are little more than vehicles for the clientelist practices of local power brokers (Jamal 2007). 25. Since 2005, when Rafiq al-Hariri, the founder of the Future Movement, was assassinated, and especially since 2008, when it participated in violent street clashes with Hezbollah and its supporters, the party exhibited a brief expansion of its repertoire toward extra-state mobilization. In addition, local Sunni leaders have increasingly questioned the leadership capabilities of Saad Hariri, Rafiq al-Hariri’s son and successor (Mohsen 2012; Wood 2012).

2. Political Sectarianism and the Residual Welfare Regime in Lebanon 1. In January 2013, the marriage of a Sunni woman and Shiʿi man challenged the control of religious authorities over marriage and opened up a public debate over the issue in Lebanon (Akl 2013). 2. Comparisons with regional neighbors, however, suggest that the nature of the Ottoman and pre-Ottoman welfare regimes does not explain the residualist system of social protection in post-independence Lebanon. For example, Syria, Egypt, and even Jordan have more robust public welfare regimes, yet in all these places religious institutions and communal associations were also the most prominent providers of social welfare during the Ottoman period. 3. In the late nineteenth century, private, for-profit schools were also established in Beirut and Mount Lebanon. By 1920, there were in total about seventeen private schools in the region (Labaki 1988, 51–52). 4. The French were tied to the Maronites, whereas other Catholic communities emphasized French interests and language through the educational system. The British, who were linked to the Druze, and the Americans, who promoted Protestant schools, generally endorsed Arabiclanguage instruction, which accorded with the growing Arab nationalist sentiment in the twentieth century among large segments of population. Nonetheless, by the end of the Mandate period, educational disparities persisted between the Christian and Muslim communities. In 1941, over 71 percent of Christians but only about 27 percent of Muslims had received a basic education (Labaki 1988, 87). Cemented as a result of the 1961 Reglement Organique, which established Lebanon as a semi-autonomous province of the Ottoman Empire, external religious sponsorship of distinct communal schooling systems had the effect of dividing knowledge communities within the region and implicated foreign powers in struggles over national identity (Abouchedid and Nasser 2000, 59; Frayha 2004, 170–71; Wehbe and El-Amine 1980, 14–19). For an excellent overview of the educational system in Lebanon during the Mandate and early post-independence periods, see Sbaiti (2008, ch. 1). 5. The two major Shiʿa organizations were not established until the French Mandate period. The Association de Bienfaisance Amélite, an organization in Jabal ʿAmel funded by wealthy Shiʿa émigrés in Africa, was founded in 1923, and the Collége Jaafarite in Tyre was created in 1938. 6. Founded by the prominent Shiʿi cleric, Sayyed Muhammad Hussein Fadlallah, who died in 2010, Mabarrat is a religious charitable organization with a vast network of schools, hospitals, clinics, and other institutions.

270

Notes to Pages 41–51

7. Changes in the numbers of general social institutions also convey relative shifts in communal organizational endowments. Muslim organizations, and especially those linked to the Shiʿi community, began to organize more extensively in this field in the 1970s. The number of social service associations grew for all sects between 1965 and 1978, although not all increased at the same rate and some even lost share as a percentage of all associations. With a rise of more than 200 percent, the small Greek Catholic community experienced by far the largest percentage increase in the number of social service associations, followed by the Shiʿi and Armenian communities (each expanded by 43 percent), the Sunni community (20 percent), and Maronite community (19 percent). On a relative basis, the Greek Orthodox Church, which had by far the largest number of associations in 1965, lost share in the field of service associations between 1965 and 1978, as did other Christian communities and the small Druze community. Thus, in the late 1960s and 1970s, although Christians retained a strong presence in the social sector, Muslim associations became increasingly important providers of services (Labaki 1988, 92). 8. In addition, at this time, about 80–90 percent of Muslim students attended public schools, whereas the majority of Christian students attended private schools, including those run by the Christian churches, and constituted 88 percent of the student body in private foreign schools in Lebanon (El-Khazen 2000, 63). 9. Shortly after taking office, Shihab commissioned a study of national income and resource distribution by a French consulting firm, Institut de Recherche et de Formation en vue de Développement (IRFED). Released in 1961, the IRFED report became the basis for his ambitious plans to extend public infrastructure throughout the country, with emphasis on more underdeveloped areas (Dagher 1995, 53). 10. “L’oeuvre de développement qui s’accomplit dans des domains économiques et sociaux vise non seulement à élever le niveau de vie de chacun, mais à fonder tous les Libanais dans le creuset d’une seule société dont l’unité nationale doit être basé, non pas tant sur la coexistence ou l’association des différentes parties de la population, que sur la conviction de faire partie intégralement d’un seul people et d’être totalement fidèle à une seule patrie” (Shihab, cited in Dagher 1995). 11. The total national budget increased by 246 percent between 1957 and 1964 (Hudson 1968). 12. Informal-sector employees and agricultural workers were not included in the scheme (Nauphal 2004). 13. Government hospitals played an integral role during the civil war, but the conflict contributed to the decline of the public hospital sector. Prior to the war, public hospitals, such as the Baabda, Qarantina, Zahle, and Sidon hospitals, had over 150 beds each; by 1990, each of these hospitals had about 20 beds and offered poor-quality services (Kasparian and Ammar 2001). Thus, between 1975 and 1991, the share of public hospital beds dropped from 26 to 10 percent of the total (Mehio-Sibai and Sen 2006). In the same period, more than 50 percent of private-hospitalbed capacity was established and was concentrated in high-cost curative care. 14. In summer 1982, Israel extended its occupation north to Beirut, which was held under siege for several months. 15. Author interview: official, Lebanese Forces, Jel el-Dib, April 27, 2006. 16. Author interview: director of public relations, Islamic Emdad/Hezbollah, Biʾr al-ʿAbid, July 4, 2006. 17. Author interviews: professor, Department of Political Science, American University of Beirut, June 23, 2004; development consultant, Beirut, July 7, 2006; official, Makhzoumi Foundation, Beirut, November 2, 2007; executive director, Lebanese Association for Democratic Elections (LADE), Beirut, December 10, 2007; president, Islamic Charitable Projects, Beirut, January 23, 2008. The Future Movement, the political organization associated with the al-Hariri family, was not formally established until 2007, but al-Hariri had established his political machine as early as the 1990s. 18. Author interview: former official, Hariri Foundation, Beirut, November 9, 2007. 19. Author interview: official, Ministry of Public Health, Beirut, June 13, 2006. 20. Author interviews: official, Ministry of Education, Ghobeiri, June 14, 2004; administrator, Hariri School, Beirut, June 15, 2006; administrator, Greek Orthodox School, Ashrafieh, June 23, 2006; director, Lebanese Association for Educational Studies, Beirut, June 27, 2006. 21. Author interviews: official, Ministry of Education, Ghobeiri, June 14, 2004; director, research institute, Haret Hreik, January 9, 2008.

Notes to Pages 51–61

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22. As I elaborate in the conclusion, the lack of oversight also introduces inefficiencies and may introduce or exacerbate communal tensions. 23. Author interviews: official, Ministry of Education, Ghobeiri, June 14, 2004; professor, Department of Education, American University of Beirut, June 3, 2006; director, NGO, Clemenceau, June 27, 2006; professor, Department of Education, American University of Beirut, January 15, 2007. 24. These data reflect the number of hospitals that were legally established prior to the July 2006 war between Lebanon and Israel, which destroyed a number of hospitals in predominantly Shiʿa areas of the country. In addition, even prior to the war, not all these hospitals were fully operational. 25. Author interviews: CEO, YMCA Lebanon, Sin el-Fil, April 13, 2006; official, Ministry of Public Health, Beirut, June 13, 2006. 26. Ibid. 27. Until 1992, the Ministry of Public Health covered 100 percent of hospitalization fees (Ammar 2003). 28. Author interviews: director, Imam Musa al-Sadr Foundation, Tyre, June 26, 2006; director, Ain Wazein Hospital, Ain Wazein, Chouf, July 10, 2006. 29. Author interviews: official, St. George Hospital University Medical Center, Ashrafieh, July 5, 2006; official, Lebanese Association for Health Care, Amal Movement, Ghobeiri, January 11, 2007. 30. Beneficiaries include the individual as well as his or her spouse and children up to the age of 25 and permanently for disabled dependent children. NSSF premiums on health benefits amount to 15 percent of salary, of which 12 percent is covered by the employer and 3 percent is covered by the employee. Benefits cease at retirement—precisely when the employee is likely to require increased medical care. 31. Author interview: official, Ministry of Social Affairs, Beirut, June 9, 2004; official, Ministry Public of Health, Beirut, June 13, 2006.

3. Political Strategies and In-Group Competition among Sectarian Parties 1. Until the 1970s, the Lebanese state was relatively absent for the Shiʿi community (El-Khazen 2000, 41–42). Under Ottoman rule, the Shiʿa were not recognized as a communal group separate from Sunni Islam. For this reason, Shiʿa leaders were particularly amenable to the creation of the independent state of Lebanon, in which the community gained official status as a distinct community. In the new power-sharing system, however, the Shiʿa did not receive the position of speaker of the parliament until 1947, more than two decades after the creation of the Lebanese state under the French Mandate. At the time, Greek Orthodox and Greek Catholic leaders, who wanted the position for their own communities, objected to the allocation of the speaker of the parliament to the Shiʿa. 2. In reality, the Lebanese civil war was a series of wars that lasted until about 1990. Although the conflict is often described in sectarian terms, only the early period, from 1975 to 1976, had an overtly sectarian tinge in which ostensibly Christian and Muslim forces battled each other and ethnic cleansing resulted in the delineation of a predominantly “Christian” East Beirut and “Muslim” West Beirut. Even for this period, however, a sectarian interpretation is problematic because the “Muslim” side, known as the Lebanese National Movement, encompassed a diverse array of communists, Palestinian groups, Arab nationalists, and other elements. Furthermore, during the mid- to late 1980s, much of the fighting occurred among warring Christian factions. For a detailed account of the various phases of the war, see Fisk (2002). 3. The historiography of the Lebanese civil war is rich and multifaceted (see, inter alia, Deeb 1980; El-Khazen 2000; Hanf 1993; Khalidi 1979; Salibi 1976; Picard 2002; Traboulsi 2007). Within this literature, debates center on the relative importance of external factors, specifically the accommodation of Palestinian refugees and the operations of Palestinian guerillas from Lebanese territory, as opposed to the effects of the rigid Lebanese consociational system, in driving the outbreak of civil war. Ultimately, a full account of the causes of the war requires attention to the interactions between internal and external factors (Salam 2003). 4. As Salloukh (2006) argues, however, preelectoral bargains based on political expediency rather than ideological compatibility often undercut the alleged integrative effects of the system.

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Notes to Pages 62–69

Furthermore, the underdevelopment of political parties and the prevalence of clientelist linkages between elected officials and constituents also limit the capacity of formal institutions to promote intergroup harmony (El-Khazen 2003a). 5. Lebanon currently has twenty-six administrative districts, including the city of Beirut (see chapter 4). 6. In three cases, the qaza does not correspond to the electoral district: in the MarjayounHasbaya district, two qazas are merged into one electoral district; in Saida-Zahrani, one qaza is split into two electoral districts; and in Beirut, which is not technically a qaza, the twelve administrative precincts of the city are divided into three separate electoral districts. 7. As a PSP cadre attested, party workers are acutely aware of the movements of potential voters on election day. A party representative at a polling station might call a community-based party representative to say that “Fulan” has not yet voted. The outside party worker will then verify Fulan’s whereabouts and contact the representative in the polling station to say that “Fulan is having dinner right now but will come to vote with his family after dinner” (author interview: PSP member, Hamra, Beirut, October 25, 2007). 8. For example, parties often vary the order of candidate names on ballots distributed to different families (author interview: representative, Lebanese Association for Democratic Elections, Beirut, December 10, 2007). 9. Author interviews: member, PSP, Beirut, October 24, 2007; director, Lebanese Center for Policy Studies, October 29, 2007; representative, Lebanese Association of Democratic Elections, Beirut, December 10, 2007. 10. Author interviews: member, PSP, Beirut, October 24, 2007; Sunni woman, Hamra, Beirut, November 22, 2007; Sunni women, Sidon, November 24, 2007; Sunni women, Verdun, Beirut, December 2, 2007; Sunni woman, Tariq el Jedideh, December 4, 2007. 11. For nuanced discussions of this point, see Cammett and Malesky (2012); Hartzell, Hoddie, and Rothchild (2001). 12. In the past several years, the fortunes of the Future Movement have declined, but this occurred after the period covered in this book. 13. My discussion of al-Hariri’s personal background and growing involvement in Lebanese politics relies mainly on Blanford (2006, ch. 2); Iskandar (2006, 44–62). 14. For detailed analysis of the internal politics of the Maqasid and of the Sunni community through the 1970s, see Johnson (1978). 15. Author interview: official, Maqasid, Beirut, June 17, 2006. 16. For example, see the Future Movement party platform for the 2000 elections (Future Movement 2000). 17. Author interviews: professor, Department of Political Science, American University of Beirut, June 23, 2004; development consultant, Beirut, July 7, 2006; official, Makhzoumi Foundation, Beirut, November 2, 2007; representative, Lebanese Association for Democratic Elections (LADE), Beirut, December 10, 2007; official, Islamic Charitable Projects (Ahbash), Beirut, January 23, 2008. 18. Al-Hariri’s legacy is mixed. On the one hand, he was one of the few political leaders who did not have blood on his hands at the end of the civil war, and the outpouring of protests after his assassination suggests that large segments of the population viewed him in a positive light. On the other hand, during his tenure, he was accused of profiteering from the post-war reconstruction and of permitting, if not benefiting from, growing corruption in the Lebanese political economy. Wakim (2006 [1998]) provides the most scathing published critique of al-Hariri and his real estate investment firm, Solidère, but other studies point to the immense profits he garnered, generally at the expense of existing real estate owners, from the redevelopment of downtown Beirut (Denoeux and Springborg 1998; Makdisi 1997; Sawalha 2010; Schmid 2002). 19. In 1998, the Lebanese parliament unanimously elected Emile Lahoud as president in response to strong pressure from Syria. Although parliament is responsible for electing a prime minister, Lahoud made the appointment when several parliamentarians declined to vote (Blanford 2006, 70). 20. The March 14th Alliance is named after the date of the Cedar Revolution, when a series of demonstrations were held to protest the assassination of Rafiq al-Hariri one month earlier. The alliance is led by the Future Movement and encompasses the Christian Lebanese Forces

Notes to Pages 69–77

273

and Kataeb, the Druze PSP, and other parties and political factions that generally oppose Syrian intervention in Lebanese affairs. The name of the opposing alliance dates back to March 8, 2005, when a series of demonstrations were held in response to the Cedar Revolution, in part to recognize Syria for its role in halting the civil war in Lebanon. The alliance includes Hezbollah, the Amal Movement, Suleiman Frangieh’s Marada Party, the Syrian Socialist Nationalist Party and, after February 2006, the Christian Free Patriotic Movement (FPM). Until January 25, 2011, the March 14th alliance controlled the majority bloc in parliament. 21. See the report on the STL by the International Crisis Group (ICG 2010). 22. For an analysis of the Open Letter, see Alagha (2011, 20–22). 23. Author interview: Yacoub Kassir, media and public relations official, Islamic Emdad, Hezbollah, Biʾr al-ʿAbid, July 4, 2006. 24. Until May 2008, when Hezbollah was involved in street clashes with supporters of the Future Movement and other members of the March 14th Alliance, the party largely held to this position. 25. Author interviews: director, Hikmat Amin Hospital, and member, al-Nejda al-Shaabiyya, Nabatiyya, December 11, 2007; representative, al-Nejda al-Shaabiyya, Nabatiyya, December 11, 2007; official, Kharroubi Hospital, Sarafand, December 13, 2007. 26. Amal and Hezbollah are not the only Shiʿa organizations with influence over the community. Religious authorities and institutions such as the late Sayyid Mohammed Hussein Fadlallah, the Imam Musa al-Sadr Foundation, and the Supreme Islamic Shiʿi Council also play important roles in guiding the choices and meeting the needs of Lebanese Shiʿa (Harb 2010, 25–26, 43–52). 27. For a detailed assessment of the Hezbollah electoral performance at the national and municipal levels, see Hamzeh (2004, 112–35). For a focused analysis of the 1998 municipal elections, see Hamzeh (2004, ch. 7). 28. For example, a Shiʿi respondent exclaimed, “We vote for the Party. Now, al-hamdu li-llah, we are all friends and allies. I was so happy when [Amal and Hezbollah] reached an agreement between themselves” (interview by Lamia Moghnieh: Shiʿi woman, Sanayeh, November 5, 2007). 29. On this point, see also Alagha (2006); Harb (2010); Harik (2004). This claim is not synonymous with the argument that inclusion in the political arena necessarily leads to moderation by Islamist organizations. Although electoral competition increases incentives to temper extremist positions in many systems, the decision to take part in elections and hold government offices may reflect a prior ideological shift within an organization (Browers 2009; Schwedler 2006). 30. This background on the rise of the Amal Movement draws on Norton (1987, 15, 39–51). See also Gharbieh (2010, chs. 5–8). 31. Throughout the early to mid-1970s, al-Sadr competed for control over the body with Kamal al-Asʾad, the head of a major Shiʿa zaʾim family (Norton 1987, 45). 32. The name Amal is based on the acronym for Afwaj al-Muqawama al-Lubnaniyya (Lebanese Resistance Detachments); amal also means “hope” in Arabic. Gharbieh (2010, 120–21) emphasizes that the Amal militia was not the military arm of the Movement of the Dispossessed but, rather, a separate organization also founded by al-Sadr. For more detail on the distinct objectives and motivations for the establishment of the Supreme Islamic Shiʿi Council, the Movement of the Dispossessed, and the Amal Movement, see Gharbieh (2010, 121–44). 33. For more on the War of the Camps, see the 1986 report published in the Journal of Palestine Studies (1986). 34. Author interviews: official, Amal Movement, Ghobeiri, July 7, 2006, January 11, 2007, and January 17, 2008. 35. Author interview: official, Ministry of Public Health, Beirut, June 22, 2004. 36. The Kataeb was also known as the Lebanese Phalanges or Phalange. 37. The relationship of the party with the French authorities was initially ambivalent. Despite an initial alliance with the Mandate, the French authorities dissolved the party in 1942 after its repeated calls for Lebanese independence. When the French withdrew from Lebanon, the Kataeb restored its ties with France and has maintained a close relationship ever since (Collelo 1987). 38. The 1958 crisis largely revolved around disputes among Lebanese factions concerning the position of Lebanon vis-à-vis the Suez crisis in Egypt. Lebanese-Egyptian tensions had spiked after Camille Chamoun, the Lebanese president, did not break ties with the Western powers that had invaded Egypt during the 1956 Suez Canal War. This conflict sparked tensions within

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Lebanon between predominantly Muslim Arab nationalist forces, which pushed for Lebanon to join the United Arab Republic, and other, largely Christian factions that wanted Lebanon to retain its pro-West orientation. For more on the 1958 crisis, see Kerr (1967); Meo (1965). 39. Membership in the party grew exponentially from its establishment through the late 1960s, rising from about 300 to almost 40,000 members. By the start of the civil war, it may have had about 65,000 members, including a 10,000-man militia force (Collelo 1987). 40. Not all Christian forces welcomed the creation of the LF. Some militias in the North resisted the expansion of the LF, and the effort to unify the disparate militias under a single command structure entailed bloody battles among competing factions (Snider 1984, 6–9). 41. Author interview: Sami Gemayel, Bikfaya, November 9, 2007. 42. Author interview: former LF official and party activist, Jel el-Dib, April 27, 2006. 43. Author interview: Sami Gemayel, Bikfaya, November 9, 2007. 44. Author observations at a rally for the Laʾihat al-ʿInqath al-Metniyya, Habtour Hotel, Sin el-Fil, June 1, 2009. 45. For example, I conducted an interview with an LF official who oversees the electoral campaign strategy for the party in an office that had been reclaimed after a lawsuit returned it to the party. At the time of the interview in October 2007, the office, which is located in the Christian area of Jounieh, was still undergoing renovations and its furniture, basic office equipment, and computers had not yet been unpacked. 46. Author interview: LF official, Jounieh, October 30, 2007. 47. Author interviews: LF official, Jounieh, October 30, 2007; LF official, Ashrafieh, January 21, 2008. 48. For the full text of the agreement, see http://yalibnan.com/site/archives/2006/02/full_ english_te.php. 49. Author interviews: officials, FPM, Jdeideh, October 26, 2007. 50. Muhanna (2009) claims that this interpretation is plausible. Aoun had reached an agreement with the Syrian regime in April 2005 facilitating his return to Lebanon on the condition that he did not join the March 14th Alliance, which called for Lahoud’s impeachment. 51. Author interview: official, FPM, Jdeideh, October 26, 2007. 52. Author interview: officials, FPM, Jdeideh, October 26, 2007.

4. The Political Geography of Welfare and Sectarianism 1. This perspective dominates media coverage of Islamist groups in the Middle East, including Hezbollah. Content analysis of 173 articles published in major U.S. newspapers from 1996 to 2007 on the welfare activities of Hezbollah suggests that the Shiʿa are the primary beneficiaries of Hezbollah services. In the articles that address who benefits from the organization’s services, the “Shiʿa” were cited thirty-one times, “Christians” were cited three times, “Sunnis” were mentioned once, and one article asserted that the services are exclusively reserved for the Shiʿa. 2. Author interviews: official, Caritas Liban, Sin el-Fil, January 15, 2007; director, Lebanese Development NGO, Jel el-Dib, October 26, 2007; Anthony Shadid, Washington Post, Marjayoun, December 16, 2007; former UN official, Beirut, June 23, 2009; official, Free Patriotic Movement, Beirut, June 25, 2009. 3. Author interviews: official, Lebanese Forces, Jel el-Dib, April 27, 2006; general manager, Directorate of Health and Social Services, Hariri Foundation, Beirut, June 15, 2006; director, Farah Social Welfare Foundation, Kfar Heem, Lebanon, June 22, 2006; director, Healthcare Programs, Amal Movement, Ghobeiry, July 7, 2006 and January 11, 2008; director, Material Assistance Program, Hariri Foundation, Beirut, October 30, 2007; director, Pierre Gemmayel Social and Medical Centers, Kataeb, Beirut, December 18, 2007. 4. The 2007 “International Religious Freedom Report” of the U.S. State Department reported, “The [Lebanese] Government does not require citizens’ religious affiliations to be indicated on their passports; however, religious affiliation is encoded on national identity cards and noted on ikhraaj qaid documents. The ikhraj qaid, a civil document that indicates personal status information, can be presented by citizens instead of an identity card when they apply for various purposes, such as to obtain government employment or to enroll in or be employed at a university.” In February 2009, the Lebanese government passed a decree allowing citizens to

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remove their religious affiliation from their identity cards, although critics claim that the change is only cosmetic because civil codes remain divided across sectarian lines (BBC News Staff 2009). 5. Author interviews: official, Lebanese Ministry of Education, Ghobeiri, June 23, 2006; official, Lebanese Ministry of Public Health, Beirut, June 23, 2006; director, Hezbollah Documentation Center, Biʾr Hassan, Lebanon, June 24, 2009. 6. Author interviews: researcher, Balamand University, Beirut, June 19, 2004; representative, Amal Movement, Beirut, June 21, 2004; representative, Lebanese Forces, Jel el-Dib, April 27, 2006; official, Emdad/Hezbollah, Biʾr al-ʿAbid, July 4, 2006; representative, Hariri Foundation, Beirut, June 15, 2006; director, Ain Wazein Hospital, Shouf, July 10, 2006; director, Catholic School, Qornet Shehwane, October 31, 2007; representative, Mabarrat, Biʾr Hassan, November 9, 2007; director, YMCA, Sin el-Fil, December 10, 2007; director, Lebanese Association for Democratic Elections, Beirut, December 12, 2007; director, NGO, Jel el-Dib, January 9, 2007. 7. Author interviews, inter alia: beneficiary, Maqasid clinic, Beirut, June 28, 2006; director, Dar al-Fatwa clinic, Beirut, June 16, 2006; beneficiary, Hariri Foundation medical center, Beirut, July 6, 2006. 8. Author interview: manager, Social Health Services, Hariri Foundation, Tariq el-Jedida, June 15, 2006. See also Hankir (2008; Ryan (2007). 9. Author interviews: director of health care, Amal Movement, Ghobeiri, January 27, 2008; executive director, Réné Moawad Foundation, Beirut, January 27, 2008; director of public relations, Free Patriotic Movement, telephone interview, July 1, 2008. 10. Author interview: director, Pierre Gemayyel Foundation, Beirut, December 18, 2007. 11. Sectarian parties also deliver welfare goods through means other than bricks-and-mortar programs, including food aid and material-assistance programs or financial aid for services provided by other organizations. I discuss these less spatially rooted forms of assistance in subsequent chapters. 12. For example, the bombing of the al-ʿAskari mosque in Sammara, Iraq, in February 2006 sent a signal that Sunni Muslim extremists could penetrate Shiʿa space and is widely seen as an important catalyst for Sunni-Shiʿa tensions in Iraq. In Lebanon, the decision by Hezbollah and its allies to stage a seventeen-month occupation of downtown Beirut, an area associated with the assassinated former Prime Minister Rafiq al-Hariri, was interpreted by some as a signal that Hezbollah could command control over territories outside its traditional bases in the south suburbs of Beirut and elsewhere. 13. The U.S. Census Bureau defines census tracts as “small, relatively permanent statistical subdivisions of a county” (www.census.gov/geo/www/cen_tract.html). These units usually have between 2,500 and 8,000 people and, when first established, are supposed to be relatively homogeneous with respect to population characteristics, economic status, and living conditions. The actual size of the census tracts varies, depending on the density of the resident population. 14. At the time of the spatial data collection, the Kataeb was the only Christian party that operated its own network of welfare institutions and therefore was the only one included in the spatial analyses. The other two major Christian parties, the Free Patriotic Movement and Lebanese Forces, were in the process of establishing or reconstituting bricks-and-mortar institutions. The politics of welfare in the Christian community is discussed in detail in chapter 6. 15. Although I have the GPS coordinates of many institutions, I was not always able to confirm the corresponding name of the institution and therefore could not generate reliable coding for point-based data. I therefore linked institutions to zones rather than to points. 16. I excluded from the data set 148 health institutions and 48 schools whose affiliations could not be verified. 17. Author interviews: official, Ministry of Education, Lebanon, Ghobeiri, June 14, 2004; director of education, Maqasid, Beirut, June 17, 2007; official, Greek Orthodox Church Educational Programs, Beirut, June 13, 2006; director, Lebanese Association for Educational Studies, Beirut, June 27, 2006; consultant, Higher Education Development Project, Ministry of Education, Lebanon, Sin el-Fil, July 7, 2006. 18. The data are derived from 2005 voter registration records. The distribution of voters by sect across different zones and districts is relatively sticky because it is difficult to modify the place of registration.

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19. In February 2010, the Lebanese parliament defeated a bill to lower the voting age to eighteen. Christian representatives were concerned that this would introduce many more voters from the Muslim communities, which have higher birth rates and lower emigration rates and, therefore, large youth populations (Yazbeck 2010). 20. As I discuss in chapter 5, this organizational structure at electoral precincts greatly facilitates vote monitoring by political organizations. 21. Author interviews: party representative, PSP, Beirut, October 25, 2007; director, Lebanese Center for Policy Studies, Sin el-Fil, October 29, 2007; executive director, Lebanese Association for Democratic Elections, Beirut, December 10, 2007. 22. Author interview: director, Lebanese NGO, October 29, 2007. 23. The fractionalization index was created using sectarian composition based on voter registration data. The formula for fractionalization in geographical zone i is Fractionalization = 1 −

N k =1

( Ski )

2

where k represents sectarian groups and Ski is the proportion of the kth sectarian group in geographical zone i (see Costa and Kahn 2003, 103–11). 24. Selection effects related to mobility into neighborhoods (neighborhood choice) are likely to be minimal. Given the durability of neighborhoods in post–civil war Lebanon (Nasr 1993; Verdeil, Faour, and Velut 2007), communities do not “follow” welfare institutions, at least in the short to medium run. 25. The Moran’s I value, a measure of spatial autocorrelation, for each community (using residential data for Beirut and Mount Lebanon provinces and voter registration data for all Lebanon) indicates that all sects tend to be clustered. For all sects, values are significant and positive, indicating that zones with high (low) values of a variable (e.g., Percentage Shiʿa) are surrounded by neighboring zones that also have high (low) values, resulting in clusters of high or low concentrations of sects. Moran’s I values for all sects are significant at the 0.01 level, which implies that sects in Lebanon tend to be clustered and concentrated in particular areas. 26. Executed in successive waves throughout the country, the surveys asked the following question to determine the sectarian identities of household residents: “To which sect do you belong?” Response categories were “[Greek] Orthodox,” “Maronite,” “Armenian Orthodox,” “Armenian Catholic,” “Shiʿi Muslim,” “Sunni Muslim,” “Druze” and “Other,” which includes members of small, primarily Christian minority groups in Lebanon. I then aggregated the raw data into five main sectarian groupings, including Christian, Shiʿa, Sunni, Druze, and Armenian, which represent the identities ostensibly represented by major political parties. 27. After spending sufficient time conducting field research in Lebanon, even foreigners can become familiar with the sectarian distribution of populations by neighborhoods and even by streets. External markers of sectarian affiliations are visible in political and religious posters, symbols, and banners. In addition, due to the relatively small size of the country, many Lebanese mentally map communities by sect, at a minimum at the level of villages, towns, and neighborhoods. Through interviews with politicians, journalists, development workers, provider organizations, and “ordinary” people as well as through personal experiences, I broadly corroborated the data on the actual sectarian distribution of resident populations in Beirut and Mount Lebanon. 28. The original data came from surveys executed by the Lebanese government Central Administration of Statistics (CAS) in 1997, were digitized by the Centre d’Etudes et de Recherche sur le Moyen Orient Contemporain (CERMOC) in 1998, and were updated periodically until 2002, when the Directorate of Geographical Affairs within the Lebanese army published the data. 29. Published in 2006, the land-use data were collected in 1998 using satellite images that were digitized by the National Center for Remote Sensing of the Lebanese Ministry of Environment. 30. Based on information collected in 2001, the data are from the Lebanese CDR and are provided by USAID GIST. 31. The relatively high average measure of landline coverage may therefore overstate the levels of socioeconomic development across the country. 32. The data set and coding are available at www.melanicammett.net.

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33. Figures 4.7 and 4.8 are based on analyses of a data set using the institution as the unit of observation. This enables the descriptive analyses to capture the full range of institutions, some of which are located in the same zone for the same given party. In the statistical analyses in this chapter, the zone is the unit of observation. 34. Author interviews: director, Pierre Gemmayel Social and Medical Centers, Kataeb, Beirut, December 18, 2007; director, Farah Social Welfare Foundation, Kfar Heem, Lebanon, June 22, 2006; manager, Social Health Services, Hariri Foundation, Beirut, June 15, 2006; public relations officer, Islamic Emdad, Beirut, November 2, 2007. 35. As previously noted, these data are available for only the two provinces. 36. Interestingly, in the Greater Beirut region, the two Shiʿa political parties are more responsive to lower-income areas than are Shiʿa charities, which disproportionately serve uppermiddle-income areas. 37. Although the dependent variable is measured dichotomously, I used OLS (Angrist and Pischke 2009). Robustness checks using logistic regression yielded similar results. 38. It is also possible that the locations of welfare agencies linked to a given sectarian party affect the spatial spread of institutions linked to other parties. For example, Future Movement officials claimed that their efforts to serve citizens in the South province after the 2006 war were sometimes thwarted by Hezbollah representatives, who wanted to block potential competitors from serving certain communities (author interview, Future Movement official, Beirut, January 7, 2007). However, the data do not indicate that this was the general pattern. Zones with welfare agencies linked to different sectarian parties did not exhibit statistically significant associations, nor were they negatively correlated, as would be expected if sectarian parties tended not to locate in areas with potential rivals.

5. Political Loyalty and Access to Welfare 1. Personal communication with Ahmad (Beirut, January 15, 2009). Per his request, I have protected the names and identities of Ahmad and his neighbor, Roula. The informant emphasized that he was never contacted directly by a Hariri representative regarding his vote and, in any event, already supported pro-Hariri candidates. 2. The sample was designed as a cross section of all citizens above the age of eighteen in Lebanon. I applied random selection methods at every stage of sampling (except at the household level, where the head of household was selected) and used sampling based on probability proportionate to population size (PPPS). The design was a stratified, multistage, area probability sample. Geographically defined sampling units of decreasing size were first selected, and the probability of selection at various stages was adjusted as follows. First, the sample was stratified by province, reducing the likelihood that distinctive regions, which tend to have varied concentrations of religious or ethnic groups, were left out of the sample. Next, a PPPS procedure was used to randomly select primary sampling units (PSUs) to guarantee that more populated geographical units had a greater probability of being chosen. Households were then randomly selected within each PSU. This procedure allowed inferences about the national adult population with a margin of sampling error of no more than ±2.2 percent with a confidence level of 95 percent. The response rate for the survey was 67 percent (1,913 out of 2,859). 3. The survey included open-ended questions asking respondents to report the political or religious affiliations of health-care providers, school administrations, and sources of material assistance, but the response rates were too low to include these questions in the analysis. 4. As robustness checks, I ran models using alternative ways of measuring PAI. In one measure, PAI was constructed through a factor analysis of responses to the set of questions about political participation. Analyses with this alternative measure of activism yielded results similar to those reported here. In addition, I ran a series of models using the separate components of PAI as independent variables. 5. Author interview: representative, Lebanese Association for Democratic Elections (LADE), Beirut, December 10, 2007. 6. Christian respondents claimed that Muslims now enjoy better access to social services. Interviews by Tamar Boladian: Greek Orthodox woman, Sid el-Baushrieh, October 27, 2007;

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Maronite man, Faraya, November 25, 2007. Interview by Salwa Maalouf: Catholic woman, Jounieh, October 21, 2007. Author interview: director, Lebanese development NGO, Sin el-Fil, January 9, 2008. 7. I excluded Druze and Armenians from the analyses because they are small minorities of the population. The sectarian identity variable Christian includes citizens who self-identify as members of the diverse Christian groups in Lebanon: Maronites, Greek Orthodox, Greek Catholics, Protestants, Syriac Orthodox, Syriac Catholic, Assyrians, and Evangelicals. The category “Christian” here excludes Armenian Orthodox and Protestants, who constitute distinct ethnic communities with their own forms of social and political organization and representation. 8. The full sectarian breakdown of the sample is 43 percent Christian, 24 percent Shi‘a Muslim, 19 percent Sunni Muslim, 4 percent Druze, 4 percent Armenian, and 7 percent unidentified. 9. The last official national census was held in 1932, and given political sensitivities, it is unlikely that another national census will be held soon. 10. National household income surveys, such as those conducted by the Ministry of Social Affairs in cooperation with the UN Development Programme in 1996 and in 2004 (MOSA 1998, 2006), have collected detailed population information but release the data only at the level of the qaza (administrative district), a relatively high level of aggregation. 11. During elections, jokes circulate in Lebanon about the material inducements needed to lure Beiruti Sunnis to the polls. 12. The respondents range from 18 to over 80 years of age, distributed across the following age brackets: 6.5 percent in the 18–25 age range, 9.5 percent in the 30–35 range, 31.1 percent in the 35–40 range, 34.9 percent in the 40–50 range, 13.7 percent in the 50–60 range, 3.7 percent in the 60–70 range, 0.4 percent in the 70–80 range, and 0.2 percent over 80 years old. 13. The Cronbach’s alpha for Need is 0.65. In alternative models, I included measures of self-reported income (Income) and ownership of basic household and personal items (Own). (The Cronbach’s alpha coefficient for Own is 0.453.) The results of models run with the income and ownership variables were uniformly consistent with the analyses reported in this chapter, although the income and ownership variables themselves were not always statistically significant. This may reflect a tendency for respondents to underreport household income and assets. 14. The measure of self-reported piety is based on a question about whether the respondent considers religion to be important in her life, ranging from unimportant (1) to very important (5). The indicator for religious commitment is derived from a question about the frequency of volunteering or attending meetings in the respondent’s religious community outside of religious obligations. 15. I also ran models with fixed effects at the level of the qaza, which, recall, is a politically meaningful spatial unit and the foundation of the electoral districts although political and socioeconomic characteristics vary across these units. As noted in chapter 3, data on sectarian demography are available from voter registration records, not from current residential patterns. 16. See chapter 4, note 25. 17. Following Angrist and Pischke (2009), the models presented in this chapter use OLS regression analysis, despite the ordinal construction of the dependent variable. As robustness checks, I ran additional models using logistic and ordered logistic regressions, which are not reported here. The results were consistent in all models and are available at www.melanicammett.net. 18. In models 7 and 8, which include the full array of control variables and include fixed effects at the qaza level, gender remains statistically significant but at lower confidence levels ( p < 0.05 and p < 0.01, respectively). 19. The small size of the coefficients is in part due to the fact that about half the sample did not receive any social benefits at all. 20. I also ran a series of analyses using the individual components of PAI as the key independent variable. The results show that higher-cost forms of participation, notably attending meetings organized by parties, working as a party volunteer during elections, and displaying partisan materials in the home, are more robustly associated with access to welfare than lower-cost forms of participation, such as voting in national elections. As expected, the components of PAI that indicate a greater demonstrated loyalty to a party are associated with access to social benefits more than the other, less labor-intensive forms of participation. The results of these models are available at www.melanicammett.net.

Notes to Pages 134–144

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21. Content analysis of ten years of press coverage in major U.S. newspapers on social service provision by the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood, Hamas in Palestine, and Hezbollah indicates that the Western media largely assume that these organizations buy support through their welfare activities. 22. Interview with Dr. Oussama Safa, LCPS, Sin el-Fil, October 29, 2007. 23. Author interview: official, National Dialogue Party, Mazraa, November 2, 2007. In another interview, an official from the Lebanese Forces made a similar statement (Author interview: official, Lebanese Forces, Beirut, January 21, 2008). 24. Interview by Lamia Moghnieh: Shiʿa woman, Shiyah, November 8, 2007. Interview by Zina Sawaf: Sunni man, Jel El-Bahr, November 9, 2007. 25. Future research could employ survey techniques designed to elicit sensitive information. For example, see Corstange (2009). 26. Analyses using the disaggregated components of the Welfare variable, notably the receipt of food packages or financial assistance for health care or schooling, provide preliminary insights into this question. (Results are available at www.melanicammett.net.) Political activism is most robustly associated with access to food assistance and financial aid for health care. The results of models using assistance for education are more mixed, although they indicate that political activism is associated with access to this form of welfare in most models and, significantly, in the fully specified model with fixed effects. These findings lend support to the claim that electoral participation and other forms of relatively low-risk forms of political engagement, which are captured in the PAI, are associated with short-term, lower-cost benefits such as food and aid for health care. It is not surprising that the results are somewhat different for models using assistance for schooling as the dependent variable. Educational aid implies a longer-term commitment between the provider and beneficiary than the other forms of assistance, and schooling, with its more blatant socialization function, entails greater selection effects whereby families make more discriminating choices among potential providers.

6. Sectarian Parties and Distributional Politics 1. For background on the Lebanese political system and electoral laws, see chapter 2. 2. Author interviews: director, Hariri Foundation, Ouzai, Beirut, June 8, 2006; former official, Future Movement, Beirut, November 9, 2007; journalist, Beirut, January 16, 2008. 3. Author interviews: official, Ministry of Public Health, Beirut, June 13, 2006; official, Hariri Foundation, Aisha Bakkar, October 30, 2007; staff member, YMCA, Sin el-Fil, December 10, 2007; official, Lebanese Red Cross, Beirut, December 17, 2007; staff member, Lebanese development NGO, Jel el-Dib, January 9, 2008. 4. The program originated in 1982 as the Hariri Relief and Aid Office, which distributed social assistance and reconstructed damaged and destroyed infrastructure during the war. After al-Hariri’s assassination in 2005, it was renamed. 5. In 2007, the organization provided holiday gift boxes and cash payments to 30,000 families. 6. Author interview: director, Martyr Rafiq Hariri Assistance Office Aisha Bakkar, Beirut, October 30, 2007. 7. Author interviews: Mustapha Al-Zaatari, general director, Hariri Foundation, Ouzai, October 25, 2007; Issam Irakji, director, Martyr Rafiq Hariri Assistance Office Aisha Bakkar, Beirut, October 30, 2007. 8. Interview by Lina Mikdashi: Saleh Farroukh, general director, Beirut Association for Social Development, Zarif/Beirut, February 8, 2008. 9. Author interview: Issam Irakji, director, Martyr Rafiq Hariri Assistance Office Aisha Bakkar, Beirut, October 30, 2007. 10. Baumann (2011, ch. 4, pp. 44–45) makes a similar point. 11. Author interview: staff member, Health Clinic, Greek Orthodox Church, Beirut, July 7, 2006. Interviews by Zina Sawaf: Sunni woman, St. Simon/Ouzai, December 9, 2007; Sunni woman, Hamra, October 23, 2007. 12. Author interviews: development specialist, Lebanese NGO, Beirut, January 12, 2007; former staff member, Future Movement, Beirut, November 9, 2007; executive director, LADE, Zarif, December 10, 2007.

280

Notes to Pages 145–152

13. Mouneh ordinarily refers to pickled or preserved food items stored in a pantry but, in the context of political exchanges, it refers to baskets of household provisions such as basic foodstuffs and cleaning items. 14. Author interviews: Nassar Ashkar, IT manager, Directorate of Health and Social Services, Hariri Foundation, Beirut, June 15, 2006; Nourredine Al-Kouche, general manager, Directorate of Health and Social Services, Hariri Foundation, Beirut, June 15, 2006 and January 9, 2007; Rania Zaatari-Al-Kouche, manager, Social Health Services, Hariri Foundation, Beirut, June 15, 2006. 15. Author interviews: official, Ministry of Public Health, Beirut, June 13, 2006; official, NGO, Sin el-Fil, December 10, 2007. Baumann (2011, 49) makes a similar point. 16. Interviews by Salwa Maalouf: Greek Orthodox man, Beirut (Ashrafieh), November 3, 2008; Greek Orthodox man, Beirut (Ashrafieh), December 8, 2007. Interview by Tamar Boladian: Maronite woman, Broumana, January 4, 2008. 17. Interview by Lamia Moghnieh: Shiʿi woman, Shiyah, November 1, 2007. 18. Author interview: journalist, Beirut, January 16, 2008. 19. Interviews by Lamia Moghnie: Shiʿi women, Shiyah, November 8, 2007. 20. Interview by Zina Sawaf: Sunni man and woman, Saint Simon/Ouzai, December 9, 2007. 21. Author interviews: general manager, Directorate of Health and Social Services, Hariri Foundation, Beirut, January 9, 2007; director, Material Assistance Program, Hariri Foundation, October 30, 2007; director, Food Assistance Program, Future Movement, Beirut, February 8, 2008. 22. Author interviews: director, Lebanese NGO, Jel el-Dib, May 4, 2006; official, Greek Orthodox Health Services, Beirut, July 7, 2006; former employee, Future Movement, Beirut, November 9, 2007; journalist, Beirut, January 16, 2008 23. Author interviews: director, Lebanese Center for Policy Studies, Sin el-Fil, October 29, 2007; official, Lebanese Association for Democratic Elections (LADE), Zarif, December 10, 2007. 24. Author interview: former official, Future Movement, Beirut, November 9, 2007. 25. Interview by Zina Sawaf: Sunni woman, Beirut (Tariq al-Jedideh), October 23, 2007. An interview with another Sunni woman in this neighborhood yielded similar findings (interview by Zina Sawaf: Beirut (Tariq al-Jedideh), December 12, 2007). 26. Interview by Zina Sawaf: Sunni woman, Beirut (Aisha Bakkar), November 17, 2007. 27. Interview by Salwa Maalouf: Christian man, Beirut (Ashrafieh), November 16, 2007. Interviews by Lamia Moghnie: Shiʿi woman, Bir Hassan, November 10, 2007; Shiʿi woman, Sidon, December 27, 2007. Interviews by Jamil Oueini: Sunni woman, Ne’emeh, December 15, 2007; Sunni woman, Neʾemeh, December 22, 2007. Interviews by Zina Sawaf: Sunni man, Jel al-Bahr, November 9, 2007; Sunni woman, St. Simon/Ouzai, December 9, 2007. 28. Author interviews: NGO director, Jel el-Dib, May 4, 2006; official, Martyr Rafiq Hariri Assistance Office, Beirut (Aisha Bakkar), October 30, 2007; former Future Movement official, Beirut (Mazraa), November 9, 2007. Interview by Salwa Maalouf: Maronite woman, Kaslik, December 20, 2007. 29. As a result of wartime displacement and population movements, Muslims accounted for about 8 percent of residents of East Beirut in 1975, the year marking the beginning of the war, but only 1 percent in 1989, when the war ended (Nasr 1993, 70, 79). 30. Author interview: manager, Social Health Services, Hariri Foundation, Beirut (Tariq al-Jedideh), June 15, 2006. 31. Author interview: doctor, Tariq al-Jedideh clinic, Hariri Foundation, Beirut (Tariq al-Jedideh), June 7, 2006. 32. Author interview: director, Greek Orthodox health clinic, Beirut (Ashrafieh), July 7, 2006. 33. Author interview: general manager, health director, and educational director, Dr. Mohammed Khaled Foundation, Ouzai, June 5, 2006. 34. Christian militias placed Qarantina under siege in 1975 and, two years later, razed it to the ground. The population of Qarantina fled to other areas of the city, including to squatter settlements of the southern suburbs of Beirut, such as Ouzai (Fawaz and Peillen 2003, 10). 35. Interview by Zina Sawaf: Sunni woman, St. Simon/Ouzai, December 9, 2007. 36. Ibid. 37. For a similar argument, see Wickham (2003). See also Harb (2010, 17, 77). 38. Other studies document Hezbollah social and cultural programs. See, for example, Hamzeh (2004, chs. 4–5); Harb (2010, 76–78, ch. 2); Harik (1994; 2004, ch. 6).

Notes to Pages 153–156

281

39. The Islamic Emdad Charitable Committee, which is literally translated as the Emdad Committee of the Imam Khomeini, is an offshoot of an Iranian charitable organization established after the Iranian Revolution. Some of the founders spent time in Iran and returned to Lebanon with specific models for the establishment of the organization. As a result of growing destitution in Lebanon during the civil war, a group of eight men, including Hassan Nasrallah and Mohamad El Berjawi, formed a committee and surveyed the areas to which they had access, including Tripoli, Baalbak, Hermel, and Beirut, to pinpoint areas where help was needed most. The committee identified 57,000 families that were living at the poverty level. After categorizing these families into ten levels of poverty, they selected 5,000 of the neediest for assistance, notably households whose major breadwinner (usually the father) was deceased, suffered from a chronic disease or disability, or was imprisoned (author interviews: Mr. Yacoub Kassir, media relations officer, Emdad, Biʾr al-ʾAbid, April 7, 2006 and Bachoura, November 2, 2007). 40. Hamzeh (2004, 54–55) provides information on the numbers of beneficiaries served by these institutions through 2000. 41. The data on the Islamic Health Unit compiled by the author based on records from the Lebanese Ministry of Public Health, are corroborated by Qassem (2005, 84). 42. A comprehensive review of articles in the Hezbollah newspaper, al-Ahd (which was later renamed Al-Intiqadh al-Ahd) from 1984 to 2008 indicated that the Islamic Health Unit has run its health campaign in cooperation with government bodies and international NGOs on many occasions. For example, see articles in al-Ahd on September 13, 1986; October 18, 1987; September 27, 1990; October 2, 1992; May 5, 1995; March 13, 1999; December 17, 2004; April 27, 2004. See also Harb (2010, 105). 43. Al-Ahd, May 11, 1988; October 11, 1991. 44. Zakat is one of the five pillars of Islam and refers to the religious duty to give a portion of one’s wealth annually for charitable purposes. Khums, which is specific to Shiʿi Islam, is an additional religious obligation that calls on Shiʿa Muslims to contribute one-fifth of their income to charity. These contributions are distinct from voluntary donations (sadaqa). 45. Al-Ahd, August 30, 1991. Author interviews: director, Al-Qard Al-Hassan, and official, Islamic Health Unit, Hezbollah, Haret Hreik, June 19, 2004; media and public relations director, Islamic Emdad Charitable Committee, Bir al-ʿAbd, July 4, 2006, and Basta, November 2, 2007. 46. Interviews by Lamia Moghnie: Shiʿi woman, Shiyyeh, October 23, 2007; Shiʿi woman, Shiyyeh, November 8, 2007; Shiʿi woman, Sidon, December 27, 2007; Shiʿi woman, Ghaziyeh, December 27, 2007; Shiʿi woman, Shiyyeh, December 29, 2007. 47. Author interviews: official, Mabarrat, Bir Hassan, January 17, 2008; journalist, Associated Press, Mazraa, November 9, 2007. 48. Author interviews: director, Research Center, Haret Hreik, January 9, 2008; official, Educational Programs, Mabarrat, Biʾr Hassan, January 17, 2008. 49. Author interviews: official, Ministry of Health, Beirut, June 13, 2007; director, Amel Association, Beirut, November 5, 2007; journalist, Associated Press, Mazraa, November 9, 2007; doctor, Amel Association, Khiyam, December 15, 2007; journalist and resident of southern suburbs of Beirut, Beirut, January 16, 2008. 50. Author interviews: director, Mouvement Social, Beirut, June 13, 2006; representative and former Communist Party militia fighter, Lebanese NGO, Shiyah, November 6, 2007; Lebanese journalist, Mazraa, November 9, 2007; director, Lebanese NGO, Sin el-Fil, December 10, 2007; journalist, Beirut, November 9, 2007, and January 16, 2008. Interview by Marlin Dick: former member of parliament, March 14th Bloc, Jbeil, December 17, 2009. 51. Author interviews: director, Mouvement Social, Beirut, June 13, 2006; staff member, St. George Greek Orthodox Hospital, Ashrafieh, June 26, 2006; director, Social and Medical Services, Lebanese Red Cross, Beirut, December 17, 2007; staff member, Amel Association, Mreijeh, November 6, 2007. Interviews by Lamia Moghnie: Shiʿi woman, Shiyah, October 28, 2007; Shiʿi woman, Shiyah, November 8, 2007; Shiʿi woman, Sidon, December 15, 2007; Shiʿi woman, Ghaziyeh, December 27, 2007. Interview by Zina Sawaf: Sunni woman, Beirut, December 7, 2007. 52. Author interview: journalist and resident of southern suburbs of Beirut, Beirut, January 16, 2008. 53. Author interview: public relations director, Islamic Emdad, Beirut, July 4, 2006, and November 2, 2007

282

Notes to Pages 156–163

54. Author interview: official, Consultative Center for Studies and Documentation, Hezbollah, Biʾr Hassan, June 24, 2009. Deeb (2006) describes the embeddedness of Hezbollah and other Shiʿa institutions in the communities where they operate. 55. Author interview: public relations director, Islamic Emdad, Beirut, November 2, 2007. Interviews by Lamia Moghnie: Shiʿi man, Biʾr Hassan, November 11, 2007; Shiʿi woman, Sidon, December 15, 2007; Shiʿi woman, Shiyah, February, 20, 2008. 56. Interview by Lamia Moghnie: Shiʿi man, Biʾr Hassan, November 10, 2007. 57. Interview by Salwa Maalouf: Greek Orthodox woman, Ashrafieh, November 30, 2007. 58. Author interview: official, Free Patriotic Movement, Jdeideh, October 26, 2007. Interviews by Salwa Maalouf: Maronite citizens, Tyre, December 22, 2007; Greek Orthodox citizen, Jdeidet Marjayoun, December 22, 2007. 59. Interview by T. Boladian: Maronite beneficiary, Jbeil, November 3, 2007. 60. Author interview: journalist, Washington Post, Marjayoun, December 16, 2007. Interview by Salwa Maalouf: Greek Orthodox man, Beirut, November 15, 2007. 61. Data are from the Lebanese Ministry of Interior records of registered voters. On Baabda, for example, see Lowry (2009). 62. Household surveys conducted by Statistics Lebanon in 2007 indicate that 93 percent of residents of Haret Hreik and 79 percent of residents of Burj al-Barajneh are Shiʿa. 63. Interviews by Marlin Dick: former member of parliament, Jbeil, December 17, 2009; journalist, Al-Hayat, December 22, 2009; political analyst, Beirut, December 23, 2009; representative, Office of Sayyid Muhammad Hussein Fadlallah, Jbeil, December 29, 2009. 64. Interview by Marlin Dick: analyst and director, research firm, Zalqa, January 8, 2010. 65. Interviews by Marlin Dick: former member of parliament, Jbeil, December 17, 2009; analyst, Jbeil, December 23, 2009; representative, Office of Sayyid Muhammad Husʿ Fadlallah, December 29, 2009. Fadlallah’s organization, al-Mabarrat, which does not engage in politics and runs extensive charitable activities, built mosques and religious centers in villages such as Ras Osta, ʿAlmat, and Lahsun, and provides assistance for the poor. Mabarrat activities in Jbeil are ongoing. In 2007, the organization established the Rasul al-Mahabba school and planned to complete a religious compound with a medical center in the town of Jbeil in spring 2010 (interview by Marlin Dick: representative, Office of Sayyid Muhammad Husʿ Fadlallah, Jbeil, December 29, 2009). The Amal Movement does not operate welfare agencies in Jbeil but, rather, disburses patronage via state employment arranged through its leader Nabih Berri, the speaker of the parliament. 66. Interviews by Marlin Dick: former member of parliament, Jbeil, December 17, 2009; journalist, al-Hayat, Beirut, December 22, 2009; analyst, Jbeil, December 23, 2009; analyst and director, research firm, Zalqa, January 8, 2010. 67. Interviews by Marlin Dick: journalist, al-Hayat, Beirut, December 22, 2009; analyst, Jbeil, December 23, 2009; analyst and director, research firm, Zalqa, January 8, 2010. 68. Interview by Marlin Dick: analyst and director, research firm, Zalqa, January 8, 2010. 69. Author interviews: manager, Health Programs, Lebanese Association for Health and Social Protection, Amal Movement, Ghobeiri, July 7, 2006, and January 11, 2008; director, Lebanese Association for Health and Social Protection, Amal Movement, Ghobeiri, January 1, 2008. 70. Amal, March 29, 1979; July 20, 1979; July 29, 1979; October 30, 1987; March 3, 1989. On donations of medical supplies and funds to support travel abroad for medical care during the civil war, see Amal, June 18, 1985; May 6, 1986; October 17, 1986; April 10, 1987; July 22, 1988. 71. The association maintains an English-language website, where it features descriptions of its activities and appeals to donate for its operations and to specific needy families, www.lwah.org. lb/index.asp. 72. Author interviews: manager, Health Programs, Lebanese Association for Health and Social Protection, Amal Movement, Ghobeiri, January 1, 2008; staff members, Imam Hussein Clinic, Lebanese Association for Health and Social Protection, Amal Movement, Sabra, Beirut, January 1, 2008. 73. During the civil war, the Amal Movement did not operate its own schools but provided scholarships and school supplies for students, including grants to support overseas advanced education (author interview: director, Educational Programs, and member, Supreme Council, Amal Movement, Toul, January 25, 2008). See also Amal, November 8, 1985; December 26, 1985; February 21, 1986; August 15, 1986; August 14, 1987; February 17, 1989.

Notes to Pages 163–171

283

74. Construction on the Amal school in Baalbek, however, was initiated during the civil war in 1988 (Amal, January 15, 1988). 75. Author interview: director of education, Greek Orthodox School System, Hamra, Beirut, June 13, 2006. 76. Author interview: director, Educational Programs, and Member, Supreme Council, Amal Movement, Toul, January 25, 2008. 77. Author interview: official, Amal Movement, Ghobeiri, January 17, 2008. 78. Author interview: official, health programs, Amal Movement, Ghobeiri, January 17, 2008. 79. Author interviews: member, Executive Council, Amal Movement, Beirut, January 10, 2008; official, Amal Movement, Ghobeiri, January 17, 2008. 80. Author interview: official, health programs, Amal Movement, Ghobeiri, January 17, 2008. 81. Author interview: member, Executive Council, Amal Movement, Beirut, January 10, 2008. 82. Author interview: staff member, health programs, Amal Movement, Ghobeiri, July 7, 2006. 83. Author interview: official, health programs, Amal Movement, Ghobeiri, January 17, 2008. 84. Ibid. 85. Author interview: official, educational programs, Amal Movement, Toul, January 25, 2008. 86. Author interview: staff member, health programs, Amal Movement, Ghobeiri, January 28, 2008. 87. Although the spatial analyses presented in chapter 4 indicate that Amal is more likely to locate agencies in mixed areas than is Hezbollah, this finding is in part due to many of its centers being located in areas with high in-group residents but low in-group voters (voter registration is the source of the population data). 88. By 1940, Al-ʿAmal (October 6, 1940) reported that the party had treated 4,200 patients in its medical facilities. Reports from the early 1940s also describe the distribution of material aid to needy families and the organization of dinners for as many as 5,000 families during the Christmas season (Al-ʿAmal, December 22, 1940; January 19, 1941; November 21, 1941; December 7 and 21, 1941; January 18, 1942). 89. Al-ʿAmal, January 2, 1976. 90. Al-ʿAmal, March 30, 1976; May 16, 1976; August 1 and 16, 1976; November 2, 1976. 91. Al-ʿAmal, July 22, 1976. 92. For food distribution, see Al-ʿAmal, April 30, 1976; May 15, 1976; May 21, 1976; September 4, 1976; October 28, 1976; May 27, 1984. For cooperatives subsidizing food, see Al-ʿAmal, October 22, 1976; November 24, 1976; November 30, 1976; February 5, 1978; January 19, 1982; March 8, 1982. 93. See articles in Al-ʿAmal, March 10, 1988; August 26, 1988. 94. Interview by Salwa Maalouf: Maronite man, Hay Barbour, Beirut, December 9, 2007. 95. Interview by Salwa Maalouf: Maronite woman, Qattine, December 23, 2007. 96. Interview by Salwa Maalouf: Maronite woman, Ashrafieh, November 16, 2007. 97. Al-ʿAmal, March 30, 1976. 98. Interview by Salwa Maalouf, Maronite man, Hay Barbour, Beirut, December 9, 2007. 99. Author interviews: Lebanese development specialist, UN Economic and Social Commission for Western Asia (UNESCWA), Beirut, June 11, 2004; LF official, Jel al-Dib, April 27, 2006. Al-Maseera, March 21, 1987; April 6, 1987. 100. Al-Maseera, April 9, 1984. 101. Author interview: LF official, Jel el-Dib, April 27, 2006. 102. Ibid.; Al-Maseera, October 3, 1987. 103. Author interview: LF Official, Jel el-Dib, April 27, 2006. Al-Maseera, July 4, 1983; July 31, 1983. Dr. Michel Matta, LF health programs director described the economic important of the LF health activities: “In theory, the Ministry of Health should cover 85 percent of hospitalization, the patient 15 percent. In actuality, the Ministry settles bills with hospitals based on old prices, while hospitals are billing patients according to new prices. You can imagine the difference—even middle class patients are now incapable of paying for their medical costs. We came in to fill up this gap” (Al-Maseera, October 3, 1987). 104. Prior to the establishment of the foundation, the LF had a material assistance program that provided financial aid, dried food, and heating oil to low-income families on a more limited basis (Al-Maseera, September 9, 1984). 105. For subsidies on basic consumer goods, see Al-Maseera, April 6, 1987; September 12, 1987. For distribution of heating oil, consumer goods, and food coupons, see Al-Maseera,

284

Notes to Pages 171–178

September 13, 1987. For material assistance and scholarships, see Al-Maseera, August 16, 1986; November 21, 1987; February 29, 1988. 106. Al-Maseera, April 30, 1983; September 4, 1984; November 21, 1987. 107. Al-Maseera, February 18, 1983. 108. On financial support and medical services for militia members and their family, see Al-Maseera, April 17, 1982; December 7, 1982; September 4, 1984. Quotation on housing benefits is in Al-Maseera, February 26, 1987. For university courses, see Al-Maseera, March 3, 1983. 109. Al-Maseera, July 4, 1988. 110. Author interview: LF official, Jel el-Dib, April 27, 2006. 111. On expansion of health programs, see Al-Maseera, March 10 and 14, 1987; October 3, 1987. On verifying applicants’ socioeconomic status, see Al-Maseera, March 28, 1987; April 4, 1987. On allocating limited resources, see Al-Maseera, October 3, 1987. 112. Author interview: former official, LF Social Solidarity Program, Jel el-Dib, April 27, 2006. 113. Al-Maseera, September 12, 1987; March 21, 1987; February 29, 1988. 114. Al-Maseera March 21, 1987 (emphasis added). 115. Interviews by Tamar Boladian: Maronite man, Sarba, November 4, 2007; Greek Orthodox woman, Sin el-Fil, December 11, 2007. 116. Author interview: former official, LF Social Solidarity Program, Jel el-Dib, April 27, 2006. 117. Author interview: Executive Council member, Kataeb Party, Bekfaya, November 9, 2007. 118. Interviews by Tamar Boladian: Maronite woman, Baskinta, October 24, 2007; Maronite man, Sarba, November 6, 2007; Maronite woman, Furn al-Shebbak, December 12, 2007. Interviews by Salwa Maalouf: Greek Orthodox woman, Ashrafieh, December 8, 2007; Latin Catholic woman, Adonis, Jounieh, October 21, 2007; Maronite woman, Khanchara, Metn, October 31, 2007; Greek Orthodox man, Jdeidet Marjayoun, December 6, 2007. 119. Interview by Salwa Maalouf: Maronite woman, Hboub, Jbeil, November 3, 2007. 120. Interviews by Tamar Boladian: Maronite woman, Baskinta, October 24, 2007; Maronite woman, Dekwanneh, January 4, 2008. Interview by Salwa Maalouf: Greek Orthodox man, Ashrafieh, November 16, 2007. 121. Author interview: director, Pierre Gemayyel Foundation, Mar Mikhael, December 18, 2007. 122. Interview by Tamar Boladian: Greek Orthodox woman, Sin el-Fil, December 11, 2007. 123. Interview by Salwa Maalouf: Maronite woman, Khonchara, Metn, October 31, 2007. 124. Author interviews: former director, Health Program, Lebanese Forces, Jel el-Dib, April 30, 2006; former director, Solidarité Sociale, Lebanese Forces, Jel el-Dib, April 30, 2006; official, Lebanese Forces, Jounieh, October 30, 2007. 125. Author interview: director, Lebanese development NGO, Jel el-Dib, October 26, 2007. 126. The interviewee noted that the party had always maintained a small-scale program for the families of martyrs, even during the height of Syrian repression (author interview: LF official, Jounieh, October 30, 2007). 127. Author interview: LF official, Gemmayze, January 28, 2008. 128. Author interviews: LF official, Jel el-Dib, April 27, 2006 and Gemmayze, January 28, 2008. Given the nature of state regulation of the pharmaceutical sector, the committee did not recommend the establishment of a pharmacy. 129. In 2008, Auxilia was being restructured after experiencing financial problems due to financial mismanagement. A committee within Auxilia was working with LF Executive Bureau members to create a new financial plan and management structure for the organization. Author interview: LF official, Gemmayze, January 28, 2008. See also interview by Tamar Boladian: Maronite woman, Broumana, January 4, 2008. 130. Interview by Tamar Boladian: Maronite man, Sarba, Kesserwane, November 6, 2007. 131. Interview by Tamar Boladian: Maronite woman, Adonis, Jounieh, December 27, 2007. 132. Interview by Tamar Boladian: Greek Orthodox woman, Sid el-Baoushrieh October 29, 2007. 133. Interview by Tamar Boladian: Greek Orthodox woman, Nabaa, December 13, 2007. 134. Interviews by Tamar Boladian: Maronite man, Sarba, Kesserwane, November 6, 2007; Maronite woman, Broumana, January 4, 2008. 135. Interview by Tamar Boladian: Maronite man, Sarba, Kesserwane, November 6, 2007. 136. Author interview: official, Kataeb, Bekfaya, November 9, 2007. 137. Author interviews: electoral strategist, FPM, Jdeideh, October 26, 2007; spokesperson, FPM, telephone interview, July 8, 2008; member, Central Committee, FPM, June 25, 2009.

Notes to Pages 178–187

285

138. Author interviews: director, Lebanese development NGO, Jel el-Dib, October 26, 2007; member, Executive Committee, LF, Gemmayze, January 21, 2008. 139. Author interview: director, Lebanese Development NGO, Jel el-Dib, October 26, 2007. 140. Author interview: spokesperson, FPM, telephone interview, July 8, 2008. 141. Ibid. 142. Interviews by Tamar Boladian: Maronite woman, Mtayleb, November 2, 2007; FPM activist and Maronite man, Ashrafieh, November 7, 2007. 143. Author interview: member, Central Committee, FPM, June 25, 2009. 144. Interview by Salwa Maalouf: Greek Orthodox woman, Jdeidet Marjayoun, December 6, 2007. 145. Interview by Salwa Maalouf: Greek Orthodox woman, Jdeidet Marjayoun, December 22, 2007. Similarly, a Western journalist living in Jdeidet Marjayoun observed that Hezbollah is careful not to display its “iconography,” including photos of martyrs, party posters, banners, and other symbols, in Christian areas of mixed districts such as Marjayoun (author interview: Anthony Shadid, Washington Post, Jdeidet Marjayoun, December 16, 2007). 146. Author interview: official, FPM, Raouche, June 25, 2009. 147. Interview by Tamar Boladian: Greek Orthodox woman, Sin el-Fil, December 11, 2007. 148. Interview by Tamar Boladian: Maronite woman, Baskinta, October 24, 2007. 149. Interview by Tamar Boladian: Maronite woman, Mtayleb, November 2, 2007. Interviews by Salwa Maalouf: Maronite woman, Kaslik, Kesserwane, December 20, 2007; Maronite woman, Qattine, Jounieh, December 23, 2007. 150. Interview by Tamar Boladian: Greek Orthodox woman, Sin el-Fil, December 11, 2007. 151. Interview by Tamar Boladian: Greek Orthodox woman, Nabaa, December 13, 2007. 152. Interview by Salwa Maalouf: Maronite woman, Khonchara, Metn, October 31, 2007. This should not suggest that social benefits entirely explain support for the FPM or any other party. Multiple interviewees emphasized that they had never received or sought benefits from the FPM and that they supported the party out of conviction. In particular, they pointed to Aoun’s relatively “clean” and uncorrupt reputation in Lebanese politics. Interviews by Salwa Maalouf: Maronite woman, Jbeil, November 3, 2007; Greek Orthodox man, Ashrafieh, November 15, 2007; Maronite woman, Qattine, December 23, 2007. Interviews by Tamar Boladian: Maronite man, Ashrafieh, November 11, 2007; Greek Orthodox woman, Sin el-Fil, December 11, 2007. 153. Author interview: FPM electoral strategist, Jdeideh, October 26, 2007. 154. For more on this question, see Thachil (2012). 155. I am grateful to Ali Abboud for suggesting this proxy measure. 156. For example, in the 1996 elections Henri Chedid initially defeated Robert Ghanem in competition for a seat in West Bekaa. After the Constitutional Council found electoral irregularities, the results were nullified and Ghanem ultimately won the seat (Information International 2004; LCPS 1996, ch. 6; News from Beirut 1997). 157. Recall that Greater Beirut includes the city of Beirut and Mount Lebanon and is home to about half the Lebanese population. 158. In Kesserwane, the 1992 elections were postponed due to an insufficient number of candidates contesting the seats. When the elections took place one month later, the winners prevailed with fewer than 1,000 votes cast. 159. To this day, the Christians in some villages have not yet returned; hence, Christian turnout in Aley and Shouf was relatively low until the 2009 elections. 160. Michel al-Murr, a politician based in the Metn district who won in his district in 1996 and other years, was closely allied with al-Hariri; however, his victory was due to his own local political influence rather than efforts by al-Hariri or other politicians to gain electoral support. 161. The drop in turnout rates in the Bekaa and Mount Lebanon resulted from a lack of competition in these districts. In 1998, Emile Lahoud was elected president of the Republic. Lahoud had tense relations with Walid Jumblatt and al-Hariri, whom he replaced with Salim al-Hoss as prime minister. As a result, the 2000 elections were dominated by the conflict between Lahoud, on the one hand, and al-Hariri and Jumblatt, on the other. Furthermore, officials in Syria, which was still adjusting to the death of Hafez al-Asad two months earlier, were divided about which candidates to support; although the Asad family supported Lahoud, the old guard, notably Abdel Halim Khadem and Ghazi Kanaan, supported al-Hariri and Jumblatt. Lahoud’s main Lebanese ally in the 2000 elections was Michel el-Murr, whose candidates ran uncontested in the Metn district of Mount Lebanon because he had the backing of the Syrian regime and most of the other Christian parties

286

Notes to Pages 187–199

and figures were still boycotting national elections at this time. In other districts in Mount Lebanon, such as Aley and the Shouf, Jumblatt dominated with no other lists competing with his candidates. 162. I am grateful to Abdo Saad, director of the Beirut Center for Information and Research in Beirut, Lebanon, for providing these data. 163. A new electoral law adopted for the 2009 elections divided some districts from the 2005 elections into several districts. To compare the results, the tables aggregate information from the electoral districts in the 2009 elections to conform to the district boundaries of the 2005 elections.

7. Welfare and Identity Politics beyond Lebanon 1. Formerly known as the Supreme Council for the Islamic Revolution in Iraq (SCIRI), the organization adopted its current name in May 2007. 2. Daʿwa is the party of the current prime minister, Nouri al-Maliki, and of the former prime minister, Ibrahim al-Jaafari. 3. For background on Shiʿa politics in Iraq, see Cockburn (2008, chs. 2–5); ICG (2003a); Jabar (2003). 4. Before his death in 1999, Sadiq al-Sadr, who was most likely assassinated by regime agents, had developed a strong support base among poor Shiʿa, who faced high unemployment and minimal access to social services under Baʿathist rule. Ironically, Sadiq al-Sadr’s rise was initially due to the backing of the Baʿathist regime. By the early 1990s, Iraqi officials viewed him as a potentially compliant leader of the Shiʿa hawza (center of learning) and supported his bid to become a grand ayatollah. Sadiq al-Sadr then gained control of various hawza schools and libraries and built a network of institutions, including offices that provided basic social assistance, mainly in Sadr City, and an Islamic court in Najaf. The calculation of the regime ultimately backfired: The Sadrist network became increasingly autonomous from the state and served as a platform for Sadiq al-Sadr to oppose regime policies (Al-Amin 2004; ICG 2006, 4). 5. Some of the worst fighting occurred between the Sadrists and the Badr Brigade, the ISCI militia. 6. Although the Sadrists won a limited portion of the popular vote—about 6 percent of the total vote and 9 percent of the Shiʿi vote in Iraq—they won a significant number of seats in the parliament. An electoral consultant based in Baghdad claims that support for the movement is limited outside Sadr City. Even there, popular support is not overwhelming; Sadrist candidates received only about 225,000 votes in Baghdad, mainly from Sadr City, where about 1.8–2.5 million people reside. The electoral success of the organization is in part due to the nature of electoral rules and in part a result of its shrewd political campaign strategies. Hezbollah allegedly sent representatives from Lebanon to advise the Sadrists on ways to run an effective campaign. Furthermore, the movement fielded more candidates than the other parties, enabling it to win more seats (author interview: consultant, U.S. State Department, telephone interview, Baghdad, June 9, 2011). 7. Interviews by Hamid Yassin, conducted in June 2010: Sadrist Movement member and university student, Baghdad; member, Jaysh al-Mahdi, Baghdad; journalist, Alforat TV (a media outlet run by the al-Hakim family, which controls ISCI), Bassoura; Sadrist Movement representative, Nasseriyya; staff member, humanitarian association supported by Grand Ayatollah Sistani’s office, Baghdad. Author interview: Iraqi development consultant, telephone interview, Amman, Jordan, April 26, 2010. 8. Hamid Yassin, research report, Sadr City, Baghdad, June 1, 2010. Sadrist clinics in Baghdad were located in Al-Amin al-Thanniya, Dakhil, the Sujad Mosque in Sadr City, Hurriya, Shula, and Kadhimiyya. The clinic located in the Sujad Mosque, a Sunni mosque, is particularly interesting because it was established in cooperation with local Sunni leaders and operated until sectarian fighting spiked in 2006. 9. Seeking to replicate the welfare initiatives of the Sadrists, ISCI (then named SCIRI) opened welfare networks later in 2003 and 2004. The Daʿwa Party undertook similar activities much later, in 2008, after it won seats on local councils. Benefiting from Maliki’s rise to power, the party began by opening health and community centers (author interview: Iraqi development consultant, telephone interview, Amman, Jordan, April 26, 2010). 10. Former official, Iraqi Ministry of Health, personal communication, Washington, DC, June 2, 2011.

Notes to Pages 200–206

287

11. Mahan Abedin, independent researcher, personal communication, Washington, DC, June 6, 2011. 12. Although the national elections were held in December 2005, the new Iraqi government was not approved until May 2006. 13. Mahan Abedin, independent researcher, personal communication, Washington, DC, June 6, 2011; former official, Iraqi Ministry of Health, personal communication, Washington, DC, June 2, 2011. 14. Mahan Abedin, independent researcher, personal communication, Washington, DC, June 6, 2011. 15. Ibid.; former CPA official, U.S. government, personal communication, Washington, DC, June 2, 2011. 16. Author interview: Iraqi development consultant, telephone interview, Amman, Jordan, April 26, 2010. 17. Representatives from Refugees International visited an office of the Sadrist Movement in the Ur district of Baghdad. The office provides locals with clothing, milk, oil, rice, sugar, clothes, and fuel for heating and cooking when supplies are available. The central government does not play any role in that area. Locals even come to the Sadrist office for the adjudication of legal disputes. The office also provides stipends to displaced families and the families of slain or imprisoned Jaysh al-Mahdi men (Younes and Rosen 2008). 18. Iran provides funding to all the major Shi‘a parties, and its relationship with the Sadrists is not uniformly positive. When the Sadrists were in control of the Ministry of Health, Iran offered to build hospitals throughout Iraq, but the Sadrists were not sufficiently organized to take advantage of the Iranian offer (author interview: Iraqi development consultant, telephone interview, Amman, Jordan, April 26, 2010). 19. Discussions with various observers and members of the movement indicate, however, that few former fighters actually frequent the centers (Hamid Yassin, research report, Sadr City, Baghdad, May 30, 2010). 20. Other offices of the Markaz Baqiyyat Allah al-Thaqafi in Baghdad are located in the neighborhoods of Souk al-Dakhil, al-Amin al-Thanniya, Shula, Shaab, Abu Dusheer, and Hurriya. 21. Hamid Yassin, research report, Sadr City, Baghdad, May 30, 2010. 22. Despite the expansion of its social activities after 2008, the Sadrist welfare programs were modest compared to the public welfare system. Due to the Iraqi legacy of statist development and the restrictions on associational life imposed during the Ba‘athist period, the public sector remained preponderant after the overthrow of Saddam Hussein. According to a Ministry of Health official, the movement ran basic outpatient clinics that were open only in the afternoon and were not well equipped. Most of the medications offered at Sadrist health facilities were not provided by the ministry, which was the only legal source in Iraq for medical supplies (former official, Iraqi Ministry of Health, personal communication, Washington, DC, June 2, 2011). A U.S. adviser to the Iraqi government estimated that the Sadrists had total assets of about $70 million, whereas the Iraqi government budget for social expenditures alone was approximately US$11 billion (author interview: political consultant, U.S. government, telephone interview, Baghdad, June 9, 2011). 23. Hamid Yassin, research report, Baghdad, June 5, 2010. 24. The website (www.alsadronline.net) was allegedly run out of Houston, Texas, but was no longer operational at the time of data collection and writing between 2010 and 2013 (author interview: political consultant, U.S. government, telephone interview, Baghdad, June 9, 2011). 25. See www.mkadas.com. 26. In 2009, the main Sadrist website (www.alsadronline.net) listed the cities and governorates in which Sadrist political offices were located: Najaf, Nasiriyya, Mosul, Babil, Baghdad, Basra, Diwaniyeh, Maysan, Kirkuk, Kut, Karbala, Samarra, Diyala, and Samawah. 27. The data on the locations of Sadrist social centers was gathered through interviews with Sadrist officials conducted by Hamid Yasin in June 2011. This information was cross-checked against the Sadrist website (www.alsadronline.net), which provided some information on the locations and activities of Sadrist social centers in 2009 and 2010. 28. Hamid Yassin, research report, Baghdad, July 13, 2010. 29. Ibid.

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Notes to Pages 206–221

30. Author interview: Iraqi development consultant, telephone interview, Amman, Jordan, April 26, 2010; Mahan Abedin, independent researcher, personal communication, Washington, DC, June 6, 2011. 31. Ibid. 32. From its beginning, the RSS established a military wing that undertook infantry training with basic weapons as well as ideological training (Hansen 2005). 33. For background on the RSS and Hindu nationalism more generally, see Hansen (1999, 2005); Jaffrelot (1996). 34. The caste system is a system of social stratification and is the focus of affirmative action laws in India. The four major caste categories—Brahmins, Kshatriyas, Vaishyas, and Shudras— are derived from ancient Vedic texts, which are a basis of more contemporary Hinduism. Some people known as “Untouchables” were excluded from the system entirely. The Indian government recognizes members of lower-caste communities, notably the Shudras, and Untouchables as “Scheduled Castes” or Dalits. Various laws and policies are designed to integrate Dalits into the civil services and improve the well-being of these historically marginalized people. 35. For example, the BJP attempts to attract Muslim candidates for its slates in state and general elections led to disaffection among RSS activists, compelling some RSS leaders to call on their cadres to support Congress over the BJP in the 1984 elections (Hansen 1999, 158). 36. The violent culmination of the Ayodhya campaign resulted in the destruction of the Babri Mosque in 1992 by Hindu activists, who broke through police barriers to raze the structure. The destruction of the mosque touched off a major political crisis and violent riots that led to thousands of deaths (Basu 2001, 171). 37. Some scholars have described the types and number of RSS institutions in specific Indian states and areas such as Orissa (Chatterji 2003), Kalwa (Hansen 1999, 191), and Uttar Pradesh and Madhya Pradesh (Jaffrelot 1996, 218). For a more expansive overview, see Thachil (2012). 38. Thachil and Herring (2008, 456–57, 459) argue that the decline or poor performance of public institutions is a strong predictor of the rise and successful appeal of RSS social programs in distinct parts of India. 39. For example, Jaffrelot (1996, 513) claims that social service provision to migrants won a valuable bloc of votes for the BJP in the 1993 elections. 40. As Kalyvas (2008) argues, ideological differences may be comparable to identity-based differences, facilitating a plausible assessment of the main arguments in the Palestinian case. 41. Author interviews: journalists, Western press agency, Ramallah, June 14, 2009; staff member, international development NGO, June 15, 2009; Hamas members of parliament, Ramallah, June 16, 2009; officials, UNRWA, Jerusalem, June 17, 2009; staff member, Palestinian development NGO, Al-Bireh, June 18, 2009.

Conclusion 1. Author interviews: official, Ministry of Public Health, Beirut, July 13, 2006; representative, YMCA/Lebanon, Sin el-Fil, December 10, 2007; official, Amal Movement, Ghobeiri, January 17, 2008. 2. Author interviews: representative, YMCA/Lebanon, Sin el-Fil, April 13, 2006; official, Ministry of Public Health, Beirut, July 13, 2006. 3. Author interview: official, Ministry of Social Affairs, Badaro, Beirut, June 9, 2004. 4. From 1982 to 1983, Adnan Mrouweh served as minister of health and social affairs. In the late 1980s, Abdallah El Rassi held the post. In 1992, after the war ended, Marwan Hamadeh of the Druze PSP filled both positions. In July 1996, the two ministries split, with Suleiman Franjieh, a Maronite politician from the North, heading the Ministry of Public Health and Ayoub Humayed of the Amal Movement heading the independent Ministry of Social Affairs (Melheh 2003). 5. Within Lebanon, there is wide regional variation in the ratio of hospital beds to population, ranging from 0.86 in Nabatiyeh to 6.55 in Mount Lebanon (Ammar 2003, 37). 6. Author interviews: representative, Health Program, World Bank/Lebanon, Beirut, May 4, 2006; official, Ministry of Public Health, Beirut, June 13, 2006; project director, Ministry of Health, Beirut, June 24, 2006. 7. Sectarian parties are by no means the only actors resistant to change. Lobbying from powerful vested interests, such as the Order of Physicians and Pharmacists and the Syndicate

Notes to Pages 224–232

289

of Hospitals, also blocks reform. Nonetheless, preliminary assessments suggest that the quality of primary and secondary care has gradually improved as a result of the implementation of accreditation program in recent years (Ammar 2009, 137–38; El-Jardali et al. 2013). 8. Sbaiti (2008, 211) points out that the two sides agreed that Arabic should be the sole official language and that the emphasis should be placed on Lebanon as a nation-state, but they differed in their understandings of the Lebanese nation. 9. Author interview: official, Ministry of Education, Ghobeiri, June 14, 2004. 10. The study also reported the findings of a survey of university students who attended the public, Catholic, British, French, and Sunni Muslim Makassed schools. Although the political views of students diverged markedly across these schools, the authors concluded that these positions were reflected in, more than produced by, the schools. For example, the political preferences of Sunnis who attended Catholic schools were virtually identical to those of co-religionists enrolled in Muslim schools, which the authors viewed as a result of the primacy of socialization within families and religious communities rather than educational institutions (Wehbe and El-Amine 1980, 224). 11. Author interviews: official, Ministry of Education, Ghobeiri, June 14, 2004; project manager, Ministry of Education, Sin el-Fil, July 7, 2006; director, Lebanese Association for Educational Studies, Beirut, June 27, 2006. 12. For a detailed account of the struggles over the writing of the history and civics textbooks, see Frayha (2004). See also Fattah (2007). 13. Author interview: administrator, Greek Orthodox School, Ashrafieh, June 23, 2006. 14. Baldwin and Huber (2010) hold that ethnic diversity is associated with poor development outcomes only when “between-group inequality” is high. 15. Gerring et al. (2011) find that the linkage between ethnoreligious diversity and the inferior provision of public goods is less robust than the current consensus suggests and, if anything, operates on a national scale but not on subnational levels of analysis. Similarly, the measure of sectarian heterogeneity here was associated with increased access to social assistance (see chapter 4). This finding may arise because diversity is measured at the qaza rather than the national level. 16. The WHO (2000) World Health Report emphasizes the importance of government “stewardship” to the functioning of health-care systems. 17. Certain features of democracies, however, may deter politicians from investing in some welfare-enhancing programs and policies. Electoral cycles shorten the time horizons of politicians, who prefer to support initiatives with more immediate returns than the types of longer-term investments required to effect more fundamental change; also, some institutional arrangements create a “tyranny of the majority,” in which minorities are neglected or face discrimination (Guinier 1994). In addition, democracies may not be more likely to redistribute than autocracies (Mares and Carnes 2009; Tsai 2007), and state capacity, rather than regime type, may explain the superior provision of public goods and welfare outcomes (Rothstein 2011; Soifer 2013). 18. The only exceptions are contests over a single seat, as in the Armenian Catholic and Evangelical Christian communities, in which voting effectively occurs along majoritarian lines. 19. On the other hand, the proposed law would stipulate preprinted ballots, undercutting a chief mechanism of monitoring voter behavior, as described in chapter 3 (Galey 2013). 20. For a nuanced analysis of the political reactions to the proposed bill, see Galey (2013). 21. Author interview: official, FPM, Jdeideh, October 26, 2007. 22. Empirical tests have generated mixed evidence regarding the support of the contact hypothesis. Intergroup contact may be more likely to promote reconciliation on the individual rather than the group level (Forbes 1997), and positive information about out-group members does not automatically alter stereotypes (Gubler 2013). For a summary of earlier critiques of the contact hypothesis, see Seligman and Welch (1993). 23. This point echoes critiques of the inclusion-moderation hypothesis, which holds that political opening provides incentives for Islamists to participate in mainstream politics and contest elections, which then leads to a gradual process of ideological moderation (El-Ghobashy 2005; Kalyvas 2003; Waterbury 1997). This approach presumes that the experience of working with ideologically dissimilar groups, the unavoidable necessity to make compromises and form alliances, and constraints on behavior posed by institutions and other actors, among other factors, compel ideological moderation. The very groups that choose to participate in electoral politics in the first place, however, may be more likely to be moderate when included in formal political institutions

290

Notes to Pages 232–234

(Browers 2009; Clark 2006; Schwedler 2006, 2011). The case of Hezbollah supports the notion that ideological moderation precedes behavioral moderation in the form of electoral participation. The end of the civil war in Lebanon brought the reinstatement of elections, but the Hezbollah leadership opted to field candidates in the first post-war elections only after a vigorous internal debate (Qassem 2005). 24. For example, insurgent groups in Latin America have offered benefits and services to the communities where they operate (Arias 2006; Grynkewich 2008; Isacson 2005, 8; Ortiz 2002, 131, 137). 25. Author interview: Father Gregoire Haddad, Beirut, June 13, 2006. 26. Author interview: director, Lebanese NGO, Sin el-Fil, January 15, 2007.

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Index

Note: Page numbers followed by t indicate tables. Aamshit, 148, 159, 160 Adivasis, 213 – 15 Adalet ve Kalkinma Partisi (AKP; Justice and Development Party), 5, 216 Advani, Lal Krishna, 208, 211 Ain Wazein Hospital, 55 Akkar, 42, 125, 140, 141, 142, 188t Al-Araji, Hazem, 199 – 200 Alawites, 60 Al-Difaʾa al-Madani (Hezbollah Civil Defense), 153 Aley, 80, 158 – 59, 184 Al-Hariri, Rafiq and education, 140 and elections, 68, 69, 83, 149, 151, 183, 186 and his background, 49, 65 – 66 and political strategies, 67, 115, 139, 184, 189 and post-assassination developments, 69, 73, 147 and the Future Movement, 11, 18, 20, 65, 69 and welfare services, 139, 140, 144, 185 Al-Hariri, Saad, 18, 69, 91, 141, 147 Al-Hayaʾat Al-Ijtimaʾiyya (social units), 198 Al-Hayaʾ al-Shaʿabiyyah, 167 Al-Hayaʾ al-Suhiyya al-Islamiyya (Islamic Health Unit), 153 Al-Hikma school system, 224 Al-Hoss, Salim, 68, 81, 185, 285n161 Al-Jaafari, Ibrahim, 195 Al-Jamʿiyya Al-Lubnaniyya lil-Riʿaya Al-Sahiyya wal-Ijtimaʿiyya (Lebanese Association for Health and Social Protection), 161

Al-Jamʿiyya Al-Lubnaniyya lil-Riʿaya al-Muaʿqin (Lebanese Welfare Association for the Handicapped), 162 Al-Kadhimiya, 202 Al-Khoury, Bishara, 42, 223 ʿAllawi, Iyad, 195 Al-Madrasa Al-Outhmaniyya, 40 Al-Mahdi Schools, 153 – 54 Al-Maliki, Nouri, 196 – 97, 286 Al-Majlis al-Islami al-Shiʿi al-Aʾla Shiʿa (Supreme Islamic Shiʿi Council), 41, 74 Al-Muʾassasa al-Khayriyya al-Islamiyaa li-Abnaʾ Jbeil-Kesserwane (Islamic Charitable Institution for the Sons of Jbeil-Kesserwane), 159 Al-Musawi, Sayyid Abbas, 70 Al-Mustapha Schools, 154 Al-Nejdeh Al-Shaabiyah Al-Nuri, Riyad, 199 Al-Sadr, Ayatollah Baqir, 192 – 201 Al-Sadr, Grand Ayatollah Mohammed Sadiq, 192, 198, 200 – 201, 286n4 Al-Sadr, Imam Musa, 41, 48, 74, 164 Al-Sadr, Moqtada, 192 – 202 Al-Sadr Hospital, 201 Al-Shemari, Ali, 200 – 201 Al-Solh, Riad, 223 Al-Tadamun al-Igtamaʿi (Social Solidarity Foundation), 170 Al-Zahra Hospital, 164 Amal Movement and Council of the South, 186 and distribution of welfare, 106, 107, 138, 162 – 66

310

Index

Amal Movement (continued) and elections, 187, 188 and fractionalization, 103, 104, 109 – 14 and funding, 166 and the Hezbollah, 65, 70 – 72 and its history, 74, 75 and intrasect competition, 20, 27, 28 and political strategies, 76, 83, 139, 160, 161, 189 and schools, 163, 164 and supporters, 123, 125, 131, 133, 137 and welfare services, 47 – 49, 120, 122 Amel Association, 237 – 41t American University Hospital, 55 American University of Beirut, 66, 235 – 39t Aoun, Michel, 73, 81 – 83, 167 – 73, 179 – 87, 230 Arab nationalism, 76 Armenians, 60, 100, 111, 113, 185 Ashrafieh, 146, 149, 167, 170, 235t Ayodhya, 209, 210, 212, 288n36 Baalbek and the Hariri Foundation, 141 and the Hezbollah, 48, 70, 71, 156, 157, 183 and hospitals, 153 and the Kataeb, 80 and schools, 154 Baʿath Party, 31, 183, 198 Babri Mosque, 210, 212, 288n36 Baghdad, 31, 37, 198, 199, 202 – 6 Basra, 196, 203, 206 Batroun, 81, 141, 153, 154, 169, 176, 180 Beirut and administrative division, 93, 95 and the Amal Movement, 161, 163, 164 and elections, 68, 69, 80, 81, 98, 187 and ethnic groups, 87, 88, 100, 101, 109, 113 and the Hariri Foundation, 66, 143, 144, 146, 147, 149 and the Hezbollah, 71, 85, 152 – 59 and the Kataeb, 168 and the Lebanese Forces, 78, 170 and the Maqasid, 67 and Rafiq al-Hariri, 183 – 84 and welfare services, 1, 40, 42, 48, 142 Beirut Association for Social Development (see Jamʿiyyat Beirut lil-Tanmiyya Ijtimaʿiyya) Beqaa, 41, 142, 152 – 59, 160, 161, 163 Berri, Nabih, 74 – 75, 162, 186 – 87 Berri, Randa, 162 Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), 34, 190, 191, 207 – 15 Bint Jbeil, 95

“bricks and mortar” institutions, 14, 87 – 91, 111, 113, 139, 141, 143, 231, 275n14 Bsharri, 81, 141 Burj al-Brajneh, 71 Caritas, 237 – 41t Central Military Hospital, 170 Chamoun, Camille, 42, 77, 273n38 Christian beneficiaries, 3, 173, 180 charities, 105, 132, 149, 226 community, 40, 82 curricula, 224, 225 educational institutions, 44 militias, 50, 76 – 78, 81, 170, 182 neighborhoods, 4, 48, 143 – 44, 148, 157 organizations, 95 political parties, 4, 35, 53, 65, 76, 77, 120 politicians, 62, 76 – 78, 83, 183, 185 population, 96, 100, 121, 140, 158, 184, respondents, 125 voters, 68, 109, 113, 175, 185 – 87 welfare institutions, 120, 225 Christianity, 11, 212, 226 civics, 223, 225, 226, 227 Civil Servants Cooperative, 56 civil society, 218, 229, 231 civil war and al-Hariri, 65 – 67 and the Amal movement, 74 – 76 and the Christian parties, 76 – 83, 167 – 69 and elections, 61 and the Hezbollah, 71 in Iraq, 201, 205 in Lebanon, 2, 3, 32, 38, 58, 60, 61 in Palestine, 215 and population movements, 99, 109, 159 and welfare providers, 33, 50, 52 and welfare provision, 39, 43 – 45 clientelism and the Amal Movement, 164 and bricks-and-mortar institutions, 89 and electoral politics, 21, 22, 89 and the Future Movement, 144 and patron-client relationship, 62 and public welfare, 13 and its targets, 17, 37, 128 clinics and the Amal Movement, 161 – 64 and the BJP, 211, 212 as bricks-and-mortar institutions, 14, 87 and the Christian parties, 120 and their distribution, 53, 95, 96 and the Hariri Foundation, 143, 145, 146, 149 and the Hezbollah, 153, 155, 158, 160, 173 and the Kataeb, 173

Index and the Lebanese Forces, 172, 176 and the Sadrist movement, 198, 201 club goods, 13 Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA), 193 – 99 Comités populaires (local committees), 170 – 71 Congress Party, 208 – 12 consociationalism, 64 consociational system, 59, 60, 61, 64, 229 Cooperative of Employees, 55 core supporters and their actions, 16 and the Amal Movement, 165 and clientelism, 15 and the Future Movement, 147 and the Hezbollah, 112, 154 – 61 and the Lebanese Forces, 171 and political strategy, 4, 26, 29 – 31, 146 and the Sadrist movement, 192, 203, 215 and welfare benefits, 129, 137 corruption, 6, 13, 44, 68, 82, 272n18 Council for Development and Reconstruction (CDR), 66, 101, 220 Council of the South, 74, 75, 164, 186, 187 Dalits, 208, 213, 215, 288n34 Daʿwa Party, 192, 193, 195, 206, 286n9 democracy, 24, 228 Deuxième Bureau, 42 dispensaries (see clinics) Doha Agreement, 73 Druze, 20, 36, 40, 41, 42, 46, 48, 49, 50, 52, 55 education (see also schooling) and the Amal Movement, 163 – 66 educational institutions, 39 – 44, 90 – 121, 146 educational outreach, 40, 48, 139 – 52 educational sector, 6, 38, 42, 49, 50, 57 educational services, 117 educational welfare services, 12, 13, 19, 34 and the Hezbollah, 152 – 54 in Lebanon, 40, 43, 50, 51 public, 45 religious, 40 elections and distribution of welfare, 5, 29, 31, 35 and extra-state strategy, 73 and low-commitment actions, 23 and out-group appeal, 25, 28 and sectarian politics, 11, 18 and state-centric strategy, 23 electoral rules and intergroup cooperation, 18, 231 in Lebanon, 18, 58 – 64, 72 – 73, 97, 228 – 30 and party incentives, 25, 228, 229, in power-sharing systems, 22

311

ethnic party (see also sectarian party) definition, 10 and electoral behavior, 7 and political strategies, 232 and welfare distribution, 3, 19 ethnicity and intrasect competition, 28 and political salience, 4, 5, 10, 215 “exclusive” distribution of welfare, 2, 8, 14 – 17, 28, 86, 217, 234 extra-state mobilization and the Amal Movement, 165 and the Christian parties, 78, 80, 83 and the Future Movement, 69 and the Hezbollah, 70, 73, 158 and measurement, 182 and the Sadrist movement, 206 and welfare distribution, 30 – 34, 112, 132, 154 Fadlallah, Mohammed Hussein, 160, 269n6, 273n26 Farah Social Welfare Assocation, 238t Fares, Issam, 187 fatwa, 194 food assistance and Auxilia, 176 and the Christian parties, 167 – 71 and the Free Patriotic Movement, 180 and the Future Movement, 141 – 47, 150 items, 142 fractionalization (see also heterogeneity) definition and measurement, 99 formula, 276n23 religious fractionalization, 103 – 12 Franjieh, Suleiman, 2, 187, 288n4 Free Patriotic Movement (FPM) and the Hezbollah, 82, 160, 161, 187, 231 and history, 81, 82 and intrasect competition, 166 and welfare services, 178 – 82 French Mandate, 37, 39, 40, 41, 60, 76, 224, 269n4 Future Movement and al-Hariri, 65 and education, 140 its establishment, 69 and health care, 143 and intrasect competition, 33 and political strategy, 69, 83 and Sunnis, 10, 84 and supporters, 131, 136, 138 and welfare services, 104 – 9, 147 – 51 Geagea, Samir, 48, 78 – 81, 92, 170 – 75 Gemayel, Amine, 77, 79, 173, 185

312

Index

Gemayel, Bashir, 77, 78 Gemayel, Pierre, 77 – 80, 173 Gemayel, Sami, 80 General Security (GS), 56t Geographic Information Systems (GIS), 36, 86, 87, 94, 116 Ghobeiri, 71 Greek Orthodox Church, 40, 148, 270n7 Gujarat, 210 Hamas, 215 Harakat al-Mahrumin (Movement of the Dispossessed), 41, 48, 74, 273n32 Harb, Raghib, 70 Haret Hreik, 71, 109, 157, 158 Hariri Foundation, 35, 66, 85, 87, 139 – 49 Hashem, ʿAbbas, 160 hawza, 193, 195 health care and access to, 49, 116, 128, 145, 180 and the Amal Movement, 162, 164 and the Christian parties, 182 and financing, 54 – 57, 220, 221 and the Hezbollah, 153, 160 and political support, 145 and provision, 57, 222, 227 and the Sadrist movement, 199 and sectarian organizations, 12, 54, 219 Helou, Charles, 43, 76 Herfindahl index, 99 Hermel, 80, 156 heterogeneity and development, 128 and location of welfare agencies, 103, 112 and measurement, 99 and public goods provision, 228 Hezbollah and the Amal Movement, 65, 68, 69 and distribution of welfare, 104, 110 – 14, 133, 152 and education, 154 and hospitals, 153 and intrasect competition, 27, 28, 71 and organizational purpose, 71 and political strategies, 70 – 73, 83, 154 – 61 and welfare provision, 48, 49 Hindutva, 208 historiography and the BJP, 212 and political contestation, 224 and national identity, 6, 44, 223, 227 and school curriculum, 225 – 27 hospitals and the Amal Movement, 164 distribution of, 52, 53 and financing, 55

and the Hezbollah, 153 and political support, 145 and the Shihab administration, 43 and spatial locations, 87, 95 Husseiniyyas, 198, 201 Hotel Dieu Hospital, 55 Hrawi, Elias, 66, 68, 79, 81 identity and caste, 210 and census, 96 definition of, 9, 10 and national history, 6 vs. non-identity based parties, 32, 33 partisan, 36 political salience of, 11, 88 and provider-beneficiary linkage, 2 religious, 11, 58 sectarian, 10, 60 and sectarian profiling, 86 and welfare provision, 4, 6, 116, 120, 130, 131, 180 identity-based organizations, 2, 217, 227, 232 Imam al-Hussein Clinic, 162 Imam Ali Hospital, 201 “inclusive” distribution of welfare, 8, 14, 15, 22, 25, 28, 33, 217 India, 88, 190, 191, 207, 210 – 15, 234 Indian National Congress (see Congress Party) Indonesia, 4, 7 in-group domination, 27, 66, 76, 83, 84 in-group targeting and intrasect competition, 27, 28 in Lebanon, 103 – 7, 111 – 13, 138, 157, 161 and political strategy, 4, 9, 15, 25, 26 insurance and the National Social Security Fund, 43 and private providers, 38, 141, 164, 172, 179 and welfare services, 12 Internal Security Forces (ISF), 56t intrasect competition and the Christian parties, 76 and definition of, 27 and distributional behavior, 65 and Iraq, 192 and the Muslim parties, 70 and welfare services, 28, 30 Iran, 19, 71, 74, 121, 153, 160, 192 Iraq, 4, 7, 10, 191 – 202 Iraqi army, 26, 196, 206 Iraqi Ministry of Health, 200, 201 Islam, 7, 11, 226 Islamic Emdad (see Lajnat Emdad al-Imam al-Khomeini) Islamic Health Unit (Islamic Health Organization; See Al-Hayaʾ al-Suhiyya al-Islamiyya)

Index Islamic Scout Organization, 153 Islamic Resistance (see Hezbollah) Islamic Supreme Council of Iraq (ISCI), 192, 193, 197 Israel, 41, 46, 69 – 75, 85, 95, 152 – 62, 180 Israeli army, 165, 186 Ittihad al-Shaab (People’s Union), 201 Jabal ʿAmel, 40 Jamʿiyyat Beirut lil-Tanmiyya Ijtimaʿiyya (Beirut Association for Social Development), 142, 144 Jana Sangh, 212, 213 Jaysh al-Mahdi, 193 – 99, 200 – 205 Jbeil, 141, 142, 153 – 61, 171, 176, 184 Jihad al-Binaʾ (Struggle for Construction Institution), 153, 154 Jnah, 71 Jordan, 5, 222 Joumblatt, Walid, 285n161 Karamah, Elie, 78 Karbala, 193 Karm al-Zeitoun, 146, 148, 149, 174 Kataeb (Lebanese Phalange, Phalange, Hizb al-Kataʾeb al-Lubnaniyya) and clinics, 173 – 75 and education, 168 and elections, 80 and the Lebanese Forces, 77 – 78 and Lebanese nationalism, 76 and militia, 77, 168 and reconstitution, 80 and welfare provision, 49, 104, 105, 110 – 14, 168 Khums, 154, 194 Kirkuk, 206, 207 Koura, 81, 141, 187 Lahoud, Emile, 68, 82, 272n19, 285n161 Laʾihat al-ʿInqath al-Metniyya (Metn Salvation List), 80 Lajnat Emdad al-Imam al-Khomeini (Islamic Emdad Charitable Committee), 152, 154, 156, 202 Lebanese American University, 66 Lebanese army, 46, 66, 75, 81, 169 Lebanese Forces, 65, 76 – 83, 166 – 78, 185 Lebanese Ministry of Education, 154, 224, 225 Lebanese Ministry of Public Health, 49, 54, 55, 96, 219, 220, 221 Lebanese Ministry of Social Affairs, 55, 76, 219, 220, 221 Lebanese municipal elections in 1998, 72 in 2004, 72

313

Lebanese national elections in 1992, 61, 68, 72, 183 – 86 in 1996, 61, 68, 72, 144, 183 – 86 in 2000, 61, 68, 95, 140, 144, 182, 187 in 2005, 62, 69, 73, 80, 134, 160 in 2009, 63, 72, 81, 98, 142, 151, 161 Mabarrat, 41, 130 mafatih intikhabiyya (electoral keys), 63 Makhzoumi Foundation Maktab al-Sayyid al-Shahid al-Sadr (Office of the Martyr al-Sadr), 198 mantaqa ʿiqariyya (zone), 93 Maqasid Islamic Philanthropic Society (Al-Maqasid Al-Khairiyya Al-Islamiyya), 40, 67, 130 March 8th Alliance, 69, 73, 147, 150 March 14th Alliance, 69, 80, 82, 144, 272n20 marginal supporters, 30, 71, 129, 134, 138, 145, 166 Markaz Baqiyyat Allah al-Thaqafi (Cultural Center of the Works of Allah), 202 Maronite Church, 40, 130, 184, 185 Maronites and the Church, 184, 185 and national curriculum, 224, 225 and neighborhoods, 148 and organizations, 78 and politicians, 81, 223, 229 and reserved seats, 146 Martyr Hassan Qassir High School, 163 mazout, 142 Metn, 80, 167, 168, 175, 180, 181 Mikati, Najib, 69, 187 militias of the Amal Movement, 75 of the Christian parties, 76, 77 and extra-state strategy, 4, 15, 16, 24 of the Future Movement, 69 of the Hezbollah, 46, 70, 72, 74 of the Kataeb, 78, 169 of the Lebanese Forces, 78, 80, 170, 171 of the Sadrist movement, 192 – 202 and welfare provision, 26, 45 – 50, 57, 154 missionaries, 39, 40, 105, 214, 218 Mouawad, Réné, 66 Moawad, Nayla, 2 mohafaza (province), 93, 183, 184 Mosul, 203, 206 mouneh, 145 Mount Lebanon, 40, 46, 73, 87, 93, 101, 170 Mouvement Social, 234 Mreijeh, 71, 158 Muʾassasat al-Jarha (Institution of the Wounded), 152

314

Index

Muʾassasat al-Shahid ( Institution of the Martyrs), 152 mukhtars, 62, 63, 96, 121 mutual funds, 56t, 179 Najaf, 193 – 206 Nasiriyya, 203 Nasrallah, Hassan, 70, 89 Nasser, Gamal Abdel, 77 National Bureau for Refugees (NBR), 144 National Democratic Alliance (NDA), 210 national identity (see also identity), 6, 225 – 27 National Iraqi Alliance, 197 National Pact, 60 National Social Security Fund (NSSF), 43, 44, 55, 175 non-governmental organization (NGO) and health care, 54, 56, 96, 117 identity-based, 32, 215 and India, 212 international, 5, 45, 49, 218 and Iraq, 201 non-identity-based, 32, 33 and political implications, 219 – 22 and welfare provision, 5, 6, 12, 13, 32, 33, 45 non-state provider (NSP) definition of, 268n7 and Lebanon, 50, 51, 57, 124, 146, 162 typology of, 32, 33 and welfare fragmentation, 6, 13, 221, 222 Open Letter, 70 Orthodox Gathering, 229, 230 Ottoman Empire, 40, 269n4 out-group targeting and intrasect competition, 28 in Lebanon, 86, 103, 107, 109 – 13, 145 – 49 and political strategy, 3, 4, 14 – 17, 22 – 25 Ouzai, 146, 148, 150, 151 Pakistan, 4, 7, 212 Pakradouni, Karim, 79 Palestine, 4, 8, 215 patronage, 21, 27, 50, 66, 144, 199, 223 Political Activity Index (PAI), 118, 119 – 29, 135 political competition (see also intrasect competition), 9, 19, 22, 182 political strategies (see also intra-state and extra-state strategies), 8, 22 – 24, 29, 37 power-sharing (see also consociationalism) primary health care, 12, 34, 45, 49, 54, 221 private schools, 43 – 45, 50, 51, 96, 164, 223 – 25 private subsidized schools, 50, 51, 96, 154, 163, 224

Progressive Socialist Party (PSP), 47 – 49, 69, 82, 122, 123, 136, 160 Public Distribution System (PDS), 202 public goods, 5 – 8, 12, 19, 124, 196, 215, 227, 233 public schools, 43 – 45, 51, 96, 223 – 26 qaza (district), 62, 94, 95, 128, 184 Qassem, Naim, 71, 152, 154, 156 Qornet Shehwan Gathering, 79 Rafiq al-Hariri Government Hospital, 143 Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), 207 – 15 Rasoul al-ʿAzam Hospital, 1, 153, 158 religious charities and health care, 53 – 57 and welfare services, 3, 5, 39, 103, 105, 149 religious identity (see also identity) and political salience, 58, 130 and profiling, 60 and welfare provision, 6, 64, 117, 131 Sabeh, Bassem, 151 Sadr City, 193, 198 – 200, 202, 204, 206 Sadrist Institute for Management Development, 201 Sadrist Movement, 26, 34, 37, 190 – 203, 206 Saint George Hospital, 55 Salam, Tammam, 68 Sangh Parivar, 207 – 15 Saudi Arabia, 19, 49, 61, 65 – 67 Scheduled Castes, 208, 211, 288n34 schooling and the civil war, 45 and long-term benefits, 137 and national identity, 6 and socialization, 163 and the Shihab administration, 42 and welfare provision, 117, 118 schools (see education) sect, 11, 59, 64, 97, 122, 218 sectarianism, 2, 8, 11 sectarian parties definition of, 10 of Lebanon, 33, 58, 64, 65, 138 and political strategies, 23 – 32 and religious charities, 130 and welfare distribution, 21, 103, 121 Seva Bharati (Service of India), 212, 213, 214 Shiʿa community, 20 organizations, 130 parties, 33, 41, 46 population, 10, 70 – 72, 88, 100, 159 welfare distribution, 125, 166 Shiʿi Islam, 20, 271n1

Index Shihab, Fuʾad, 42, 43, 44, 67, 227 Shiyah, 3, 71, 146 Shouf, 55, 140, 142, 171, 184 Sidon, 49, 65, 66, 100, 139, 140, 141, 143, 154 Siniora, Fouad, 82 social assistance and the Amal Movement, 161, 163, 166 and the Christian parties, 167, 182 and the Hariri Foundation, 141 and the Hezbollah, 154, 156 and political support, 134 and the Sadrist movement, 201, 202, 205, 206, and social cleavages, 222 types of, 120 and welfare agencies, 30, 117 social welfare and the choice of provider, 87 and the civil war, 44, 45 and community ties, 19 definition of, 12 forms of, 173 and immaterial dimensions, 8 and the militia actors, 48 and patterns of provision, 15 and political activism, 133, 168 and political goals, 213 – 15 and political implications, 40, 48, 199 and sources of funding, 154 and typology of providers, 32 Solidère, 67, 144 southern suburbs of Beirut and the Amal Movement, 49, 161, 164 and the Christian population, 113 and the Hezbollah, 48, 71, 72, 85, 88, 152 – 61 and the Shiʿa population, 100, 109, 146 South Lebanon, 72, 74, 48, 152, 159, 180 South Lebanese Army, 46 Sri Lanka, 4 state capacity, 39, 74, 81, 218, 233 state-centric mobilization and the Amal Movement, 74, 76, 165, 166 and the Christian parties, 76, 166 and the Free Patriotic Movement, 83 and the Future Movement, 65, 132, 133, 148 and the Hezbollah, 73, 112, 187 and the Kataeb, 80 and the Lebanese Forces, 81 and welfare distribution, 9, 23 – 28, 30, 31 State of Law List, 197 State Security (SS), 56t Sub-Saharan Africa, 7, 11, 12

315

Sunni communities, 60, 65 – 67, 84, 85, 112 and the Future Movement, 33, 139 in Iraq, 11, 206 neighborhoods, 140, 141 organizations, 130 parties, 54, 58 politicians, 67, 68, 185, 189, 96, 100 Sunni Islam, 20, 271n1 support-buying (see also vote- and turnoutbuying), 13, 182, 213 Supreme Shiʿi Islamic Council, 7, 74, 130 Syndicate of Hospitals, 53, 96 Syndicate of Pharmacists, 180 Syria and intervention, 26, 68, 79 and Lebanese politicians, 70, 79, 81, 82 and the peace agreement, 20, 27, 71, 72 and withdrawal, 50, 69, 79, 80, 83 Syrian army, 50, 69, 80, 81, 123, 169 Syrian Socialist Nationalist Party (SSNP), 73, 183 Taʾif Agreement, 58, 61, 79, 81, 225, 226 Tariq el-Jedida, 95 Tashnaq Party, 97, 98 tashteeb, 62 terrorism, 18, 48, 203 Tripoli, 80, 87, 100, 140, 141 Tufayli, Shaykh Subhi, 70 Turkey, 5, 198, 214, 216 turnout-buying, 21, 25, 29, 147, 134 2006 War, 69, 85, 95, 179, 180, 187 Tyre, 74, 154, 186 United Iraqi Alliance (UIA), 195 United National Children’s Fund (UNICEF), 153 Vajpayee, Atul Bihari, 208, 210, 211 Vidya Bharati schools, 212, 213 vote-buying (see also turnout-buying) and elections, 68, 69 and party strategies, 22, 25, 142 and social benefits, 90, 128, 145, 232 World Bank, 54, 220 – 22 World Health Organization (WHO), 54, 95, 153, 222 Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA), 95, 220 Zahle, 80, 81, 98, 141, 144, 168 zakat, 154 zuʾama, 41, 42, 50, 67, 74, 77