Debating Arab Authoritarianism: Dynamics and Durability in Nondemocratic Regimes 9780804779616

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Debating Arab Authoritarianism

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Debating Arab Authoritarianism DYNAMICS AND DURABILITY IN NONDEMOCRATIC REGIMES Edited by Oliver Schlumberger

Stanford University Press Stanford, California

Stanford University Press Stanford, California © 2007 by the Board of Trustees of the Leland Stanford Junior University. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system without the prior written permission of Stanford University Press.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Debating Arab authoritarianism : dynamics and durability in nondemocratic regimes / edited by Oliver Schlumberger. p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-8047-5776-8 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN 978-0-8047-6333-2 (paper : alk. paper) i. Arab countries— Politics and government-- 2 ist century. 2. Middle East- -Politics and government- -2ist century. 3. Authoritarianism— Arab countries. 4. Authoritarianism-Middle East. 5. Democratization- -Arab countries. 6. Democratization—Middle East. I. Schlumberger, Oliver. s

JQ1850.A58D436 2007 321.90917 '4927--dc22 2007029731 Typeset by Bruce Lundquist in 10/14 Minion

To Rose and Jonas

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

ix

Contributors

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1 Arab Authoritarianism: Debating the Dynamics and Durability of Nondemocratic Regimes Oliver Schlumberger PART 1

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STATE-SOCIETY RELATIONS AND POLITICAL OPPOSITION

2 Social Pacts and the Persistence of Authoritarianism in the Middle East Steven Heydemann

21

3 The Management of Opposition: Formal Structures of Contestation and Informal Political Manipulation in Egypt, Jordan, and Morocco Ellen Lust-Okar

39

4 Authoritarian Opposition and the Politics of Challenge in Egypt Holger Albrecht

59

5 Islamist Inclusion and Regime Persistence: The Moroccan Win-Win Situation Eva Wegner PART 2

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THE REGIMES

6 The Ozymandias Syndrome: Questioning the Stability of Middle Eastern Regimes Peter Sluglett

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CONTENTS

7 Intraregime Dynamics, Uncertainty, and the Persistence of Authoritarianism in the Contemporary Arab World Fred H. Lawson

109

8 Privatization of Social Services as a Regime Strategy: The Revival of Islamic Endowments (Awqaf) in Egypt Daniela Pioppi

129

9 State Building, Liberalization from Above, and Political Legitimacy in the Sultanate of Oman Marc Valeri PART 3

143

THE ECONOMY AND THE POLITY

10 Linking Economic and Political Reform in the Middle East: The Role of the Bourgeoisie Giacomo Luciani

161

11 The Political Economy of Regime Maintenance in Egypt: Linking External Resources and Domestic Legitimation Thomas Richter

177

12 From Political to Economic Actors: The Changing Role of Middle Eastern Armies Philippe Droz-Vincent PART 4

195

THE INTERNATIONAL ARENA

13 International Dimensions of Middle Eastern Authoritarianism: The G8 and External Efforts at Political Reform Mustapha K. Sayyid

215

14 Democracy Promotion and the Renewal of Authoritarian Rule Eberhard Kienle 231 15 The Longevity of the House of Saud: Looking Outside the Box Paul Aarts 251 Notes

271

Bibliography

297

Index

337

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

THE IMPETUS FOR THIS BOOK came from a workshop I codirected with Farid El-Khazen of the American University in Beirut at the fifth Mediterranean Social and Political Research Meeting, organized by the Robert Schuman Center for Advanced Studies of the European University Institute (EUI), in Montecatini Terme, Italy, in March 2004. This conference gave us the opportunity to gather Arab, American, and European scholars for a workshop to discuss the dynamics within and the durability of Arab authoritarianism. The EUFs and Imco Brouwer's personal support of the project, through sponsoring that workshop but also in its aftermath, is gratefully acknowledged. Initially the volume was to be coedited by the workshop directors, but Farid had other obligations that prevented him from participating further. Yet I am glad that through his efforts and work during the review process of more than 60 paper proposals for the workshop and through his ideas, he significantly influenced this volume. After I had left Tubingen University in 2004, Dirk Messner of the German Development Institute (DIE) in Bonn made it possible for me to continue to work on the book at that institute. The DIE also readily funded language and style editing. I am grateful to Deborah Ann Rice for improving our (nonnative speakers') English with diligence. Moreover, the organization of the manuscript, the revisions of individual chapters, and the compilation of the bibliography would have been impossible without the assistance of Nathalie Bouchez, Stephanie Portoff, Jennifer Mansey, Maria Josua, and Kevin Kohler. Ix

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Several authors had to update or rewrite their contributions because unforeseen circumstances prolonged the process more than anticipated, including health reasons that kept me away from work for almost half a year. The contributors' constant encouragement and readiness to help and stay onboard is exceptional. I am grateful to this fine team of authors, who, despite all obstacles, still valued the book as their preferred outlet and upon whose patience I depended. Many of them not only wrote their own chapters but felt personally responsible for the outcome as a whole and generously lent their help, encouragement, and advice in many instances. Most of all, I am indebted to Holger Albrecht, who not only discussed and accompanied the project with me from the first ideas in 2002 to June 2006 but also helped several authors revise their chapters, rereview them, and discuss them. Apart from Stanford University Press and myself, Holger has the greatest share in the realization of this book. Roger Owen accompanied the project with constructive criticism up to the final stages of the manuscript, and Kate Wahl, Kirsten Oster, and Carolyn Brown of Stanford University Press were always there when help was needed during these stages and during production so that collaboration was a pleasure. Last but not least, I would not have had the energy for this project without the continuous support provided by Anni and by my parents, to whom I dedicate this book.

O.S. January 2007

CONTRIBUTORS

Paul Aarts is senior lecturer in international relations at the Department of Political Science, University of Amsterdam, the Netherlands. He has published widely on Middle Eastern politics and economics. Among his recent publications is Saudi Arabia in the Balance: Political Economyy Society, Foreign Affairs (London and New York: Hurst and New York University Press, 2005/2006), coedited with Gerd Nonneman. Holger Albrecht is assistant professor at the Institute for Political Science of the University of Tubingen, Germany. He has published articles on authoritarian regime change, political participation and opposition, civil society, and Islamist movements in the Middle East and North Africa in a number of journals and edited volumes. Philippe Droz-Vincent is assistant professor of political science and teaches at the Institut d'fitudes Politiques in Paris. He is the author of The American Moment in the Middle East (Paris: La D£couverte, 2007 [in French]) and The Middle East: Authoritarian Power, Blocked Societies (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2004 [in French]) as well as "Quel avenir pour Tautoritarisme arabe?" [What Future for Arab Authoritarianism?], Revue Fran$aise de Science Politique, 54 (6), 945-979 (2004). Steven Heydemann is associate vice president of the U.S. Institute of Peace in Washington, DC, and, from 2003-2007, directed the Center for Democracy and Civil Society at Georgetown University. He is the author of Authoritarianism in Syria (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1999) and the editor of War, Institutions, and Social Change in the Middle East (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000) and of Networks of Privilege in the Middle East: The Politics of Economic Reform Reconsidered (New York: Palgrave, 2004). He is currently working on a book about the persistence of authoritarianism in the Middle East. xi

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CONTRIBUTORS

Eberhard Kienle is the author of Ba'th v. Bath: The Conflict Between Syria and Iraq, 1968-1989 (London: I. B. Tauris, 1990) and A Grand Delusion: Democracy and Economic Reform in Egypt (London: I. B. Tauris, 2001) as well as the editor of several books. Professor Kienle is currently director of the Institut de Recherche et d'fitudes sur le Monde Arabe et Musulman (IREMAM/CNRS) in Aix-enProvence, France. Fred H. Lawson is Rice Professor of Government at Mills College. He is author of Constructing International Relations in the Arab World (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2006) and Why Syria Goes to War (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1996), among other studies of political economy and foreign policy in the contemporary Middle East. Giacomo Luciani is the director of the Gulf Research Center office in Geneva and professorial lecturer in Middle Eastern studies at the Johns Hopkins University Bologna Centre. His research interests include political economy of the Middle East and North Africa and geopolitics of energy. His name is primarily associated with work on the rentier state in the Arab world. He has edited The Rentier State (New York: Groom Helm, 1987) with Hazem Beblawi; The Politics of Arab Integration (New York: Groom Helm, 1988) with Ghassan Salami; and The Arab State (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990). In recent years Professor Luciani has continued to work on the concept and impact of the rentier state, in particular with respect to democratization in the Arab world. Ellen Lust-Okar is an associate professor in the Department of Political Science at Yale University. She received her M.A. in Middle Eastern studies and her Ph.D. in political science from the University of Michigan. Her book, Structuring Conflict in the Arab World: Incumbents, Opponents, and Institutions (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), examines how institutions structure government-opposition relations in Egypt, Jordan, and Morocco. Other work examining authoritarian politics in the Middle East and North Africa is published in journal articles and book chapters. Daniela Pioppi is a senior research fellow at the Mediterranean and Middle East Programme of the Italian Institute for International Affairs and lecturer in contemporary history of Egypt at the University of Rome "La Sapienza." Her recent publications include Decline and Revival of an Islamic Institution: The Waqfin Contemporary Egypt (Rome: La Sapienza Orientale Ricerche, 2006 [in Italian]) and The Question of Democracy in the Arab World: States, Societies, Conflicts (Rome: Polimetrica, 2004 [in Italian]), co-edited with Federica Bicchi and Laura Guazzone. Thomas Richter is a Ph.D. candidate at the Graduate School of Social Science of the University of Bremen and the author of Determinants of Economic Policy Making for Micro, Small, and Medium-Sized Enterprises in Egypt (Miinster, Germany: Lit, 2004

CONTRIBUTORS

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[in German]). In his thesis, Richter examines how different positions of Middle Eastern states (Morocco, Tunisia, Egypt, and Jordan) in the international and regional systems have influenced the timing and scope of economic liberalization. Mustapha Kamel Al-Sayyid is professor of political science at Cairo University, and he has also taught at the American University in Cairo, at Harvard Law School, and at Colgate University. He spent a year as a visiting scholar at the University of California, Los Angeles, and two months as a visiting fellow at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. He holds a Ph.D. from the University of Geneva and has widely published in Arabic, English, and French on civil society, processes of political change in Arab countries, and the political economy of development. Oliver Schlumberger is a senior researcher at the German Development Institute, Bonn, Germany, and the author of Authoritarianism in the Arab World: Causes, Trends, and International Democracy Promotion (Baden-Baden, Germany: Nomos, 2007 [in German; English edition in preparation]). His research focuses on Middle Eastern politics and political economy as well as on nondemocratic regimes and democracy promotion. He obtained his Ph.D. in political science from Tubingen University, where he served as assistant professor until 2004. Peter Sluglett has been professor of Middle Eastern history at the University of Utah since 1994. He obtained his D.Phil, from Oxford University in 1976 and has written extensively on the history of the Middle East in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries, focusing principally on Iraq and Syria. He is co-author (with Marion Farouk-Sluglett) of Iraq Since 1958: From Revolution to Dictatorship, 3d ed. (London: I. B. Tauris, 2001). His latest book, Britain in Iraq: Contriving King and Country, an extensively revised and updated edition of Britain in Iraq 1914-1932 (London: Ithaca Press, 1976), was published by I. B. Tauris (London) in 2007. Marc Valeri is a lecturer in political science and constitutional law at La Rochelle University (France) and holds a Ph.D. in political science from the Institut d'fitudes Politiques of Paris. He is the author of Le sultanat d'Oman: Une revolution en trompe-l'oeiL (Paris: Karthala, 2007) and has contributed to the Etudes du CERI (2005) and to several international conferences on the Gulf. His current research interest is on authoritarianism and political legitimacy in Oman and the Gulf. Eva Wegner is a postdoctoral fellow at the German Institute for International and Strategic Studies (Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik) in Berlin, where she is working on the Jordanian Islamic Action Front and, comparatively, on the political inclusion of Islamist movements. She holds a Ph.D. in political science from the European University Institute (Florence, Italy). On Moroccan Islamists she has contributed to the Journal of North African Studies and to the Arab Reform Bulletin.

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1

ARAB AUTHORITARIANISM Debating the Dynamics and Durability of Nondemocratic Regimes Oliver Schlumberger

AUTHORITARIAN RULE still prevails in the Arab countries.1 What are the working mechanisms and inner logic that contribute to its durability? Rather than asking, as Salami (1991) did, "Why... is the Arab world not democratic?" the contributors to this volume examine how authoritarianism works in practice and how it can be grasped conceptually. These questions are especially pertinent with respect to the Arab world because it is the only world region that has not, over the past three to four decades, experienced any cases of "transition from authoritarian rule" (O'Donnell and Schmitter 1986)2 and because, arguably, many of the possible answers to Salame°s question will be affected by how we assess current political rule in the Middle East. Under the heading of Arab exceptionalism the puzzle set out by Salami has preoccupied scholars for the past two decades and—with the possible exception of the Arab-Israeli conflict(s)—may well be the single most important long-term issue in Middle Eastern politics since the end of the Cold War. The mode of governance in the Arab world is of prime importance in the post9/11 world because of its direct relevance to international peace and security and to the relations of Western governments with their Arab counterparts. It is also relevant because of the region's paramount importance for the global economy (world energy markets) and because of the area's geopolitical location at the crossroads of three continents, rendering its constituent states close yet politically "distant neighbors" (Ayubi i995a). This debate on political rule in the Arab world has been characterized by widespread disagreement among scholars who hold divergent views, assess 1

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events differently from one another, and come from different schools of thought. However, one broad consensus has emerged: The Middle East finds itself amid significant political change in the 20005. Against a background where violent conflict once again looms large, this intersection of different possible political trajectories comes at a time when political dynamics and change in most Arab countries have gained a degree of momentum in ways not seen in the recent past. The political choices made by leaders of the region and by external players and rapidly changing social, economic, and international contexts all contribute to a new dynamic. This dynamic has certainly been accelerated in the post-9/n era, as the eyes of the world have focused more intensely on the region than before; however, what is now taking place in the region originated long before September n, 2001. WINDS OF CHANGE . . . ?

Three phenomena that have long been absent from the Middle Eastern scene have reappeared and seem to signal that strong winds of change are blowing throughout the Arab world: political protest, political reform, and more visible pressure for political reform exerted by external players. Together, these phenomena are giving rise to renewed expectations among both policymakers and scholars of thoroughgoing political reforms, including the transition of Arab polities to more participatory systems of governance. First, political protesters and, in some cases, antigovernment or even antiregime opposition took to the streets in numerous countries in the region. In Lebanon mass demonstrations against the long-standing Syrian occupation were largely responsible for Syria withdrawing its troops in 2005. In Bahrain human rights activists, and women's rights activists in particular, gained considerable ground despite repressive moves by the regime. Women also advanced in Kuwait, where they now have the vote for the first time. Moreover, a majority of deputies walked out of the Kuwaiti parliament in 2006 in protest against the government's reluctance to reduce the number of constituencies, which would make electoral competition more fair. In the Egyptian capital people took to the streets and said "enough" to a quarter-century of President Mubarak's rule. The Kifaya movement openly challenged the legitimacy of the rule of Egypt's modern pharaoh. Regionwide civil society declarations and statements, such as those of Alexandria or Beirut (both in 2OO4),3 bear witness to the fact that for the first time in decades public protests have adopted a decidedly political tone. Rather than exploding into bread riots as a result

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of rising unemployment and increased poverty, the almost proverbial "Arab street" seems to have reemerged, albeit with fewer numbers, in a highly politicized fashion after having been silenced since the 19508 and 19605, the last time the masses were mobilized during the heyday of Arab nationalism. Second, at the same time as the emergence of new political movements from below, incumbent regimes themselves, long hesitant about the idea of political change, seem to have grasped the necessity of political reform. Numerous declarations on good governance, greater pluralism, human rights, and democratic reforms have emanated from within the region (e.g., Tunis in 2004, Sana'a in 2004, and the Dead Sea in 2005).4 What is more, these initiatives "from above" have been accompanied by actual reforms. Thus from the new personal status code in Morocco to Saudi Arabia's first ever local elections, from the installation of parliaments in Gulf countries such as Oman to the opening of the Egyptian presidential elections to competition, from decentralization schemes in Yemen or Jordan to discussions about the abolition of the Ba ath Party's hegemonic position in Damascus, from new Jordanian laws against corruption to the gradual opening of Libya, Middle Eastern rulers have started to vie for international attention for engaging in political reform, and most of them have done so in more than one area of governance. Third, the domestic political dynamic from above and below has been accompanied by a new emphasis on the promotion of good governance by external players. While Kant (1995 [1795]) would not have dreamt that a dozen Islamist terrorists would one day help his theorem of "perpetual peace" to become popular among American neoconservatives, George W. Bush's administration in particular promised to abandon the former US strategy of supporting dictators, because this had produced only the illusion of stability. Only free countries, runs the recent discourse, would guarantee longterm peace and security. Hence promoting democracy probably figured more prominently in US and other Western countries' policies toward the Middle East than ever before, at least rhetorically. In 2002 the United States launched a Middle East Partnership Initiative (MEPI),5 and other Western countries followed suit with their own bilateral initiatives for political reform. Yet not only did authoritarianism come to be seen as a threat to international security, but in a parallel discourse it was also identified as a major obstacle to sustainable human and economic development (Sen 1999). Therefore international organizations and multilateral donors, such as the Organization for Economic

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Cooperation and Development (OECD, in 2004), the Group of Eight (G8, in 2004), the World Bank (in 2003), and the United Nations Development Program (UNDP, in 2000), embarked on programs that promoted better governance and reforms in the direction of political openness in the Middle East.6 Although this flurry of external initiatives and pressures for political reform leave the observer with the impression of a degree of concerted action by the international community hardly paralleled elsewhere, strivings for political change, including democracy promotion (direct intervention aside), have a history that goes back at least several decades. Even before the 2003 war on Iraq, more than 800 bi- and multilateral programs and projects had been implemented in the Middle East under the heading of democracy promotion (cf. Carapico 2002). Hence pressures for political change or liberalization can be depicted neither as Western reaction to the events of 9/11 nor as a direct consequence of the military intervention by US and allied forces in Iraq. External support for improving governance has no doubt been intensified in the recent past, but processes of political liberalization have a longer history in the region (cf., e.g., Brynen et al. 1995,1998).7 Prominent contemporary political dynamics, whether originating within the region or exported to it, are embedded in wider processes of political, social, and economic change that the Arab world has been undergoing in recent history. Thus they should be interpreted as part of a series of processes that set in before both the war on Iraq and recent international initiatives. Even a casual look at the literature validates this claim. For most of the 19905 both Arab and international scholars tended to assume, in light of political liberalization, that the famous "third wave" (Huntington 1991) of democratization had already begun to reach the shores of the Arab world. In an optimistic turn and with understandable if somewhat premature enthusiasm, regional experts declared that "the Arab world is evolving along the same broad trends and processes that have been at work elsewhere in newly democratizing societies" (Ibrahim 1994, 27). Comparativists joined in and wrote of Arab countries as "emergent democracies" (Schmitter 2001, 104). Schmitter, in fact, answered his own question of whether it was "safe for transitologists to travel to the Middle East and North Africa" by asserting explicitly8 that political dynamics in Arab countries should be interpreted according to the "democratization paradigm" that has recently gained renewed popularity in policy circles.

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. . . OR DUST OF CONTINUITY?

All the dynamics described so far and the corresponding optimist literature of the 19908, however, stand in sharp contrast to the empirical reality of what is now routinely addressed as the Arab world's "democracy deficit" or "governance gap" (Richards 2005; UNDP 2002, 2005; World Bank 2003). The startling fact is that in the Middle East none of the mentioned initiatives and dynamics have produced a structurally enhanced quality of governance (in the sense of guaranteed basic freedoms that Arab citizens enjoy), let alone any instances of democratization. In this respect the world's most unfree region is indeed unique. A case in point is Egypt. When the country was under close US scrutiny during the national and presidential elections in 2005, the regime used a strategy of making minimum gestures toward political reform. A constitutional amendment allowed alternative candidates to run for the presidency—without, however, opening up the system for meaningful political contestation. Although Freedom House (2006) rated Egypt less repressive in 2005 than in 2004, early 2006 saw the regime brutally cracking down on the newly organized opposition forces, including hundreds of arrests and massive human rights violations not only against protesters in the streets but also against the country's independent-minded judges. Despite discussions, the state of emergency was once again not lifted, and chances to strengthen the rule of law were thus further deferred. Simultaneously, external pressure for political reform was reduced in 2006, most notably through the US administration's "giving up on the 'liberty doctrine'" (Hamzawy and McFaul 2006). In short, the regime left no doubt of its determination to cling to power as firmly as in the past. Recent events thus confirm a pattern of showcase reforms that are most often neutralized by the effects of deliberating measures taken simultaneously or shortly afterward. This pattern is well known: Even though the regime might appear "in the guise of democracy" (Kassem 1999), this is "a grand delusion" (Kienle 2001), geared toward greater external legitimacy rather than at allowing political contestation at home. To be sure, this is just a snapshot that could be taken in nearly every Arab country from Morocco to Oman. The crux is that the centers of political power in all Arab countries have remained firmly closed off from contestation—one of the two necessary attributes of democracy according to Dahl's seminal study (1971) .9 Obviously, democracy is not high on any Arab regime's agenda. And while in comparative politics the "concepts, hypotheses and

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assumptions" that Schmitter (2001) mentions (see note 2) became almost paradigmatic in a Kuhnian sense (Kuhn 1962) during the 19905, Thomas Carothers (2002) declared "the end" of this very paradigm. As the 19905 came to a close, many scholars realized that political liberalization in the Arab world is easily reversible and has in fact often been followed by "deliberalization" (Kienle i998c). A growing number of area specialists thus joined in Heydemann's (2002, 62) call for Middle Eastern studies to enter a "post-democratization era" (cf. also Schlumberger 2oooa). With the transitologist approach having hardly furthered the understanding of Middle Eastern political dynamics, scholars increasingly asserted that Arab regimes are "liberalized autocracies" (Brumberg 2002), "yet they persist" (Brownlee 2002a). Consequently, a more recent strand of literature turned the Salame puzzle (why no democracy) on its head. Arguably, this more recent literature might be motivated primarily by a certain pessimism, at times even exhibiting overtones of frustration. This time, the question was, Why is authoritarianism so exceptionally "successful" in that region? (cf., e.g., Bellin 2004; Posusney and Penner Angrist 2005). Yet the frequency of pejorative terms such as "gap," "deficit," and the like, even in the more recent literature, reveals that one thing has by and large remained constant: the popularity of an implicit frame of reference that analyzes Middle Eastern politics against the normative background of how "the free world" would like to see Arab countries ruled. Apparently, the predominance of the "democratization paradigm" is particularly hard to break and continues to preoccupy many analyses of Middle Eastern politics. INTERPRETING THE DYNAMICS OF AUTHORITARIANISM BEYOND THE DEMOCRATIZATION PARADIGM

The contributors to this book attempt to push the debate further by transcending the optimist-pessimist divide of these two strands of literature. They do not ask when democratization might ultimately occur or what the Middle East "lacks." Rather, the research interest here is on how political rule in Arab countries is effectuated, organized, and executed. The two key questions guiding the following chapters pertain to the title of the present collection, namely, the durability of Arab regimes on the one hand and the political dynamics within the Arab world on the other. In brief, the two questions could thus be captured as (i) what accounts for the durability of nondemocratic rule in Arab countries? and (2) what are the dynamics

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that characterize political developments in Arab polities and how can they be grasped analytically? Both questions interrelate in many instances and in a variety of different ways. The contributors struggle to find explanations that can grasp underlying political dynamics beyond the rather narrow focus of (reversible) political liberalization and deliberalization processes. They focus on elements that they consider central to an understanding of the working mechanisms and functional logic of nondemocracies as they prevail in the Arab world. The aim is thus neither to detect signs (however faint) of democratization or its antecedents nor, vice versa, to prove the authoritarian nature of political rule in the Arab countries. Rather, the contributions explore how Arab regimes manage to remain in power despite grand transformation on all three levels (national, regional, and international) and in the societal, political, and economic sphere while at the same time looking at how such changes shape political dynamics. Framing the Research: Understanding Arab Authoritarianism Through Multiple Lenses

This book is distinctive in several respects, some of which are linked to the perspective its contributors share on the question of how to interpret political dynamics in the Arab world. The contributors agree about the state of affairs insofar as they view current forms of political rule in Arab countries as unmistakably authoritarian. Thus, in examining ongoing political dynamics, we do not speak of processes of democratic transition. To be sure, significant differences do exist between Arab polities, as the following discussions of such diverse cases as Egypt and Saudi Arabia, Oman and Syria, or Tunisia and Bahrain confirm.10 Yet Arab polities are homogeneous insofar as they are all characterized by an authoritarian mode of governance.11 This durable authoritarianism has been taken as the dependent variable, or explanandum. Therefore the contributors not only search for conceptualization of Arab politics outside the democratization scenario but also refrain from adopting frameworks of reference that explicitly or implicitly ask what "democracy deficit" (Posusney 2005) Arab polities display compared to democracies.12 Although the contributors are interested in possible future developments and trajectories and discuss them, they do not primarily focus their attention on seeking to identify change agents, "prospects for democracy" (Herb 2oosb), or "challenges to authoritarian rule" (Posusney and Penner Angrist 2005) that

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might ultimately open up the path to democratization. Rather, in an effort to recalibrate the research agenda to what actually happens (instead of what we might wish to happen), we aim at a better understanding of how authoritarian rule actually works. For this purpose the frame of reference should be shifted from democratic to authoritarian rule in order for research on Middle Eastern politics to reach a true "postdemocratization" stage. Second, a lively debate on the causes of authoritarian resilience in the Arab world has emerged. A multitude of possible causes have been claimed to account for that phenomenon, and most scholars agree today that no single explanation can provide a full answer to this question. But while agreeing on this, we are still required to think in more differentiated shades than just black and white. Therefore the authors were not pressured to embrace a theoretical framework that would require them to look at only the political systems level or structures, or to prioritize agency systematically over structural conditions. Nor were they asked to restrict their inquiries to the macro-, micro-, or mesolevels of analysis. Some of the contributions tend toward the macrolevel, some toward the microlevel. The reason for doing so is that, in the analysis of a phenomenon as multifaceted (on a phenomenological level) and multicausal (on an analytical level) as the durability of authoritarianism in a certain world region, no single theoretical model can provide fully satisfactory answers. Rather, the utility and adequacy of applied approaches can be judged against the backdrop of the topic dealt with and the research agenda pursued. For instance, in his analysis of US-Saudi relations, Aarts (Chapter 15) identifies longer-term structural variables as more important than the strategic behavior of individual actors. By contrast, in Wegner's empirical study of the Moroccan Islamist opposition (Chapter 5), the focus on actors and their interests, preferences, and strategies comes naturally. But there is a third reason for leaving the theoretical framework relatively open: Inquiring into the working mechanisms of authoritarian rule independently of whether we would like to see such regimes democratize is a relatively recent topic. Apart from a valuable collection of revised essays that originally appeared separately in journals such as Comparative Politics (e.g., Bellin 2004; Langohr 2004; Lust-Okar 2004) or the Middle East Journal (e.g., Herb 2004) and that were presented by Posusney and Penner Angrist (2005), only a handful of articles at the time of this writing aimed to explain the durable yet dynamic form of Arab authoritarianism (e.g., Albrecht and Schlumberger 2004;

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Camau 2005; Ghalioun 2004; Hinnebusch 2006). This implies that there are no ready-made solutions to the puzzle (s) and that the discussion is still at a stage where no mainstream or academic consensus has emerged. Therefore in this volume the authors explicitly aim to encourage further debate on Arab authoritarianism—a goal that implies, in turn, explicitly allowing for diverging viewpoints and approaches. Not only do the contributors look at different aspects in their examination of what might enhance our understanding of the logic, dynamic, and durability of nondemocratic rule in the Arab world, but also they do so by consciously adopting different theoretical approaches. Our underlying assumption is that for the present stage of the debate it would be inadequate to press contributors to adhere to an artificially unified theoretical scheme, pretending that we had some single best explanatory solution for the dynamics of Arab authoritarianism. Instead, a range of thematic clusters has been suggested as crucial in accounting for and explaining Arab authoritarianism, and each of these might require its own approaches. Structure of the Book

This book is structured along four key dimensions that might be considered most relevant for understanding Arab authoritarianism. However, a further two popular arguments are not covered here. First, it has been argued that the high repressive capacities of Arab states account for their longevity (Bellin 2004). But although repression, as Sluglett (Chapter 6) observes, may help autocrats survive critical moments, it does not in itself enable them to hold power indefinitely, let alone ensure regime stability (cf. also Camau 2005, 41-44; Schlumberger 2004). Therefore in this volume we chiefly look at factors "beyond coercion" (Dawisha and Zartman 1988) to capture the ongoing political dynamics. Second, the "culturalist" or "essentialist" literature claims that Islam as a religion, or some specific aspect of Islamic or Arab culture, is incompatible with democracy and thus responsible for preventing the emergence of democracy in the Muslim world (or in the Middle East). Critiques of such approaches are sufficiently common and persuasive that they do not need to be repeated here.13 However, this still leaves us with at least four other areas that may play a significant role in explaining the durability and dynamics of Middle Eastern authoritarianism. These thematic clusters are taken here as possible independent variables, and each theme forms one part of the present volume.

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Because it is difficult to impossible to measure the relative weight or impact of these thematic clusters and because each cluster probably contains important elements that will assist in a better understanding of authoritarian rule, the four themes deserve further examination. Therefore each part of this book starts with an opening chapter that exemplifies the respective dimension from a bird's-eye perspective, presenting conceptual or comparative analyses that look across the region as a whole.14 One of the remaining chapters in each part then takes an in-depth look at individual cases and presents a country study,15 and the other remaining chapters in each part highlight a particular aspect relevant to the issue area under discussion.16 Part i focuses on state-society relations and political opposition. The patterns of interaction between regimes and society at large and between regimes and the political opposition (legal as in parties or illegal as in protest or resistance movements) determine the formal and informal institutional arrangements of state-society relations and the organization of the larger political system (Heydemann 1999; Lust-Okar 2005). Therefore the interactions affect the life expectancy of such arrangements. Furthermore, they have an impact on which social coalitions will be formed and will come to dominate and what distributive networks will prevail (Heydemann 2004; Hinnebusch 2006). In Part i Steven Heydemann explains how what he calls "national-populist social pacts" have structured state-society relations in the Middle East and account for the high flexibility and adaptability of Arab regimes, a trait crucial to regime survival even though new challenges to these specific pacts may arise. Ellen Lust-Okar shows how formal structures of contestation shape both formal and informal interactions between regime and opposition. Depending on the structures of contestation, regimes will try to either fragment or strengthen certain opposition parties and movements to remain in power. Two empirical case studies of opposition in Egypt and Morocco, by Holger Albrecht and Eva Wegner, respectively, make the general claim that oppositional groups and parties in authoritarian regimes, although inconvenient to rulers at certain times, also contribute to maintaining the balance of social forces and thereby help to maintain the political status quo. If they are not outlawed, opposition groups may participate in the electoral game, but they have to resign themselves to the fact that it is the regime alone that makes the rules of the game. Part 2 inquires, from various angles, into the features of the political regimes themselves. This thematic cluster therefore deals with the "political

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architecture" (UNDP 2005) that organizes the polity, with the constellation of forces within regimes and with the regimes' specific strategies of power maintenance. Arab regimes entertain high repressive capacities and at the same time enjoy high degrees of nondemocratic legitimacy generated through symbol politics, elaborate patronage systems, and control of the rules of the political and economic games, all instrumental in keeping incumbent elites in power (Bill and Springborg 1994; Richards and Waterbury 1996). It is in this arena that the question of regime stability enters. Peter Sluglett radically questions the Arab cases, highlighting the fact that stability is not synonymous with durability. The absence of social compacts and an increasingly narrow social base, he claims, quoting Joel Midgal (1988), make Middle Eastern regimes inherently weak. Fred Lawson models constellations of key regime actors (the military, state officials, and private property holders) in four cases (Bahrain, Syria, Tunisia, and Yemen) to explain variations in the scope of political liberalization. Whereas Lawson highlights regime actors, Daniela Pioppi looks at regime strategies for survival in times of multiple crises. She demonstrates empirically how the Egyptian regime benefited from outsourcing welfare services to reprivatized religious foundations (awqaf), thereby alleviating budgetary pressures and simultaneously creating new avenues for clientelist purposes. Marc Valeri presents a study of political legitimacy based on field research in Oman. After seizing power in 1970, the sultan transformed traditional loyalties and redirected them toward himself, creating a new system of cultural references and new modern economic and political institutions (including an elected parliament)—a gigantic program to enhance the ruler's legitimacy and thereby preserve authoritarian rule. Part 3 focuses on the economic context of Arab authoritarianism. Most notably, the region's abundant exportable mineral resources and resulting rentier structures enable many regimes to buy off dissent by supporting large patronage networks and sustaining huge repressive capacities (e.g., Beblawi and Luciani 1987; Ross 2001; World Bank 2003). But the contributors to this part also focus on less well known aspects of Arab political economy, such as domestic allocation patterns and the changing balance of the social forces identified as pillars of the regime or emergent classes. The part begins with an essay by Giacomo Luciani, who holds that the link between economic and political reform is established by the bourgeoisie. Although the bourgeoisie is weak in many Arab countries, an autonomous

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bourgeoisie is developing in the Gulf monarchies, triggering a "transformation of the economic foundations of the state." The bourgeoisie may thus more vehemently pursue its own agenda—albeit not necessarily in a democratic direction. Thomas Richter, in contrast to Luciani, identifies the bourgeoisie (together with the armed forces and middle-class state employees) not as a potential collective actor for change but as the chief beneficiary of the Egyptian regime's domestic allocation of privileges. Defending the rentier paradigm, Richter analyzes different forms of external rent income and studies their domestic allocation to those strategic groups. Following Lawson's and Richter's identification of the military's strategic importance, Philippe Droz-Vincent focuses on this actor. Contrary to the mainstream, Droz-Vincent's comparative analysis does not so much emphasize the military's monopoly on force but considers that, although Arab armies have gradually retreated from politics proper, their wealth and indirect political influence, derived from a privileged economic position, have maintained them as the backbone of authoritarian rule. Last, Part 4 shifts the view from domestic politics toward the international arena. In the Middle East external powers are often seen as supporting and stabilizing autocratic rule in order to secure access to the region's oil and gas supplies needed for Western industries and because of the region's strategic geopolitical importance at the crossroads of three continents. This leads to an ambivalent international environment in which "stability [is preferred] over the uncertainty of democratization" (Norton 2005,136; cf. also Guazzone and Pioppi 2004; Hudson 2005). Opening Part 4, Mustapha Sayyid provides a view from inside the region and finds three dimensions of an overall international environment that are fundamentally inhospitable to profound political change in Arab countries: (i) the lack of Western societal support for opposition movements in Arab countries, (2) a lack of interest on the part of Western governments in Arab regime change, and (3) the ambivalence of Western public opinion toward the goals and instruments of external efforts at political reform. Eberhard Kienle deals more specifically with democracy promotion (as one key dimension of "soft" power applied by external actors), its historical context, and the various arguments that underlie different approaches. He asserts that democracy promotion is not only unlikely to promote democratization but also has helped to "consolidate or even revitalize authoritarian rule." In contrast to Kienle, Paul Aarts deals with "real" power rather than with "soft" issues. He examines USSaudi relations—perhaps the most important case of bilateral Arab-Western

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relations. In contrast to Sluglett, he concludes that "Washington simply cannot afford to witness regime change in Riyadh," even after the alleged crisis in bilateral relations after 9/11. KEY LESSONS AND FUTURE CHALLENGES The Quest for Recipes

Policymakers tend to ask what should be done to encourage "better governance for the Middle East and North Africa" (World Bank 2003). Correspondingly, it is tempting for scholars to make their voices heard by providing policy recommendations to Western governments or to prodemocratic forces in the Middle East. Nevertheless, in this book we avoid such temptations for one persuasive reason: This collection of essays leaves no doubt that at the heart of what makes authoritarian rule in the Middle East endure is a multitude of interacting variables that in combination account for what is labeled "exceptionalism." The problem, however, is that although this volume does shed light on a wide variety of the working mechanisms of authoritarian rule in the four dimensions examined, we cannot be sure about the exact number of such variables or about their relative weight. Second, while we do know some of their interconnections, our understanding of the laws governing the ways in which the variables interact with one another and of their relative weight is still only rudimentary. Not only is there no blueprint for external political engineering (a trivial phrase often used by those who want to give recommendations but do not know which), but also there is a growing awareness that recipes and medicines can hardly be prescribed without first having a proper diagnosis. Therefore the contributors assess political dynamics and regimes in the Arab world from a nonteleological point of departure. Clearly, democracy promoters have faced the greatest difficulties under circumstances in which systemic transitions have not (yet) occurred and "power remains locked in place" (Carothers 2000, 225). So long as incumbent regimes possess veto powers that obstruct any cooperation with civil society and so long as the rule of law is systematically absent throughout most of the region and laws are, as a rule, applied inequitably, Western nations "struggling with semi-authoritarians" (Carothers 2000) often come close to "dancing with wolves" (Schlumberger 2006). In the absence of any one-sizefits-all blueprints for encouraging liberal political change from the outside, the elaboration of donor strategies for better governance and the creation of a

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viable structure for sustained and productive policy dialogue with the region's governments and societies seem extremely difficult. For Western governments the most important prerequisite for designing viable strategies for political dialogue and cooperating productively with nondemocratic partners seems to be to gain an accurate understanding of what patterns of political procedures and decision making prevail; which actors dominate, which actors are tolerated, and which actors are repressed (and why); how states interact with their societies; how the political economy is organized; and what incentives or disincentives the international environment creates for both regimes and societies. Convinced that this step must precede any recommendations on strategies that might have some chance of being sound on both conceptual and empirical levels, the contributors to this volume hope to provide at least partial insights into these questions. Looking Ahead: Trends in Arab Politics and Regimes

The findings of this book lead strongly to the conclusion that for the foreseeable future democratization remains off the agenda in any Arab country. Domestic political protests, international pressure for more liberal governance, and reform-oriented regimes notwithstanding, the cases studied in this volume indicate that, while the degree of political dynamism remains high, it is moving in the direction of an adaptation to changed circumstances and maybe even toward a revitalization or consolidation of authoritarian rule rather than in the direction of systemic transition, let alone democracy. But we can derive more concrete insights than such a general statement from the following chapters. The process of modern state building—the social forces that coalesce and become dominant, the way they organize mass politics and structure statesociety relations, and the selection of the segments that they incorporate into the political arena—has a long-term impact on the type of regime that will be established. Moreover, the characteristics of such alliances also shape future prospects for regime survival—factors that obviously set limits to external political engineering. Social forces that could theoretically pose a challenge to incumbent autocrats and their ruling coalitions are either skillfully incorporated into the regime or co-opted (such as the military or certain "loyal" opposition movements), or massively repressed (the Islamist opposition in some countries). Whether opposition is allowed to participate or repressed depends on (i) the

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perceived threat that any particular group might pose to the regime (depending, in turn, on the measure of societal support it enjoys more than on its ideology) and (2) the formal and informal institutional arrangements of the wider political sphere as designed by the regime. Strikingly, the space for horizontal interaction among nonregime societal groups is extremely narrow, closely monitored, and heavily circumscribed. In other words, Arab regimes have taken great pains to prevent alternative social coalitions from emerging. It can safely be concluded from the contributions in Part i that elections are not primarily intended to furnish domestic legitimacy, nor are they the arena where real power is being contested. Rather, they can be seen as the mechanism through which opposition forces are incorporated into the formal political game. Thus opposition forces can participate to a limited degree, even in an authoritarian context, but they are not allowed to question the rules of the game that govern their participation. However, participation in formal politics entails material and nonmaterial privileges worth striving for. Accordingly, parliaments are not normally the place where the important legislative functions of Arab polities reside, and they have little control over the executive or the budget. Rather, parliaments serve incumbents as a barometer of public opinion and as the locus of limited participation in the sense just sketched out. Based on the observation that elections in Arab polities are not primarily designed by ruling elites as sources of legitimacy, observers often perceive a lack of legitimacy a priori inherent in autocracies. However, this might be a misperception based on erroneous notions of legitimacy as an inherently democratic category. But regimes can tap into and rely on a potentially large number of forms of "autocratic legitimacy," some of which are dealt with in Valeri's contribution (Chapter 9). This field remains understudied, not only for Arab politics but also for research on autocracies in general (for first reflections, see Burnell 2006; Schlumberger 2004). Second, as the chapters by Lawson and Valeri and also those by Richter and Droz-Vincent imply, regimes do not necessarily need to be perceived as legitimate by the entire population to remain in power. Often, sufficient support or even acquiescence from key groups is enough for the incumbents to secure their future in office. As becomes clear when reading Richter, Valeri, Droz-Vincent, Luciani, or Aarts, the rentier state remains by and large intact in many Arab countries, despite modifications in the sources of rent and the transformation of internal patterns of redistribution of resources. And despite recent criticism, external

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rent income still generates political leeway for regimes that, if they had to rely exclusively on their extractive capacity (taxes), would not be able to provide their clientele and societies with the privileges and benefits they still enjoy. As Droz-Vincent illustrates, the military has successfully been driven out of politics proper in many countries because it was awarded economic benefits and chances that still make it count among the politically relevant core elite. Yet the military is now far less of a threat to those who have become civilian rulers than in earlier decades—a reconfiguration of elite forces that arguably enhances the rulers' chances of survival. However, by now economic liberalization (albeit to varying degrees and depth) has affected all Arab economies, including the most oil-rich Gulf countries. This has also led to a reconfiguration of the social fabric, most notably the ascent of a private entrepreneurial stratum with much more say in politics today than during earlier periods of etatism. This stratum clearly is the core winner of economic adjustment as implemented over the past two decades, but it is not inherently democratic. As Luciani points out, in many Arab countries the bourgeoisie remains weak—with the exception of the Gulf monarchies, where a nascent bourgeoisie has gained considerable autonomy from the regime. Yet the views of the contributors diverge markedly in their assessment of the bourgeoisie. Although some consider the bourgeoisie as crony capitalists who largely depend on regime elites, others view them as an autonomous new force that might even challenge incumbents. This force will transform the constellation of state-business relations in at least some Arab countries and potentially the economic foundations of the state (more incentives to tax effectively). However, while important in their own right, such transformations will not inevitably bring about systemic political transitions. At the same time, incumbent elites have carefully paid attention to keep both the political and the economic reform process under tight control, as Pioppi demonstrates for Egypt. Finally, if the homogeneity of conclusions is a measure of the relevance and weight of variables, the international context is very important indeed for Arab autocrats to remain in power. The picture painted by Kienle, Sayyid, and Aarts is sobering. Their chapters provide forceful (if indicative) evidence for the conclusion that the international context plays an important role in the durability of authoritarianism in the Arab world. Despite the emergence of an international democracy promotion regime, and political rhetoric notwithstanding, external governmental efforts to facilitate political changes toward

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greater pluralism and freedom in Arab countries are, in practice, halfhearted, poorly elaborated in terms of strategy, lacking finance, and most often subordinate to overriding policy priorities such as geopolitics and economic interest. On a societal level, contrary to the effects of globalization in other parts of the world, the density of interactions between Western and Arab societies remains low, particularly as regards Western public support for Arab societies or opposition movements. Often neglected, the international context thus bolsters authoritarian incumbents in the Arab world. And it does so to an extent that may even lead some to speculate about a possible and maybe convenient convergence of interests between Western and Arab leaders around the authoritarian status quo. Middle Eastern Studies and Comparative Politics

Brief reference should be made to the relevance of this book to students of regions other than the Middle East. Although the contributors have generated important insights into the ways that authoritarian rule works in -the Arab world, these insights should be of no less interest to specialists on China, Chad, Russia, Cameroon, Kazakhstan, and other places. Bearing in mind that most of the world's population lives in nondemocracies, it seems desirable for the discipline of comparative politics to engage more thoroughly than it has done in the past with the systematic study of nondemocratic polities, politics, and policies. Such an effort would seem to require a recalibration of our research agenda. Until now, scholars of comparative politics have largely concentrated their efforts on democratic theory and empirical studies of democracies (and the quality of democracies), as reflected in the works of such eminent scholars as Giovanni Sartori or Arendt Lijphart. This seminal research dwarfs the achievements of political studies on nondemocracies, which often appear shallow and permeated by ad hoc typological inventions. Apart from a few notable exceptions, which tend to deal with small subsets of cases (e.g., Brooker 2000; O'Donnell 1973), contributions that aim to enhance our understanding of the logic, dynamic, life, and survival of nondemocracies are fairly rare. Consequently, our understanding of nondemocratic political rule, its varieties and variants, its logics and defining attributes, is not particularly advanced. Thus, apart from providing insights into the survival and dynamics of political rule in the Arab world, this volume might also be read as a prolegomenon that wishes to contribute to a wider literature on nondemocratic regimes and politics.

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Such a wider analytical literature on the nature and traits of nondemocratic regimes—which examines such polities in their own right rather than simply in terms of what they lack compared with democracies or in terms of their potential to democratize or to develop economically—is needed because significant parts of the answers to such questions (transformative and developmental potential) most probably lie precisely in the nature and traits of the nondemocratic regimes that we examine here. Thus we should strive to enhance our understanding of authoritarian polities independently of the frame of references set by democracies and their characteristics. Taken together, such contributions might one day lead not only to a more finely grained elaboration of democratic theory, however fruitful that may be, but also to a basis for a future authoritarian theory that would enable us to reach a more profound understanding of the essentials of nondemocratic rule and its implications. Such a process will likely be time-consuming and might even result in questioning the most basic typologies of political rule, such as the famous triad of totalitarianism, authoritarianism, and democracy with which the discipline has worked over the past five decades. However, for comparative politics to advance, it seems difficult to avoid embarking on such a path, unwieldy as it may be.

STATE-SOCIETY RELATIONS AND POLITICAL OPPOSITION

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SOCIAL PACTS AND THE PERSISTENCE OF AUTHORITARIANISM IN THE MIDDLE EAST Steven Heydemann

MASS POLITICS AND THE PERSISTENCE OF AUTHORITARIANISM

In this chapter I use the idea of social pacts to explore large-scale patterns in the organization of mass politics across the Middle East and to consider how those patterns might be transformed. My interest is in whether the idea of social pacts might help us shed new light on an old question: Why has authoritarianism proven to be so resilient throughout the Middle East? In particular, I wish to understand how regimes typically characterized as rigid and inflexible acquire the capacity to adapt to, absorb, and ultimately resist pressures for political reform. I also hope to clarify the conditions under which the authoritarian and populist social pacts that now organize mass politics in many Middle Eastern states might give way to more participatory, democratic forms of rule. For the most part, specialists on the Arab world have sought answers to the question of authoritarian persistence in the experience of individual states, where variation looms large and contrasts appear in sharp relief.1 My initial hunch, however, is that we are more likely to find answers at the regional level of analysis, where large-scale patterns and the clues they contain are more clearly visible. Seen through a regional lens, the similarities and the convergence of experiences across cases become more prominent. What stands out in particular is the extent to which authoritarianism remains the defining identity of Middle Eastern polities. Certainly, variation in the form, content, and intensity of authoritarianism in the Middle East has real meaning for people's 21

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lives: Moroccans are better off than Iraqis; Kuwaitis have more freedom than Syrians. Still, at the regional level there is one attribute that these regimes share: Everywhere in the Middle East, authoritarianism has proven to be an adaptive, flexible style of rule. At the regional level, it becomes evident that regime type and state-level explanations cannot, on their own, account for the presence of an attribute that transcends individual cases. The obvious questions that follow from these observations are, Where did this capacity came from? What does it consist of? How can we account for its presence across a range of regime types, from monarchies to radical populist systems of rule? My tentative answer is that this capacity is associated with the emergence and consolidation of a distinctive model for the organization of mass politics in many Middle East cases, a model I call the national-populist social pact. Yet this proposition raises a further question: What is it about this particular social pact that endows regimes with the capacity to adapt to and resist pressures for political reform? My argument, again tentative, is that social pacts are defined not just by formal institutional arrangements that include modes of governance and resource allocation but also by closely related informal modes of governance and resource allocation. How these formal and informal modes of governance interact in the context of the national-populist social pact—the opportunities their interaction creates for bargaining, accommodation, and coalition management—provides the basis for the adaptive capacity of authoritarian regimes in the Middle East. This is the second broad claim I explore in this chapter. In the process I set aside the question of variation within this dominant model, which certainly exists and which is dealt with, for example, in Ellen Lust-Okar's chapter (Chapter 3), to focus both on similarities across cases and on a general account of how the model works to sustain authoritarian rule. REMAPPING TERRA COGNITA

Questions about the resilience of authoritarian rule in the Middle East are hardly uncharted territory. Many investigators have attempted to explain the failures of political liberalization and the reassertion of authoritarianism in the Middle East during the late 19905, even as programs of market-oriented economic reform moved forward (Heydemann 1992; Kienle i998c; Salame 1994). Other researchers have linked the structure of Middle East political economies, notably the presence of soft budget constraints, with the ability of regimes to maintain institutional arrangements and policies that they might

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otherwise be compelled to change (Anderson 1995). For some the answer is straightforward: Authoritarianism persists because Middle Eastern governments repress their opponents. Yet although coercion is a defining feature of authoritarian rule, its presence, in a variety of forms (Bellin 2004), has not prevented authoritarian collapse and democratic transitions, even when the coercive apparatus appeared to be highly efficient. For others the answer rests in the weakness of civil societies, without which, it is argued, demand for political reform will remain too weak to compel regimes to adopt democratic reforms. Yet the last decade has seen extraordinary growth among civil society groups in the Middle East even as opportunities for political participation remain highly limited. In the Middle East, it seems, authoritarianism is not inconsistent with the presence of vibrant civil societies. More generally, we have ample evidence—through Luebbert (1991), Collier and Collier (1991), Waldner (1999), and others—that the conditions under which certain social groups are incorporated into the political arena have significant effects on the ruling coalitions that will be established, the regimes that such coalitions are likely to form, and subsequent trajectories of political change. For both Collier and Collier and Luebbert the conditions under which workers are incorporated into the political arena become definitive in explaining whether a particular state moves toward a democratic or a nondemocratic form of rule and the possibilities for its later transition from one regime type to the other. In contrast, Waldner views trajectories of peasant incorporation or exclusion as crucial in accounting for the origins of authoritarianism. In the spirit of such macrocomparative work, in this chapter I seek to engage analytically in processes of political and social change at a regional level of analysis, where such perspectives have often been missing, as a way to begin accounting for patterns that clearly transcend state-level frameworks.2 First, however, a caveat: As an exercise in speculation, this chapter does both too much and too little. It is overly ambitious but also overly abstract; it presents many assertions but little evidence. My aim is not to prove a particular theoretical claim but to explore how research on large-scale political processes in the Middle East might be advanced (or not) by using the notion of social pacts as a framework. Moreover, although I use social pacts as an organizing concept, I do so with as much appreciation for its shortcomings as for its advantages. For one thing, the term "social pacts" risks imposing an unrealistic degree of coherence and fixity on a set of political arrangements that are, as I argue,

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far more adaptive and fluid than the notion of an institutionalized pact among collective actors might imply. For another, the term conveys the impression that relations between the state and particular social groups, especially labor and business interests, are negotiated through bargaining that produces collective agreements which reflect, in some equal measure, the interests of all parties. While this is partly true, it should not obscure the coercive underpinnings of mass politics in the Middle East or shift our attention away from the vulnerability of social actors and the organized violence that remains a prominent element of political life in the region. Despite these caveats, the idea can help us construct a more systematic account of whether and how the national-populist social pact—the dominant model for the organization of mass politics and state-society relations across the Middle East since the 19508—is now breaking down and what might be replacing it. It also permits us to acknowledge the role of bargaining in the processes through which national-populist social pacts are formed, even under conditions of authoritarian rule. It thus extends greater agency to the people who produce mass politics than do elite-based models of regime formation and regime change. What the idea of a social pact gives us, therefore, is a way to conceptualize this model of state-society relations and the variables that produced it while also providing a framework to account for the politics through which the model is now being challenged, the dynamics through which its transformation is being resisted, and the compromises and accommodations that these struggles create. In short, the notion of social pacts gives us a way to explore the collective capacities that a particular model for the organization of mass politics makes available to actors and, possibly, to understand why political pressures, such as those that accompany economic crises and economic reform, lead to far-reaching political change in some cases, including the replacement of authoritarian by democratic systems of rule, but far more modest changes in others. DEFINING SOCIAL PACTS

In the European context social pacts often refer to collective agreements that regulate employment and wages and that result from bargaining between state, labor, and capital. In this narrow sense social pacts are mechanisms that provide a measure of macroeconomic stability to employers while acknowledging labor's claims to distributive equity and job security, with the

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state providing the institutionalized guarantees needed to stabilize the pact. However, as I use the term here, the idea of a social pact encompasses a wider but still limited set of understandings, both more and less formal. In this broader sense a social pact can be conceptualized not solely in terms of an institutionalized bargain among collective actors but also as encompassing a set of norms or shared expectations about the appropriate organization of a political economy in general. Such norms shape perceptions concerning whose interests need to be taken into account in making economic and social policy, which actors have a legitimate claim on state resources, which institutional forms are accepted as legitimate mechanisms for organized interest representation, what kinds of demands state actors can legitimately make on interest groups, what mechanisms are available to both state and social actors to resolve conflicts, and what kind of policy instruments state actors can legitimately deploy to achieve their aims. These attributes coalesce in varying degrees to create immediate links between, on the one hand, the bargaining that structures formal relations between the regime and organized interests and, on the other hand, the processes through which a regime's broader political economy is ordered, its modes of economic and political informality are shaped, and its larger social and economic identity are defined. It is because of these links that the idea of a social pact becomes useful in exploring patterns of social and political change that extend beyond the formal arrangements that govern relations between state and labor. Moreover, these links make it worthwhile to view social pacts as causing distinctive patterns of informal politics to emerge and to view the durability of a given social pact as a product of how formal and informal modes of governance interact. Although this notion of a social pact is broader than it tends to be in the literature on Europe, it is not entirely open-ended. There are important distinctions, for instance, between framing state-labor relations in terms of a social pact or in terms of a moral economy (Posusney 1997). In adopting social pacts as a starting point, I focus on how interests became institutionalized during the formative period in which national states took shape in the Arab world and how these arrangements then promoted or inhibited the capacity of actors to adapt to shifts in the conditions that produced them. I assume that social pacts exhibit specific institutional configurations and that such configurations vary in how they respond to changing economic conditions. On the other hand, the notion of a moral economy embeds workers and regimes

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in a system of reciprocal obligations that are grounded, minimally, in workers' claims to security of employment. And these normative commitments can be expressed through a wide range of institutional arrangements. There is no necessary correlation between a specific institutional configuration and the presence or absence of a moral economy, whereas social pacts are explicitly linked to particular institutional arrangements. This has important implications. In my case the key problem is not accounting for the breakdown or persistence of systems of reciprocal obligation but understanding why a particular institutional configuration (i.e., the national-populist social pact) varies in its adaptive capacity from other institutional configurations that are facing similar economic and social pressures and how this variation influences possibilities for political reform. As this suggests, my not so implicit assumptions are: 1. The institutional configurations that characterize social pacts vary in their endogenous capacity for change (Nohira and Eccles 1992). 2. National-populist configurations are a highly adaptive form of authoritarian social pact. 3. The adaptive quality of the national-populist social pact is crucial for understanding the resilience of authoritarianism in the Middle East. 4. The convergence of many Middle Eastern states around this particular institutional configuration means that state-level arguments about the resilience of authoritarianism in the Middle East cannot, on their own, provide an adequate account of authoritarian persistence. THE ADAPTIVE CAPACITY OF SOCIAL PACTS

What I argue, in other words, is that contrary to what is often described as a rigid and inflexible model for the organization of mass politics, it is the elasticity and fluidity of the national-populist social pacts in the Middle East that explain why the model in general has proven to be so resilient. Although often seen as highly resistant to change, authoritarian regimes in the Middle East exhibit a quality that might be described as bounded adaptiveness—a capacity for adjustment and accommodation that is produced by the interaction of formal and informal modes of conflict resolution, bargaining, and coalition management. On one hand, the availability of consolidated formal institutions for the articulation and control of mass politics is crucial in resolving what Wintrobe (1998) described as the dictator's dilemma—the inability of an authoritarian leader to make minimally credible commitments and be held

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minimally accountable for them. On the other hand, consolidated modes of informal governance permit rulers selectively to operate outside formal institutional arenas: to make side payments, to bypass formal commitments, and to manage access to informal economic and political networks as a way to reward supporters and sanction opponents—a point that is supported by the other contributors to this part of the book. Formal institutions—courts, parliaments, trade unions, nongovernmental organizations, so-called popular organizations such as peasants' unions, professional associations, and political parties—occupy an important position in this model, more so than is often acknowledged.3 To the extent that these institutions serve as valuable mechanisms for managing mass politics, they constrain the ability of authoritarian rulers to behave selectively; formal rules cannot be completely disregarded. Nonetheless, such institutions are situated within a larger domain of mechanisms, including network structures, that sustain well-established modes of informal politics and greatly enrich possibilities for bargaining between rulers and other political actors. In some respects Middle Eastern states, like their European counterparts, should be understood today as network polities exhibiting dense interorganizational relationships that facilitate governance, albeit of an authoritarian form. Thus, in contrast to issues of macroeconomic management, in which Middle Eastern governments are perceived as possessing a limited set of mechanisms for guiding national economies (Chaudhry 1997; Gates 1998; Waterbury 1993), these states have a far wider range of instruments available for "macropolitical management"—quite apart from a coercive capacity that is simply too blunt an instrument to account, on its own, for the resilience of authoritarian rule. What does this capacity consist of? How can we define it? Evidence of the adaptive quality of authoritarianism in the Middle East is visible in any number of dimensions of everyday politics. To note them, however, is to underscore again that it is not their presence alone that matters but how they combine to generate distinctive patterns of bargaining and coalition management, both within regimes and between regimes and citizens. That said, this adaptive quality becomes tangible in the patterned disorganization of political life—in the interaction of formal and informal modes of governance; the simultaneous centralization and fragmentation of state power; the extent to which formal authority is dependent on the effectiveness with which actors navigate multiple roles, both within and across formal institutions and informal networks; the proliferation of conflicting policies; the amoebalike quality of ruling

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coalitions; the dependence on formal rules to justify the arbitrary exercise of authority;4 the porousness of institutional roles and authorities; and numerous other elements that define the political arena in Middle Eastern states.5 Unlike the network polities of Europe, therefore, in which informal arrangements are often seen as sources of innovation, competitiveness, and coordination, network polities have developed in the Middle East as modes of regime maintenance. Bounded adaptiveness, in other words, is evident in the capacity of regimes to exploit and benefit from, rather than be fatally weakened by, the presence of multiple, often competing sets of "rules of the game" (Migdali988). Under these conditions rulers have access to a rich opportunity set of alternative strategies for securing their interests. Yet their opportunities are nonetheless constrained. The possibility to exploit multiple sets of rules is undermined when the formal institutions and practices are discarded entirely in favor of informal, selective, and arbitrary modes of governance. Authoritarian rulers cannot exercise unfettered discretion. The notion of accountability between governments and citizens is not a hollow shell, empty of meaning. Arbitrariness has its own logic and is itself bounded and disciplined by the presence of formal sets of rules. At the same time, the importance of multiple rules for regime maintenance helps account for the way Middle Eastern governments deploy violence. In case after case, including Egypt, Syria, Tunisia, and Jordan, coercion is directed not against those who simply make demands on the state but on those who pose challenges that explicitly advocate the need for a single, coherent, transparent, and accountable set of rules as the basis for governance. In recent decades pressure to impose singular and transparent rules of the game has originated largely with two groups of actors: Islamists and democrats. Despite the apparent gulf that separates their political identities and aspirations, Islamists and democrats represent a symmetrical threat to regimes: Both have been singled out as targets of extensive regime violence. Moreover, this symmetry in the threat they pose helps to explain why the question of whether Islam is compatible with democracy is largely beside the point, from the perspective of regimes. Seen from their vantage point, Islamists and democrats are simply variant forms of a common threat. Whether Islamists adopt electoral procedures does little to ameliorate the threat that they represent to governments whose broader strategic concern is to avoid reforms that would impose a uniform set of rules of the game, whether such rules are Islamist or secular.

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ISOMORPHISM AND THE QUESTION OF ORIGINS

In this account, what stands out about the organization of mass politics in the Middle East is not the significant variation it exhibits but the convergence among postcolonial national governments in the strategies that they developed to manage the incorporation of peasants, workers, women, and an urban middle class into the political arena. This isomorphism emerged despite significant differences across cases on a range of variables that are often seen as critical in shaping trajectories of state formation. These variables include variation in colonial experiences under France in some cases and under Great Britain in others, the specific political arrangements that colonial powers put in place (republican or monarchical), the social composition of nationalist movements, and the political-economic conditions that existed at independence. The manifestation of this isomorphism—which I define in a bit more detail later—is a form of social pact that became virtually an exclusive model for the management of state-society relations on a regional basis. In this sense, work by Collier and Collier (1991), Waldner (1999), or Luebbert (1991) cannot serve as a template that can unproblematically be applied to the study of mass incorporation in the Middle East. Instead, it highlights a sharp distinction between these investigators' accounts of significant variation in experiences of incorporation across Europe and Latin America and what I take to be the defining feature of the experience in another region—the strong degree of similarity across a set of otherwise varied cases in the Middle East. What are the key elements that produced and define this isomorphism? Most are reasonably well known, and I will not spend undue time covering familiar ground. First, throughout the region the transition from elite to mass politics occurred in association with and was powerfully influenced by colonial projects of state building, on the one hand, and the rise of anticolonial independence movements, on the other. Central to this transition was the construction and imposition of electoral systems of mass-based political representation across the states of the post-Ottoman Middle East—including the monarchies of Iraq, Egypt, Jordan, and Morocco. This, in turn, promoted the emergence of modern conceptions of citizenship and, crucially, of the state as an agent of public welfare (Thompson 2oooa; Vitalis and Heydemann 2000; Zubaida 1989). It established new domains of rights, new modes of claim making on the part of societies, and new forms of political competition among existing elites and political entrepreneurs for control over mechanisms of mass mobilization. Above all, these changes transformed nationalist

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struggles into movements of mass political incorporation, created powerful incentives to form grand coalitions, and valorized discourses of egalitarianism and mass participation—all the elements that were later institutionalized through the formation of national-populist social pacts. In this sense the colonial construction (or broadening) of republican institutions throughout the Middle East during moments of nationalist mobilization and incipient state formation can be seen as a critical juncture in the later emergence of nationalpopulist social pacts. As in other regions, new institutional forms became available in the course of this transition that promoted, simultaneously, the formation of collective identities and the mobilization of what could now be called organized interests. These interests included labor unions, peasants' unions, political parties, chambers of commerce, and other institutions that established (among other things) the importance of class as a legitimate basis for political mobilization. At the same time, the escalation of anticolonial movements within the representative frameworks created by colonial powers produced incentives among nationalist elites actively to support mass, especially peasant and labor, incorporation into the political arena. Not least, controlled mass incorporation served the nationalist cause by establishing the legitimacy, the organic integrity, and the coherence of the nations on whose behalf nationalist elites claimed to articulate demands for independence. Mass mobilization, along with competition among established elites and new political entrepreneurs to control it, helped to create a more diffuse capacity for collective action across Middle Eastern societies. In a number of cases labor unions in particular acquired new leverage for collective bargaining and in some cases (Egypt, Syria, Lebanon, and Iraq) secured basic systems of workplace regulation in the transition to postcolonial rule that became prototypes for the broader social pacts that emerged in subsequent years. As Collier and Collier (1991) and many others have noted (e.g., Przeworski and Sprague 1986; Rueschemeyer et al. 1992), these kinds of shifts—what Waldner (1999) described in terms of a global movement from "mediated" to "unmediated" states—dramatically transform the strategic calculus of political actors, upsetting established alliances and giving actors new coalitional possibilities. In particular, however, this politically potent combination of state-centered welfare republicanism, organic-nationalist strategies of mass mobilization, and the availability of new institutions and new capacities for the organization and management of collective interests provided the essen-

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tial raw ingredients for the substance of postindependence social conflicts. It established the necessary preconditions for what would become a regionwide move toward the formation of national-populist social pacts. Of course, this move was far from linear and nowhere near uniform in its timing or sequencing. It varied as well in the fine details of its design. Nor should the spread and consolidation of this model be seen as predetermined in any sense. In a large number of newly independent states, early postcolonial politics took the form of intense struggles to determine whether nationalpopulist social pacts would become the frameworks for the organization of local political economies, including Egypt, Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, Tunisia, and Morocco. And as the experience of Lebanon shows (Gates 1998), the outcome of such struggles was far from certain. What matters most in our context, however, is that this combination of attributes provided a set of political resources that, for reasons documented elsewhere (Heydemann 1999; Waldner 1999), shifted the balance of political power in favor of oppositional elites who exploited them to establish national-populist social pacts, whether in explicitly populist single-party regimes (such as Syria, Egypt, Iraq, Tunisia, and Algeria) or as major features within traditional systems of rule (such as the Jordanian and Moroccan monarchies). And without diminishing the differences among these cases, it remains true that within about a decade of becoming independent, the political economies of all these states exhibited the core elements of a nationalpopulist social pact. What defines such a pact? Its core elements include institutional arrangements, public policies, legitimating discourses, and modes of state-society relations that reflect, minimally, (i) a preference for redistribution and social equity over growth, (2) a preference for states over markets in the management of national economies, (3) the protection of local markets from global competition, and (4) a vision of the political arena as an expression of the organic unity of the nation rather than as a site of political contestation. Institutionally and in terms of macroeconomic policies, these elements were organized in similar ways in virtually every state in the region, not least through a wave of nationalizations that led to a dramatic, rapid expansion in the scale of public sectors in a number of states and the consolidation of a heavily statedominated form of import substitution industrialization that differed from its counterparts in other regions in the degree to which states themselves dominated import-substituting sectors of the economy.6

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In addition, one of the most familiar markers of the rise of the nationalpopulist social pact was the emergence in the first decade after independence of highly centralized, hierarchical, and tightly regulated corporatist structures of interest representation everywhere in the region, virtually without regard for regime type or other variations among states. As with the fascist political economies studied by Luebbert, the intent of these institutions was not "to integrate workers into the larger society, although to some degree that was the effect, but to subordinate and harness them to the ambitions of party and state" (Luebbert 1991, 2). These structures provided the blueprint not just for the organization of state-labor relations but also for relations between the state and a wide range of other collective interest groups, including peasants, students, women, and various professional associations. And although these arrangements reflect Waterbury's (1993) sense of having been delivered by elites rather than fought for by their members, a number of scholars have noted that even these highly controlled forms of corporatism created their own possibilities for agency, bargaining, and negotiation by the groups that they sought to contain (Bianchi 1989; Goldberg 1992; Posusney 1997). Was this model distinctive to the Middle East? In fact, there is no analytic reason to assume that the national-populist social pact is the only institutional configuration that will generate a high level of adaptive capacity or that the Middle East is the only region to produce it. Indeed, the institutional solutions that emerged in the Middle East to incorporate workers and peasants, redistribute national income, and pursue state-led strategies of industrialization and economic development are fairly common among late developers. Yet just as clearly, this adaptive capacity is not distributed uniformly across states, even across late-developing authoritarian systems of rule.7 Moreover, similarities in the nature of social pacts in the Middle East extend beyond formal structures of interest representation to include what I earlier described as the understandings and arrangements that collectively define the political economy of many Arab states as national-populist. They also extend to distinctive modes of informal politics and resource allocation. Throughout the region and without much regard for differences in regime type, we see similarities in styles of regulation, forms of state intervention in the economy, and patterns of agrarian reform. We see broad similarities in the nationalist, populist, and redistributive discourses through which state elites sought (and still seek) to legitimize their developmental projects, if not their political authority more generally (Barnett 1998). We find broadly similar patterns in how

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the boundaries of political inclusion and exclusion were transformed through the politics of mass incorporation, with private sectors becoming increasingly marginal to political life in virtually all these states. Throughout the region workers and peasants came to be privileged over the owners of capital in considering whose interests needed to be taken into account in making economic and social policy and in determining which social groups had a legitimate claim on state resources. Broad patterns are also apparent at the level of informal modes of economic and political governance. Across Arab states the formation of national-populist social pacts during the 19505 and 19608 was marked by the emergence and rapid consolidation of new informal networks within and across public sectors, often dominated by members of the dominant political party but also including senior officers, bureaucrats, union elites, and senior officials in other semipublic associations. These networks displaced previous structures of informality to a greater (Syria, Algeria, Egypt) or lesser (Jordan, Tunisia, Morocco) degree, although established forms of rent seeking and predation persisted. Modes of informality differed from earlier practices, however, in at least two respects. First, their principal concern was to secure privileged access to resources that accompanied the proliferation of new state institutions that were established to regulate and restructure economies, appropriate and redistribute resources, and manage state-society relations. State expansion had many effects in the Middle East, but one was to provide the institutional skeleton for the construction of network polities across the region. Second, any set of informal practices will inevitably take shape as a mirror image of the formal institutional arrangements within and around which they emerge. Perhaps most significantly, criteria for inclusion in these networks diverged (often considerably) from the egalitarian, redistributive norms that organized mass politics and shaped the boundaries of the national-populist social pact more generally. Whether we agree or not that these informal networks eventually congealed into what Waterbury (1991) or Perthes (1991) described as a state bourgeoisie or class of state functionaries, they nonetheless developed a wide range of outward linkages across both institutional and social boundaries, including connections to landed, industrial, and commercial elites who formerly had been marginalized as economic and political actors. Perhaps not surprisingly, therefore, the move toward highly centralized populist and corporatist systems designed to contain and control mass politics produced informal modes of governance and resource allocation that were

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dense, decentralized, and broadly inclusionary—although they could hardly be seen as egalitarian or as adequate replacements for formal mechanisms of political and economic participation. Three points about these informal arrangements are most important here. First, access to these networks typically was controlled (albeit imperfectly) by the political elites who dominated formal institutions of rule, from internal security services to trade unions, from ruling parties to the military and the public sector. Second, informal networks and formal institutions develop symbiotically—persistent informal networks both depend on and contribute to the survival of the system of rule that produces them, creating all kinds of bargaining opportunities for regimes in search of support.8 Third, for both these reasons, the proliferation of informal modes of governance and resource allocation contributed significantly to the adaptive capacity of regimes by expanding the opportunity set that incumbents can exploit to sustain themselves in power. This quick and sketchy summary of just a few of the elements of the national-populist social pact is too crude and cartoonish to be satisfying (including to me). My point, however, is simply to convey some broad features that mark the convergence of a wide range of regimes around a single model for the organization of state-society relations and the management of local economies, and the emergence of a broadly uniform pattern of interaction between formal and informal modes of governance and resource allocation. There is no question that arrangements varied from case to case, but I argue that such variations fall within the boundaries of the broader model. More important for my purposes is that this model created a political arena consisting of diffuse but interconnected elements in which no one set of rules became decisive. In the interplay of formal and informal modes of governance that characterize the national-populist social pact, we can see the origins of the adaptive capacity that characterizes authoritarian regimes in the Middle East. CHALLENGES TO THE NATIONAL-POPULIST SOCIAL PACT: TWO SCENARIOS

The experience of authoritarianism in the Middle East reinforces the view that there exists a positive correlation between a high capacity to accommodate pressures for change within the boundaries of a given social pact and a low capacity for the endogenous transformation of that pact.9 Whereas other strategies for managing mass politics may become brittle as they stabilize around a limited number of fixed mechanisms for negotiating competing claims (as

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Schmitter and Grote [1997] suggest), the national-populist social pact exhibits a higher and more sustained level of plasticity. Given this, the durability of authoritarianism in the Middle East cannot be explained most persuasively by the willingness of regimes to repress opposition, the presence of a purportedly authoritarian political culture, the insularity of regimes in the face of global pressures for political reform, or their rigid adherence to exclusionary strategies of governance. Rather, this durability is produced by the extent to which the norms, formal institutions, and modes of political informality that collectively define the national-populist social pact have proven to be more adaptive than other modes of governance in responding to endogenous pressures for change. What would then be exceptional about the systems of rule we find in the Middle East is not the supposed weakness of institutions, high levels of political informality and predation, or self-seeking that exceeds some presumed norm. Instead, what stands out about the Middle East is the extent to which the national-populist social pact has permitted regimes to incorporate interests, absorb oppositions, co-opt competitors, build flexible coalitions, articulate cross-cutting and seemingly inconsistent policies, reconstitute privileged social networks, restructure property rights, and accommodate the emergence of new institutions—yet do all these things within the repertoire of norms, formal institutional arrangements, and modes of informality that collectively constitute the national-populist social pact.10 But does this mean that democratization is impossible in the Middle East? There is no reason to believe that national-populist social pacts are inherently or permanently immutable. Nonetheless, any assessment of the region's prospects for the kind of democratic transitions experienced elsewhere—and the kind of regimes that might emerge in place of those we have now—must start by recognizing the adaptive capacity of existing systems of rule. Questions about the conditions that might provoke systemic change in the Middle East can be framed in terms of (or in tension with) a range of theoretical approaches to the study of authoritarian persistence or decline, especially approaches that link institutional arrangements, networks, and the strategic behavior of actors. In these terms, and using the language popularized in earlier studies of comparative democratization (e.g., O'Donnell et al. 1986), institutional arrangements and modes of informal bargaining in the Middle East can be said to interact in ways that undermine the emergence of stable coalitions that are necessary for a pacted transition to democracy. Within the

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national-populist social pact as it has developed in the Middle East, few actors are forced into a position in which their interests can be achieved only through radical transformation of existing arrangements. It is possible, of course, to find actors across Middle Eastern regimes that could be identified as soft-liners and hard-liners and to identify radicals and moderates among opposition groups in the region. The point, however, is that many (although not all) actors move in and out of these categories, exploit the ambiguity of their position as a strategic resource, and thus produce possibilities for bargaining and coalition building that might not be available in settings where institutional arrangements and modes of informal politics impose tighter constraints on actors and reduce opportunities for the accommodation of contending interests. In strategic terms, therefore, my claim is that institutional arrangements and related modes of informal governance in the Middle East combine to create incentives that favor the resolution of conflicts within the existing system of rule—if not for everyone, then for a sufficient number of actors—to permit the maintenance of the system. In fact, to the extent that democratization implies convergence around a coherent, transparent, accountable, and predictable set of political rules (although not predictable outcomes) and to the extent that democratization will reorganize existing opportunities for rent seeking, opposition to democratization in the Middle East maybe more widespread than we like to admit. However, while this adaptive capacity helps to explain the resilience of authoritarianism in the Middle East, it also has clear limits, expressed in part through the norms that shape the national-populist social pact and thus define the boundaries of what is politically feasible. Further, my emphasis on the plasticity of authoritarianism in the Middle East should not be taken to mean that anything is possible, that everyone occupies positions of equal authority, that all citizens benefit from the same bargaining opportunities, and that no one is excluded. Authoritarianism is no more benign in the Middle East than it is anywhere else. Moreover, authoritarianism is a high-maintenance strategy of governance. It generates pervasive uncertainty, a constant background noise about the viability of the system, a permanent impermanence. If institutions help authoritarian regimes resolve the dilemma of credible commitments, then a reliance on informal modes of political bargaining means that institutions perform this function imperfectly. Moreover, although regimes dominate the political arena, they do not have a monopoly over the right to define what constitutes a legitimate set of rules.

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Thus this hybrid mode of governance has political benefits, but it also imposes costs—the presence of institutions for the management of mass politics has not visibly reduced the investment by Middle Eastern regimes in internal security, policing, and surveillance. Nor does resilience imply immutability. Still, the adaptiveness of authoritarian governance in a context in which multiple sets of rules are present does provide clues about how the transformation of these models might happen. Two possibilities stand out as most plausible. One possibility is that the current model for the organization of mass politics will be transformed through incremental moves that gradually broaden the boundaries of political participation rather than through a rupture or breakdown of the kind that brought about the collapse of authoritarian regimes in other regions. In this scenario mass politics in the Middle East is more likely to move from a national-populist social pact to some form of social democracy not by the intentional design of political actors but through the gradual accretion of small adjustments in the current social pact. The mechanisms to make these adjustments do exist, in particular through the activities of courts that slowly carve out for themselves the autonomy to make independent rulings and through a declining willingness, both domestically and internationally, to accept the corruption of electoral practices. Still, what this vision of the future implies is that in the Middle East (as elsewhere), possibilities for the reversal of political openings will be high—as we have seen in Egypt, Tunisia, Yemen, and Algeria and to a smaller extent in Jordan. In addition, it suggests that to the extent that we can define a clear demarcation line separating authoritarianism and democracy, it is most likely that we will be able to identify it only by looking backward, after it has been crossed. More likely, however, is that the demarcation line will not become clearly defined. A decade ago, Przeworski (1991) speculated that for much of the global South, the future was likely to consist of militarized democracies and poor capitalism—Turkey as the destination of reforms, rather than Spain. Many states in the Middle East are now halfway there; they have achieved poor capitalism. The other half of the equation, however unsatisfying it might be, still remains out of reach. A second, even more speculative scenario for the transformation of existing systems rests in the possibility that multiple sets of rules will eventually produce the marginalization of authoritarianism as a mode of everyday governance in the lives of citizens. This will happen not because authoritarian regimes disappear but because their market share of governance will shrink over

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time (Nee and Ingram 1998) as citizens increasingly choose to operate outside those domains of governance that regimes control. The analogy here is to a political process comparable to the de facto modes of privatization evident in several Middle Eastern states. In these cases the public sector represents an ever declining share of economic activity not because public enterprises are being sold off but because private enterprises are expanding as economic activity moves from state to market.11 In a similar sense we may find that the share of political output of authoritarian regimes becomes smaller relative to the share produced through the proliferation of alternative sets of rules of the game. Because regimes do not exercise a monopoly over legitimate rule making, the presence of multiple sets of rules creates opportunities for citizens to exit, to organize their lives in ways that minimize their engagement with authoritarian domains of governance controlled by regimes. As this process persists over time, regimes will become islands of authoritarianism, increasingly peripheral to political mainlands in which governance largely originates from below rather than from above. However, there are no guarantees that alternative modes of governance will be more participatory and inclusionary than those defined by regimes, and the experiences of local politics in the Middle East suggest the need for considerable caution in attributing democratic impulses to the opponents of authoritarian rule.

3

THE MANAGEMENT OF OPPOSITION Formal Structures of Contestation and Informal Political Manipulation in Egypt, Jordan, and Morocco Ellen Lust-Okar

UNTIL ONLY RECENTLY scholars largely ignored institutions that govern participation in authoritarian regimes. Those studies that have emerged have tended to focus on the presence or absence of participatory institutions. Thus, for instance, Gandhi and Przeworski (2001) argued that authoritarian regimes with parliamentary institutions tend to have longer life spans than authoritarian regimes that lack these institutions. Similarly, Gandhi and Vreeland (2004) found that parliamentary authoritarian regimes are less likely to experience civil conflict than their counterparts without parliaments. Students of Middle Eastern politics have also turned their attention to formal institutions, focusing particularly on parliaments and political parties (e.g., Baaklini et al. 1999; Brown 1997, 2002; Brownlee 2004; Lucas 2005; Posusney 1997, 2002). Scholars have increasingly focused on participation in formal institutions, but they have not fully explored the variations in those arrangements that govern formal participation. There are important differences in the rules governing elections and political parties (see Lust-Okar and Jamal 2002). However, in this chapter I focus on a more fundamental distinction that lies in the extent to which opposition groups are given equal opportunity to participate in the formal political sphere, or structures of contestation.1 In this chapter I examine how incumbents' choices of institutions over participation in the formal political sphere affect both the dynamics of opposition and the informal mechanisms that incumbents use to strengthen or weaken various opposition groups. I begin by exploring structures of contestation, focusing on regimes in Egypt, Jordan, and Morocco.21 then demonstrate how these institutions affect the incentives of opposition groups and, subsequently, 39

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the dynamics of opposition during prolonged crises. Finally, I explore the relationship between incumbents' choices of formal structures of contestation and the informal mechanisms that they use to manipulate opposition groups. STRUCTURES OF CONTESTATION

Structures of contestation govern whether opponents can participate in the formal political sphere. Incumbents can create institutions that either include or exclude opposition groups uniformly (undivided structures of contestation), or they can include some opposition groups while excluding others (divided structures of contestation). These institutions structure the relationships between opponents and incumbents as well as relationships between opposition groups. The regimes in Egypt, Jordan, and Morocco illustrate the differences in structures of contestation and demonstrate the distinction between structures of contestation and the regime types of monarchies and dominant-party states. Through the late 19808 King Hussein of Jordan maintained an undivided structure of contestation, prohibiting all political opponents from participating in the formal political system. In Egypt's dominant-party regime Sadat promoted a similarly undivided structure of contestation in the 19708. By the end of the decade—with deteriorating economic conditions and hostility to the EgyptianIsraeli peace treaty—Sadat restricted both secularists and Islamists. In contrast, King Hassan II in Morocco and President Mubarak in Egypt created divided structures of contestation. By the early 19705 King Hassan II readmitted opposition parties into the formal political system, called elections, subsidized parties, and created incentives for legal opponents to refrain from destabilizing the regime. At the same time he prohibited a set of Islamist and leftist parties. In Egypt President Mubarak also fostered a divided structure of contestation. Mubarak granted moderate secular opponents greater political space than they had under Sadat, drawing them closer to the regime. Islamist (and more generally, sectarian) parties remained banned. Although they were sometimes permitted to run on the ballots of secularist parties, and indeed to win seats (Sayed 1990), they were formally excluded. Divergent Incentives for Opposition Groups

Structures of contestation affect opposition groups' incentives for and costs of mobilization. In a divided structure of contestation it is less costly for included opposition to mobilize alone than in conjunction with excluded elites. For excluded opponents, however, and for all opponents in an undivided

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structure of contestation, mobilizing in conjunction with legal opponents is less costly than challenging the regime independently. Legal opposition elites prefer to mobilize independently in the divided structure of contestation. Incumbents grant them the right to make demands within the formal political system in return for accepting the responsibility of helping to maintain political order. The right to challenge the regime is clearly proscribed. Legal opponents can criticize corruption but must refrain from naming specific individuals; they can call for better social services but have no budgetary control; and they can demand a greater role for parliament but not challenge the regime directly. Their impact on policy is limited, and they recognize this. They also know that although they can participate in the formal political game, they cannot make its rules. By violating agreed-on boundaries, legal opponents risk being excluded from the system, giving up limited abilities to affect policies, and, perhaps more important, losing social and economic benefits that participation affords them. In contrast, excluded opponents prefer to mobilize jointly with other groups. They have not committed themselves to refraining from destabilizing the system in return for the benefits of inclusion. Rather, they operate primarily for and with support from the people excluded from the formal political system. Consequently, illegal opposition groups prefer to mobilize at the same time as included opponents. Mobilizing with legal opposition facilitates the coordination of mobilization and makes it more difficult for incumbents to ferret out illegal opponents and punish them severely. Consequently, opposition groups face different incentives to mobilize, depending on whether they are legal or illegal and on the structure of contestation within which they act. As part of their role in expressing and relieving popular dissatisfaction, legal opponents are allowed to challenge the regime. However, in return for this privilege, they must balance the restrictions of an incumbent elite with the desires of the popular constituencies, moderating their policy positions. They pay a high price if they create situations that illegal opposition groups exploit. In contrast, illegal opponents prefer to mobilize when other groups do as well. The interests of legal and illegal opponents diverge in important ways. The Dynamics of Protest

The different incentives of included and excluded opponents shape the dynamics of protest, particularly during prolonged crises. In undivided structures of contestation, where opposition groups are either included in or excluded from

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the formal political system, opposition should continue to mobilize when popular discontent increases. In divided structures of contestation, where incumbents include some groups while excluding others, moderate opponents become less likely to mobilize, even when it is increasingly easy for them to do so. In short, incumbents use institutions to shape divisions between opposition groups, and this affects when and how they put pressure on the regime. In the divided structure of contestation loyalist opponents who previously mobilized popular movements may become unwilling to challenge incumbents as crises continue, even if their demands have not been met. Legal opposition groups face lower costs of mobilizing protests, so long as more radical forces do not exploit them, and thus they can exploit early stages of crises to demand reforms. However, as the crisis continues, illegal opposition groups gain strength, making them more likely to exploit demonstrations. Thus, to avoid the possibility that radicals exploit unrest to demand radical reform, moderates refrain from mobilizing. The same elites who previously exploited economic discontent to demand political change now remain silent. In contrast, in the unified structure of contestation opponents remain willing to mobilize as crises continue. Unlike their counterparts in the divided case, legal opponents do not fear the inclusion of radicals in their unrest. When there is only one opposition group, it should be obvious that once the opposition is willing to mobilize, it remains willing to mobilize so long as its probability of success increases and its demands have not been met. Even when important divisions exist between legal opposition groups, those groups who challenge the regime do not pay a higher price if other legal opponents join in the unrest; thus both groups remain willing to challenge the regime. Different structures of contestation help explain divergent dynamics of protest in Morocco, Jordan, and Egypt during the economic crises of the 19808 and 19905. All three countries had experienced economic hardships in the past decades,3 and in each case the crises made it easier for political opponents to mobilize political unrest. Yet only in Jordan and in Egypt under Sadat did political opponents remain willing to mobilize the populace to demand political reform. Legal opposition in Morocco and in Egypt under Mubarak became less willing to mobilize as crises continued. Morocco

In Morocco's divided structure of contestation legal opposition groups became less willing to mobilize as the economic crisis continued. In the early period of

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economic crisis legal opponents took the opportunity to demand the palace's attention. When the government failed to meet political demands and even to engage in dialogue with the opposition-led Confederation D£mocratique du Travail (CDT), the union called a nationwide general strike to demand economic reforms and to challenge the regime. The strike succeeded, leading to rioting and bloodshed in Casablanca and Mohammedia. The government responded harshly: quelling the riots, suspending party newspapers, and jailing opposition leaders. As the crisis continued, excluded opponents gained popular support. Religious organizations distributed spiritual and physical resources, thus strengthening their popular base. The strength of illegal opposition forces was demonstrated most vividly in January 1984. Responding to reduced subsidies, increased tuition, and economic conditions, students took to the streets, soon joined by other groups in nearly fifty cities throughout Morocco (Clement 1992; Majid 1987; Munson 1993; Younger 1985). Consequently, legal opposition parties and the palace both began to consider the possibility that radical opposition groups would exploit unrest, and moderates—knowing that the costs of a conflict exploited by illegal opponents in the divided structure of contestation are much greater than those of an isolated conflict— cooperated with the palace. As Zartman (1987, 12) noted, "The opposition was ... [enlisted] in the government's job of control. With a common interest in avoiding anomie, government and unions bargain [ed] over demands in support of the polity." Although legal opponents failed to achieve their goals, the presence of radical opposition groups poised to exploit unrest muted their attempts to challenge the palace. By the end of the 19805 moderates, who had initially expected that cooperation with the palace would augment their power, were frustrated with the palace's unwillingness to meet their demands, with postponed elections, and with the increasingly hostile relationship between opposition leaders and the government. In December 1990 the opposition-led unions called for a general strike. It resulted in widespread violence and a profound lesson for the legal opposition (Hizb al-Istiqlal 1995; Lijnat al-Tansiq al-Watani wa al-Dawli 1993; Radcliffe 1990). Unlike 1981, when the level of discontent may have surprised both sides, or 1984, when the government was caught off guard with its security forces concentrated in Casablanca, the palace had prepared for the strike, and both opposition and government officials had expected that the strike would remain under control.4 It was clear that illegal opposition, and particularly

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Islamists, were gaining strength (Soudan 1995), and this opposition made legal opponents unwilling to promote popular unrest. Thus, although the opposition's demands were not met, they refused to call another general strike, fearing that excluded opponents would exploit unrest. At the same time, the parties feared that the palace would step up repression if the situation exploded. Party elites, remembering the harsh repression of the 19608 and early 19705, feared a return to the Days of Basri. These twin threats—potential explosion from the bottom and repression from the top—made moderates unwilling to mobilize demonstrations to demand political reform.5 Jordan

In Jordan's undivided structure of contestation opposition groups stepped up their challenges against the palace as economic crises continued. Economic decline that began in the early 19805 provided the catalyst for political change. Common economic grievances allowed Jordanians from a wide variety of backgrounds and political tendencies to join in demanding reforms. Dissatisfaction with the government from secularists and Islamists centered on charges of corruption, limited freedom of speech, the underrepresentation of the urban majority in the appointed National Consultative Council, and the failure of national legislation to conform to Islam. The first major popular unrest occurred in 1986 on the campus of Yarmouk University when students—from communists to Islamists—called for social, economic, and political reforms. Tensions mounted further in 1988. The government detained dozens of left-wing opponents, dissolved the editorial boards of Jordan's major newspapers, and threatened to shut down professional associations (Moffett 1988). Dramatic reforms in 1989 broke the cycle of escalating opposition and repression. Forced to accept adjustment plans directed by the International Monetary Fund, the government cut subsidies on April 17,1989. Rioting ensued, beginning in the south and spreading to Amman. Opponents demanded greater personal freedom, an end to martial law, legalization of political parties, and the resumption of parliamentary life. They charged the government with nepotism, corruption, and fiscal mismanagement and called for the resignation of Prime Minister Zayd al-Rifa i (Andoni 1989). King Hussein returned from the United States and immediately announced political reforms—including new elections, legalized political parties, and the

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lifting of martial law imposed since 1957—but he maintained an undivided structure of contestation. The palace allowed nearly all actors to participate in the formal political sphere,6 despite the heightened regional concern about Islamists. Ibrahim Izzidine summed up the underlying logic: "The best thing is to give every group the chance to operate publicly. If you try to suppress any opinion or trend, you will have problems such as we have witnessed in many parts of the world" (Jordan Times, July 27,1993, p. i). After only a brief hiatus the confrontation between the palace and opposition escalated. Islamists were particularly frustrated. The Islamic Action Front (IAF) won more than one-quarter of the eighty-member lower house, but it received only one seat in the appointed forty-member Senate and only one portfolio in the government. Throughout 1991 and 1992 the government also banned large public meetings that the Islamists organized, and the 1992 Political Parties Law barred political parties (interpreted to include the Muslim Brotherhood) from using religious institutions for political activities (Schwedler 2000). Then, preparing for the peace treaty with Israel, the king revised the electoral law just months before the November 1993 elections, disadvantaging the opposition. The opposition united, and tensions mounted. By 1995 Islamists and leftists formed the Anti-Normalization Committee, which attacked the peace process and demanded political reforms. Prime Minister Zayd Bin Shakir responded in November 1995, warning that "any denial of [Jordan's] achievements is tantamount to treason," and he revised the Press Law to "safeguard a 'responsible' press" (Jordan Times, November 19,1995, p. i; Jordan Times, December 11,1995). King Hussein similarly stated that he was ready for "a showdown with the opponents" (Andoni 1995,16-17). This statement was partly a reaction to popular opposition to the peace treaty, but even as peace became a fait accompli, the cycle of escalation and repression continued. In the undivided structure of contestation, the confrontation between the palace and the opposition continued to escalate during prolonged economic crises. In 1996 a deteriorating economic situation prompted an announcement that the government would increase bread prices 300 percent. In response, opposition activists presented parliament with a petition opposing the increase, and opposition members of parliament, ranging from leftists to Islamists, threatened the government with a no-confidence vote (Kamal 1996). Despite this, in August the government raised bread prices, and Hussein closed the parliamentary session. Rioting shook Jordan for the second

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time in less than a decade, leading the palace to call in army units and impose a curfew (Ryan 1998). In 1997 the palace sponsored a more restrictive and punitive Press and Publication Law and refused to meet opposition demands to revise the 1993 Electoral Law. Consequently, ten opposition parties boycotted the 1997 elections, and turnout was low (Omar 1997). Opponents also organized public demonstrations in support of Iraq, even though the government had prohibited them. In February 1998 more than 2,000 supporters protested after Friday prayers, and the following week demonstrators marching in Ma an provoked a confrontation that lasted for three days, leaving one killed and the town under curfew. In June 1998 an opposition front that spanned ideological tendencies and the Palestinian-Transjordanian divide came together formally to form the Conference for National Reform, holding their first national congress on July 25,1998. The significance of this coalition should not be understated. Little love is lost between some of its members. In 1989 some Islamists accused a prominent woman secularist opponent of "apostasy" (Moffett 1989)7 and many secularists, in turn, expressed disrespect for Islamists. Similarly, the Palestinian-Transjordanian divide is not easily overcome.8 Finally, power struggles between the coalition partners constantly threatened to tear it apart.9 Yet despite this, the coalition continued to challenge the palace. Egypt

In the undivided structure of contestation of Egypt under Sadat domestic opposition also escalated as Egypt's economy worsened and Sadat moved toward an Egyptian-Israeli peace treaty. In 1974 bread riots erupted and Islamists attacked the Military Technical College. January 1975 saw widespread riots and demonstrations, in which more than 1,000 workers, students, and others participated, and the government also uncovered alleged plots to overthrow Sadat. In 1976 further unrest shook the country. In January Islamists at al-Azhar University demonstrated, demanding that the state adopt the Shari'a as its fundamental law, and the following month leftists demonstrated outside the offices of al-Akhbar newspaper against its anti-Nasserist positions, which represented Sadat's position. As we expect in an undivided structure of contestation during prolonged crises, popular discontent escalated from a variety of sources: Islamists, Nasserists, Communists, and Marxists. Sadat met unrest with widespread arrests and the use of force. In 1976, however, he also moved toward political liberalization, announcing the for-

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mation of three political parties: the leftist National Progressive Union, the centrist Arab Socialist Organization, and the rightist Socialist Liberal Organization. The government denied the Nasserists, communists, and Muslim Brotherhood formal representation, and the system had the potential to become a divided structure of contestation. However, room to maneuver within the formal political system constricted to the point where even members of the three loyalist parties feared making any criticisms, and the majority of their members defected. By the 19805 Egypt had thus returned to an undivided, and exclusive, structure of contestation. The month before the assassination of Sadat security forces arrested 1,536 opponents, including members of nearly every political tendency, from Islamists to Marxists. As in Jordan's undivided structure of contestation, political opponents had joined together to challenge the regime, and Sadat opted for increasing repression (Meiring 1982). In contrast, Mubarak created a divided structure of contestation, which led legal opposition groups to hold back in challenging the regime as economic crises continued. Prolonged crises strengthened excluded opposition groups, particularly Islamists, at the expense of legal opposition (Ibrahim i996b). The strength of radicals poised on the fringes of the system muted the legal opposition. The Muslim Brotherhood moderates, never legalized, found themselves repressed along with more militant Islamists (Singerman 2002). At the same time, moderate legal parties, rather than exploiting the increased unrest and weakened state security, were largely silent. They withstood increasingly repressive policies: the cancellation of mayoral elections in Egypt's villages and the passage of the more repressive Press Law 93 of 1995. Despite this setback, opposition parties returned to elections in 1995 and, in the following year, in part heartened by the rescinding of the Press Law and a newly appointed prime minister, stood by as the government implemented difficult economic reforms. As Saad Eddin Ibrahim (i996b, 132) noted, there was "no noticeable resistance to these steps; the opposition press has debated them passionately, but peacefully." The moderates became more conciliatory during the Mubarak period not just because they were reincorporated into the formal political system but also because Mubarak excluded significant opposition from the formal political sphere. Inclusion with few gains undoubtedly weakened legal secularist parties. By the early 19908 Islamists controlled the major syndicates (Ibrahim i996b). Between 1992 and 1997 militant Islamists also escalated their conflict,

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at a cost of 1,300 lives and billions of dollars (Gerges 2000). The threat of militant Islamists made legal opponents less willing to mobilize against the government (Hinnebusch 1990). Indeed, it was not until the radicals were brought under control in 1997 that the moderates increasingly challenged the regime (Sayed 1990). Then, as demonstrated in the case of Saad Eddin Ibrahim, the human rights activist arrested in 2001, the conflict between secularists and the regime escalated. This illustrates the tightrope that Egypt—and incumbents managing a divided structure of contestation more generally—faced. Maintaining the balance between excluded and included groups is difficult, but it is critical for reducing tensions on the regime. OPPOSITION PREFERENCES, GOVERNMENT STRATEGIES, AND STRUCTURES OF CONTESTATION

Incumbents also use informal mechanisms to balance the strength of opposition groups. In general, they use two strategies: (i) fragmenting and moderating political opposition groups in order to promote a balanced set of forces with moderate but opposing political demands or (2) strengthening ideologically radical political opponents to create a threat to the moderates. The first tactic of divide and rule is better suited to unified structures of contestation, and the second tactic of strengthening radicals is more beneficial to incumbent elites in divided structures of contestation. Before examining why this is the case, we need to distinguish between co-optation and strengthening of opposition groups. Co-opted groups or individuals receive some concessions in return for a change in their demands. For instance, incumbents may co-opt opponents who previously advocated the regime's overthrow by giving them important government positions in return for the opponent abandoning the call for the regime's demise. Although less commonly recognized, incumbents can also foster the growth of some opposition groups, as opposition. In this case they allow—or even encourage—opposition groups to continue their activities and gain popular support. The incumbents and the opposition do not make any implicit or explicit agreements, however, and the opposition does not change its demands in response to the incumbents' favor. Fragmentation and Moderation

Incumbent elites can minimize political opposition by fostering opposition groups with divergent and incompatible ideological preferences. Strengthen-

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ing moderate groups with incompatible policy preferences makes opponents unlikely to join in a coalition to demand political change. This is particularly true in undivided structures of contestation, when both moderates and radicals face lower costs of mobilizing jointly than of mobilizing independently. Indeed, in this case the second opposition group, fearing that its ideological opponents will succeed in gaining concessions, may be less likely to join in mobilizing, even though the costs of doing so are low. The more likely the second group believes that the first can obtain concessions and the more it dislikes the first group's preferred policies more than the status quo, the less likely it is to go into the streets. Consequently, the incumbents can minimize the challenges they face by ensuring that both sides prefer the status quo over a conflict that includes their ideological opponents. To do this, incumbents need to maximize the distance between the two opposition groups' preferred policies and also ensure that both sides have reason to fear that the other could be strong enough to gain concessions. Incumbents seek to balance the political strength of opposition groups that dislike each other's policy demands more than they dislike the regime. Neutralization Through Radicalization

Incumbents can also weaken their political opposition by strengthening much more radical but weaker opponents. When radical elites are unable to mobilize successfully on their own but have the potential to exploit existing political instability, ideological divides can reduce the likelihood that moderates will join in a coalition. The more extreme the second opposition group, the less likely that the opponents will challenge the regime. In addition, as the potential that radicals will exploit unrest increases, the likelihood that moderates will challenge the regime declines. Particularly in the divided structure of contestation, the stronger the radicals or the more extreme their demands, the less likely that moderates will mobilize. Elites in Egypt, Jordan, and Morocco have taken both approaches toward political opposition. In Morocco's divided structure of contestation King Hassan II tried to weaken opposition by fostering the growth of radical opponents. In the undivided structures of contestation of Jordan and Egypt in the 19708, King Hussein and President Sadat took an opposite approach. They attempted to limit opposition to the regime by strengthening and co-opting moderate opponents.

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Strengthening the Radicals

Circumstantial evidence and interviews suggest that King Hassan II attempted to weaken opposition by ensuring that radical excluded elites opposed to the regime remained on the fringes. As discussed, the existence of radical opponents in a divided structure of contestation can make moderates less willing to mobilize. The irony for radical opposition elites is that strengthening their movements, which stridently oppose the regime, actually shores up the very regime they oppose. Morocco

In Morocco a growing Islamist movement helped keep moderate opponents in check. In the 19705 and 19805 there were two main revolutionary Islamist movements: al-'Adl wa al-Ihsan led by 'Abd al-Salam Yasin and the Shabibah al-Islamiyah led by 'Abd al-Karim al-Muti.10 The king allowed the Islamist movements to grow, in opposition to the leftists and secularists. After the mid-1980s, when it became clear that the Islamists might be able to challenge the king independently, King Hassan II played a delicate balancing game. He sought to keep Islamists strong enough to threaten the legal opposition but weak enough not to challenge the regime independently. Indeed, the king weakened the most radical Islamist movement, the Shabibah al-Islamiyah, after it began to challenge the regime independently. Founded in 1969 by 'Abd al-Karim al-Muti, the Shabibah was the most vitriolic and revolutionary of the Moroccan Islamist movements. Muti's insistence on an Islamic state was as objectionable to the moderate secularists, however, as it was to the regime. Thus in the early 19705 clashes between Islamists and leftist students became common. At this point the growth of the Islamists served to weaken the king's opposition. The regime's tolerance for the movement declined as the movement became stronger and more threatening to the regime. Munson (1991,134) summed up the relationship between these Islamists and the king: "The Moroccan government initially favored the growth of al-Shabiba al-Islamiyya for the same reason Sadat initially supported the Jama'at al-Islamiyya in the universities of Egypt: to curb the Marxist groups that had dominated the student politics in the sixties. But like Sadat, Morocco's King Hasan II eventually realized that Islamic militancy could pose a greater threat to his regime than could the secular left." Consequently, the palace sought to neutralize the Shabibah. Some argue that the palace orchestrated the 1975 assassination of a leading Marxist and

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editor of the Socialist Party's paper precisely for this purpose. The assassination was blamed on Muti, and although Muti denied the allegations, he left Morocco three days after the assassination (Munson 1991). The government also weakened the Shabibah by allowing the growth of such movements as £ Abd al-Salam Yasin's al-'Adl wa al-Ihsan, an illegal Islamist movement, which was less militant but still advocated the overthrow of the monarchy. Yasin became a noteworthy political figure in 1974, when he wrote a startling open letter to King Hassan II. The letter used unusually scornful and condescending language. In return, Yasin was held in a psychiatric hospital from 1974 to 1977. When Yasin was released, he continued his campaign against the king. In 1979 he began publishing a review, al-Jama'a. Authorities delayed publication for nearly one year and refused Yasin permission to speak in the mosques, but they gave the organization space to grow in the early 19808. al-Jama'a was published until 1983. Similarly, although Yasin did not speak in the mosques, mosque sermons became an important tool of Islamists from 1979 until 1984. The monarchy allowed the Islamists to gain strength up to the point where they could be a threat to the loyalist opposition and yet remained too weak to be an independent threat. As Mohammed Tozy (1993,171) noted, the period before the 1984 riots could be thought of as the period in which Islamist movements "arose through official indifference and even complicity." The king's complicity in allowing the Islamists to strengthen their movement was, quite understandably, difficult to prove. Yet, unless one accepts the hypothesis that the king benefited from a strong but constrained radical opposition, several facts remain difficult to understand. The most difficult fact to explain was the continued presence of Yasin on the Moroccan political stage. One could expect that Yasin would be removed from Moroccan politics permanently following the publication of his open letter. Moreover, in the absence of any apparent political pressure, the government released Yasin from the psychiatric hospital, allowing him to make the same demands (albeit in a more muted form) as he had previously. Yasin was clearly not co-opted, and by releasing him, the king assured the strengthening of his movement. Subsequently, the regime's control over Yasin's presence on the Moroccan political stage followed a predictable path. Yasin was permitted to continue his work, but when the movement became too strong or when economic and political crises made Moroccans particularly volatile, he was removed. Thus the king permitted Yasin to spread his message, publishing al-Jamaa and

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mobilizing support for the movement. However, in 1983 Yasin's review was banned, and his attempt to publish a newspaper, al-Subh, was thwarted, just when the political and economic situation became particularly explosive. In December 1983, just days before the riots, the authorities arrested Yasin. The king's relationship with Yasin cannot be explained by the simple need for the state to control political opposition. In the early years it would have been relatively easy for the king to do away with Yasin altogether. To explain the authorities' reluctance to do this, Munson (1991) has pointed to the potential martyrdom and popular backlash against killing Yasin. That the king would have been so concerned about such backlash seems curious, because he apparently did not accept Muti, the more popular leader of the Shabibah, operating within Morocco. Furthermore, Munson himself also notes that nearly fifteen years later, despite the growth of the al-'Adl wa al-Ihsan and the worsening economic situation, support for Yasin remained narrow enough that only about 2,000 people participated in the demonstrations during the trial of 1990. Although this is a substantial demonstration in a restrictive political system, the popular response to Yasin's arrest does not suggest that the demise of the leader in the mid-1970s would have created a dangerous political opposition. It was also not co-optation of the Islamist movement that led the king to allow some growth of the Islamist opposition. Yasin did not change his demands in the face of official pressure.11 Nor did authorities allow him to mobilize unchecked. Indeed, since 1984 official control over areas pertaining to Islam increased significantly. The state controlled movements that were previously tolerated (including Jama at al-Tabligh) and maintained tighter restrictions on mosques. On May 6, 1981, the king created an institution for the clerics in which a regional council would supervise the 'ulama, who were divided into different districts. The 'ulama were clearly not to work outside the proscribed framework. Finally, in the decree of October 2,1984, the king regulated the building and use of mosques, requiring that the governor of each province issue permits for the construction of mosques and that the Ministry of the Habbous and the Ministry of Muslim Affairs appoint the khatib (preacher) and the imam (Tozy 1993). King Hassan II tolerated Yasin because he threatened the loyalist opposition. Yasin's contempt for the left was well recognized. Although Yasin later argued that he would like to form an Islamist party,12 he clearly did not support a democratic government or envision a long-term role for secularist opponents. Instead, he called for a "'council elected in an Islamic manner,5 after all political

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parties have been banned.... 'The party of Satan,' as Yasin called people who advocate a secular form of government, would not be allowed to participate in elections for this council" (Yasin, "Iftitahiyya," al-Jama'a, no. 9,1981, p. 4; cited in Munson 1993,168). Thus Yasin's movement provided a useful counterweight to the legal opposition. The possibility that political instability might open the door for Islamist success threatened the left as much as the king himself. In addition, Yasin's movement drew support away from more violent Islamist opposition that might have challenged the king. Indeed, as Yasin's movement grew stronger, the Shabibah al-Islamiyah weakened. In part, the decline of the Shabibah was due to heavy-handed tactics of Muti, who attempted to maintain tight control over his members, even after he left Morocco (Munson 1991; Tozy 1989). In addition, however, particularly after the mid-1980s, Moroccan incumbents weakened the movement through repression and co-optation. As it became clear that membership in the organization was dangerous, some militants formed new organizations, advocating a strictly Islamic state but refraining from direct attacks on the government, whereas others were drawn to Yasin's movement. By tacitly accepting the growth of radical Islamist movements, the palace neutralized moderate secularists and weakened more radical Islamic groups as well. Managing the Moderates

In Egypt and Jordan incumbents sought to strengthen their political system by fostering moderate opponents with opposing policy preferences. Thus regime elites attempted to create a system in which opponents preferred the status quo to the potential success of their rivals. They also tried to co-opt opponents, moderating their demands. Egypt Under Sadat

Egypt provides an important contrast with Morocco precisely because many see the Egyptian and Moroccan incumbent elites as using the same political strategies. President Sadat initially strengthened the Islamists against the leftists, just as King Hassan II did in Morocco. However, although their tactics appeared the same, their strategies were in fact fundamentally different. Sadat was not trying to strengthen the Islamists as an opposition force that would challenge his regime. Rather, Sadat attempted to co-opt moderate Islamists, believing that their loyal opposition would help support his regime. In 1970 Anwar Sadat reversed some of the long-standing repression of the Islamists and the liberal Wafd Party. That he chose to relieve the pressure on

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these opponents was not surprising. Unlike Nasser, Sadat entered office with a history of good relations with the Muslim Brotherhood. Long before his ascendance to the presidency, he attended meetings and held discussions with the Brotherhood's founder, Hasan al-Banna. In addition, Sadat needed the Islamists' support. In 1970 he faced leftist and Nasserist opposition. If Islamists could weaken these forces, his own position would be more secure. Thus Sadat eased restrictions on the Islamists and the liberal Wafd Party (Hinnebusch 1990). When Sadat allowed the Islamists to return to the political stage, however, he sought to co-opt them. Sadat released Islamists from prison and allowed them to hold meetings and distribute their publications. However, he also got the tacit agreement of the leaders of the Muslim Brotherhood that they would limit their demands and the means through which they made them. In gaining the acceptance of the more moderate Brotherhood, Sadat had essentially clipped their wings. They were limited to demonstrations of disapproval of some government policies, most notably the peace treaty with Israel. In return, they received minor concessions, such as the well-publicized constitutional amendment in April 1980 that "Islam is the religion of the State" and the Shari'a is "the main source of legislation." However, more radical groups emerged, arguing that these minor demands and concessions were weak. Unable to present stronger demands, the Muslim Brotherhood lost supporters to the more radical groups. Sadat inadvertently strengthened radical Islamist opponents by restricting the Brotherhood. According to Gomaa (1983), Sadat's mistake was that he expected the Muslim Brotherhood to represent the mainstream Islamist tendencies and thought that he could control more radical opponents. Under the leadership of Hasan al-Banna, the Muslim Brotherhood was able to control extremist elements. However, without this leadership the 19705 saw a proliferation of more radical Islamist opposition groups. Sadat appears to have failed to recognize early in his presidency that the Islamists continued to pose a serious threat to his regime. By the time he did realize it, it was too late. Jordan

In Jordan King Hussein sought to maintain his regime by strengthening moderate opposition against his more radical opponents and exacerbating political divisions. The king allowed the most moderate Islamist and secular voices space within the system, even during the periods of military rule. In addition,

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he reinforced the division between Palestinians and Transjordanians. By balancing the strengths of opponents with various political and social demands, the king created for himself a position as a mediator and stabilizer. So long as these opposition groups appeared more threatening to each other than the king himself did, the king's position was secure. The moderate secular and religious opposition in Jordan often challenged individual official policies but never the legitimacy of the king's leadership; in return, King Hussein allowed them a limited role in the political system. The Muslim Brotherhood was the most moderate of the king's opponents. The Brotherhood's loyalty was clearly demonstrated during the power struggle between Prime Minister al-Nabulsi and the king. Unlike the leftist parties, the Brotherhood supported the king in this conflict with the prime minister (Muhanna 1986).13 Consequently, the king granted the Brotherhood a privileged position after 1957. Even when political parties were formally banned, the king allowed the Brotherhood to circumvent the law, operating as a "charitable organization," and some members were appointed to influential positions within the government ministries (Mufti 1999; Piscatori 1991). Secular opponents gained similar access to the regime when they were willing to give up their more radical political demands. The prime minister's cabinet and, after 1979, the National Consultative Council, contained former Ba£athists and Communists who were willing to maintain moderate political demands. The king regularly attempted to moderate opponents' demands, giving the strongest opposition leaders incentives to cooperate with the regime. However, increasing opposition forced the king to create greater incentives to accept the regime. The creation and then expansion of the National Consultative Council was intended to co-opt increasing numbers of opponents. The Council included important political activists who participated in the underground parties and professional associations. In addition, it promoted the acquiescence of potential opponents to the regime's policies. Nabil Khouri explained that the Council was "another manifestation of a general political strategy on the part of King Hussein... which [aimed] to utilize the country's political institutions to co-opt intellectuals and businessmen, to appease traditional sectors of society and to mobilize support for royal policies" (Khouri 1981,428). In addition to allowing both secularist and Islamist moderates to compete in the political system, King Hussein promoted communal and regional

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divisions among political opponents (Brand 1999; Lynch 1999). Several cleavages in Jordanian society were kept just below the surface of politics, to be exacerbated and emphasized whenever increasing societal tensions served to reduce political pressures. The most notable was the division between Jordanians of East Bank and Palestinian origin. Distrust between the two groups rose following Black September in 1970. Partly as a result, the palace allowed Transjordanians to dominate the military and bureaucracy and, more recently, university positions. Palestinians came to resent Transjordanians' ability to benefit from their tribal connections in ways that were closed to them. On the other hand, Palestinian elites continued to dominate the private sector. These elites threatened the Transjordanians, who feared that they could take political positions as well. The Palestinian elites also weakened the Palestinian resistance, because they continued to support the monarchy in return for a stable business climate. A second division remained between Transjordanians of northern and southern origin. The king emphasized this division by implementing an obvious and consistent balancing act between the two regions. These divisions weakened the opposition, at least in the short run. The first parliamentary sessions following liberalization witnessed sharp conflicts between the Islamists and the leftists. Immediately before the Madrid conference Islamists coalesced with the Transjordanian Constitutional Bloc to end the tenure of Prime Minister Tahir Masri, a Palestinian with ties to the leftists. It was an unusual coalition. The Islamists joined it largely to demonstrate their opposition to the peace process; the largely Transjordanian Constitutional Bloc cooperated with the Islamists because they opposed the appointment of a Palestinian prime minister associated with the leftists. Finally, leftists opposed to the peace process and frustrated with an increasingly restrictive political environment joined with the Islamists and the Constitutional Bloc in the no-confidence vote, forcing Tahir Masri out of office. As leftists and Islamists emerged as allies, horizontal cleavages became increasingly important. The "Jordanian Likud," including Transjordanians generally, opposed a permanent and equal role for Jordanians of Palestinian origin in the political system and became more vocal as opposition to the process increased. Increased tensions between Jordanians of Palestinian and East Bank origin served to weaken the opposition against the regime. Laurie Brand (1999, 13) has argued that the state allowed these tensions to flare periodically in order to weaken the opposition: "The stoking of communal

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flames [was] a policy instrument to be used when there [was] a possibility that some challenge, generally, but not exclusively economic, could lead to a broad-based Jordanian-Palestinian opposition to the regime, perhaps along the lines of the nationalist wave that emerged in the 19508." Indeed, opposition elites from different sides of the ideological spectrum were aware of this, and they actively worked against the monarch's attempt to divide Jordanian society (Lynch 1999). Fostering the existence of moderate opponents with competing political demands is risky, however. There are two threats. First, coalitions that span political divides become more likely as the opponents' preferences for the status quo decline. In addition, even when opposition elites become increasingly moderate, their supporters may not follow. In Jordan Islamist opponents have become increasingly unwilling to accept the Muslim Brotherhood's moderate position. The divisions among the opposition may yield more radical opponents, and these maybe far less loyal to the palace. CONCLUSION

Authoritarian leaders use a combination of formal institutions that govern participation and informal mechanisms that manipulate the strength of various opposition groups in order to stay in power. These tools are related. The formal institutions that govern who is allowed to participate in the formal political sphere—forming political parties, contesting elections, and demonstrating peacefully—affect the likelihood that both included and excluded opponents put pressure on the regime during prolonged crises. These incentive structures also affect whether regime elites use fragmentation of moderate forces, thus seeking to promote moderate opposition groups with diametrically opposed positions, or aim to ensure that radical groups on the fringes stand poised to exploit unrest. In undivided structures of contestation, such as those in Egypt under Sadat and in Jordan, leaders promote the fragmentation of moderate forces. In divided structures of contestation, such as those in Morocco and in Egypt under Mubarak, the leaders seek to maintain radical opposition at the fringes. What is important is that authoritarian leaders face different threats depending on the strategy of control. When incumbents attempt to maintain political stability by strengthening radical opponents, they risk fostering radical antigovernment forces that can challenge them independently. Such risks may exist, however, even when incumbents attempt to balance opposing forces. As

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Sadat learned, radical elites located outside the political system may remain and, strengthened by the discontent caused by economic crises, pose threats to the regime. Incumbents create institutions and use informal strategies in their struggle to stay on top. The choices they make in doing so are important, but they are also risky. Politics is not, after all, a deterministic process.

4

AUTHORITARIAN OPPOSITION AND THE POLITICS OF CHALLENGE IN EGYPT Holger Albrecht

FOR MORE THAN A DECADE research on political opposition in the Arab Middle East was almost entirely based on the assumption that the Middle Eastern states would democratize in the near future. This premise was only recently contested by the emerging postdemocratization debate (cf. Albrecht and Schlumberger 2004; Bellin 2004; Heydemann 2002; Kassem 2OO4a; Kienle 2004; Schlumberger 20Ooa), which highlights that opposition and authoritarianism can go hand in hand (Lust-Okar 2005; Stacher 2004). According to this debate, opposition is conceptualized as an integral part of certain authoritarian systems that exists over time but does not induce any systemic change. Based on the powerful argument of William Zartman, some scholars have even held that opposition supports authoritarian rule and its resilience (Albrecht 2005; Zartman 1988). Clearly, Zartman's view is based on a systemic perspective, because it concentrates on authoritarian political systems, their working mechanisms, and the roles and functions of opposition therein. From a more actor-oriented perspective political opposition appears not necessarily as a mere hidden force of authoritarianism but rather as a double-edged sword that can pose a potential threat to incumbents. Like a rose, opposition thus resembles a beautiful flower in the hands of authoritarian rulers, yet one of its thorns might prick its holder at any time. After a short review of the concept of opposition as an authoritarian institution, in this chapter I inquire deeper into the challenger role, that is, the thorny side of political opposition in Egypt. Who is challenging the authoritarian incumbents, and how? Egypt is a particularly fruitful case for 59

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such an inquiry because political opposition there has emerged from various social and political backgrounds and has persisted for roughly thirty years. However, I concentrate primarily on recent developments: Before and during the election year of 2005, the incumbents were exposed to strong headwinds, with public dissent rising and a political crisis dawning on the horizon. The legal political parties increasingly raised their voices to demand greater political participation. Moreover, protest movements began to take to the streets in urban Cairo, crossing former redlines by demanding that President Mubarak cede power. Ultimately, Egypt's Islamist movement and particularly the Muslim Brotherhood seemed to be able to strip themselves of the repression of Mubarak's regime. In this turbulent political environment it is intriguing to analyze authoritarian means and strategies of countering challengers. From a broader variety of authoritarian containment strategies, I particularly highlight the logic behind the Egyptian regime's readiness to forestall the opposition's efforts at popular outreach and mass mobilization. In addition, the regime's countermeasures against the Muslim Brotherhood revealed the regime's potential—and readiness—to use coercive means of containment whenever deemed necessary. Finally, I examine the incumbents' treatment of the legalized opposition (political parties and social organizations), which can best be described as the politics of the carrot and the stick. OPPOSITION AS A PILLAR OF AUTHORITARIAN RULE

Egypt's political system is best captured by Daniel Brumberg's term "liberalized authoritarianism" (Brumberg 2002). In short, this term implies that authoritarian incumbents periodically initiate political liberalization processes, which increase civil rights and liberties and advance opportunities for extraelitist dissent. However, such liberalization is not geared toward democratization. Rather, the incumbents' power reaches far enough to contain perceived challenges and reverse such reforms by introducing deliberalization policies later (for Egypt, cf. Brownlee 2OO2b; Kienle i998c). Coercive mechanisms and capabilities thus remain in place as the ultimate backbone and guarantee of survival of the regime. As a rule of thumb, though, liberalized authoritarian regimes use repression not as the main, let alone the sole, means of counteracting political crises and societal challengers. Other means of containment—"beyond coercion" (Zartman 1988)—include the legitimization of authoritarian rule through the allocation of rent income,1 the co-optation

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of strategic societal groups (Albrecht and Schlumberger 2004), and the playing of societal groups against each another (Brumberg 2002). Contrary to more repressive regimes in the Middle East, such as Saudi Arabia, Syria, Saddam Hussein's Iraq, Sudan, and Tunisia, Egypt is a prime example of a liberalized autocracy. Notwithstanding distinct phases of political liberalization and deliberalization, politics in Egypt—since the failure of Nasserist populism—has engendered reasonable space for political activism and dissent outside the realm of government. Political Islam has matured since Sadat reinvigorated the opposition's Islamist current in an attempt to counter his leftist challengers. Hosni Mubarak tolerated the establishment of a multiparty system—including opposition parties—and regular parliamentary elections. Whereas the 19805 were a decade of partyism and electoral contention, the 19908 saw the advent of an Egyptian civil society with the establishment of thousands of voluntary associations and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs). A turning point in contemporary Egyptian politics came in the 19708, when the regime began to break up the political elite's cohesive Nasserist organizations. As a prominent consequence, an inclusivist approach of accommodating dissent from both the fractured incumbency and society ensued (Albrecht 2005; Bianchi 1989). From a perspective focusing on the resilience of authoritarian rule, the question of how political opposition could be contained and integrated into the political system became particularly critical. In principle, opposition is not to be perceived as an actor generally striving to overcome authoritarian rule. In Egypt empirical evidence contradicts such claims, because opposition forces have existed for thirty years in changing organizational and societal contexts, yet they have never come close to triggering democratic or revolutionary change. More generally, opposition must always be analyzed and understood within the setting of the respective political system. In the words of Jean Blondel, "The character of the opposition is tied to the character of the government. The notion of opposition is thus, so to speak, parasitic on ideas of government, of rule, of authority" (Blondel 1997, 463). Egypt has witnessed the emergence of a decidedly authoritarian opposition that is tightly controlled by the state and unable to engage in real competition for power.2 However, the existence of opposition can help incumbents secure regime resilience. First and foremost, the opposition contributes positively to the regime's quest for political legitimacy and its image as a relatively liberal authoritarian regime. Although liberties in the Egyptian political system

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are heavily restricted compared to democracies, a certain measure of political freedom and rights are acknowledged by the populace—as well as by Western governments and international organizations—who are well aware of the fact that things could be worse, as in Syria, Saudi Arabia, or elsewhere. The second authoritarian dimension of opposition is co-optation. Political parties and NGOs in particular serve as a transmission belt for the cooptation of social groups and interests not represented by the incumbency. Although the regime is neither able nor willing to grant those actors direct influence on the decision-making process, the opposition's voice is heard to some extent and its representatives can at times even influence individual policies. A third function of authoritarian opposition is that of an institutionalized safety valve. Fearing uncontrolled social unrest, the regime would certainly find it advantageous to have that unrest formulated, institutionalized, and controlled by opposition groups who are in turn cautiously observed by the security services. Hence, with an institutionalized opposition the regime can better observe and channel societal dissent.3 Moreover, granting opposition forces the right to organize themselves helps moderate potentially radical forms of societal dissent. Turning resistance into controlled opposition is thus the name of that game. One example of the success of such a strategy is the Egyptian regime's readiness to grant at least some space to its strongest rival, the Muslim Brotherhood. This concession may well have contributed to the moderation of those radical Islamist groups who once opposed the regime by violent means. The conceptualization of opposition as an institution that supports the authoritarian state follows a structuralist line of argumentation and offers a fruitful explanation for the existence and persistence of political opposition in enduring authoritarian systems. However, we should not assume that it is easy to use opposition for the maintenance of authoritarian power. Rather, opposition is a double-edged sword for the incumbents, especially when "fissures within the ruling block" (Przeworski 1986, 50) catalyze alliances between opposition forces and liberal factions within the political elite.4 Thus a strong opposition can—by way of its authoritarian function—contribute to authoritarian stability and, at the same time, constitute a Pandora's box in which dissent is enclosed as a potential challenge to the regime. Especially in times of economic or political crisis, opposition groups can exploit authoritarian leaders' compulsion to live up to societal demands by intensifying their efforts at social mobilization. In the resulting more liberal political environ-

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ment the regime would then have to carefully reinvent containment strategies in a different guise. In sum, the challenger role of opposition in combination with a political crisis can render authoritarian systems increasingly vulnerable to change, triggering one of two distinct outcomes: fundamental change or regime adaptation and authoritarian reequilibration. Recent developments in Egypt suggest that it falls more into the second category, but nevertheless these developments allow for a closer look at the thorny side of political opposition. . . . BUT THE ROSE HAS ITS THORNS

Despite obvious struggles within the ruling National Democratic Party (NDP),5 there is no empirical evidence of a split within the political elite that might give rise to breakaway elite factions. Although the Egyptian political elite is far from homogeneous, its specific patrimonial organization allows the ruler to instrumentalize the elite's fragmentation for his own purposes, pitting individual factions against each other and thereby securing an equilibrium of power (cf. Springborg 1989). In so doing, President Mubarak has proven a strong ability to tie the relevant parts of the elite to the power center through personal, clientelist bonds (cf. Kassem 2o04a). This renders the exclusion of important elite segments rather unlikely. However, structures of opportunity for opposition forces have improved in recent years. The terrorist assaults of September n, 2001, were a turning point in this regard, as they led to a profound change in US policies toward the Middle East.6 The idea of democracy promotion now fueled the discourse and demands of the Egyptian opposition. In consequence, Egypt's authoritarian regime found itself trapped in a crisis of legitimacy. This was accompanied by another delicate issue: Given the advanced age and ailing health of President Mubarak, the question of succession became increasingly dominant. In particular, the rise of Gamal Mubarak, the president's son, to the political top elite has triggered a critical debate on the mechanisms of political power transfers.7 It is in this broader context that a new dynamic of opposition politics in contemporary Egypt arose, albeit for a limited time between late 2004 and roughly late 2005. Enthusiasm broke out within the opposition concerning ostensible opportunities for the improvement of its position vis-k-vis the incumbents. And indeed, the opposition seems to have conquered new space for action. Some formerly insuperable "redlines" have vanished, with the regime

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granting remarkable concessions. Three aspects are particularly intriguing in this regard: (i) the awakening of party politics, (2) the emergence of street politics since late 2004, and (3) a new initiative by the Muslim Brotherhood to enhance opportunities for political action. A Troublingly Loyal Opposition

In the election year of 2005 the fate of the small opposition parties returned to the center of attention (Rey 2006). Judging from past elections, hardly anybody would have expected a political awakening of the opposition parties. The NDP, the main political institution of the regime, had been dominating them all too clearly.8 Surprisingly or not, the opposition parties successfully demanded some concessions from the regime, and their success subsequently prompted them to make even more explicit demands, such as their calls to cut back presidential powers, alter electoral rules in favor of more competitive arrangements, abolish the emergency rule, and develop "more democracy." In a surprising move in late 2004 the authorities legalized two new parties in less than a month: the Free Social Constitutional Party (FSCP) and the Hizb al-Ghad ("Tomorrow Party"). After a long period of political stagnation and having turned down sixty-three requests, including previous ones from the FSCP and Hizb al-Ghad, the Political Parties Committee (PPC) responded positively to the applications.9 Although the FSCP, founded by the lawyer Mamdouh Qenawi, does not have any significant impact on Egyptian politics, the formal toleration of Hizb al-Ghad came as a little earthquake to many observers. This new party is at eye level with the well-established parties, that is, the National Progressive Unionist Party (NPUP, better known as Tagammu), the Wafd Party, and the Nasserist Party. Hizb Al-Ghad was established by Ayman Nour, a dynamic lawyer in his early 405 who rose quickly in ranks to become one of the most active opposition figures in the 2000-2005 parliament.10 Despite Nour's outstanding role and contrary to many other parties, Hizb al-Ghad has never been a one-man show; it has attracted a number of other prominent opposition figures, such as its secretary-general, university professor and former member of parliament Mona Makram-Ebeid, and the former bigwig of the Liberal Party, Ragab Helal Hemeida. Almost overnight, the party became a leading opposition group in parliament, with six ministers affiliated with Hizb al-Ghad. A second political earthquake shook Egypt in April 2005 when the regime announced it would amend the constitution for the first time since ipSo.11 At

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the center of the changes stood Article 76, which governs presidential elections. Until 2005 a single candidate had been chosen by a two-thirds majority vote in parliament, with the "election" being a mere yes-or-no referendum that was— in practice—a no-choice vote for the populace. The amended article stipulated that in the 2005 election any member of a legal party's board could run for president. In the next presidential elections, in 2011, candidates from political parties that secure 5 percent in both the parliament and the Shura Council (the Upper House) would be eligible. Although the regime's concessions still contained fundamental restrictions that foreclosed any real competition for the power to rule, they fueled a rising daringness within the opposition to tackle the regime at its very core: the presidency. Consequently, several opposition figures announced their intention to run in the presidential elections. In addition to some independent opposition figures (Saad Eddin Ibrahim, Muhammad Farid Hassanein, and Nawal Saadawi), some parties quickly filed their own candidates. In the end, Ayman Nour (Hizb al-Ghad) and Noman Gomaa were the most prominent contestants for the presidency.12 Driven by their enthusiasm over the regime's having met some of their most prominent demands (and allowing more competition in the presidential elections), the opposition parties went one step further in their preparation for the parliamentary elections, which took place in a three-round rally between November and December 2005. Although the presidential elections had once again revealed discord among the opposition parties—with some parties participating and filing candidates and others (e.g., Tagammu) defecting—an attempt to unify the opposition took many observers by surprise. On October 8, 2005, the so-called National Front for Change brought together, under the auspices of the well-respected former prime minister Aziz Sidqi, the leading figures of the main opposition parties (except Hizb al-Ghad)—prominent representatives of the civil society business, the Kifaya movement, and, most remarkably, the Muslim Brotherhood. The aim of the Front was to unite the opposition forces and coordinate a common strategy in the parliamentary elections. Notwithstanding the facts that those aims did not materialize and that the Front was rather short-lived,13 it is noteworthy that opposition forces of all colors gathered at the Brotherhood's traditional, highly politicized Iftar feast at a five-star hotel in suburban Cairo. In sum, the parties seem to have successfully confronted the boundaries established by the authorities and widened their space for political action to an extent not seen since the 19808. In addition to the regime's concessions to parties, there is another sphere

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that has repeatedly been used by the opposition to challenge the state: the Egyptian judicial system. Spearheaded by judges of the Court of Cassation, judges have repeatedly demanded a free hand in electoral supervision as well as independence from the Ministry of Justice. However, one should not overestimate the judges' role in the promotion of far-reaching political reforms. Rather, "only a small minority of judges might truly be considered sympathetic to the political opposition, with the vast majority anxious to preserve a non-partisan reputation" (Brown and Nasr 2005, 4).14 Nevertheless, the May 2005 threat by a majority of judges to boycott the supervision of the forthcoming elections was indeed taken seriously because, since the 2000 parliamentary elections, judicial supervision had become an important asset in the regime's attempt to create political legitimacy. Struggles between the regime and the "revolutionary judges" of the Judges Club were not over after the elections but escalated again in April 20o6.15 Kifaya: Enough of Mubarak!

On December 12, 2004, a group of 300 political activists squeezed together at the main entrance of the High Court in downtown Cairo, surrounded by several hundred security personnel. Two aspects raised particular attention here: first, the fact that an unauthorized demonstration happened in Cairo without being dissolved by the security forces, and, second, the demonstrators' message—in short, Kifaya! ("Enough!")—which expressed the outright demand to put an end to President Mubarak's rule and his plans to shift power to his son Gamal.16 Kifaya emerged as a new movement of street politics and grew quickly with respect to members and activities. Since January 2005 more demonstrations have been launched at strategic locations in order to attract widespread public attention, for example, at the Cairo Book Fair, on university campuses, and at Tahrir Square in downtown Cairo. Moreover, a new quality of street politics in Egypt was reached when Kifaya demonstrations spread out from the capital. For .instance, in April 2005 anti-Mubarak demonstrations were launched in fourteen cities simultaneously (Al-Ahram Weekly, no. 742, May 12-18, 2005). Egyptian street politics as represented by the Kifaya movement are unique in that they are distinct from any other form of social protest observable in the recent history of the Middle East.17 Similar to urban protest movements, their expression of discontent focuses primarily on a single issue: the end of Mubarak's reign. Thus Egypt's street politics lack an elaborated programmatic

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profile, quite like bread riots or other mostly economically induced upsurges. As regards their discourse and member structure, they display—far from a grassroots phenomenon—a decidedly elitist character, contrary to their claim to reach out to the popular masses. The Kifaya movement is an informal movement that is not legalized by the state. It possesses significant organizational capacities and relies on formal institutions traditionally used by the opposition: NGOs, professional syndicates (in particular, the Press Syndicate and the Bar Association), and student groups at universities. Although most members of the Kifaya movement are liberal or leftist human rights activists, the movement's openness toward different opposition camps is remarkable. Among the spearheads of the Kifaya demonstrations are veteran street activists and troublemakers, such as Kamal Khalil, Abdel Halim Qandil, and Ashraf Ibrahim.18 These are accompanied by prominent independent intellectuals who have decidedly political leanings, although without manifest affiliations to any particular group or party. Among them are the movement's "coordinator," George Ishaq (a Coptic human rights activist), Nabil al-Hilali (an "independent communist"), the journalist Ibrahim al-Sahhari, Muhammad al-Alim (an independent leftist with Tagammu leanings), and university professor Aida Seid al-Dawla. In an unusual display of unity among opposition forces, the Kifaya movement also attracts some prominent representatives of the Islamist current, such as Abu Ela Maadi (Wasat platform) and Magdi Hussain (secretary-general of the Labor Party). Even Abdul Moneim Abul Futuh, a Muslim Brotherhood bigwig and potential future leader, has referred to himself as affiliated with the Kifaya movement. Without any doubt, it became en vogue in Egypt in 2005 to be part of the Kifaya movement, which has essentially turned into a catchall term to denote the activities of individual groups such as the Egyptian Movement for Change, the Popular Campaign for Change, or the National Front for Change.19 However, it is still unclear where that change will lead, given the lack of programmatic coherence and common interest among the different opposition groups beyond the very term that unites them. Concerning the Kifaya movement's impact on Egyptian politics, however, the crossing of several "redlines" previously upheld by the regime is noteworthy, although the claim to reach the popular masses has not yet materialized. Rather, Kifaya activities are still limited to a few hundred participants. From a broader perspective, therefore, we must not equate the Kifaya movement with those movements that triggered fundamental political change in Eastern Europe or Lebanon.

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The Muslim Brotherhood: A Leap in the Dark

Any analysis of political opposition in Egypt remains incomplete without a closer look at the Muslim Brotherhood. For the past fifteen years the Brothers have been put under a repressive siege by the state. Brotherhood activities have been closely observed and restricted to an extremely narrow range. In the early 19905 the regime revoked the "honeymoon period" in its relationship with the Muslim Brotherhood and has since taken a no-compromise stance (Albrecht and Wegner 2006; Awadi 2005) because the Muslim Brotherhood has become the strongest autonomous political force in Egypt by far. As Kienle (2004, 74) wrote, "The conflict was less about ideology than about power and the spoils associated with it." Given the Brotherhood's exclusion from the formal political realm, we should expect that the Brothers would have joined in the opposition's new wave of activism because "excluded opponents benefit from challenging the regime" (Lust-Okar 2005, 85). Surprisingly, however, the Brothers' exclusion from formal politics did not trigger their radicalization or any attempts to challenge the incumbents by force so far. Rather, the Islamists, by and large, played by the rules of the regime's game. This reticent policy changed in early 2005. In a remarkable move the Brotherhood's leadership decided to join in the street politics initiated by the Kifaya movement, mobilizing its supporters to launch demonstrations of their own. Clearly, the decision to take to the streets marked a fundamental change in the Brotherhood's stance toward the regime. The regime had always communicated to the Brotherhood that it would not accept any public demonstrations by the Islamists on domestic issues. Hitherto the Brotherhood had given in to these demands, making no use of its large societal backing.20 Yet things can change. A first rally was held in downtown Cairo in March 2005, cordoned by a massive presence of state security. In the following weeks demonstrations took place in the capital and other governorates of the country. Unlike the Kifaya demonstrations, the Brotherhood was able to mobilize large crowds of up to several thousand participants. Concurrently with the Kifaya movement's appearance on the Egyptian streets, the Muslim Brotherhood joined in the debate on political reforms. In late April Brotherhood representatives in parliament raised their voices against the planned constitutional amendments to Article 76. Soon thereafter the organization announced its boycott of both the electoral referendum on the amendments and the presidential elections of September 2005. It

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is striking to observe that in the Muslim Brotherhood's discourse, Islamist issues are subdued in favor of the reform discourse launched by the secular opposition. Notwithstanding a few isolated Islam-is-the-solution calls, the moderate Islamist current—and its single most important organization— seems to have smoothly adapted to the current reform debate, which is centered around more civil rights and freedoms, the abolition of emergency law and human rights abuses, and free elections.21 As 2005 came to a close—a year of trouble in the eyes of the regime—the Muslim Brotherhood scored its biggest success thus far: In the parliamentary elections the Islamists won 88 out of 444 seats, although they had contested in only about 150 constituencies. Two main factors account for this astonishing success of a movement that was always subject to a high degree of statist repression. First, the Brotherhood took the elections—in contrast to the presidential referendum—extremely seriously, including careful planning, ample organizational and financial capacities, and the decision to trade in its history as a social movement for a new identity as a serious political player. Second, the Brothers benefited from a political window of opportunity. Driven by external pressure from the West and the rise of the reform faction within the NDP, the regime was initially ready to grant a degree of openness in the elections that was unprecedented in modern Egyptian history. Consequently, after the first two electoral rounds (on November 9 and 20,2005), the authorities established countermeasures against the Brotherhood to make sure that its presence in parliament would not be augmented any further.22 TESTING AUTHORITARIAN MEANS OF CONTAINMENT AND REPRESSION

In Egypt the events of 2005 became a litmus test for the authoritarian regime's means and capabilities of power maintenance. Of particular importance in this regard was the crossing of certain "redlines" by the opposition, who attacked the regime's power center and channeled popular dissent into street demonstrations. Moreover, the call of several opposition groups and judges to boycott the elections and referenda posed a serious threat to the regime's quest for legitimacy, which centers on the image of a relatively liberal and reformist autocracy. In addition, the Muslim Brotherhood's performance in the parliamentary elections posed a serious challenge to the regime's ability to control formal political institutions. The opposition's new activism and the concessions it was able to secure

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from the regime can be explained in two ways. First, one could contend that the authoritarian regime was too weak to suppress societal demands. If this were true, the regime's initial concessions would soon prove a point of departure for more fundamental changes, including a possible systemic transition. An alternative explanation is that the regime's concessions were part of a strategy to maintain a safety valve for times of a profound legitimacy crisis. The second assumption is more plausible. As I will show in the next section, the state has by no means been deprived of its repressive capacities. What is more, a closer look at the politics of tactical concessions reveals that the incumbents have reinvigorated their well-known strategy of dividing the opposition. Repressive Reflexes: The Restriction of Mass Politics

One of the main rules of the Egyptian regime has always been to forestall the mobilization of popular support and the organization of street demonstrations. In the case of the Kifaya movement the regime did not inhibit the movement's emergence from the very beginning.23 Obviously, the Kifaya movement's capacities to turn its elitist background into massive popular support were perceived as innocuous. Thus the state's strategies of containment followed the principle of soft repression. Despite a few arrests of Kifaya activists, the regime did not put a sudden end to the movement. Rather, state security forces stepped in when Kifaya activities moved from the capital of Cairo to other cities in the country. When, on April 27, 2005, the Kifaya movement launched demonstrations in fourteen cities across the country, security forces intervened by dispersing the crowds and arresting a few dozen demonstrators. A second tactic was to disturb Kifaya demonstrations by organizing counterrallies of proregime activists and by infiltrating demonstrations with security personnel. This led to violent clashes, for example, on referendum day (May 27, 2005). The politics of containment were completely different with respect to the Muslim Brotherhood. Here, blunt instead of soft repression has been the regime's sole answer to the Brotherhood's recent mass rallies. A major clampdown on the Brotherhood came in response to its first demonstration on March 27,2005 (see Al-Ahram Weekly, no. 744, May 26-June i, 2005). Whenever Islamists took to the streets, the streets were closed by a massive security presence and turned into civil-war-like zones. Furthermore, by the end of May 2005, up to 900 Brotherhood members had been jailed. Among them were some prominent members, such as Essam al-Iryan (a leading representative of the politicized middle generation) and the group's secretary-general, Mahmoud Ezzat.24

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Because the Muslim Brothers were fully aware of the fact that their new drive toward political mobilization would be a highly sensitive issue for the regime, they tried hard—before their first appearance in the streets—to anticipate the regime's concerns. In several statements the movement's Murshid al-Amm ("general guide"), Muhammad Mahdi Akef, welcomed the regime's reform proposals and even announced support for another presidential term for Mubarak. Moreover, Akef dismissed any plans on the part of his movement to found a political party in the foreseeable future.25 However, despite such attempts to ease tensions with the regime, the regime's message was clear: Street politics are tolerated only in limited terms and only in the case of a movement like Kifaya, which simply does not have the power to cash in on its public image and turn into a political mass movement. Whenever it becomes feasible, as is the case with the Brotherhood's mobilization efforts, blunt repression remains the answer. The Carrot and the Stick

The regime's response to the Kifaya movement and the Muslim Brotherhood reveals that it regards blunt repression as a last resort—which, nonetheless, it has never been hesitant to deploy whenever deemed necessary. However, one of the regime's more common containment strategies could be termed the scare-and-promise tactic, or the politics of the carrot and the stick. This strategy implies that the regime will make concessions so long as they do not negatively affect its capacities to preserve power. To this end, the incumbents have decisive room to maneuver. Also, concessions are often accompanied by clear guidelines concerning the rules of the game and, if necessary, serious warnings not to step over established thresholds. On the carrot side I have already mentioned legal changes enforced by the state. Their common denominator is that they are ultimately designed to the advantage of the political parties. One case in point is a regime policy introduced in January 2005: the proclamation of the National Dialogue for Reform, which provides a framework for regular meetings between regime representatives and the opposition. Concerning the opposition, it is once again striking that the political parties are favored over independent opposition forces and, needless to say, the Islamists as partners in the reform process. An initial explanation of why the regime decided to feed the parties some carrots is provided by Ellen Lust-Okar (2005, 83; see also her contribution in this volume [Chapter 3]): "Legal opposition elites want to challenge the

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government, but they are unlikely to challenge too strongly" because the regime grants them opportunities foreclosed to the other excluded factions of the opposition, most notably the Islamists. Thus, was the parties' confrontational stance in the first half of 2005 indeed directed against the state? A short review of the recent history of opposition politics in Egypt leads to a slightly different interpretation, which goes beyond a mere observation of contemporary events and discourses. During the 19805 Egypt's opposition camp was by and large homogeneous and loyal to the regime; it had been legalized in the late Sadat and early Mubarak years and was represented largely by the small opposition parties. Since the early 19908 we have witnessed a fundamental change in the organizational form of that opposition camp. With the creation of human rights associations and politically motivated NGOs, an ostensible civil society has entered the Egyptian scene. As Vicky Langohr (2004,182) aptly put it, "Both nongovernmental organizations and parties should be seen as part of a larger topography of opposition. In this approach opposition is perceived as being somewhat freefloating. The presence or absence of political and financial opportunities . . . significantly influences what organizational form opposition takes." In Egypt such opportunity structures for opposition are controlled predominantly by the authoritarian incumbents. During the 19908 the parties were not on the winning side of this game. Given the increasing weakness of their organizational structures and financial capacities, observers inquired into the "demise of Egypt's opposition parties" (Stacher 2004). In contrast, NGOs mushroomed in large numbers and dominated the debate on political reforms and liberalization, thereby outplaying the parties as the perceived agents of change.26 As noted, opposition activism outside the legal realm of political parties received yet another push from street politics organized under the umbrella of the Kifaya movement. The emergence of this movement should be seen in the context of the struggle among different opposition groups for political space in which they could perform and organize themselves. Consequently, the recent endeavors of the opposition parties can be seen not only as a campaign for their political demands but also, maybe to an even greater extent, as an attempt to improve their position within the larger landscape of the loyal opposition, particularly with respect to the NGOs and the Kifaya movement. From the perspective of the state the legalization of new parties seems to follow a certain logic which is perfectly in line with the regime's quest for stability. In general, the further fragmentation of the opposition parties is

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assumed to be likely to bring about positive returns in the future. The legal toleration of Hizb al-Ghad, for instance, fits well into this picture, because Hizb al-Ghad competes for votes not primarily with the NDP but with the Wafd Party.27 As noted, creating divisions among judges is likewise at the center of the regime's strategy to counter the threat of electoral supervision boycotts. One incident in particular has shown that the authorities mean business. On January 29, 2005, Hizb al-Chad's Ayman Nour was arrested and held in custody until March 12, 2005. Moreover, the party's mouthpiece, al-Ghad newspaper, was closed down, and Nour himself was stripped of his parliamentary immunity.28 On December 24, Ayman Nour received a prison sentence of five years from an Egyptian court. The timing of Ayman Nour's first detention—only two days before the beginning of the National Dialogue for Reform—is an intriguing sign of the regime's readiness to combine sticks with carrots if deemed necessary. Although the real reasons behind Nour's arrest remain obscure, we can reasonably contend that the regime wanted to communicate to the loyal opposition that, despite marked concessions, there were still clearly defined limits to the forms and contents of political activism. Apart from the issuance of this serious warning, the allegations against Nour and some critical debates within Hizb al-Ghad led to serious rifts within the party itself, causing the dismissal of forty members shortly after Nour's arrest. In addition, conflict broke out between the party's deputy chairman, Mustafa Moussa, and the editor of its mouthpiece, Ibrahim Eissa. Finally, Secretary-General Mona Makram-Ebeid declared her resignation in May 2005, stating personal issues and internal party struggles as reasons. CONCLUSION

At first glance, recent political events in Egypt seem to bring up the question of how far the opposition can go to initiate change. However, as the analysis here has shown, this question needs reformulation: How far can the opposition go before the state's containment measures turn from scare-and-promise into blatant repression? Although previous inquiries have tended to ignore the capacities of authoritarian power maintenance, recent events in Egypt have revealed some interesting new aspects in this regard. First, there seems to be substantial room to maneuver in the current authoritarian setting in that concessions are granted to the secular opposition camp (political parties, human rights groups, and individual intellectuals) and, in particular, to the

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legal political parties, the weakest form of opposition in Egypt. There is, however, no convincing evidence to support the assumption that the opposition will, in the foreseeable future, reach eye level with the incumbents. Second, the Kifaya movement's decision to initiate street politics is certainly a landmark in Egypt's recent history, because it has shown that established rules do not always remain unquestionable. However, the fact that the Kifaya movement could emerge reveals that the authoritarian incumbents do not perceive the movement as a serious political threat. Probably they are right too: Both a lack of popular support and an immanent incoherence of its member structure render the institutionalization of the Kifaya movement rather unlikely. I contend that the Kifaya movement will not survive as a street protest movement in the postelection period for long, whereas the Muslim Brotherhood will certainly remain a permanent political force. Thus the Islamists continue to remain a test case for the Egyptian regime's capacity for blunt repression. Another finding from my analysis of contemporary contention in Egypt is that we must clearly distinguish between the political discourse and manifest politics. First, discourse is important. With the Egyptian regime increasingly under pressure to legitimize its hold on power vis-a-vis its closest Western ally, the US administration, "democracy" and "democratization" are the terms of the day in Egyptian politics. As such, the discourse level has opened up new space for opposition forces to challenge established boundaries and improve their opportunities for political action. Yet despite the new drive behind the reform discourse, not too much has changed in Egyptian power politics. Authoritarian ruling structures remain in place, with the latest concessions doing little to alter them. The same holds true for the regime's containment strategies, which have worked well over the past thirty years—there being absolutely no indicator to suggest otherwise. In an almost ironic twist the regime has successfully instrumentalized the "threat" of reformist activities to contain its strongest adversary, the Muslim Brotherhood. As soon as the Islamist movement joined in the opposition's campaign, the US administration turned a blind eye to the subsequent repressive backlash. This reveals that the regime's quest for law and order—which entails its own survival—remains the common denominator for support from both the West and the majority of the Egyptian populace.

5

ISLAMIST INCLUSION AND REGIME PERSISTENCE The Moroccan Win-Win Situation Eva Wegner

IN THE LAST TWO DECADES many rulers in the Middle East and North Africa have tried to cope with decreasing resources and increasing contestation through political liberalization measures such as a more liberal media landscape, enhanced civil rights, constitutional reforms, the (re) animation of parliaments, and multiparty elections. Such moves were attempts to broaden support in times of protracted economic, social, and legitimatory crises. To this end, several regimes granted Islamist actors the right to participate in elections, either as "independent" candidates or as legalized political parties. However, these experiments were more often aborted or interrupted than continued, demonstrating how reluctant the regimes were to give institutional backing to their most popular and powerful opponents. Although regimes for which a purely repressive strategy is costly might consider the formal or informal inclusion of the Islamist opposition into institutionalized politics, the Algerian case has demonstrated the risks inherent in this option. Moreover, the electoral boycotts of Jordan's Islamic Action Front in 1997 and of Egypt's Muslim Brotherhood in 1990 have indicated that a limit exists on what Islamists perceive as acceptable limitations in the electoral game. Despite the large body of research on Islamism, we still know relatively little about the effects of inclusion both on regime stability and the Islamists, partly because for quite a long time research on Islamist movements was dominated by the "democratization paradigm" (Carothers 2002). Particularly after the electoral victory of the Islamic Salvation Front (FIS) in Algeria (1991), the relationship between "Islam and democracy" or between "Islamists 75

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and democratization" was at the center of most analyses (see, for instance, Abootalebi 2000; Abukhalil 1994; Ahmad and Zartman 1997; Brumberg 1997; Esposito and Voll 1996; Kramer 1999; Kramer 1997). Research on Islamists in the electoral process focused on the question of whether the Islamists' demand for participation was only the strategic choice of antidemocratic movements or whether it reflected a true commitment to democratic values (for this debate, see Ahmad and Zartman 1997; Kramer 1997; Pelletreau et al. 1994). In short, the question was whether the Islamists would play by the rules of a democratic political game. Regardless of the answers, the methods of investigation in much of this work were analyses of historical and contemporary Islamic states, Islamist discourses, or Koran and Hadith exegeses. This research has generated interesting results about contemporary Islamist discourses and references. One problem, though, is that conclusions were often drawn by establishing a causal link between the actors' ideological background and their behavior—a link that is only presumed; second, the existence of a link remains questionable because it merges two separate levels of analysis—ideas and action. Thus the dilemma that actors face when translating their abstract ideology into concrete programs under conditions of institutional constraints is neglected.1 An even more serious flaw is the hypothetical nature of the question. None of the polities examined are democratic, nor can we observe anything that could be sensibly labeled democratization (Schlumberger 2oooa). Rather, we are witnessing authoritarian resilience, with the centers of political power not being subject to contestation. To date, no Islamist party has been legalized in states where its goals could be achieved through competitive elections, and it is unlikely that this will happen soon. In short, the question of the compatibility of Islamist ideologies with a democratic polity is at present irrelevant for furthering our understanding of authoritarian rule in the Middle East. By contrast, our understanding can be furthered by empirical studies that view political liberalization and the political inclusion of Islamists as attempts by the ruling elites to enhance their capability to contain and moderate dissent. As Anderson (1997, 20) put it: "In intent and content [such reforms are] designed not to inaugurate a system of uncertain outcomes—democracy— but to solidify the base of the elite in power." Departing from this perspective, in this chapter I seek to contribute to the debate on the ingredients of authoritarian resilience by exploring the

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dynamics of the apparently "successful" Moroccan case of the inclusion of the Movement of Unity and Reform as the Party for Justice and Development (PJD). This example is a rare case of protracted inclusion. The regime has not banned the party, nor has the party confronted the regime openly by denouncing its practices or resorting to electoral boycott. This suggests that both actors currently perceive inclusion as beneficial, which is noteworthy because, as Albrecht explicates (Chapter 4), the inclusion of oppositional actors in authoritarian regimes involves a series of dilemmas for both the rulers and the opposition. The rulers, aiming at stabilization, face the problem that electoral competition by a strong oppositional actor could destabilize the balance of forces within political institutions and consequently the political system as a whole. Although the direct threat posed by a successful Islamist party is potentially smaller for monarchs than for presidents (Albrecht and Wegner 2006; Lust-Okar and Jamal 2002, 351-356), an important pillar of political rule in Middle Eastern monarchies is the division and fragmentation of political forces, which facilitates control and manipulation (see Lust-Okar's Chapter 3; cf. also Richards and Waterbury 1996, 297-298). Rulers must also take into account that legality, formal organizational structures, and legitimate institutional activity diminish a group's costs of mobilization and collective action (Offe 1990; Scott 1990,129; Tilly 1978, i67).2 For the Islamists problems arise from two sides. Like other opposition parties in authoritarian regimes, Islamists must make concessions to the regime to avoid repression, but simultaneously they must not fundamentally alienate their supporters. Like other parties whose discourse is geared toward fundamental societal and political change, Islamists face the dilemma of how to reconcile their role as institutional insiders with their role as credible critics of these same institutions, their actors, and policies (Offe 1990; Tilly 1978,168). The responses to these dilemmas tell us much about the immanence of an "Islamist threat" to a particular regime. In general, the more the Islamists are willing to compromise on their ideology (i.e., to subject it to the regime's logic) and the less they manage to balance their insider position with the discourse of an outsider, the more inclusion works as a means for stabilizing the authoritarian status quo. The key question, therefore, is which threshold the Islamists set for themselves, that is, which compromises are still acceptable in exchange for being integrated into the political game.

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In what follows I examine the Moroccan Islamists' responses to these dilemmas by examining the initial setup and evolution of their threshold of compromise, the development of organizational capacities, and their strategies for broadening and maintaining support. I pay particular attention to the constraints and opportunities that influence the Islamists' choices. THE MOVEMENT OF UNITY AND REFORM AND THE PARTY FOR JUSTICE AND DEVELOPMENT: A COMPLEMENTARY RELATIONSHIP?

Any party's room to maneuver is constrained by the organizational circumstances of its founding, that is, its "genetic model" (Panebianco 1988, 50-53). If a party—as is the case with the PJD—is founded by a social movement organization, the most significant feature of such a party is its initial dependence on the resources of the founding organization. To the extent that the party remains dependent on the support of this organization, its margins for bargaining in the political arena will be constrained and it will be forced to express the opinions of the founding organization. The Origins of the Party for Justice and Development

The PJD emerged from one of the two major currents within the Moroccan Islamist movement, the Movement of Unity and Reform (MUR). The MUR and its predecessor organizations are linked to the Islamic Youth Association, an organization with a revolutionary agenda founded in 1970. When the Islamic Youth Association was banned in 1976, its followers split into three different factions. The majority regrouped as the Islamic Group, founded in 1981 by Mohamed Yatim, Abdallah Baha, and Abdelilah Benkirane, all of whom are currently members of the PJD's highest party committee, the General Secretariat. They developed a reformist (rather than revolutionary) vision and, in 1989 and 1992, applied for the legalization of a political party. Although the palace rejected their plea, it tolerated their integration into one of the numerous dormant Moroccan parties, the Mouvement Populaire Constitutionnel et Democratique (MPCD, renamed the PJD in 1998).3 In 1992 Islamist leaders began to revive and found new local and provincial party bureaus. In an extraordinary congress in 1996 Islamists were appointed to the party's General Secretariat. Although the Islamists joined an already existing party, the party was initially dependent on the MUR. In 1992 the MPCD's organizational body was limited to its president's villa; local and provincial branches existed only on

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paper. In the campaign before the 1997 parliamentary elections, the party depended almost entirely on the MUR's propagandistic resources. When in 1999 the party held its first regular congress since the Islamists' integration, the overwhelming majority of the national, provincial, and local party leaders belonged to the MUR.4 In short, the party was entirely based on the MUR's organizational structures; loyalties were indirect, with the party depending on the MUR for mobilization, support, financing, and human resources. Ideological Constraints Posed by the Movement of Unity and Reform

From the beginning the MUR grappled with the nature of its relationship with the PJD. Between 1998 and 1999 MUR committees hosted numerous debates on the question of a total fusion with the party. This idea was eventually discarded by a vote of the Shura Council, the highest consultative committee to the MUR's Executive Bureau (Raissouni 2002a, 4). In 2000 the Shura Council eventually adopted the Document of Complementary, which stated that the two organizations were independent but linked through consultation, cooperation, coordination, and joint objectives and principles. The PJD was defined as a political organization whose task was to deal with the country's political issues and defend the Islamic cause in institutional politics, whereas the MUR was to devote itself to vocation and education (Ayadi 2002). From then on the relationship was labeled a partnership. It is noteworthy that the MUR is not formally represented (e.g., by quotas) in party committees. Although this formal independence surely affects both organizations' future relationship, the MUR's influence has been guaranteed by the party's dependence on its resources and by the representation of MUR leaders in the highest committees of the PJD. Even after the MUR had officially retreated from active politics, it upheld clear views about the PJD's choices that did not, however, touch on the party's strategy toward the regime. It is not surprising that the MUR approved of the party's legalistic approach, because a likely motivation for the Islamists to engage in official politics was to protect their broader social activities from being outlawed by the regime (Langohr 2001, 594). MUR interventions were substantial, however, when it came to the articulation of interests that did not collide with regime priorities. In an interview with the party's newspaper, former MUR president Ahmed Raissouni attributed the PJD's electoral success in 2002 to MUR activities and set up

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conditions for cabinet participation: He "could not imagine" that the party would join a government that did not unequivocally respect Morocco's Islamic identity. In particular, he advocated that the party should refuse to participate in any government that rejected the establishment of zakat (obligatory alms, about 2.5% of a person's wealth) and of interest-free loans (Raissouni 2O02b). By publicly linking this reminder (of the PJD's dependence on the MUR) to conditions for the PJD's cabinet participation, Raissouni obviously aimed at delineating ideological boundaries. Thus the party's dependence on MUR support clearly curtailed the margins of ideological compromise and its appetite for office.5 INTERACTING WITH THE REGIME: IDENTIFYING THE THRESHOLD OF COMPROMISE

The PJD's interaction with the regime over the last decade reflects a clear preference for compromise over confrontation. Overall, interaction has been characterized by the PJD's high willingness to trade programmatic goals and political strength for long-term inclusion. Paving the Way for Long-Term Inclusion: Features of a "Constructive" Islamist Party

From the start the PJD's party leaders sought to signal compliance to the regime. An important indicator of this was that the party accepted the principle (set by the regime) of nominating candidates for a limited number of constituencies only ("qualitative" rather than "quantitative" electoral participation, as PJD leaders like to call it). By deliberately limiting their chances to win seats, the PJD signaled clearly that it would not jeopardize the delicate balance of political forces. Initially, this decision resulted from the PJD's limited organizational capacities and the party leadership's attempt to control the party's institutional expansion. However, the most important reason was the fear of being too successful in the elections.6 Another signal was the party's decision to support the alternance government, although it was led by Abderrahmane Youssoufi, the leader of the leftwing Union Socialiste des Forces Populaires (USFP). In practical terms the party's critical support meant that it did not receive any portfolio or the right to vote in the governmental council (headed by the prime minister) and the council of ministers (headed by the king). However, it could participate in

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the government's consultations, where it voted in favor of most governmental bills. Most notably, the Islamists were supposed to refrain from publicly criticizing the government or mobilizing against it. Notwithstanding the risk of alienating supporters, none of the leaders questioned the appropriateness of this approach. All agreed that it was sensible to display a positive attitude toward the governmental institutions and play a constructive role in the consensual alternance at which King Hassan II had aimed.7 With the accession of King Mohammed VI to the throne in 1999, an increasing faction within the party felt secure enough to confront the government. Insisting that the PJD's positions had been repeatedly ignored by the government, some party leaders—and especially the intermediate level represented in the National Council—started to mobilize against the strategy of critical support.8 Two prominent government projects in particular—the reform of the personal status code against which the whole Moroccan Islamist movement had mobilized and a new law on microcredits—aroused the Islamists' discontent. The modernization of the personal status code was portrayed as a threat to the Moroccan Islamic identity and morals, whereas the draft bill on microcredits was seen as yet another indicator of the government's unwillingness to make any concessions to the PJD.9 In the seemingly more liberal climate following the death of Hassan II, an increasing faction of the PJD argued that the threshold of compromise should be lowered, and eventually the party's National Council opted for opposition in a close vote. However, two almost equally large factions perceived the situation quite differently. Those in favor of opposing the government feared a loss of support if the PJD remained associated with the policies and output of the alternance government. Those in favor of maintaining support for the government feared that going into opposition would increase the party's electoral strength, which they perceived as a danger because they felt that the prevailing "geostrategic conditions were not favorable to an Islamist party becoming the leading political force."10 However, although the opposition faction had won the vote in the National Council, the subsequent period saw no serious confrontation with the regime. Most important, despite having improved its organizational capacities, the PJD stuck to the limited number of constituencies in the following 2002 elections. Ironically, the PJD's vice general secretary praised these elections as an important step in the Moroccan "democratization process" (At-Tajdid 2002, i and s).11

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MAY 16 AS AN EXTERNAL SHOCK: THE ANTICIPATORY OBEDIENCE OF AN ISLAMIST PARTY

The PJD's behavior in the aftermath of the Casablanca attacks of May 16, 2003,12 demonstrated how highly the Islamists valued the benefits of inclusion. The opinion that such benefits outvalued programmatic goals and broader institutional representation was first held by the party leadership, who tightly monitored the strategy in the months after the attacks and subsequently won over the lower echelons of the party hierarchy. Although the PJD was not openly threatened with reexclusion from the political game, a general climate of anti-Islamism put the party under stress. After May 16, approximately 1,100 terrorist suspects were arrested, and the courts sentenced more than 50 people to lifelong prison terms and another 16 to death. The two national TV stations boycotted the PJD while broadcasting the declarations of solidarity with the families of the victims of all the other Moroccan party leaders and their commitment to the fight against terrorism. The left used the opportunity to launch a harsh campaign against the PJD, holding it morally responsible for the attacks.13 Some of the demonstrations that the PJD was planning to organize as public statements against terrorism were banned, further contributing to its domestic isolation. Finally, the PJD stepped over formerly established ideological lines by approving the antiterrorist law and the reform of the personal status code. The PJD's vice secretary general himself declared the approval of the antiterrorist law a "political vote" (Le Journal Hebdomadaire 2003). The law defines as a terrorist act any disturbance of the public order; it enables the security forces to hold suspects in custody for twelve days without access to a lawyer and extends the list of crimes punishable by death sentence. Ever since the government had presented the draft bill in February 2003, the PJD had strongly criticized it as an assault on human rights. After May 16, the PJD, needing to show that it stood firmly against terrorism, voted in favor of most articles of the bill and did not propose any amendments. The amendments to the personal status code proposed by the king in October 2003 came close to the original draft, which the Islamists had then denounced as an attempt by the secularist elites and foreign powers to undermine public morale. Now, both the PJD and the MUR immediately welcomed the law and announced their total support for the accompanying media campaign called for by the king (At-Tajdid, October 13, 2003). In addition to accepting these two key laws, the PJD agreed with the Min-

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istry of Interior that it would run in fewer constituencies in the 2003 communal elections. In fact, the percentage of constituencies open to the PJD was reduced to such an extent that the party could have won a maximum of 18 percent of the seats. Furthermore, in big cities the PJD enacted a system of partial coverage, which ensured that it could not even theoretically run for the mayor's office. This triggered small revolts by local party leaders in Tangier and Agadir, but most local leaders understood what was at stake.14 Clearly, May 16 came as an external shock to the party. The strategies adopted in this sensitive moment, however, were a logical consequence of previous developments. As one party leader put it: "The principle was [already] there; it was the range of its application that had to change."15 The acceptance of the leadership's choices by the lower party ranks was demonstrated when the National Council approved new party statutes in 2004 (drafted by the party leadership) that formalized the centralization of power in the hands of the party's General Secretariat. Another case in point was the election of Saadeddine El-Othmani—one of the main architects of the party's post-May 16 strategy—as general secretary in April 2004. The strong support he enjoyed came as a positive surprise to the leadership, who had feared the revenge of the rank and file.16 THE PJD BETWEEN INCREASING STRENGTH AND THE MANAGEMENT OF THE PERILS OF INCLUSION

Although the PJD's direct interaction with the regime clearly reflects the party's weakness vis-^-vis the palace, its organizational development and increasing support show that it has benefited considerably from entering official politics. Investing in organizational development was a deliberate decision by the party leadership. Increased electoral support was primarily attained through a discourse that highlighted proximity to the people and high moral standards; moreover, programmatic fuzziness contributed positively to electoral success. Still, the party's popularity cannot be taken for granted. Indeed, its institutional expansion causes the party leaders some headache. The PJD's shunning from governance at the national level and the wide range of control mechanisms that the leadership installed to keep members of parliament (MPs) on track bear witness to the leadership's taking the perils of inclusion seriously. Increasing Strength

From the start the PJD aimed at developing its organizational capacities and solidifying its structures. Several ancillary organizations were created, such

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as an active youth organization, a Commission for Women and the Family, and the Forum du D^veloppement, composed of party members and sympathizers. The party's electoral campaigns have become more sophisticated and coordinated. Furthermore, the PJD has expanded and diversified its sources of income to include membership fees, the reallocation of at least 22 percent of all MPs' and municipal councillors' income to the party, and state subsidies. Its membership has constantly increased over the last decade,17 although a vanguard concept of membership with high obligations was introduced.18 The visible rise of electoral support and its conversion into seats (and in 2003, local offices) add to the increased political strength. The number of PJD MPs grew from 9 (later 14) MPs in 1997 to 42 in 2002 and from 100 municipal councillors in 1997 to 593 in 2003. Although no surveys exist on who votes for the PJD and why, the leadership states that its supporters are composed of three groups. The first group adheres fully to the party's ideology, whereas the second is attracted mainly by the party's fight against corruption and favoritism; the third group comprises protest voters discontented with other parties.19 If this view holds, then the PJD has successfully diversified its support base, because voters include not only sympathizers of the Islamist movement but also other societal groups that are not necessarily supportive of an Islamist social and political vision in the strict sense of the term. How did the Islamists gain the support of these different groups? As is the case with most Islamist parties, the PJD's program is fuzzy and still in the making. However, some elements typical of Islamist party programs, such as the promotion of authenticity, morality, interest-free loans, zakat, Arabization, and the "liberation of Palestine," have been voiced by PJD members in parliament. Most important, however, the party's increasing support can be attributed to its credible claim of being different from the established political elites. The poor reputation of political parties and politicians in Morocco results from widespread corruption, the subordination of party goals to personal benefits, and the common transhumance of the MPs (Santucci 2001; Willis 2002). By contrast, the PJD's first parliamentary group (1997-2002) successfully established a reputation as hard-working defenders of the morality of parliamentary life and of the population's interests vis-a-vis a corrupted political elite.20 Thus, in the words of a PJD MP, the party's "real capital is its sincerity, the integrity of its message and discourse." If the party "lost this virtue, it should be considered a party like the others,"21 with all the effects on electoral support that this would imply.

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Managing the Perils of Inclusion

The party's move into opposition in 2000 and its refusal to join the 2002 cabinet was both motivated by and subsequently amplified the support of the mentioned groups. In the fragmented Moroccan party system, cabinet participation means to cohabit with at least five other parties. On top of this, the so-called ministers of sovereignty (typically defense, interior, external affairs, religious affairs, and justice) appointed by the king limit party governance to the precarious task of managing social and economic affairs. The loss of popularity that left-wing parties suffered as a result of their responsibility for economic and social policies in the alternance government exemplifies these perils. In contrast, an oppositional PJD could not be held accountable for the ongoing socioeconomic grievances of the population. Remaining in the opposition was thus arguably necessary to maintain electoral support. In addition, the party leaders strongly feared the consequences of the potential "institutional socialization" of their deputies, who had to be kept on track if the party was to protect its political capital. From 1997 to 2002 the parliamentary group was small, and all members—except one—were MUR affiliates, with most of them holding posts in its highest committees. In contrast, out of the forty-two MPs in the 2002-2007 parliamentary group, only twenty-six were clearly affiliated with the MUR and six were members of other Islamist associations. In fact, there has been a strong demand to become a member and especially a candidate for elections. In some respect, the PJD's success is also its problem. The PJD is now deemed a regular political party that can be used by individuals as a vehicle for achieving office and status. Thus the leadership, obviously concerned about maintaining the party's virtuous image, has designed mechanisms to prevent both the deviation of MPs and the risk of the rank and file perceiving the MPs as benefiting privately from their public office.22 One major target of the leadership's control strategies is thus the MPs' parliamentary activities. An internal code imposes voting discipline (in the commissions and the General Assembly); it allows the General Secretariat to make binding decisions on the votes of the parliamentary group and to intervene in the appointment of the parliamentary group's key offices. In a more subtle manner control is also exercised through the eleven MPs who are members of the General Secretariat. A second focus of control is on the MPs' moral appeal. The internal code obliges them to attend all plenary sessions plus those of the parliamentary commissions; moreover, members of the parliamentary group are required to

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draft one oral question per week and one written question per month and to propose one bill per legislative year. Finally, the MPs' obligation to return a share of their remuneration to the party helps to create an image of "nonprofit MPs" while boosting the party's finances. In 2003 the leadership set up similar rules for the municipal councillors, who are certainly less in the spotlight than the MPs but still important to a party that capitalizes as much on morality as the PJD does. One municipal councillor observed that the PJD "was like a white leaf, thus a black stain would be seen immediately."23 Until now, the PJD has managed remarkably well to reconcile its position as an institutional insider with an antiestablishment aura: Both the internal and the public images of the PJD's MPs are almost spotless. Deviations

Governmental responsibility is probably the PJD's greatest future challenge and the most likely to prompt conflicts. After the 2003 communal elections the party leadership decided to enter into local governance as much as possible, again a post-May 16 political decision intended to prove that the PJD was not by definition a party of refusal. It also wanted to demonstrate that its presence in the city halls would not scare off investors and tourists.24 Having opted for participation in (local) government, the party then had to show that it could contribute to good management of the cities and achieve some tangible improvements. The case of PJD member Mohamed El-Madani, vice-mayor of Rabat at the time of this writing, illustrates the friction between efficiency and ideological purity. El-Madani is a technocrat in the party's Forum du Developpement who was parachuted by the leadership into the second rank of an electoral list in 2003. One of the biggest projects he initiated after taking office was a social housing scheme financed through loans with an interest rate of 7 percent. Acknowledging contradictions with the Islamist struggle against usury, he argued that "having one's principles was not sufficient to establish a budget. The citizens judge your efficacy."25 The down-to-earth approach of such technocrats has strong potential to work in the party's favor, because it positively affects the way in which both the electorate and the political establishment perceive the PJD. Technocrats, however, are unpopular among the party base, and it remains to be seen if and how this dilemma can be resolved. Furthermore, the MPs' socialization within the political system led to the first signs of deviation from the party's principles. Less than two years after the

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new parliamentary group took office, the MPs' willingness to comply with the party's explicit rules was decreasing, particularly in two areas. First, there was an apparent reluctance to carry out the high level of active work demanded from the MPs. Although most oral questions in parliament are asked by PJD MPs, the MPs' determination to draft bills or hand in written questions was much lower.26 Second, MPs are obviously reluctant to reallocate the required 22 percent of their salary back to the party. By the end of 2003 about twenty MPs had payment arrears.27 Moreover, there is a "gray zone" where there is a slow but considerable convergence between the behavior of PJD MPs and that of the established political elite. Apart from the fight against clientelism and favoritism, proximity to the ordinary people is one of the PJD's key promises. MPs thus have to take contact with the voters seriously and are constantly confronted with requests, such as promoting someone's career, organizing legal recognition or financing for organizations, accelerating administrative processes, or intervening in lawsuits. Only the last type of demand is explicitly rejected by the members of the General Secretariat. In the other cases the MPs seem to be trapped by their promise of proximity and the logic of the system. Ultimately, this means that MPs are increasingly using their privileged position to distribute favors. Hence, although in the first two legislative periods their accessibility surely increased their electoral appeal, in the long run this may as well reproduce exactly the type of system-endemic favoritism the party claims to be fighting. ISLAMIST INCLUSION AND REGIME STABILITY: LESSONS FROM MOROCCO

What do the Islamists' responses to the dilemma of political inclusion tell us about the stability of monarchical rule in Morocco? Seen from the perspective of interaction with the palace, the regime's preferences clearly dominate. The palace has managed to include one current of the Islamist opposition into formal politics without being confronted by this new actor from within. Conveniently, this move also improved the regime's scores for "free and fair" elections. The underlying motive of the Islamists' behavior has been to avoid any repressive backlash; whenever promotion of social or political change conflicted with the desire to avoid repression, programmatic issues were dropped and anxiety for the party's legal status always gained the upper hand. The literature on Western social movements and political parties tends

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to look at the adaptation of newly included actors or at the dismissal of party goals in favor of organizational survival as a process occurring against the intentions of collective actors (Offe 1990; Panebianco 1988). In the Moroccan setting, however, this is a deliberate strategy. Because compliance with the regime's rules is a prerequisite for inclusion, it is not surprising that the PJD initially chose a cautious strategy. The fact that it has maintained this strategy ever since, culminating in an attitude of anticipatory obedience after May 16, shows that the PJD considers the palace to stand on firm ground, which in turn is a strong indicator of the stability of authoritarian rule in Morocco. Yet the Islamists' abidance by the rules of the palace has not diminished their public appeal. On the contrary, they have been able to broaden electoral support well beyond their core followers. The reproduction of a historical model of a party's control over its parliamentary representatives to forestall corruption has so far worked effectively. Despite the party members' decreasing affiliation with the MUR, the PJD is still perceived as the clean party living up to its moral message. Ironically, the restrictive quota imposed on PJD candidates by the palace contributes to maintaining the Islamists' appeal. First, it helps to sustain the image of the PJD as an oppressed group. Second, the party has managed to avoid an alienation of both its Islamist core voters and its protest voters, whom it might lose if it assumed responsibility in national governance. Thus the qualitative approach to elections suited both the party and the palace. Currently, no relevant opposition group vigorously pushes for substantial constitutional reforms in Morocco. The Islamists abstain from such claims because they fear that this could trigger repression when the party is developing its organizational capacities and political influence. That the traditional secular opposition has dropped claims for further constitutional reform can at least be attributed in part to the PJD's presence in the electoral game. Were elections democratic, the PJD's political influence would today outweigh theirs. Thus the other opposition parties prefer a strong monarch to protect their interests. In this respect the inclusion of the Islamists is reminiscent of the encouragement of Islamist activities in universities in the 19708 to counterbalance the left. The result of the new institutional version is that both Islamists and secularists focus on the respective other in their political struggle, that is, the political competitor on the same level. This leaves the center of political power uncontested and even regarded as a necessary guarantor of political stability.

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The Moroccan case, therefore, shows that the inclusion of the Islamist opposition can benefit both the regime and the Islamists, at least for a certain period of time. The smoothness of the Moroccan inclusivist experience, however, is also related to case-specific factors, such as the design of the polity's institutional arrangements and a multiparty system that preceded the inclusion of the Islamists. In general, the case of the PJD shows how highly Islamists esteem the benefits of inclusion and how legality and less repression are strong incentives to seek compromise and become more pragmatic—an argument known from the literature on the institutional integration of nineteenthcentury labor movements (Goldstein 1983, 340-342). For Latin America, Mainwaring (2003, 8-12) has argued that the central objective of legal parties in authoritarian regimes is the prevention of reexclusion and repressive backlashes, which outweighs the active pursuit of programmatic goals. It is thus not unlikely that Islamists in other states would accept limitations in the Moroccan sense in exchange for decreasing repression. Such a scenario is even more plausible given that Islamists have for several decades been the prime victims of human rights violations (Fuller 1997,151), a situation that has probably deteriorated since the beginning of the war on terror.28 Yet the long-term contributions for regime maintenance depend not only on active compliance with the rules set by the regimes but also ultimately on whether included Islamists are successfully co-opted. Inclusion may facilitate control over the Islamists, enhance domestic legitimacy, and enable regimes to look better in Freedom House ratings. The Moroccan case suggests that such a situation can be sustained over a substantial period of time. A genuine long-term contribution to authoritarian resilience, however, depends greatly on whether inclusion also harms the Islamists' credibility by converging too much with the norms of the institutional environment or by bearing some responsibility for policies.

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THE REGIMES

Part 2

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6

THE OZYMANDIAS SYNDROME Questioning the Stability of Middle Eastern Regimes

Peter Sluglett

Ozymandias of Egypt I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things, The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal these words appear: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, The lone and level sands stretch far away." Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1792-1822 IN JULY 2003 Farid El-Khazen and Oliver Schlumberger noted that "despite profound challenges in recent years in the Middle East and North Africa region, no overthrow or demise of incumbent authoritarian regimes has occurred" (Schlumberger and El-Khazen 2003). Except, I suppose, that of Saddam Hussein, whose regime collapsed after putting up remarkably little resistance, admittedly in the face of vastly superior forces. The collapse, when it came, was total and catastrophic, in the sense that in the absence of its highly centralized leadership, the state simply fell apart. As various observers remarked, the task confronting the "victors" is not so much to rebuild as to build the Iraqi state. I begin with the Iraqi example because it is the one I know best, although it may well be argued that Iraq is the special case of all special cases and that

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it is unlikely that the United States is going to embark on equally quixotic adventures, tilting against various other rulers it does not like elsewhere in our region.1 But the episode (the invasion, the overthrow, the aftermath) may have some important things to say about stability. Put simply, my basic premise is that just because regimes have been in place for a long time—the Saudis since 1932, the Shah between 1941 and 1979, Mu'ammar Qaddhafi since 1969, the Asads since 1970, Saddam Hussein between 1979 and 2003, and so on—this does not mean that they are stable. For a regime to be stable surely implies that the structures in place are to some extent internalized in the minds of the citizens—that the citizens expect, and generally receive, certain services from the state and give it their loyalty in return, not necessarily simply because they are coerced into doing so. Terrorizing and repressing the population for prolonged periods of time may keep regimes in power for a while, but modern technology has resulted in states finding it increasingly difficult to keep the rest of the world out (with the possible exception of North Korea), and the process offers diminishing, often fatal returns at the end of the day, when internal or external pressures (or a combination of them) bring the regime to an end. Pinochet and Ceau§escu come to mind, as does, of course "nearer home," the Shah in 1978. Given what has happened recently in both the Middle East and Central Asia, it must sometimes occur to Bashar al-Asad that if he continues to be unable to offer either bread or freedom (see George 2003), he may well come to an ignominious end on the Syrian equivalent of the tumbrels. It may be interesting to contrast the situation currently prevailing in the dictatorial regimes (both monarchies and republics) in the Middle East—and indeed in much of the developing world—with that of East Germany, Poland, Czechoslovakia, or Hungary in the mid 19805. At least before about 1988 in the German Democratic Republic (GDR), although conditions were certainly repressive in many ways (no unofficial public forums for free expression, muzzled political parties, "yellow" labor unions, heavy restrictions on travel to the West), large numbers, perhaps a majority, of East German citizens, almost all of whom had always been able to receive West German television, were relatively content with their state. In 1977, apparently, the GDR had a higher per capita income than Great Britain (Steele 1977,227). The state both promised and actually gave its citizens controlled prices, subsidized housing, and high standards of child care, education, and health services (McCauley 1983,171-184), the sort of provisions that they and many other Eastern Europeans grumble about not having access to now. There were certainly more or less vociferous complaints,

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made more loudly as time passed, but in general, citizens of the GDR did not have to worry about rinding jobs or affordable apartments or securing a decent education for their children. There was a widely shared sense of being taken care of from the cradle to the grave, an existence based on the elimination (or absence) of "existential chaos," in which the individual did not need to "worry about the daily struggle for existence, a task which was taken over by the state" (Kupferberg 1999,149-169).2 In stark contrast, in most Middle Eastern countries today most of the population is thoroughly alienated from the state and has no means of reforming or replacing it. Of the countries I consider here (Iraq, Syria, and in less detail, Saudi Arabia), it is reasonable to assert that at least until the late 19705 some elements of a social compact existed in Saudi Arabia, although the government was still in a position to buy off dissent. But now, with the appearance of a variety of new factors—the great change in the nature of the cozy Saudi-US relationship brought about by some of the more disturbing implications of September n, 2001, the diminishing appeal of the old safety valve of travel to the West (certainly to the United States3), a deepening structural economic crisis, and the regime's continuing failure to come up with the goods to the extent it once did (the result of declining revenues and increasing population)—levels of dissatisfaction and disillusionment appear to be rising. In addition, the regime's much vaunted—and carefully constructed—ideological legitimacy as the time-honored defender and protector of Islam (a function that in fact dates back only to 1925) is beginning to wear rather thin (Rasheed 2002); the United States no longer takes it as given. Even if those who run the state are genuinely interested in attempting to carry out reforms (in the direction of greater political inclusiveness), they face what Michael Herb, echoing earlier writings by Huntington, has called the king's dilemma: "Reform undermines the patron-client system on which the regime rests: [thus] [f] aced with a choice of abdication or repression when revolutionary pressure builds, the leader represses."4 A question that needs to be answered at this point is: What constitutes a strong state? Joel Migdal begins his study of state-society relations in the developing countries by remarking that "the limitations of state capabilities ... have been especially acute for state leaders in Asia, Africa and Latin America. Only a mere handful of these states—China, Cuba, Israel, Japan, North Korea, South Korea, Taiwan and Vietnam—have ended up on the 'strong states' end of a scale of state capabilities" (Migdal 1988, xiv).

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These particular states are strong for a variety of different reasons, but, again with the possible exception of North Korea, where daily life seems particularly hellish, they all have a measure of internal legitimacy in the sense that has been suggested as being the norm for pre-1989 Czechoslovakia or the GDR. Of the eight states, China, Cuba, North Korea, and Vietnam cannot be classified as democracies; in none of them is it possible for "the government" to be replaced by "the opposition" as the result of regularly held and impartially conducted elections. It is interesting and helpful to my argument that Migdal does not list preinvasion Iraq or Syria in his list of strong states, especially because both regimes changed little between the late 19805 and the early 20008. That is, in 1988 the Iraqi Ba'ath Party had already been in power for twenty years, and Saddam Hussein, the Eminence grise of the 19708, had been president since 1979. In Syria the "Corrective movement" (al-haraka at-tashihiyyd)—shorthand for Hafiz al-Asad's seizure of power—had taken place in 1970, some nineteen years before the appearance of Migdal's book. Volker Perthes (1995,189) considered that Syria under Hafiz al-Asad was "authoritarian, not totalitarian," in that pragmatism had diluted most of the dogma of Ba'athist ideology. Nevertheless, or perhaps partly for that reason, I would assume that Perthes would also regard the regime as stable, maybe even strong. Similar assumptions, it is fair to say, have pervaded most writing about contemporary Iraq, although it is refreshing to read Charles Tripp's conclusion that "the apparent conformity [i.e., the lack of challenge to the existing order in Iraq] will endure only as long as the centre holds—and given the key part played in this by the physical survival of one man, that must always be precarious" (Tripp 2000, 282). THE INHERENT WEAKNESS OF IRAQ AND SYRIA

As the previous few paragraphs have demonstrated, whether (pre-invasion) Iraq and Syria are or were strong states is very much a matter of opinion. My own view, as will now be obvious, is that both of them are and have always been weak states and that, in addition, this weakness is historical and inherent, inherited from the dispositions made during the colonial period. Briefly, under the San Remo Agreement of April 1920, the (Greater) Syrian and Iraqi provinces of the former Ottoman Empire were divided into five states—Lebanon, Iraq, Palestine, Syria, and Transjordan—and assigned to the tutelage of Great Britain and France in a new form of dependence, the mandate system, under the overall aegis of the newly created League of Nations.

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With the exception of republican Turkey, the different formations that either came into being at this time or were carried over from the prewar period (mandates, protectorates, colonies, and so forth) 5 can all be considered colonial states. That is, the state structures in place by the mid 19208 were primarily intended to serve the economic and political interests of a particular colonial power with the subsidiary, but in the case of the mandates the explicitly stated, purpose of preparing the territory concerned for independence. As Nazih Ayubi pointed out, "the state" is a relative newcomer to the Middle East both institutionally and conceptually (Ayubi i995b, 4; see also Luciani 1995; Owen 2000). This newness has evidently not affected its durability, because even the seductions of pan-Arab nationalism have not prevented what have often been represented as artificially constructed national states from surviving the transition more or less intact from colonialism (in the broadest sense) to independence. Apart from the special case of the expansion of Israel outside its boundaries to control territories that originally belonged to its neighbors, the only major border changes in the region have been the incorporation of the sanjak of Alexandretta (part of mandatory Syria) into the Turkish state in 1938-1939 and the merger of the former two Yemens into a single state in 1990. THE MANDATE STATES

Partly because of their top-down nature, the political-constitutional structures put in place by the colonial powers did not long survive the powers' departure. As elsewhere in developing countries, the post-independence bureaucracy grew exponentially after independence, partly because of the state's ever-increasing role in the economy (itself partly because of a more or less conscious attempt to replicate some of the features of the states of Eastern Europe) and partly because the new rulers quickly understood that state employees would tend to be among their most loyal supporters. Compared with the shambles and/or the repression that came into being after the termination of the British or French connection, it is perhaps not surprising that the rather rudimentary parliamentary regimes of the mandate period (installed somewhat less impressively in Syria than in Iraq) should continue to arouse a degree of nostalgia among those old enough to remember them. However, the political system was not the only part of the structure overthrown by the revolutionaries of the 19508 and 19605. The failure of the bourgeoisie—as symbolized or implied by the various military coups that dogged Syria in the 19405,19508, and 19608 and Iraq in the 19608—can be regarded as a

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consequence of that bourgeoisie's inability to play its historic role as an accumulator and investor of capital and thus to shoulder its proper economic and political responsibilities. That the various coups and revolutions could take place so frequently and that there was so little meaningful resistance to them were also the results of a widespread sense of disenfranchisement, perhaps also of alienation, but certainly of a lack of empowerment vis-a-vis the state on the part of the burgeoning ranks of the lower middle and middle classes. As far as Iraq and Syria are concerned, these are relatively uncharted waters, and formal statistics and censuses, where they exist, can tell only part of the story. In Overstating the Arab State, the most ambitious study of state and class in the Middle East, Ayubi (i995b, 96) states that "although it is sorely needed, no imperial history of the Arab world is yet available." Ayubi does not favor defining the mode of production that emerged under foreign rule as a "colonial mode of production," largely because of the considerable variations in levels of economic development among the imperial powers' Middle East possessions (and the different historical moments at which they acquired them); instead, Ayubi underlines the long transitional period during which precapitalist and capitalist social formations coexisted alongside one another (Ayubi i995b). In the same way that poverty excluded much of the population from the market economy, most Iraqis and Syrians were also excluded from the political arena during their respective mandates, partly by their isolation in the rural areas where many of them lived and partly by the electoral rules imposed by Britain and France, under which the right to vote was given only to males who earned enough to pay a certain amount of tax (Thompson 2ooob). Some of the results of this were that elections were regularly and evidently gerrymandered (Sluglett 1989) and that political office was rotated between fairly small groups of individuals, sometimes, and sometimes not, organized into what were called political parties but which in fact consisted of "so and so and his supporters." Perhaps not unexpectedly, this produced a degree of cynicism about existing institutions. In a well-known but nonetheless telling description of the Egyptian revolution, Rodinson records the crowds in the streets in July 1952 chanting "Down with imperialism, Zionism and parliamentary government" (Rodinson 1968, 87-113). Thus in mandatory Iraq and Syria (and also in Egypt) social forces were generally not greatly engaged with the state. In addition, no political organization (with the possible if rather dubious exceptions of the Egyptian Wafd

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Party and the Syrian al-Kutla al-Wataniyya [National Bloc]) bothered to obtain, or was able to obtain, any broadly based national constituency. In Iraq this was true even of al-Ahali (and its successor, the National Democratic Party), a social-democratic political organization founded by admirers of the general principles adumbrated by the British Labour Party. The party and its leaders (notably Muhammad Hadid and Kamil Chadirchi) enjoyed great respect for their disinterested social concern but exercised little effective influence between the 19308 and the late 19505. This gradually led to the extreme vulnerability of the state when its colonial protectors departed, or, to use a more neutral if elusive term, its relative autonomy, that is, a situation in which the state was not firmly rooted in society and was thus "up for grabs" to the highest or, more relevantly, the most ruthless or the most militarily effective bidder (Ayubi i995b, 98). Hence the process of state formation in both Iraq and Syria in the interwar period was too forced and rapid to allow for stable class formation. Reality belied expectation, in the sense that the liberal political and economic structures that the mandates seemed to promise were little more than a facade. High tariff barriers were imposed both within and between neighboring states, which, together with the limited size of the domestic market, acted as brakes on economic development. Most of the population continued to work in agriculture under conditions that became increasingly oppressive in direct proportion to the colonial power's success in creating a stable regime of large, private landlordism; the result was that rural to urban migration became the most significant demographic feature of the 19508 and 19608. Similarly, political freedom functioned only as a form of glorified cronyism and extended only to a privileged few. The majority was excluded from political participation, a situation that became increasingly intolerable with the expansion of the new middle class through education and new opportunities created by bureaucratic, educational, or military employment. The institutional structures created by the colonial powers were not sufficiently strongly grounded to be capable of peaceful reproduction or renewal, which meant that it was relatively easy for the state (s) to be captured by well-organized or even fortuitously positioned armed groups, generally from lower middle class rural or urban backgrounds, acting on their own initiative (Batatu 1978,1999). For a time, both the national bourgeoisie and the professional middle classes were courted by the new military rulers, only to be bypassed when they were no longer needed to run the state. Under Ba'ath control, although more so in

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Iraq than in Syria, loyalty to the regime soon became more important than competence, which led to the gradual depoliticization of the middle classes (and indeed of most of society) and to their general alienation from the state. In both Iraq and Syria, therefore, the result, pace Migdal, was both a weak state and a weak society, with the forces of coercion and repression taking charge and acting largely on their own behalf. THE ABSENCE OF SOCIAL COMPACTS

For a while Iraq, like Saudi Arabia, was able to purchase a fair degree of acquiescence because its oil income enabled it to do so. To a certain extent, Syria's subsidies from the wealthier Arab states and its friends in Eastern Europe permitted it to achieve a similar if more modest result. Had Iraq not invaded Iran and Kuwait (and it is difficult to argue that either adventure was forced on the Iraqi regime), it might well have continued to enjoy the level of prosperity that it had experienced until the early 19808. A series of massive arms shopping sprees (30% of national income in 1975-1979, 60% in 1980-1986) reduced foreign exchange reserves from $26.3 billion in 1980 to $7.8 billion in 1983 (Luizard 2002). It is difficult to make the same argument for Syria, because the survival of the Asad regime seemed more intimately bound up with control of Lebanon. However, in neither the Iraqi nor Saudi nor Syrian case was there any sustained or systematic attempt to build a social compact that would identify the state with the interest (or future) of a particular class (using "class" in the simple sense of substantial numbers of people with similar sociopolitical interests). Thus Tripp estimates that Saddam Hussein's patronage networks involved at most half a million individuals (out of 20 million), including their dependents, that is, between 2 and 3 percent of the population (Tripp 2000, 264). However much power such individuals might have been able to wield and however much they may have been able to lord it over the disempowered majority, the Iraqi regime's base rested on extremely narrow foundations, and these foundations became narrower and narrower, first with the war with Iran and the invasion of Kuwait and then through the 19905 and 20008 as Iraq continued to refuse to make the concessions necessary for lifting the sanctions. As Luizard (2002,159) noted, "The regime ... used the embargo to move Western politicians and intellectuals as if it were not itself responsible for the tragic situation of the Iraqi population, and as if the embargo were not linked to its remaining in power' [my translation and italics].

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Hence, as far as the population was concerned, Iraq's political history seems ultimately one of an almost passive endurance of a series of military coups and dictatorships. It stands in stark contrast to, say, Nazi Germany, where, albeit as the result of a complex succession of events that had much to do with profound political and economic anxieties and the machinations of certain elites, the Nazi Party was actually voted into power in 1933 and "did, in many respects, represent a broad mass movement" (Fulbrook 1990,177-178), or the experience of East Germany, where, as noted earlier, the carrots tended to make up for the sticks, at least for most of its existence. The strong element of coercion, which was certainly ominously and horribly present in Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy (and to a lesser extent in the GDR), should not be allowed to obscure the fact that at least for much of the period until the outbreak of World War II, both regimes had substantial popular support: Once fascist governments with public legitimacy had established themselves, as in Italy and Germany, far more formerly socialist and communist workers than the left likes to dwell on, fell into line with the new regimes ... although their core constituency was naturally to be found in the middle strata of society. . . . The traditional forces of conservation and counter-revolution were strong but often inert. Fascism provided them both with a dynamic, and, perhaps even more important, with the example of victory over the forces of disorder. (Hobsbawm 1994,122,124) In contrast, stories such as the one of Syrian Ba ath party members closing the university gates to prevent students from leaving the campus and putting them "onto buses and transport [ing] them to festivities honouring the president" provide telling, if not exactly spine-chilling, evidence of the regime's perceived need to orchestrate such events. "This is not to say that no one would go to spectacles if the state did not compel attendance, but state authorities are sufficiently anxious about the matter to devise strategies ensuring a good turnout" (Wedeen, 1999, 2). STRATEGIES FOR SURVIVAL: HOW REGIMES HAVE MAINTAINED THEIR POWER

Most states of the modern world, whether democracies or dictatorships, are republics, based more or less faithfully on the models drawn up at the time of the French and American revolutions. Even totalitarian regimes (Nazi Germany again, the former Soviet Union, Iraq, Syria) have national assemblies—that is,

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"elected" legislatures—even though their principal function is largely that of rubber-stamping or applauding the actions or pronouncements of the regime. Especially in more openly repressive societies, it is difficult to imagine who benefits from such exercises in ritual democracy, but they are clearly undertaken to confer a form of legitimacy on the regime, however absurd the process may seem (both from inside and outside). Indeed, certainly in Syria what might be called the who-is-kidding-whom aspect of efforts to inculcate loyalty to the regime has been especially pronounced. Quoting a paper by Vaclav Havel, Wedeen (1999,76-77) notes: As in Syria, in Havel's Czechoslovakia people are not required to believe the "mystifications" the regime puts forth, and they do not. They are required to act as if they did, and by so acting, to "live within the lie." . . . [Havel's] exposure of a system that is "self-directed," in which people together enforce mutual compliance with norms in which they do not in fact believe, offers at least a partial and provocative description of the way in which enforcement and complicity operate in Syria. . . . Under authoritarian conditions, political participation may not make people feel secure, but it does make them feel safe. A quotation from Havel's New Year's address (as president of Czechoslovakia) in 1990 is of interest in this context: "We had all become used to the totalitarian system and accepted it as an unchangeable fact and thus helped to perpetuate it. In other words we are all—though naturally to different extents—responsible for the operation of totalitarian machinery; none of us is just its victim: we are also all its co-creators" (Havel 1991, 391-392, quoted by Falk 2003,107). One major consequence is a deep sense of alienation and depoliticization, as much in pre-1989 Czechoslovakia as in Syria and Iraq. Participation in politics becomes either opportunistic, if in the service of the state, or immensely, even irresponsibly, dangerous, as in Syria and Iraq. SCHOLARLY ACCESS

On any scale of repressive activity the pre-invasion Iraqi regime was far worse than its counterpart in Syria, perhaps because the Syrians lacked the means to make the cult of Asad as flamboyant as that of the cult of Saddam Hussein. However, it also seems that at some point a decision was made not to impose the degree of rigorous conformity on Syria that a superficially similar regime imposed on Iraq. To illustrate this a little further from the literature, there have been no in-depth studies of Iraqi society based on field research

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inside the country during the nearly fifty years since the 1958 revolution, with the exception of Batatu's monumental Old Social Classes and the Revolutionary Movements of Iraq, published in 1978. Batatu had begun his fieldwork for his Harvard doctorate ("The Shaikh and the Peasant in Iraq," 1960) in 1957, not, of course, knowing that the 1958 revolution was in the offing. During his time in Baghdad, Batatu managed to gain access to the files of the directorategeneral of internal security under the mandate and monarchy and was able to interview a large number of Ba'athists and Communists in prison. The first thousand pages of Old Social Classes cover the period up to 1963, and the remaining 132 pages of the main text are (by the author's standards) something of a narrative gallop between February 1963 and the Algiers Agreement between Iran and Iraq in 1975. In other words, the great bulk of the book is devoted to the monarchy (1921-1958) and to the regime that succeeded it, that of £Abd al-Karim Qasim (1958-1963); apparently Batatu was able to return to Iraq several times after 1958 and made a final visit in 1982 (Owen 2000-2001). To the best of my knowledge, and if we exclude the influential works of Kanan Makiya because they were written in exile and thus are not based on fieldwork in quite the same way,6 there is little else. In contrast, there is a fair amount of writing on contemporary Syria based on field research. After finishing Old Social Classes, Batatu himself turned his attention to Syria, publishing Syria s Peasantry, The Descendants of Its Lesser Rural Notables, and Their Politics in 1999, the result of several visits to the country. All the following books are based on fieldwork involving more or less regular visits to Syria: Raymond Hinnebusch's two books, Peasant and Bureaucracy in Ba'thist Syria: The Political Economy of Rural Development (1989) and Authoritarian Power and State Formation in Syria: Army, Party and Peasant (1990); Volker Perthes's candid Political Economy of Syria Under Asad (1995); Annabelle Bottcher'sSyrischeReligionspolitikunterAsad (1998); Lisa Wedeen's Ambiguities of Domination (1999); and St£phane Valter's La construction nationale syrienne: Legitimation de la nature communautaire du pouvoir par le discours historique (2002). Admittedly, the introductions or prefaces to almost all these books gratefully acknowledge in one way or another the "assistance of many Syrians whose names must go unmentioned" (e.g., Wedeen 1999, i), but the fact remains that all these researchers have been able to produce substantial analyses of contemporary Syria based on " observations faites sur le terrain'' Access to Saudi Arabia seems to have been easier to come by in the past (see Altorki and Cole 1989; Cole 1975; Katakura 1977; Lancaster 1981); on the other

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hand, few students of contemporary Saudi Arabia are blessed with similar opportunities and may be prevented from returning to the kingdom if their reports or books are less than adulatory. However, there are two fairly critical studies of (inter alia) the Saudi economy, by Seznec (1994) and Chaudhry (!997)> both of whom have apparently been invited back. In general, though, many of the most informative and useful recent books and articles on Saudi Arabia have been written either by researchers who conducted relatively limited local fieldwork (e.g., Cause 1994; Herb 1999) or by insiders who can no longer stay in or visit the country (e.g., Rasheed 2002). THE FUTURE

Since the middle of 2003 the Iraqi state has imploded from within to such an extent that only the rashest of forecasters would attempt to foresee its future. Part of the disorder that has continued until the time of this writing (spring 2007) can be attributed to smoldering resentment in the face of continuing foreign occupation, if not more fundamentally to the almost mind-numbing stupidity of the decision to disband the Iraqi armed forces without systematically collecting their weapons. But although these factors are obviously crucial, they do not tell the whole story. Thus, to take an example from Iran (and to discuss a series of events on which there may well not be universal agreement), when the Shah left Iran at the beginning of 1979, the country did not disintegrate completely. There was great disorder, including random killing and other acts of violence throughout 1979 and 1980, but in general, most of the basic administrative, even military and law and order structures were sufficiently deeply rooted within society to be taken over more or less intact by the new regime (Ansari 2000, 40-51). Thus, for example, although wellestablished ethnic and linguistic groups (such as the Kurds) attempted, without success, to wrest some form of autonomy from Tehran, there never seems to have been any serious danger of civil war, either between ethnic groups or—admittedly far less likely given the balance of forces—between supporters of the old and the new regimes. In contrast, immense civil unrest in Iraq (partly because of the sheer crassness of US policy) and interconfessional hostility, a relative newcomer on the political stage (again, because of US insistence on the use of sectarian criteria in determining policy or appointments), will most probably continue to play leading roles in the future. However, apart from the sins of omission and commission of the United States, there are more profoundly structural reasons

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for the extent of the current chaos within Iraq, and similar chaos might well have resulted even from a successful internal insurrection against the Ba'athist regime. Because we are deep in counterfactual territory, I may as well say that I always assumed that the regime's monopoly of the means of coercion was sufficiently comprehensive to prevent such an insurrection taking place, and for that reason—namely, that it would at least bring down the regime—I supported the principle of a US invasion (Sluglett 2003, 24-25). Similarly, there is a widespread fear in many quarters in Syria that intersectarian violence would be an almost inevitable consequence of any successful overthrow of the Asad regime—and thus by extension, even though life in Ba'athist Syria is undoubtedly uncomfortable, many Syrians take the view of better the devil you know than the devil you don't. In fact, since 1982, when the threat from the Muslim Brotherhood was effectively eliminated with the massacre of some 10,000 people at Hama, there has been no organized or widely coordinated movement against the regime.7 For the most part the gradual transition to some vaguely recognizable form of democracy that has been the hallmark of politics over the last couple of decades in other parts of the developing world8 has barely affected the Middle East. In the region as a whole the only remotely democratic state is Turkey; Israel's claims to a similar appellation are belied by the fact that while its own citizens certainly enjoy the benefits of a democratic society, the 3 million Palestinians whom it rules have, to say the least, rather fewer rights. In many ways, some of the most significant states in the Middle East are in danger of becoming failed states, in that there is every possibility of violence and anarchy if the extremely fragile existing order is not soon replaced by more profoundly socially rooted political systems. Thus Egypt has been under martial law for nearly forty years; Libya may or may not be able to turn itself around after Qaddhafi's decision to end his nuclear program; the instability of Iraq, Saudi Arabia, and Syria is the central concern of this chapter; of the rest, Jordan is probably the strongest state in the region. Lebanon, up to 2005, was controlled by Syria, and its embryonic efforts to arrive at a post-Syrian national consensus were brought to a halt (if not derailed) by Israel's war against Hizbullah less than a year later. Finally, for all the optimism expressed by commentators in the 19908, the democratic initiatives undertaken by the rulers of the Gulf states do not look particularly impressive at the beginning of 2007. Paradoxically, apart from Israel and Turkey, the state with the most advanced and articulate civil society in the Middle East is Iran, many of whose

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citizens, often at great personal risk, are profoundly engaged with or within its social and political institutions. The election of Muhammad Khatami in 1997, however much his period in office may have fallen short of the expectations of those who voted for him, was both a surprise and a triumph, and elections in the Middle East are not known for bringing surprises. It is difficult to imagine how long the current stalemate (2007) can last, given the strength and depth of public feeling. Such engagement, such sentiments, and the open if often hazardous expression of them are virtually nonexistent in other states in the region (Israel and Turkey excepted, as before), as is also the sense that what is desired is not the destruction but the reform of the organs of the state. Finally, any consideration of the longevity of the regimes in Iraq, Syria, and Saudi Arabia leads almost inevitably to the question of the factors that have maintained them in being for so long. First, all three states had or have extraordinarily elaborate internal security systems, a bewildering number of separate agencies that check on one another as well as on their fellow citizens. Some idea of the complexity and scope of these organizations can be surmised from the various documents captured in Iraq, which are now being catalogued under the auspices of the Iraq Memory Foundation. State security apparatuses create enormous bodies of paper, because their agents believe that they must record in detail what they have done, partly to show their superiors that their orders have been faithfully carried out. Second, the regimes have, at least in the past, been able to offer some material rewards to their supporters, although, as has been noted, falling oil prices and the fact that there has been virtually no economic development in the Arab world over the past two decades mean that much regime largesse has had to be curtailed and its recipients have continued to dwindle in number, thus reducing the regimes5 support base. SOURCES OF EXTERNAL SUPPORT

Finally, a, if not the, major reason that these corrupt, despotic, and tyrannical regimes have held onto power while their counterparts in other parts of the world have been allowed to fall is that it has long been convenient, especially after the end of the Cold War, that they should do so. Iraq was supported by both the United States and the Soviet Union in its war with Iran, because neither wanted the Islamic Republic to succeed. Great Britain, France, and the United States were eager to provide Saddam Hussein with the sophisticated weaponry with which he invaded Kuwait in 1990. Again, in spring 1991, when

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more vigorous US action could almost certainly have overthrown Saddam Hussein, who was simultaneously facing Shi'i insurrections in the south and Kurdish insurrections in the north, it seems to have been decided (presumably with Saudi and Turkish prompting) that a weakened Ba'ath regime was preferable to the uncertainty that might result. Until comparatively recently, it was customary for US administrations to depict the relationship between the United States and Saudi Arabia in almost reverential terms.9 Apparently the desert kingdom had advanced from something close to prehistory to modernity (of sorts) in the space of a couple of generations. Its kings and princes were tribal aristocrats, somehow transmogrified into defenders and lovers of freedom. They were also the traditional defenders of Islam, the guardians of its Holy Places, and the pillars of Islamic probity. Of course they were different from Americans, but in their aristocratic-lordsof-the-desert way, they shared the same lofty goals, the same noble objectives. It is difficult to gauge how far those who kept up this pious claptrap actually believed it, but the regular parading of such nonsense made it easy for critics to accuse the United States (in this and other respects) of having double standards: of promoting democracy and pluralism in other parts of the world but somehow overlooking its total absence in Saudi Arabia.10 Until recently, no one in the US diplomatic establishment, or at least no one influential, seems to have been sufficiently apprised of the inherent tension between the generally pragmatic core group of princes and technocrats who run the Saudi state (on behalf of a prolific and largely parasitic royal family) and the religious extremists that its educational system produces. Because the legitimacy of the state is largely based on a public insistence on upholding its own ahistorical and intolerant version of Islam, it becomes open to attack from the graduates of its own educational system for not living up to the values it claims to be propagating. In such circumstances Osama Bin Laden et al. maybe rather less of an aberration than the Saudis would have the rest of us believe. Why the Syrian regime has survived and why Bashar al-Asad was able to succeed his father so smoothly are questions that are a little more difficult to answer in terms of the convenience either of Syria's neighbors or of the United States. After all, the obstinacy of Asad senior always acted as one of the main obstacles to a peace settlement between Israel and its neighbors. On the other hand, the Syrian regime has always had its uses: its defeat of the Lebanese left, its occupation of Lebanon and its leverage with the Lebanese Shi'is, its long drawn-out conflict with the PLO, and of course, its longevity. Again, although

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Syria was and is identified as a supporter of terrorism (sc. Hizballah) and a "rogue state," the causes it supports have generally been quite predictable; for some time Syria's behavior, if not always acceptable, has been reasonably consistent—predictable rather than erratic. In addition, when the United States turned against Iraq in 1990, Syria's long-standing hostility toward its neighbor was probably a useful card to have in reserve. Thus it has never seemed particularly likely that Syria would deliberately harbor former key figures of Saddam Hussein's regime, although it is somewhat more plausible that some of the fighters in the insurgency against the US occupation of Iraq would have found their way across the long and porous border between the two countries, because Syria lacks the means to prevent such sporadic infiltration. On the other hand, it is difficult to gauge how much long-term damage the assassination of Rafiq al-Hariri may do to Syria. Unlike political scientists, historians rarely advise on policy and are generally wary of predicting the future. Hence, when thinking about the political future of Saudi Arabia and Syria, two fundamentally weak states, I am almost constitutionally bound to fall back on the example of Iraq, another weak state, which overwhelming external pressures caused to fall, to the accompaniment of an orgy of looting and shooting followed by an insurrection that shows no signs of abating. As I said at the beginning, it has always seemed highly unlikely that the United States would have as little compunction about invading Syria or Saudi Arabia as it did about invading Iraq; in any case it is difficult to make a remotely plausible case that either state is a threat to its neighbors or to the rest of the world. However, this does not alter the fact that both Saudi Arabia and Syria could well collapse under certain circumstances, and their structural inadequacies are such that considerable chaos could result. All three states (Syria to the least extent) have benefited at different times from what I would regard as irrationally high levels of external support, but their capacity to adapt to change seems at best limited.11 Despite some of the initially positive possibilities that were opened up with the fall of the Iraqi regime, an increase in the number of failed states in the Middle East (in addition to those in Afghanistan and Iraq) would present a grave threat to the region's security and of course complicate access to its oil. To label these failing (if not quite failed) states as stable simply because they have been in existence for a long time seems to me a misunderstanding of reality that, if accepted at face value, may well be more than simply counterproductive.

7

INTRAREGIME DYNAMICS, UNCERTAINTY, AND THE PERSISTENCE OF AUTHORITARIANISM IN THE CONTEMPORARY ARAB WORLD Fred H. Lawson

LIBERAL DEMOCRACIES exhibit considerable uncertainty regarding policy outcomes but a great deal of certainty concerning policy-making procedures (Burnell 1998, 2; Przeworski 1986). In authoritarian systems, by contrast, a high degree of certainty with regard to outcomes accompanies marked uncertainty about the procedures whereby policies are generated (Bunce 1991; Bunce and Csanadi 1993). One crucial question concerning the persistence of authoritarian regimes is: Under what circumstances might regimes that maximize certainty regarding outcomes become transformed into ones that maximize certainty over procedures instead? These circumstances can be expected to vary depending on the character of the regime, that is, the composition of the dominant social coalition (Geddes 1999). Assume that authoritarian regimes entail a dominant coalition made up of state officials, the armed forces, and either private property holders or workers. Such regimes will differ with respect to two factors. The first is the degree to which property rights and market relations have been institutionalized in society (Bunce 1995, 1998). In some authoritarian regimes fundamental economic institutions are comparatively well grounded. Property rights are clearly delineated, legal mechanisms exist to enforce binding contracts (Dragneva 1998), "horizontal" market relations outweigh "vertical" redistributive ties between economic actors and state agencies (Walder 1989), public and private enterprises alike operate under "hard budget constraints" (Nee 1992), and so on. In other cases the basic structure of the economy is more precarious. State officials can (and often 109

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do) confiscate private property with impunity, contracts carry little weight, the distribution of public rents predominates, unprofitable firms are continually bailed out using public funds, and so forth. The second factor is the extent to which the armed forces possess organizational or corporate autonomy vis-a-vis nonmilitary actors (Pion-Berlin 1992; Przeworski 1991). In some authoritarian regimes, the military exercises a great deal of control over its own affairs. Senior officers are responsible for making binding decisions regarding promotions, retirements, and duty assignments. Training and indoctrination regimens are formulated and supervised by military personnel; day-to-day expenditures are carried out by staff officers, subject to broad budgetary constraints; and weapons development and procurement largely reflect soldiers' preferences. In other cases the armed forces stand vulnerable to interference and manipulation by civilian authorities. Promotions, retirements, and duty assignments are determined by actors outside the military and tend to be shaped by political considerations. Training and indoctrination are controlled by state or party functionaries, military spending is undertaken at the discretion of civilian agencies, and weapons programs are geared toward political rather than military objectives. Taken together, these features define twelve analytically distinct types of authoritarian orders (see Table 7.1). With the possible exception of Cuba, North Korea, and China, only four of the twelve types survive. These are authoritarian regimes in which the dominant social coalition consists of state officials, the armed forces, and private property holders. Such regimes differ on the basis of (i) whether the economy is firmly or poorly institutionalized and (2) whether the military establishment enjoys extensive or limited corporate autonomy. In the contemporary Arab world Tunisia represents an authoritarian regime in which the economy is well institutionalized and the armed forces enjoy a relatively high degree of corporate autonomy (Type V). Bahrain, by contrast, illustrates an authoritarian order in which well-grounded economic institutions exist alongside a military that exercises little if any control over its own affairs (Type VI). A third type of authoritarian regime can be found in Yemen, where property rights and market relations remain rudimentary yet the armed forces retain a substantial degree of corporate autonomy (Type VII). Finally, authoritarianism in Syria is associated with a relatively poorly institutionalized economy in conjunction with a highly penetrated military (Type VIII).

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Table 7.1. Types of authoritarian regimes Military's corporate autonomy Dominant social coalition

State of economy

High

Low

State officials and armed forces

Well-institutionalized economy Poorly grounded economy

I III

II IV

State officials, armed forces, and private property holders

Well-institutionalized economy Poorly grounded economy

V VII

VI VIII

State officials, armed forces, and workers

Well-institutionalized economy Poorly grounded economy

IX XI

X XII

Each of these types of authoritarian regime has demonstrated a capacity to maintain itself in the face of severe internal challenges and external shocks (Bellin 2004; Brownlee 2002a). Domestic political-economic crises, often in conjunction with changes in government leadership, have set the stage for some degree of political liberalization. Nevertheless, instances of liberalization exhibit variation regarding (i) whether the political reforms are comprehensive or narrow and (2) whether reforms stall (or freeze) soon after they appear (Burnell 1998,7). Both sets of outcomes are closely related to the issue of whether or not reform measures shift the regime away from maximizing certainty over outcomes and toward maximizing certainty regarding procedures. INTRAREGIME INTERESTS AND POLITICAL REFORM

State officials across the Middle East have adopted interventionist policies in the face of poorly formed and weakly institutionalized economies (Chaudhry 1993). Arab governments have tried to manage the factors that heighten uncertainty regarding economic outcomes by exercising direct control over a broad range of industrial, commercial, and financial activities. Such measures include policies to promote manufacturing, raise employment levels, and ensure the affordability of foodstuffs and other staples. Over time, however, state officials have an incentive to scale back direct supervision of economic affairs in order to facilitate sustained growth (Olson 2000). As property rights and market relations become more firmly established, government agencies have shown a tendency to relinquish day-to-day management of economic affairs and allow market mechanisms to govern the economy. This implies that, as Arab economies become better institutionalized, state officials will exhibit

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greater tolerance for uncertainty regarding specific political-economic outcomes and shift their attention to managing (and perhaps even reducing) persistent uncertainties associated with policy-making procedures. Military officers have tended to maximize certainty over outcomes as well, and most often justify overt intervention on the grounds that their direct involvement in the domestic political arena is necessary to protect national independence (Kamrava 2000). Whenever the armed forces enjoy little corporate autonomy or suffer from poor organization or inadequate training and equipment, commanders show a high degree of intolerance for uncertainty concerning outcomes. In some cases this lack of tolerance has prompted officers to seize control of the state apparatus. In other cases an inability to exercise control over their own affairs has led the armed forces to take charge of lucrative sectors of the economy (Picard i988a; Sayigh 1992; Springborg 1998; see also Droz-Vincent in this volume [Chapter 12]). Private property holders in principle oppose such activities but have little choice but to acquiesce so long as property rights and market mechanisms remain poorly institutionalized. Whenever military officers find themselves able to exert control over their own affairs, however, the incentive structure changes dramatically. Concern for the well-being and prestige of the armed forces as a whole begins to outweigh more diffuse political, economic, and ideological objectives. On one hand, commanders pay greater attention to the costs of exercising political power. On the other hand, a decrease in civilian interference in military affairs removes an impetus for unified action among the officers' corps, opening the door to debilitating splits along personal, ideological, or ascriptive lines. Hence, as the institutional autonomy of the military increases, so do the incentives for the armed forces to withdraw from the political arena. Finally, whenever the institutional basis of the economy is poorly established, private property holders evidence a low tolerance for uncertainty concerning economic outcomes. Unfavorable results may well prove impossible for individuals or companies to overcome. Without well-institutionalized property rights, enforceable contracts, and other fundamental market institutions, small or temporary inequities can quickly grow into massive disadvantages. As the economy becomes more solidly grounded, however, private property holders develop greater tolerance for uncertainty with regard to specific outcomes. Occasional losses and minor injustices can be surmounted, and strongly institutionalized market relations make it possible to compete with, and at times prevail over, even deeply entrenched interests.

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Such considerations are particularly compelling during the transition from a state-administered to a market-driven economic order. Countries whose central administration has extensively regulated economic affairs almost never change overnight into efficient market economies. Instead, such economies usually generate a wide range of "emerging new property forms" in which boundaries between the public and private sectors become blurred, the organizational limits of enterprises tend to dissolve, and responsibility for settling public liabilities vanishes (Nee 1992; Stark 1996). Under such conditions private property holders can be expected to make a concerted effort to maximize certainty over outcomes, if possible by gaining control of formerly public assets that confer a monopoly position in specific sectors. Resurgent private interests consequently often become the component of contemporary authoritarian regimes that shows the greatest hesitation to embrace arrangements that substitute certainty regarding procedures for certainty about outcomes (Fernandez and Rodrik 1991; Hellman 1998; Waterbury 1991). ECONOMIC CRISIS AND PROSPECTS FOR THE FUTURE

Contrary to the scholarly consensus of the 19708 and 19805, there are good grounds for expecting authoritarian regimes to exhibit a high degree of resilience (Albrecht and Schlumberger 2004; Brumberg 2002; Crystal 1994; Ottaway 2003; Schlumberger 2Oooa). Forces that attempt to supplant an authoritarian regime face major obstacles associated with the presence of the armed forces inside the dominant coalition. These include the military's general unwillingness to cede power, the threat of military reintervention after or during transitions, the tendency of commanders to cling to long-standing privileges, and the emergence of organizationally weak and divided militaries that might jeopardize political stability and precipitate internal conflict (Luckham 1995,55). In addition, liberalizers find it all too easy to run afoul of what transitologists call the democradura (or hard democracy) problem (see O'Donnell and Schmitter 1986). This problem consists of "how to discourage the re-institutionalization of authoritarian rule within existing democratic forms" (Luckham 1995, 57). Transitions involving authoritarian regimes therefore occur only under extraordinary circumstances. The situation in which authoritarian orders arguably find themselves most likely to adopt political reforms is when they confront a severe economic crisis, because "economic decline augments the incentives for protest while diminishing the resources necessary for repression"

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(Remmer 1995,113). This general perspective is shared by most students of Arab politics (Hudson 1991; Ibrahim 1993). Thus one sees a marked trend toward political liberalization in the late 19808, centered in the region's most troubled economies: Egypt, Iran, Sudan, Morocco, Tunisia, and Jordan. Why authoritarian regimes introduce political reforms in the context of economic crises remains unclear. Hudson's (1991, 423) assertion that Arab leaders resort to liberalization to boost their dwindling legitimacy is plausible but not convincing. I therefore propose to abandon the conventional notion that authoritarian leaders deliberately choose to carry out democratic reforms. Instead, I agree with Przeworski (1988) and Hardin (2003) that political liberalization can best be seen as a contingent outcome of conflicts among the social forces that make up the dominant coalition (see also Waterbury 1997). In other words, liberalization does not result directly from the actions or intentions of any particular actors, whether hard-liners or reformers (Colomer 2000). On the contrary, reforms emerge out of the pervasive indeterminacy that characterizes strategic interaction among forces inside the regime. Furthermore, political liberalization reflects the severity of the crisis facing the regime. The most dangerous situations are ones in which severe economic difficulties coincide with active political challenges. Widespread popular mobilization makes it harder for the authorities to cope with industrial, commercial, and financial difficulties while raising the possibility that some force (s) inside the dominant coalition might join the opposition (Lawson 1986). Moreover, popular forces often turn out to be the strongest and most outspoken advocates of political reform (Collier 1999; Collier and Mahoney 1997; Rueschemeyer et al. 1992), while the specific postures and strategies that challengers adopt play a major role in determining whether or not reform measures flourish (Bermeo 1997; Valenzuela 1989). Finally, strategic interaction among forces inside the dominant coalition is shaped by actors' expectations about the future (Kahneman and Tversky 2000). Specifically, forces in the regime tend to accept greater risk whenever they confront a situation that seems likely to keep deteriorating. A willingness to tolerate risk is sometimes offset by a countertendency to remain true to earlier commitments, a proclivity that can best be called "prior-option bias" (Weyland i998b, 16-17). Whether the willingness to tolerate risk outweighs remaining true to earlier commitments tends to be determined by how large a stake an actor has in the status quo.

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POLITICAL LIBERALIZATION IN FOUR ARAB AUTHORITARIAN REGIMES

This argument offers a way to make sense of the persistence of authoritarian regimes in the contemporary Arab world. It accounts for the limited nature of political liberalization in the four types of authoritarian order that one finds in the region. More specifically, it explains why a narrow range of political reforms appeared in Syria (2000-2001) and quickly stalled; why a more comprehensive package of reforms took shape in Bahrain (2000-2002), which also soon stalled; why a relatively narrow range of reform measures was sustained in Yemen after 1990; and why more comprehensive reforms were sustained in Tunisia after 1987. None of these episodes resulted in a transition to democracy. But each of them represents a notable instance of political liberalization, which informed observers have interpreted as a step in the direction of democratic governance. It would be a mistake to dismiss these cases on the grounds that they did not succeed in producing fully articulated liberal democratic regimes. Rather, they represent cases that shed light on the dynamics of authoritarian regimes and on the crucial question of why no Arab regime has yet experienced systemic reform. Syria, 2000-2001 When President Hafiz al-Asad died in June 2000, Syria's regime consisted of state officials, the armed forces, and private property holders. Industrial workers and agricultural laborers, long the backbone of the political order, had lost most of their influence (Picard i988b). State officials, by contrast, had steadily gained strength relative to military officers and party apparatchiks (Batatu 1990, 326; Perthes 1995, 141-145; Waldner 1999, 100-102; Zisser 2001). Meanwhile, private property holders, who had been dispossessed and ostracized at the height of Ba'athist socialism, regained a pivotal position inside the dominant coalition (Kienle i998a, 30-31; Lawson 1988; Longuenesse 1978; Picard 1979). Despite the growing influence of private property holders, Syria's regime operated in the context of a poorly institutionalized economy. Virtually all large-scale enterprises maintained close links to the state, either directly as public companies or indirectly through patronage, subsidies, or exclusive arrangements. Extensive networks among government agencies, private businesses, senior military officers, and representatives of the popular organizations deepened after the mid 19708 and generated a dense web of what

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Haddad (2004: 48) calls "essentially top-down institutions that are governed wholly by regime, not business, rules." Under these circumstances "the state continued to interfere with private-sector activities in various ways, such as agricultural plans, import restrictions, currency regulations and a cumbersome bureaucracy. There were no private banks and no stock market, and illegal currency dealing—a necessity for anyone who had to import raw material or machinery—could still be punished with up to 20 years in prison" (Perthes 2004b, 30-31). Syria thus stood in the bottom tier of all Arab countries in terms of the rigorous index of financial development formulated by the International Monetary Fund (IMF) (Creane et al. 2004,13). Syria's armed forces enjoyed little if any corporate autonomy. Commanders at all levels found themselves saddled with Ba'ath Party cadres, who took steps to ensure that the military adhered to socialist principles. After al-Asad acceded to the presidency in 1970, pervasive party interference was supplemented with micromanagement by state agencies. The standing of the regular armed forces diminished further during the struggle against militant Islamists in the late 19708 and early 19808, which was prosecuted by paramilitary security services under the direct supervision of the presidential palace (Aoyama 2001,11-15). Sapped of resources, the army moved into a variety of economic activities, the most successful of which were undertaken under the auspices of the Military Housing Establishment. The military's inability to control its own affairs was vividly illustrated toward the end of the 19908, when several high-ranking commanders were forced into retirement for reasons of political expediency (Aoyama 2001, 38-39). In the late 19905 the economy fell into serious difficulty. A steady decline in oil revenues combined with a drop in cash-crop exports deprived the government of funds necessary for new investment and the continued operation of public sector enterprises (Kiernan 1999; Poelling 1998,42; Seifan 2003; Winckler 2001). Private companies also struggled as their exclusive markets in the former Communist bloc became increasingly competitive. Falling export earnings were partially offset by rising remittances from Syrian workers abroad but were exacerbated by a surge in foreign debt. Furthermore, the country's population increased sharply as the 19905 went by, generating high unemployment and grim career prospects for most young people (Perthes 2oo4b, 29). These trends sparked popular protests as the decade ended (Perthes 2001,145). State officials responded to their rapidly deteriorating circumstances by reviving the campaign to encourage private enterprise (cf. Middle East Eco-

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nomic Digest [MEED], May 26, 2000). However, the severity of the fiscal crisis facing the government left officials unwilling to tolerate too much uncertainty with regard to economic outcomes. In particular, the government proposed to increase public sector investment to boost efficiency and augment employment in the country's network of state-owned enterprises (George 2003, 164). Retaining control over public manufacturing and agricultural companies remained a central tenet of economic policy. The minister of planning remarked in mid 2001 that "we do not intend to privatise [state-run enterprises]" (MEED, July 13, 2001). State officials exhibited a somewhat greater willingness to relax certainty with regard to political outcomes. The new leadership gave amnesty to 700 political prisoners and 2,000 others who had been convicted of "economic crimes," while proponents of liberal reform were permitted to publish manifestos calling for change without suffering immediate retribution (Perthes 2004b, 13-14). But the government did not abolish the strict laws that regulated public assembly and expression, nor did it encourage the formation of new political parties. On the contrary, as soon as the discussion circles that sprouted in early 2000 began to coalesce into a national movement, the authorities promulgated tighter restrictions on public gatherings that effectively shut the salons down (Perthes 2o04b, 16-18; Zisser 2003b). Syria's armed forces took advantage of the fluid situation surrounding Hafiz al-Asad's death to regain some of the ground they had lost to the intelligence services during the anti-Islamist struggle (see also Droz-Vincent in this volume [Chapter 12]). The resurgence of the military was reflected in the appearance of a moderately independent periodical published by a son of the chief of the general staff. Emboldened by the shift in tide, one prominent reformer openly criticized the security services and proposed cutting their budgets to ameliorate ongoing fiscal problems (Zisser 2oo3b, 49). More important, promotions inside the senior ranks of the armed forces started to reflect fixed protocols (Zisser 20O3a, 22; 2004, 245). Given its improving prospects, the army refrained from intervening in the presidential succession and remained "absolutely dedicated to the preservation of the status quo" (Zisser 2003a, 22). Deteriorating economic conditions left private property holders open to embarking on new ventures. Entrepreneurs applauded the government's decision to authorize private and foreign-owned banks, but the state's unwillingness to give up the certainty over outcomes that it exercised through the

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Commercial Bank of Syria heightened investor cautiousness (MEED, December 21,2001). Disputes over public sales of state agricultural land led new owners to postpone investments; instead, proprietors tried to realize quick profits by renting their holdings to local tribespeople. The agrarian initiative thus generated "a re-emergent class of latifundists tied to [the] central state and traditional power structures" (Ababsa 2005,13) rather than a new group of private farmers. Consequently, in agriculture, as in manufacturing and trade, the most profitable projects remained ones that enjoyed some kind of monopoly. Thus, even though serious economic problems combined with moves by the armed forces to enhance their political position set the stage for a cluster of political reforms, these measures remained narrow in scope. Restrictions on public gatherings and expression continued to exist, and challengers to the Ba'ath Party were consistently harassed. More important, none of the reforms accompanied a shift away from maximizing certainty with regard to economic and political outcomes. State officials kept a firm hold on the public sector, while private property holders shied away from activities that did not guarantee an immediate profit. Consequently, the Damascus Spring quickly frosted over. Bahrain, 2000-2002 By the end of the 19905 Bahrain's dominant coalition also consisted of state officials, the armed forces, and private property holders. Pivotal positions in both the central administration and the senior ranks of the military were occupied by members of the ruling family, the Al Khalifah (Khuri 1980, 123). State agencies granted exclusive licenses, contracts, and agency arrangements to private entrepreneurs, enabling them to create lucrative monopolies. When oil revenues poured into Bahrain in the early 19705, "the local merchantentrepreneurial class steadily increased. Many skilled technicians and professional people abandoned their careers in favor of more profitable work in commerce, trade, transactional activities, or civil employment" (Khuri 1980, 244; see also Chaudhry 1997). This arrangement buttressed the status quo, because "members of the merchant-entrepreneurial class implicitly sided with the ruling family" (Khuri 1980, 244). Bahrain's regime faced major challenges in the early 19908, not only as a result of internal conflicts of interest but also because of mobilized opposition from labor activists and Islamist militants (Lawson 2005). The potential for intraregime friction precipitated a concerted effort by the ruling family to tighten its grip on the state apparatus (Bahry 1997). Al Khalifah sheikhs

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assumed an unprecedented number of cabinet positions (Khalaf 2000). Meanwhile, the family strengthened its ties to private property holders by rehabilitating the notion of popular participation in policy making. A 1992 decree established a Consultative Council and authorized it to offer legislative proposals (MEED, January 8,1993); the Council consisted almost entirely of "well-known businessmen, government employees, lawyers and doctors" (MEED, October n, 1996). Efforts to reconsolidate the Bahraini regime took place in the context of a comparatively well-institutionalized economy. Property rights had been firmly established during the quarter-century after independence. Land disputes were more frequently contested in the courts, and public enterprises operated under increasingly hard budget constraints as oil income steadily diminished. Bahrain consequently rose to the top of the IMF's comprehensive measure of financial development (Creane et al. 2004,13). Bahrain's armed forces, by contrast, enjoyed little corporate autonomy. The military exercised almost no control over personnel policies, training regimens, or budgetary matters. Members of the ruling family, supported by a few expatriate contract officers, monopolized the senior ranks. Lower echelons consisted largely of troops drawn from tribes allied to the Al Khalifah, while ancillary units were made up of Syrian, Yemeni, and Pakistani personnel. Weapons came from a variety of sources and were procured through contracts that reflected political and diplomatic imperatives more than considerations of cost or operational effectiveness. Fear that an autonomous officers' corps might pose a threat to the regime prompted state officials to keep close tabs on all military activity. In the mid 19908 Bahrain's economy fell into severe crisis. A move by state officials to sponsor the construction of large-scale retail complexes undercut the tradespeople and shopkeepers who lacked the financial resources or connections needed to gain a foothold in the new shopping centers. Subsidies for small-scale manufacturing ended up financing companies that employed expatriate workers rather than companies committed to hiring Bahraini citizens. Hence unemployment soared and sparked widespread popular unrest, which took a more organized shape under the leadership of religious activists who openly criticized the regime. Rioting erupted in late 1994, precipitating a four-year insurrection (Fakhro 1997; Lawson 2004). The uprising inflicted severe damage on the commercial and services sectors, and the cost of suppressing the insurrection drained the state treasury.

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It was under these circumstances that the ruler passed away in March 1999 and was succeeded by his eldest son. The change in leadership coincided with an unexpected rise in oil revenues, which accompanied the end of the fouryear uprising. Improvements in the local economy prompted state officials to take steps to reenergize private enterprise. At the same time, they expanded and upgraded the country's state-owned industrial operations. Government agencies proposed a package of regulatory reforms to improve the efficiency of public sector enterprises. In the political arena the new ruler expanded the Consultative Council and proclaimed that its members would eventually be elected rather than appointed. He promised to work with local notables and intellectuals to revise the constitution and set up a committee to draft a National Action Charter to supersede it. The Charter proposed to transform Bahrain from an emirate into a monarchy, establish a bicameral National Assembly, and accord citizens a wide range of individual and collective rights. In a 2001 referendum more than 98 percent of voters endorsed the document. The Council of Ministers then rescinded the State Security Law of 1974 and abolished the State Security Court. Meanwhile, prominent critics of the regime living overseas were granted amnesty, along with 200 citizens and permanent residents who had been detained under the State Security Law (Peterson 20O2a, 221). Bahrain's regular armed forces also found their prospects improving as the decade ended. The task of combating the 1994-1999 uprising had fallen almost exclusively to the paramilitary Public Security Force (PSF). With the new ruler's accession, however, the influence and prestige of the military started to improve. A former senior commander was promoted to the post of minister of education (Peterson 2002a, 225). More significantly, the long-time head of the internal security apparatus was cashiered, and the PSF was put on a tighter leash. Given these improvements in their corporate position, military commanders had little incentive to interfere in political affairs. Private property holders at first hesitated to embark on new ventures, on the grounds that "things are not as transparent as they should be" (MEED, December 17,1999). But as oil revenues buoyed the local economy, an upsurge in construction and trade took place (MEED, December 15, 2000). Firmly established economic institutions heightened the private sector's willingness to undertake new investments as the market rebounded, and by early 2002 Bahrain's business community had regained much of the confidence it had lost during the uprising (MEED, September 13, 2002). Under these circum-

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stances the commercial elite started to display a willingness to tolerate greater uncertainty regarding economic outcomes. But by early 2002, with oil monies steadily replenishing the treasury and private property holders' expectations for further deregulation rising, state officials grew more cautious and pulled back from implementing further reforms. The ruler declared himself king and proclaimed that the National Action Charter would become the Amended Constitution. More important, state officials demonstrated a renewed reluctance to relinquish control over political outcomes. The palace announced that the appointed upper house of the National Assembly would exercise legislative powers commensurate with those of the elected lower house. This move angered liberal activists, who had received assurances that the upper chamber would play only an advisory role in policy making. Further restrictions on the electoral system followed. After a landslide victory for Islamist candidates in municipal elections, the authorities reconfigured most voting districts to improve the chances for proregime candidates. The cabinet then issued a statute that blocked all civic and social organizations from "participating in any electoral campaign on behalf of any candidate" and "prohibit[ed] campaigning in religious places, universities and schools, public squares, roads and government buildings" (Mohammed 2002). A comprehensive set of economic and political reforms took shape in Bahrain in 2000-2001. State officials took steps to promote private enterprise and attract foreign investment, but they turned out to be unwilling to abandon government control over the crucial sector of oil-related heavy industry. Political liberalization was equally wide ranging, although the authorities balked at accepting substantial uncertainty regarding electoral outcomes. Military commanders lacked an incentive to intervene in politics. Private property holders proved willing to tolerate greater uncertainty over economic outcomes, but did little to advocate political liberalization. By 2002 improvements in the local economy led state officials to rescind many reforms in the political arena before private property holders could mobilize to play an active role in the electoral process. Yemen After 1990

When the Yemen Arab Republic (YAR) and the People's Democratic Republic of Yemen (PDRY) merged to form the Republic of Yemen in 1990, the last vestiges of the workers' movement in the PDRY disappeared from the dominant

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coalition. This left unified Yemen with a regime made up of state officials, military commanders, and private property holders. These social forces remained deeply split during the initial phase of unity but gradually worked out a viable collaborative arrangement. Relations inside the ruling coalition came to mirror the dynamics that characterized the former northern regime: The YAR's dominant party took charge of the Presidential Council (Glosemeyer 1999, 87), and the Council then elected the former YAR president as its head. Yemen's postunity regime rested on shaky economic foundations. Saif (1998) observes that "the private sector is highly dependent on the state for both preferential deals with the public sector and to obtain official licences for imports, exports, production and pricing." In the north economic decisions tended to reflect personal and tribal obligations as much as calculations of profit or efficiency (Dresch 1993, 70; Dunbar 1992, 468; Nonneman 1993, 266), while in the south the legacy of the PDRY interfered with property rights and other market-sustaining institutions (Schmitz 1997). Albrecht (2002,143) concludes that Yemen's business climate "is characterised by the absence of the rule of law in a socio-political context, and—in the economic sphere—by market distortions and the lack of competition and competition-enforcing institutions." Consequently, private property holders collaborated with state officials to carve out lucrative monopolies in key economic sectors. Although key positions in the officers' corps were dominated by commanders with close personal ties to the president (Dresch 2000,189; Glosemeyer 1999, 85), Yemen's military establishment exercised a comparatively high degree of corporate autonomy. This was partly a result of the YAR government's persistent weakness relative to the armed forces. Furthermore, during the 19805 "the successful introduction of conscription and professional training for the officers corps strengthened the [YAR's] military at the top and in the ranks" (Burrowes 1991, 488). The Military Economic Corporation steadily extended its operations across the former north, from supplying military equipment to making "land deals and importing such unmilitary items as shower curtains and bathroom fittings" (Dresch 2000,159). These activities fell subject to state restrictions after unification, and ambitious officers gravitated to influential positions in the local councils (Dresch 2000,160). The discovery of oil in the late 19805 attracted foreign investors to the petroleum sector, infrastructure projects, and services. But within months of unification the Iraqi occupation of Kuwait led to the abrupt termination of economic assistance from the United States and richer Arab Gulf states.

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Yemen's gross domestic product dropped 4 percent from 1990 to 1991 (Destremau 1993,114). Sharply deteriorating economic circumstances generated a wave of popular demonstrations (Carapico 1993!), 4). As job losses and price rises accelerated, workers' organizations adopted more disruptive tactics in addition to large-scale street protests (Kostiner 1996,37-38). State officials responded to the crisis by setting up a fund to support smallscale manufacturing and by promulgating a new investment law that offered substantial incentives for private enterprise (Nonneman 1993, 272-273). Still, the severity of the country's economic difficulties left the government unwilling to privatize public companies (Gazzo 1999, 321). In fact, price controls on certain commodities were restored. At the same time, the authorities augmented salaried positions in the public sector to provide work for returnees from the Gulf. Heightened government expenditures were financed by greater external borrowing. As a result, public indebtedness soared. Government agencies announced plans to enhance administrative efficiency, but no resources were earmarked to upgrade obsolescent state-owned companies (Destremau 1993,114-115; Kostiner 1996, 47). In the political arena government officials precisely delineated the boundaries of acceptable debate and activity. A comprehensive press law was promulgated; it spelled out "journalists' qualifications, newspaper registration criteria, bookstore and publishing permits, conditions for press closures, and conditions for admitting or quoting foreign correspondents and publications" (Carapico 1998, 138; Saif 2001, 92). Law 42 (1992) created an independent Supreme Elections Committee, which codified registration and balloting procedures for elections to a national Chamber of Deputies (Carapico i993b, 3; Piepenburg 1994, 147-149). These measures reflected state officials' growing attention to certainty with regard to policy-making procedures but persistent lack of tolerance for uncertainty regarding political outcomes. Although a 1991 parties law laid down "guidelines that must be adhered to and a large number of criteria that have to be met, [s]ome of these conditions were left vague, as if the legislator [sic] intended to create loopholes to be exploited between political organizations and parties" (Saif 2001, 91). Meanwhile, Yemen's comparatively autonomous armed forces took steps to protect their existing prerogatives. Influential officers joined human rights activists in pushing for tighter restrictions on the paramilitary security services (Carapico 1998, 139). As the economic crisis worsened, military commanders based in the north kept close watch on developments in the capital

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(Kostiner 1996, 30). Still, commanders stood willing to tolerate a greater degree of uncertainty with regard to political outcomes and thus were predisposed to accept liberal reforms. Private property holders generally refrained from investing in new ventures after unification, partly as a result of a deep-seated unwillingness to invest in activities outside the purview of their immediate circle of family and friends (Mohammed 1995, 288) but also thanks to Yemen's poorly established system of property rights (Dunbar 1992, 463). Southern elites mistrusted the existing political parties and refused to commit themselves to the new order (Kostiner 1996, 34-35). Instead, private capital gravitated toward activities in which profits were guaranteed as a result of administrative protection. Political liberalization in Yemen consequently turned out to be relatively narrow. State officials adopted measures to regulate popular participation rather than opening the policy-making process to a broader spectrum of actors. The armed forces kept their distance from political affairs even as they closely monitored government activity. Private property holders, who might otherwise have undertaken more risky ventures, found themselves constrained by the poorly institutionalized nature of the local economy. Nevertheless, state officials and military commanders took steps to enhance certainty over policy-making procedures. So even though Yemen's reforms were less impressive than Bahrain's, they ended up having a longer life span. Tunisia After 1987

By the mid 19808 Tunisia's authoritarian regime had abandoned its radical past and coalesced into a coalition of state officials, military officers, and private property holders. The turning away from a socialist order accompanied the suppression of the activist wing of the Union Generate des Travailleurs Tunisiens (UGTT) in 1985-1986. As major economic reforms took shape over the following two years, local businesspeople gained renewed leverage and "greater confidence" (Vandewalle 1988, 613). The ruling coalition became even more coherent after former prime minister and general Zine el 'Abidine Ben Ali took over the presidency in November 1987 (Murphy 1999). Tunisia's regime regrouped in the context of a comparatively well-institutionalized economy. During the mid 19705 state agencies introduced measures to reduce the role of government subsidies in supporting public and private companies alike (Harik 1992). A package of policies initiated in 1986 imposed stricter fiscal discipline on state-run enterprises, forcing them to compete di-

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rectly with private companies (Moore 1988,183-184). Subsequent regulations made the country's labor relations system more congruent with the logic of the market (Alexander 2001). Consequently, Tunisia boasted an impressive IMF score for its general institutional environment (Creane et al. 2004,13). At the same time, the armed forces enjoyed a high degree of corporate autonomy. "Among the military establishments in the Arab world," Ware (1986, 47) concludes, "the Tunisian military is perhaps unique. It is a non-praetorian, highly professional body that has never mounted a coup nor fomented revolution against the state, and has always answered to the authority of the state through the intermediary of a civilian minister of defense." Thanks to its insulation from the political arena, the army provided a career structure in which enlisted personnel could expect to be rewarded for competence and loyalty (Ware 1986, 52-53). Despite its relatively firm foundations, the Tunisian economy plunged into crisis in the early 19805 (Dimassi 1984). State officials found themselves pressed to maintain the social welfare programs that had long been a key source of regime legitimacy. Recurrent shortfalls of revenue from agricultural exports and tourism resulted in burgeoning budget deficits and spiraling levels of external debt (Layachi 2000, 33). At the same time, the government incurred substantial costs suppressing a broadly based Islamist movement (Boulby 1988; Hermassi 1984). State officials thus looked for innovative ways to restore stability while reducing expenditures. The well-grounded nature of the economy combined with the sharply deteriorating fiscal situation opened the possibility of greater economic reform (Grissa 1991; Vandewalle 1988, 616). Yet the severity of the crisis left state officials unwilling to give up control over pivotal components of the economic order (Belev 2001). Moreover, liberalization decrees tended to be couched in vague terms and were closely monitored by a revived Economic and Social Committee (Gasiorowski 1992,87). The process accorded wide latitude to lower-level bureaucrats (Belev 2001, 82). In this way state officials retained a substantial degree of certainty regarding economic outcomes. Meanwhile, the authorities spelled out in detail the terms under which political organizations could operate (Murphy 1999, 173). Efforts to contain political activism culminated in the National Pact of November 1988, which asserted that Tunisia's long history of societal consensus rested on its "traditions of loyal competition" and "a legitimate right to differ which signifies neither sedition nor division" (Anderson i99ib, 253). Political parties and

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civic associations were obligated to abjure any activities that might jeopardize public order. This package of measures ended up giving state officials a high degree of certainty over political procedures and institutions. Military commanders faced somewhat brighter prospects. The regular armed forces had been deliberately excluded from the anti-Islamist campaign to prevent them from amassing political power (Ware 1986, 48). As a result, resources had been diverted away from the military and toward paramilitary security and police units, leaving the army underfunded and resentful (Ware 1985, 39). Under Ben Ali, senior officers took steps to change this state of affairs. A former brigadier general assumed the post of minister of the interior, and a seven-person Council for National Security was formed. The Council disbanded the State Security Courts and granted amnesty to 3,000 individuals (Anderson i99ib, 251; Murphy 1999,168). Student protesters who had been sentenced to military service were pardoned as well, removing a potentially disruptive group of soldiers from the ranks (Zartman 1991, 16). Such initiatives buttressed the corporate autonomy of the armed forces and left commanders willing to tolerate political reforms. Private property holders, by contrast, stood firmly in the domain of losses. Persistent economic difficulties led to an acceleration of bankruptcies at the time of the presidential succession. The government responded by offering low-interest, long-term loans to export-oriented private businesses (Bellin 2002, 44-45). Nevertheless, the state's firm grip on the financial sector left private investors hesitant to make new investments. Private property holders demonstrated an even greater aversion to political initiatives: "Members of the private sector retained a studied aloofness from politics" (Bellin 2002,145). The only political activity undertaken by this class consisted of lukewarm expressions of support for the regime's party, the Rassemblement Constitutionnel Democratique (RCD). Thus, despite clear steps toward political liberalization, the forces that made up Tunisia's dominant coalition remained oriented toward maximizing certainty with regard to outcomes. This predisposition was evident in the 1989 National Assembly elections, in which the RCD won every one of the contested seats (Denoeux 1994; Hermassi 1991). Many observers claim that the results of the balloting reflected the intentions of the president himself (King 2003, 31-32), but this explanation imputes too much power to a single actor in a complicated process. The package of reforms introduced at the start of Ben Ali's presidency emerged instead from intraregime interaction. Only

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state officials implemented measures that might have produced a shift toward certainty with regard to policy-making procedures. Even the newly formed political parties "remained uncertain about the limits to political freedom under the new regime, leading them to exercise considerable self-restraint" (Gasiorowski 1992, 89). The reforms of 1987-1989 therefore did little to transform Tunisian authoritarianism into a liberal democratic order. CONCLUSION

Authoritarian regimes have turned out to be remarkably resilient in the contemporary Arab world. The persistence of such political systems has tempted a number of observers to hypothesize that shared societal or cultural attributes make it difficult for democracy to take root in the region. Such claims are hard to refute, given the vague way in which such concepts as patriarchy, tribalism, and Muslim society are usually operationalized. As an alternative explanation, I propose that various types of authoritarian regimes can be expected to exhibit different tendencies with regard to uncertainty. A regime that consists of state officials, military officers, and private property holders will be more likely to coalesce around certainty with regard to political outcomes if it exists in the context of a poorly institutionalized economy or if the armed forces possess a low level of corporate autonomy. By contrast, authoritarian regimes made up of these same social forces will show greater tolerance for uncertainty with regard to outcomes as their economies become better institutionalized and their armed forces exercise more control over their own affairs. This line of argument sheds considerable light on the scope and trajectory of political reform in Syria, Bahrain, Yemen, and Tunisia. It deserves further elaboration and testing, both as an antidote to studies that perpetuate long-standing myths that pervade the study of Arab politics and as an approach that might help to clarify the complexities of stable authoritarian polities.

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8

PRIVATIZATION OF SOCIAL SERVICES AS A REGIME STRATEGY The Revival of Islamic Endowments (Awqaf) In Egypt Daniela Pioppi

A MAJOR CHANGE in recent Middle Eastern history has been the state's gradual retreat from welfare programs and, in general, the redefinition of state functions with respect to the previous vision of nearly total public sector dominance of the economy. This tendency—found in states that proclaim markedly different official ideologies and resulting from the contradictions that ensue from state-led growth (fiscal crisis) and international pressures—is often considered one of the most powerful factors leading to political liberalization in the Middle East. More simply, the argument goes that post-World War II authoritarian regimes relied heavily on state control of the economy and large welfare programs (e.g., health, education, subsidies, housing, employment) to obtain their citizens' political compliance. Once the fiscal crisis shrunk the allocative capacity of the (rentier) state, the regimes' basis of support and legitimacy also decreased and the required structural adjustment of the economy encouraged the emergence of new economic and political actors, thus enhancing the expansion of economic and political participation. A second challenge to authoritarian regimes' stability in the Middle East has concerned, in the last three decades, the much debated "return to Islam." In fact, since the 19708, all states of the region without exception have had to face the emergence of an active Islamic opposition. The rise of "radical Islam" was followed shortly by a general revival of Islamic charity, which often filled the gap left by the deterioration of public services and allegedly formed the social basis of Islamic opposition. 129

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Both state retreat and the (re-)Islamization of society have been extensively studied and debated, more often than not in the perspective of regime systemic change. In this chapter I address these two issues, taking as a case study the recent revival of Islamic charitable institutions in Egypt and, more precisely, the return to the scene of Islamic endowments (waqf, pi. awqaf) after almost two decades (the 19505 and 19605) of complete state control and marginalization. Contrary to common perceptions, my analysis reveals that the revival of religious charity is part of a successful regime strategy aimed at managing state retreat from basic social functions and the resulting change in the distribution of resources toward a more elitist model. In the first section of this chapter I provide an outline of the institution of waqf, which was one of the most important financial bases of the premodern, largely religious Middle Eastern "welfare" system. I then focus on the Egyptian case, briefly illustrating the decline of this institution parallel to the gradual formation of the modern national state in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, up to Nasser's complete nationalization. In another section I sketch out the recent waqf revival, from Sadat's rehabilitation of the institution at the beginning of the 19705 to the movement for the revival of waqf in the 19905, taking as a background the retreat of the state from social welfare programs and the general Islamization of society. This allows me to discuss some theoretical issues that are relevant to the case study but that may be of general use for the larger debate on Middle Eastern regimes' management of change. In particular, I criticize dichotomous state retreat-expanding society analyses and call for renewed attention to power variables rather than formal institutions in an attempt to bring the political back in. THE INSTITUTION OF WAQF

The waqf is, in Islamic law, the act of founding a charitable trust and hence the trust itself. The essential elements are that a person, wanting to commit a pious deed, declares part of his or her property (land, a commercial activity, estates, etc.) to be henceforth inalienable and designates individuals or public utilities as beneficiaries of its yields.1 The institution of waqf was widespread throughout the Islamic world and rapidly became, in the first centuries of Islamic history, the main financial tool used by economic and political elites to sustain charitable institutions of public utility, not only in the strictly religious sphere but also in the fields of education and health or even for infrastructure works such as roads or canals. Up to the second half of the twentieth century, every mosque,

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confraternity, Koranic school, university, hospital, and so on was financed by one or more awqafand thus was formally independent of state finance.2 Among the reasons for its success in different regions and at different times is that the waqf could also be dedicated to private charitable aims (al-khayrat al-khassa) such as, for instance, sustaining the descendants of the waqfs founder. In this case the wag/was called waqfdhurri or ahli (private or family waqf) and was largely used as a way to safeguard family wealth from Islamic inheritance laws. Even when the waqf was entirely dedicated to public utilities (waqfkhayri, or public waqf),y 3 its administration, and thus the control over a perpetual rent, was normally kept within the founder's family. Depending on different periods of political centralization or decentralization,4 the endowment of properties could also grant protection against state intervention or tax exemptions, preserving private fortunes in a context in which private property, especially land, was fragile.5 THE WAQF DECLINE IN CONTEMPORARY EGYPT

In Egypt, as elsewhere in the Muslim world, the awqaf represent a significant part of the economy. In 1942 endowed land was still 677,555 feddan,6 that is, 11.5 percent of all private agricultural land in the country, apart from endowments in real estate and urban land (Baer 1969, 80). The Egyptian government had already started a slow appropriation of the administration of wa23 a sort of pressure group for the recovery of the full role of the waqf in Egypt, in line with the international discourse and trend toward privatization and civil society enhancement. Wag/promoters expressed themselves in a series of publications24 and conferences25 attended by then Minister of Awqaf Muhammad Hamdi Zaqzuq, as well as by many representatives of the moderate Islamist current and the Islamic business sector. In these publications and conferences the waqf is portrayed as an essential institution capable of ensuring an efficient private welfare system. Keeping in line with the principle of the retreat of the state as advocated in international structural adjustment programs, wa^/promoters wanted the common welfare to rely on civil society and not depend on the state (League of Islamic Universities 1998, 121) ,26 According to them, it was the loss of traditional Islamic institutions, such as the waqf, that caused the political and economic decline of Islamic societies (Islamic Benevolent Society 2000, 12-21). An authentic

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Islamic state should not take on social functions or impose redistribution through a fiscal system, because the principles of the Islamic economy—if "correctly" applied—already provided for private social institutions, such as wag/and zakat (alms), for such purposes, and these institutions operate well without state interference thanks to wealthy and pious individuals (Islamic Benevolent Society 2000,18; League of Islamic Universities 1998, 213). For instance, the proceedings of a conference organized by the Union of Islamic Universities at the University of Port Said, explained: The waqfsystem is in harmony with the principle of economic freedom, which was historically at the basis of the Islamic economy. Islamic governments, in fact, could not intervene in the activities of the individual and the Islamic state did not have any economic role or activities, contrary to what is happening today. The waqf system allowed, on the one hand, to redistribute wealth from the rich to the poor and, on the other, to support public utilities, such as mosques, hospitals and schools that must not, in a true Islamic state, be a government duty. (League of Islamic Universities 1998,102) From this perspective the development of the "bureaucratic-authoritarian state" (cf. O'Donnell 1973) in the 19505 and 19608 represented a deviation from the true nature of the Islamic state. The true nature was perceived as being in line with the "liberal-pluralist model" (Bayumi Ghanim 1998, 494)—a model that, according to this reading, was only recently borrowed by the West but originated in Islamic principles and institutions. These arguments resemble earlier, opposite attempts to trace the roots of Arab socialism back to Islam, which then provided a religious legitimation for state intervention.27 In a similar vein but in the opposite direction, the movement for the revival of the institution of waqf is part of a new understanding of Islamic principles, this time in line with the international neoliberal discourse but also with a new political trend inside Egyptian Islamism, of which a good example could be the Wasat Party, founded in 1996.28 The Wasatiya movement (Stacher 2002) and the movement for the revival of the wag/are a visible expression of the moderate Islamic bourgeoisie searching for new spaces of autonomy. They are not allowed to be formally represented, but they are able to convey their message so long as it is in harmony with broader regime policies. So far, the new promotion of waqf docs not seem to have caused largescale new endowments—although there are some examples29—or a new waqf reform. Instead, in what seems to be a common phenomenon in Egypt, the

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old awqafwere returned to their former private administrators or to their descendants30 through a more flexible interpretation of existing laws.31 Such restitutions have acquired more importance since the promulgation of Laws 96 (1992) and 4 (1996), which deregulated the rent and sale prices of agricultural land and real estate (Dupret and Bernard-Maugiron 2002). These new laws were the result of a long process, initiated by Sadat, that gradually dismantled Nasser's agrarian reform32 and led to the immediate rise of land and real estate prices and, consequently, also of wag/properties.33 The increased value of existing waqf properties triggered the interest of former waqf administrators in recovering their properties, and a few successful cases were mentioned in the press.34 Yet it is important to note that waqf restitutions are not at all systematic. To my knowledge, no law is being prepared to restore the pre-Nasser waqf system;35 rather, the Ministry of Awqaf seems to arbitrarily allocate some awqafto specific individuals or associations. In doing so, it follows a clientelistic logic similar to how the regime acted in other cases of public sector privatization or in granting state licenses. Moreover, these restitutions can, at any time, be reversed36 by the ministry, which remains—pursuant to present regulations—the sole arbiter of all waqf matters. THE WAQF REVIVAL AND STATE-SOCIETY DICHOTOMOUS APPROACHES

Throughout its history the significance of waqf has been inversely related to state power. As I have demonstrated, this is particularly true in the twentieth century: The institution found itself in decline and losing autonomy as the state increased its power (modern nation-state formation—etatism) and, on the contrary, was rediscovered and revived when the state faced a crisis and an externally induced decentralization process (state retreat-economic reform). Political science has analyzed the phenomena of state expansion and state retreat in different ways over the last fifty years. The prevalent vision in the 19505 and 19608 accorded the state a fundamental role in leading backward societies toward modernization (industrialization, secularization, middleclass formation, and eventually democratization). The great expansion of the welfare state was, according to this perspective, functional to establishing a new relationship between the state and society based on citizenship and social rights, in opposition to the former paternalistic logic of traditional religious charity. Moreover, state control of religious institutions was to lead to the

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gradual secularization of society, that is, to limiting religion to the private, personal sphere. The modern state is, accordingly, the realm of a legal rational logic, to borrow Weber's term, as opposed to a society permeated by premodern norms and values and controlled by traditional elites. From an economic viewpoint the state remains the only actor capable of catching up in modernization with the industrialized countries and of leading the private sector, which is otherwise blinded by short-term interests. According to this perspective, the waqfis a premodern, traditional institution leading to arbitrary resource allocation and economic stagnation.37 In this reading its gradual decline around the turn of the twentieth century was the unavoidable and desirable consequence of a modernization process carried out by the state. By contrast, its revival, starting in the 19708, indicates a return to the past and to tradition, the result of a failure in the developmental process and of the emergence of Islamism. This revival signifies a denial of the modern European state model in favor of an ideal traditional communitarian model. But the paradigm of the omnipotent developmental state has since changed. The neoliberal trend of the 19808 and 19908 depicts the state as a Leviathan, or—in the Middle Eastern case—a praetorian state, heir to the Mamluks, a place for hierarchical and authoritarian relationships that represses society, which is, in turn, regarded as the realm of equitable relationships regulated by the forces of the free market and for potential democratic participation (civil society). In the context of the free market promotion of the last two decades, the retreat of the state from its economic and redistributive functions is perceived as the end of bureaucratic interference and arbitrary authoritarian power and the ascent of a more efficient and rational private sector. From this liberal perspective the decline of the institution ofwaqfand the nationalization of wag/properties during the 19508 and 19608 could be interpreted as caused by the authoritarian regimes' need to control every aspect of the local society and economy. The recent revival could thus be welcomed as the sign of a general reinforcement of independent social institutions that might even pave the way for further economic reform and political liberalization. To no one's surprise, this last interpretation is also the one provided by the Egyptian wag/promoters themselves. Both of the approaches mentioned—pro-state and anti-state—pose some problems of interpretation or explanation when applied to Egypt. Although apparently antithetic, the two approaches are actually based on a common

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framework that distinguishes state and society as two opposite poles. The basis of this analytical framework is a normative definition of the state, existing a priori, that emphasizes the institutional-formal aspect or visible side of the state and separates it clearly from society. Hence, apart from the negative or positive interpretation of "the state" in both approaches, public sector expansion has a certain logic or rationale thanks to its institutions, independent of the historical or geographic context. Vice versa, the retreat of the state automatically implies a loosening of its control on society, for better or worse. What I question in this common frame is the notion of the state as a cohesive and homogeneous actor implementing rational policies, somehow separate from the individuals and social groups who hold political power and from society at large.38 In fact, the state is more than the sum of its institutions and functions. Rather, I agree with Timothy Mitchell (1991), who argues that the perception of the state as an institution separate from society is an effect of the specific political-institutional arrangement typical of the modern state but that this arrangement can hide very different political dynamics. If we limit our analysis to the formal definition of state, we would, for example, interpret phenomena such as corruption and clientelism in the public administration as a sign of state weakness or as an infiltration of premodern social norms in an otherwise modern system. Instead, I argue that these phenomena can also be part of the logic of a political system—even a modern one—and are then indicative of the efficiency of a system of power, not of its weakness. Hence the state (and its relation to society) needs to be conceptualized in terms that are different from both the neoliberal and the modernization theoretical frameworks. Beatrice Hibou has hinted at a crucial point. When trying to analyze political processes concretely, it is impossible to separate the state from power and from ruling elites: "In order to understand the state you need to understand the actors in power and, more importantly, their actions, strategies and historical practices.... It is impossible to separate in concrete terms the economy from politics, private interests from public interests and the general from the specific" (Hibou 1999, 36). Governing elites or relevant groups form their alliances and fight their battles across the analytic divide between state and society. The state is not therefore a single actor but rather a special setting for action and an arena of conflicts over political and economic supremacy (Tripp 2001). The second remark taken from Hibou's work is that, in order to understand

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the expansion or retreat of the public sector, we should distinguish between state functions and state capacity, that is, between formal state institutions, on one side, and effective state control, on the other (Hibou 1999, 38-39). The state, if understood as a system of power, can extend its control beyond its formal institutions. For instance, the state can give up certain formal functions, such as production or redistribution, but can still maintain its control over the economy, simply exerting it in a different way. Or else, the appearance of extrastate actors, apparently in opposition to or competition with the state itself, can also be interpreted as a redeployment of the state through new strategies.39 Consequently, the Egyptian regime's recent retreat from its redistributive functions and the contemporaneous emergence of religious charity may not necessarily be a symptom of state weakness or of the appearance of antagonist actors, understood either positively as civil society or negatively as Islamic fundamentalism. In fact, this would be the case—and only then!—if such actors actually challenged existing power relations and patterns of resource distribution and presented an alternative model. Yet my call for attention to power variables rather than to formal public or private institutions could be criticized for blurring the distinction between state and society, public and private. The fundamental question of defining the relationship between state and society seems to be resolved by avoiding the issue. In this respect, Mitchell (1991) argues that it is more accurate and useful to look at the distinction between state and society as internally defined by the individual political system in question rather than as fixed and universal. What is part of the state and what is not, public and private, are incessantly changing categories and the product of historically varying power struggles. Paradoxically, the changing value-laden judgments attached to the public and private sectors by scholarly literature in different times prove this point: They might themselves reflect changing power relations at the international level. The study of the contemporary history of waqf exemplifies my argument. Its recent revival does not necessarily mean that private actors were challenging the state, taking advantage of its crisis, or regaining the autonomy they had lost under Nasser. Rather, it demonstrates that broader transformations are under way in the country, redefining what belongs to the private and what belongs to the public. This process is essential to understanding Egyptian politics because it is to the advantage of certain social groups that use state and social institutions to promote their interests (and, obviously, to the detriment of others who lack the capabilities to do so). The recent history of waqf in

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Egypt thus provides one pertinent example of a more general move from the Nasserist distributive logic and his mobilization of lower social strata (granting public social services, land distribution, etc.) to a more exclusivist model, which goes together with the (re-)Islamization of society but also with global economic and political trends. Seen in this light, the traditional stand that portrays the Islamic charitable sector and the Islamic opposition behind it as necessarily antagonistic to the state should be revisited. In fact, this assumption would hold true only if the so-called social Islam were effectively able to form new elites, form independent values, or create a social milieu in which new political practices and power conceptions were elaborated. Otherwise, the evidence presented here suggests that it is more likely to remain largely under the control of the regime, taking part in the process of reformulation of the state's role but not questioning existing political and economic hierarchies. These considerations become more important as the political arrangements put in place in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, such as the welfare state, are questioned not only in the Middle East but elsewhere too. In the end, the two worlds—the West and Islam, to use an unfortunate current expression—depicted today as extremely different and distant, have far more in common than a superficial analysis might suggest.

9

STATE BUILDING, LIBERALIZATION FROM ABOVE, AND POLITICAL LEGITIMACY IN THE SULTANATE OF OMAN Marc Valeri

JULY 2007 marked the beginning of the thirty-eighth year of Sultan Qaboos's rule in Oman. No Arab ruler has stayed in power longer, except for Libya's Colonel Qaddhafi. The sultan's durability has been accompanied by tremendous and unparalleled economic and social expansion. When Qaboos bin Sa'id overthrew his father in 1970 with the help of British advisers, he inherited a territory without a state and proclaimed the "beginning of a new era."1 His room to maneuver with regard to the British was reduced to a minimum, and so was his legitimacy vis-^-vis the Omani population. Against this background the sociopolitical stability that has characterized the sultanate for almost forty years now stands out even more, giving the impression of unanimous support for the sovereign. In this chapter, which is based on empirical material, I analyze how the new sultan built his own legitimacy by initiating a process of nation building that redefined the cultural and political references of a society formerly rooted in the traditional 'asabiyya2 (tribe, ethnolinguistic group, and community).3 To this end, Sultan Qaboos used the homogenizing power of a central state to promote the conception of an Omani nation, which made his rule appear more legitimate and natural. Over the past decade the sultan has complemented the nation-building process with political liberalization from above. Presented as the modern reformulation of an alleged Omani tradition, such window dressing ultimately strengthens the position of the sultan within his paternalistic regime.

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BUILDING AN OMAN I NATIONAL IDENTITY

Qaboos financed his nation-building endeavors with Oman's oil rent, a godsend that enabled him to implement an extensive redistribution system, or "allocation state" (Luciani 1987, 69). The primary goal was to replace the 'asabiyyat (pl.)> traditional sources of legitimacy that were dwarfed, however, by the new state's resources so that they could no longer provide for the protection and socioeconomic well-being of their tribesmen. The allocation state created a public sphere that offered an inexhaustible pool of jobs open to skilled and nonskilled individuals alike. These new civil servants, employed in the national army, the police, the intelligence service, the ministries, and governmental services, would hardly turn against the regime because they depended on it for their survival. Moreover, the health and education systems played a key role in legitimizing the new national ideology. By teaching the same cultural-symbolic repertoire in all schools across the country (excluding international schools),4 tribal differences became less important, whereas the intergenerational gap was reinforced as new generations cultivated more homogeneous values. Broadly, services once provided by the 'asabiyya at a considerable social cost were now offered promptly and for free by an allocation state that penetrated every aspect of daily life, not only as an employer providing income to at least one member of every family in its plethoric administration but also through new uniform means of information and communication (television, radio, etc.). The supersession of the local communities reached all strata of society and affected not only young men but also women to whom jobs were offered in the public service as teachers and nurses. The social activities of the tribesmen, formerly restricted to the village and its vicinity, broadened into larger networks. The Muscat agglomeration, which grew from 40,000 inhabitants to more than 500,000 within twenty years, best illustrates the resulting rural exodus. This process, in turn, furthered the homogenization of social and religious references within a national frame, at the expense of former 'asabiyya ties. This nationalization of the citizenry went hand in hand with a process of setting Omanis apart from foreigners. Tough preconditions were instituted, for instance, for obtaining Omani citizenship or for marrying a non-Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) foreigner5 in order to foster the citizen's identification with an "Omanity" perceptible at first glance.

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REINVENTING A NATIONAL HERITAGE AND HISTORY

Although official historiography emphasizes the ruler's actions, the coincidence of the beginning of oil exploitation in Oman and Qaboos's rise to power is never mentioned. This omission is obviously aimed at downplaying the crucial role of the oil rent upon which the country's development hinges. With 80 percent of the population never having known any ruler other than Sultan Qaboos, it is easy for the sultan to portray himself as the embodiment of modern Oman in general and of the 1970 renaissance (nahdd) ideology in particular. Indeed, the Omani nation not only is defined by an inviolable territory represented materially and symbolically by a splendorous state but is also built on the negation of the country's pre-i97O history, any reference to which remains taboo. Called the dark period, these times are evoked only as an antonym to the glorious national awakening of July 23,1970—the date of Qaboos's accession to the throne, later renamed Renaissance Day ('id al-nahdd). The selectivity of Oman's national memory is well illustrated by the way Omani history is taught in public schools. In the lower grades ancient history predominates (common themes are Oman's Islamization, its relations with the Persians, and the maritime empires); international history prevails in the higher grades. Twentieth-century Oman is only skimmed over, leaving a black hole between the imperial nineteenth century under the al-Busa'idi dynasty, and the nahda. In this way the post-1970 authorities seek to conceal political troubles6 and initiate political oblivion, thus undermining the legitimacy of any other subnational entity that might question Oman's national unity by referring to the past. This tailor-made historiography is embedded in a broader strategy of reinventing a national heritage (al-turath al-watani), which serves two strategic requirements. First, the official heritage must appear as consensual and leave no room for political claims or countermodels. Good examples are the terra-cotta and porcelain figures that frame the entrances to major cities; they represent animals and traditional objects of daily life, such as oryx, daggers, coffeepots, and frankincense burners. Also, the Ministry of Heritage and Culture promotes the "folklorization" of Oman's heritage (Layne 1989, 35) and stages a bygone past that is difficult to appropriate. Thus the Muscat Festival conjures up excessively archaic images of the past through dances, songs, and ceremonies that, in the younger generation, evoke nothing but a reinforcement of the amused condescension they feel for their parents' and grandparents' times. In

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a nutshell, the diversity of the country and its heritage (from the desert or the mountains, from Baluchistan or Africa) is thus merged into a uniform popular culture (al-thaqafa al-shaabiyya). The same applies to the forts of interior Oman, which date from the Imamate period and have been converted into national symbols illustrating postcards, stamps, and banknotes. Recently renovated, the forts are now called "rebuilt" so as to cut off their connection to the past and silence their historical testimony to the younger generations. One notable exception in this regard is the former tribal fiefs of Jebel Akhdar that were bombed by the British air force (Tanuf) or were the site of fierce fighting in the 19505 (al-Ghafat). As manifest accounts of the almost divine punishment that swoops down on anyone who disobeys the sultan's orders, these villages have been left carefully untouched. The selective reading of Oman's history does not stop at religion, which is used to strengthen a feeling of national unity and consequently the legitimacy of the authorities. While the country's territory has been influenced by both Ibadism and the demographic exchange that gave rise to diverse interpretations of Islam, the government soon began to promote a consensual and "generic Islam" (Eickelman 1990, 117) that is peculiar to Oman and neglects both the controversial past and foreign influence. This promotion enables the authorities to maintain a feeling of repulsion among the population against what they call "political interpretations foreign to peaceful Omani Islam" and to justify the recurring arrests of "Islamic militants" and other "extremists," as in May 19947 and January 2005.8 By establishing national standards for sermons, the Ministry of Religious Affairs seeks to dilute the differences between the Ibadi and Sunni schools of Islam; believers of both pray together. In most important towns (Ruwi, Bawshar, Bahla, Suhar, Sur, Salalah, etc.), the historical buildings of older mosques are supplanted by new Sultan Qaboos mosques in order to promote an Islam in line with the sultan and his mufti. By re-creating a national identity within the framework of an omnipresent state and by unifying cultural and religious references, Qaboos has legitimized his paternalistic authority. The untouchable pantheon encompassing Oman's renaissance, the state apparatus, and its supreme figure, the sultan, cannot be touched without putting into question the entire nation building. In fact, the state apparatus, which has come to be equated with Oman in the official ideology because of its role in the country's development over the last thirty years, is personified by the ruler who has become the subject of a genuine personality cult. All major contemporary urban achievements bear the sultan's

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name: the capital's main highway that connects the city's quarters in a metaphoric hyphen, the Muscat and Salalah hospitals, the most modern mosques, the university, the wealthier areas of the capital where occidental expatriates and the local high bourgeoisie reside, and so on. This omnipresence of the ruler is completed by his effigy on banknotes, his portrait in most houses' majlis, and in every shop. Furthermore, every news bulletin on the radio or TV begins with an announcement of the decrees issued, the visits made, and the telegrams received and sent by Qaboos, and the night session ends with the national anthem in his praise. Each year on National Day (the sultan's birthday on November 18) the street lamps of the major avenues are decorated with his portrait and Omani flags for the whole month of November. Qaboos's ubiquity in his subjects' most contingent preoccupations is paradoxically coupled with rare appearances in the media, because political decisions and official visits are usually managed by a minister or special representative. This discretion adorns the ruler with a halo of mystery and enhances his distance from the people, lifted only on a few well-staged occasions, such as the prominent annual tour, which I discuss later. INCORPORATING THE OMANI POLITICAL TRADITION INTO THE STATE

Since 1970, Omani authorities have sought to adapt tradition in general and the local solidarity networks in particular to the functional necessities of the rentier state. This process has taken the form of both a readaptation of Oman's social legacy to modern-day requirements and its re-creation from a mold that makes sense to the modern consciousness. Moreover, it takes place within the state, through the state (i.e., through its apparatus), and for the state (to create or consolidate powerful positions within it). The state thus lies at the heart of the resurgence of old cultural references in Oman. A permanent feature of the sultan's political strategy has been the cooptation of the traditional elites into the state, thereby reaping the benefits of their legitimacy while bringing them under his control. The regime's entire internal policy has been geared toward the elimination of potential competitors in the market of ideologies and values; this elimination implies that traditional subnational groups are supposed to be supplanted as supreme signifiers of identity. To achieve this elimination, the new ruler had to incorporate the most powerful societal groups (prominent tribal leaders, religious 'ulama, and old

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merchant families) into the political system; he managed to undermine their capacity to challenge his rule while rounding off his military victories with symbolic supremacy. The sultan therefore hastened to proclaim a general amnesty toward his and his father's former political opponents during the Jebel Akhdar and Dhofar wars.9 In the course of this skillful maneuver, which prevented the respected notables from feeling humiliated and dissenting from the new regime, these groups were offered top positions to contain them in Muscat and cut them off from their traditional power bases. Sultan Qaboos's treatment of the merchant families is yet another example of his co-optation policy. As former allies of Sultan Sacid, the major Muscat trading families retained a hegemonic position after ip/o.10 In addition, their early alliance with the new ruler ensured them the protection of the political authorities, the latter's noninterference in the business sphere, and privileged access to the oil godsend through public contracts. In return, the merchant families helped the ruler to finance his nation-building endeavors. Seen in this light, Sultan Qaboos's rule perpetuates rather than interrupts the path of Oman's socioeconomic history in the twentieth century. Because Sultan Qaboos has never been able to rely on his small ruling family politically, he has aligned himself with the traditional political and merchant elites, granting a general amnesty to the political elite and giving strategic positions to secure public contracts and control over the distribution of the oil wealth to the merchants. In contrast to other rentier states in the Gulf, in which the ruling families interfere heavily in the economic sector and the merchant elites are excluded from the sphere of decision making (Crystal 1995), Oman's financial and economic elites have long had a significant influence on the political decision-making process.11 The Al Sa id family, in contrast, has never occupied any important economic positions. This strategy has increased both the elites' dependency on the state and the stability of Sultan Qaboos's rule, because the economic survival of the trading families has become indissolubly linked with his political destiny as a ruler. The symbolic debt imposed on the merchant elites by Qaboos at the beginning of his rule (when he relied on their finances to consolidate his authority) has thus gradually turned into a weapon in his hands, forestalling any challenges to his reign by turning the most powerful societal forces into unfailing allies. The new state also hastened to integrate the small notability into the bureaucratic hierarchy. For instance, the tribal sheikhs, remunerated as state employees, act as intermediaries between individuals and the public admin-

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istration in the solution of smaller disputes. Moreover, since 1970 the Ministry of Interior has required the signature of a sheikh to attest to an individual's affiliation with or membership in a tribe. The exhaustive list of individuals allowed to hold the prestigious title of tribal sheikh is laid down by the Direction for Tribal Affairs of the same ministry. Thus no social legitimacy or recognition remains beside that granted by the state, which has absorbed the traditional social structures not by destroying them but rather by depriving them of any autonomous symbolic meaning. Another example of the instrumentalization of tradition by the Omani authorities is the sultan's annual travel across the country (al-jawla al-sanawiyya). Performed by the ruler since 1975, this tour is supposed to revive the customary practice of Muslim princes visiting their entire territory and meeting the people (al-iltiqay bi-abna' shaabuh). However, this tradition is merely reinvented and was never practiced before Qaboos, therefore bearing witness less to the past than to the regime's pervasive personalization. Despite this, thousands of people prepare for this event weeks in advance and line up along the route of the royal cortege, decked with Omani flags when it arrives. With dances, songs, and enthusiastic demonstrations, many groups vie with each other for "cheerfulness" and testimonies of allegiance to the regime in order to bring the procession to a halt and receive the greeting of the sultan. At regular intervals the sovereign stops and crouches on a carpet to listen to the complaints of his subjects and to ask them about their preoccupations. On these occasions the local nobility is arranged in a semicircle facing the shaykh al-mashayikh ("sheikh of the sheikhs"). For the local notables this ceremony is of huge political importance because it "symbolizes the allegiance of the kingdom's elite to the person and institution of the monarch" (Anderson i99ia, 9). In addition, it serves as a test of the loyalty of all regional groups as well as their capacity to mobilize followers, and it also helps the sultan to maintain a certain degree of uncertainty regarding the informal hierarchy of the different local groups within the state, which is subject to revision every year. The result is a competition that no group can escape. This is also the reason that Qaboos chooses this tour as the setting for long-awaited political announcements (especially on local development), which are then presented as discretionary arbitrations, that is, favors granted at the sultan's pleasure. Last but not least, this "open parliament" (barlaman maftuh) is one of the rare opportunities for the citizens and local elites to put into question the

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ministers' absolute discretion over the execution of the country's policies. Consequently, such instances of "direct democracy, represented by the direct meeting between the chief and his people"12 are taken badly by these officials, who are forced to accompany the sultan and face the people's critique for several weeks. Because Qaboos's legitimacy is fundamentally rooted in making himself indispensable as a mediator between the respective interests of the different sociopolitical forces (such as local and central elites or the people and the government), an arbitrary component transcends his government that goes beyond patrimonialism and borders on sultanism, as described by Max Weber (1978, 232). Last, this combination of arbitrariness and tradition breeds a feeling of distance from and fear of the sultan, both of which are prerequisites for obedience. Mixing Modern Institutions and Sultanistic Rule

Another facet of the Omani regime's anchorage in a reinvented tradition becomes apparent in its institutional responses to challengers of its legitimacy. For instance, like previous political reforms, the first constitutional law (Sultanate of Oman 1996) can be interpreted as a royal allowance to the Omani subjects rather than a negotiated concession. The decree bears no reference to any entity beside the sultan (such as the nation or Allah). Allah is mentioned only in Article 7 and Article 50, which specifies the oath made by the ruler before taking power. As the head of state and the supreme commander of the armed forces (Article 41), the sultan is the "custodian of national unity." His person is inviolable and not subject to the law. It is the citizens' duty to respect him, and his orders must be obeyed. Article 42 enumerates some of his powers, especially those of promulgating and ratifying laws. Article 44 establishes that the sovereign is to be assisted and advised by the Council of Ministers, which is responsible for the execution of the state's general policies (as determined by the sultan). The Council of Ministers can submit recommendations and proposals to the sultan, who is then free to choose whether or not to follow them (Paragraph i). The nation's honor is emphasized on several occasions, particularly in the context of education, which is supposed to "create a generation strong in structure and morality, proud of its nation [umma], of its homeland [watan] and of its heritage, and able to defend its experience" (Article 13, Paragraph 2). Preserving national unity and safeguarding the nation are the duties of every citizen (Article 12, Paragraph 2; Article 14, Paragraph i; Article 38), with the

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defense of the nation becoming a holy duty (Article 37). The national heritage is to be promoted and protected by the state (Article 13, Paragraph 4). Article 53 of the constitutional law introduces the notion of a conflict of interest between the government and the economic sphere. In particular, it stipulates that the members of the Council of Ministers must refrain from using their positions to promote any personal interests. Because the financial and merchant elites who rose to power after the coup d'etat had never before the late 19908 been forced to choose between wealth and politics, Article 53 was much welcomed in Oman, although it did not effect any real change in government, as was exemplified by the appointment of businessman Juma'a C AH Juma'a to the new post of minister of manpower in December 2001. Finally, the law's Basic Statute proposes a paternalistic conception of the state whose "guiding light" is the sultan. It is the sultan who is responsible for the country's development, the symbol of its unity, and the embodiment of the services without which daily life would become unimaginable for many Omanis. Although the law has all the legal and political attributes of modernity as commonly understood in the twenty-first century, it is in full keeping with a tradition of clan patriarchs whose authority and arbitration is binding for all tribesmen and whose task it is to protect and provide maintenance for the members of the 'asabiyya. The Elections of 2003

The first top-down initiative to consult Oman's civil society was launched in April 1979 with the creation of the Council of Agriculture, Fisheries, and Industry. Dissolved in October 1981, the Council handed its duties over to the State Consultative Council (SCC). As the title implies, this assembly, composed of forty-five members appointed for two years by royal decree, had no legislative power. Rather, the SCC was used by the sultan to integrate newly emerging sociopolitical forces (among them religious figures and technocrats) into a game he could control, thereby acknowledging their existence without taking any political risk. More broadly, the purpose of the assembly was to co-opt local elites into the state, a process Dale Eickelman has called a shaykhocracy (Eickelman 1984, 59). Nine years later, on the occasion of the twentieth anniversary of his coup d'etat, the sultan announced the replacement of the SCC by the Consultative Council (Majlis al-Shura). The new assembly was composed of fifty-nine members—each representing one wilaya—and a president appointed by the

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sultan. As for the members, 500 esteemed individuals were gathered in each constituency to select three candidates, one of whom was then chosen by the sultan. In October 2003, on the occasion of the renewal of the Consultative Council, the delegates' mandate was extended from three to four years. The true innovation, however, lay in the introduction of universal suffrage in the country's first "free" elections, although several measures were taken by the authorities to prevent the rise of new social forces. For instance, the authorities tried to depoliticize the elections by limiting them to local or personal concerns and holding them on the local level. All voters, in particular those residing in the capital, were strongly encouraged to vote in their native wilayas. Moreover, it was forbidden to put to vote any general topic (such as the role of religion in society or the division of powers), to organize public campaigns, or to campaign jointly with a candidate from another wilaya—limitations that made the elaboration of comprehensive political strategies virtually impossible. The different campaigns thus remained essentially restricted to the majlisof the tribal sheikhs, door-to-door politics, and personal networks. It is also striking that not a single member of the royal family, the noble lineages of the al-Busacidi tribe, or the leading merchant families was to be found among the candidates, which ensured that election results could not be interpreted as a referendum on the authorities' general politics. It is not surprising that in most wilayas the voters based their choice on primordial solidarities; because no rational way of deciding between the candidates existed, they logically resorted to natural cohesion. This tendency was reinforced by the format in which the candidates' names were given: first name, father's first name, grandfather's first name, great grandfather's first name, tribe's name. Clientelism (al-mahsubiyya) and personal relations (alma arif al-shakhsiyya) but also the sheikh's support for a certain candidate were thus the most important determinants of choice. The results of the October 2003 elections did not lead to any major upheavals. Despite the government's intensive media campaign to encourage the citizens to "exert their right to vote," only 32 percent of the population older than 21 years of age (among them 36% women) registered, and 75 percent of these (i.e., 24% of all adult citizens) voted in the first open elections in Omani history. In Muscat the voting was marked by high disinterest, because most individuals with no tribal affiliations did not participate. Only 30 percent of registered voters went to the polls in some areas of the capital, in particular,

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in areas characterized by rapid urbanization and low living standards. My personal interviews revealed a candidly cynical attitude (especially among younger people) toward a political spectacle whose shortcomings have not gone unnoticed. Few young people believe that the Consultative Council members have the capacity to improve their daily lives. The mass abstention illustrates the widespread refusal to endorse a political institution that has no real power and is perceived as a caricature of democracy. The low voter turnout of 2003 hence indicated not a lack of interest in politics in general but, quite the contrary, a call for more meaningful political participation in Oman. Although there are fewer and fewer old sheikhs in the Consultative Council, their sons and nephews have taken over many seats in the new assembly, in particular among the representatives of the interior provinces, Musandam and Dhofar. Without doubt the rural regions remain overrepresented in the Consultative Council because of the way its members are chosen. The most outstanding example is the Dhofar governorate (150,000 nationals), in which eight out of ten delegates are elected outside the regional capital, Salalah, where two-thirds of the region's total population live. Despite the preeminence of conservative and rural forces in the Consultative Council, Sultan Qaboos decided to set up another chamber, the State Council, in 1996. Eleven years later, the State Council is composed of fiftynine members (including nine women) appointed by the sultan for a term of four years. The council members are recruited from among former ministers and undersecretaries, retired officers and judges, businessmen, and "any person the Sultan considers good to see sitting in the assembly."13 The extreme caution that Sultan Qaboos used in setting up this assembly reflects both his instrumentalization of the State Council and its role in the depoliticization process initiated by the Consultative Council. The State Council formalizes the integration of the major sociopolitical forces (tribes, leading merchants, etc.) into the state apparatus; whereas the elites' prestige used to be decoupled from the post-1970 nation-state, it is now fully at the regime's disposal and contributes to the authorities' legitimation. The creation of the State Council resulted not least from the ruler's suspicion against the political freedom granted to the Consultative Council, an institution based on popular suffrage. In practice, it is the job of the State Council to counterbalance the Consultative Council, which seems more independent from the ruler's will because of its broader basis of support. Both

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the assembly's nominating mechanism and its composition ensure the unfailing loyalty of the State Council to the sultan. Finally, like the Consultative Council, the State Council serves to draw a clear line between the royal family and the national elites (merchant families, regime allies, etc.) on the one hand, and the rest of the citizenry (including the local elites) on the other. As a matter of fact, the Consultative Council elections forced the local elites to surrender their traditional prestige to the nation. If a local notable won the election, his power was strengthened, to the benefit of the central state to which he became the intermediary with society. If the notable was defeated, his lot lay in the hands of the sultan, whose paternal benevolence could grant him a seat in the State Council, thereby making his dependence on royal goodwill complete. NEW SOCIAL AND ECONOMIC CHALLENGES TO LEGITIMACY

Behind the image that the authorities have so far succeeded in upholding, it is becoming increasingly clear that the etat de grace experienced by the sultanate since 1970 is coming to an end. All strata of society are affected by growing anxiety, which becomes apparent in the renewal of community prejudices and the growing demands of a large part of the youth, who are the driving force behind this new dynamic within Omani society. Toward Social Repolarization?

The Omani state, both as a territory and as a scene of ambitions and encounters, has made the individuals residing in it aware of their origin, social class, and language—in a word, their identity. Whereas until the 19708 the only available reference of identity was the tribe or local group, the new nation initiated encounters with fellow countrymen whose values were different. One Omani from the country's interior who studied at Sultan Qaboos University between 1990 and 1994 admitted, "Until the second academic year, I did not know that in Oman there were differences between the Muslims—Ibadis, Sunnis and Shias."14 Today, however, religious polarizations are more and more exacerbated in the popular discourse. One Sunni housewife, a thirtyyear-old native of Muscat, complains about the evolution of her town, regarding the Ibadis of the interior as the main culprits: "Since ten years ago, Muscat has changed. These people who come from the interior to work here are not educated, they have no money and they are very religious. Their way

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of life has changed a lot but their mentality has not evolved at all; they want to implement the same rules in their village and here. For example, I can no longer go out without the hijab; it bothers my husband but it is impossible to do otherwise."15 The crucial point here is not so much the validity of the woman's statement but rather her perception of the country's interior and its inhabitants— with similar mistrust existing on the other side as well. The withdrawal into narrow identities has given rise to the repolarization of Omani society, with two distinct types of 'asabiyya serving as the main markers of difference: first, primordial ones "whose existence and mode of operation precede the setting up of a state society [but] use it to their own advantage" (Roy 1994, 270); and second and more interesting, new 'asabiyyat that have their raison d'etre in the state and are based on relational definitions of the "real Omani" and the "other." The outward appearance of these modern 'asabiyyat is broadly shaped by traditional symbolic categories, whereas in reality they are inherently linked with the state (Roy 1994, 270). Although the criteria of differentiation of these new 'asabiyyat, like vernacular language, are independent of genealogy or ethnicity, they adopt the same survival strategies as the traditional ones, for example, nepotism in employment or endogamy. The administrative division of Oman into eight geographic entities around regional centers with developmental potential, such as Nizwa, Sur, and Suhar, in 1990 contributed to the emergence of new regional solidarities. Through the establishment of local administrative branches and educational facilities (e.g., technical training centers), these towns, which used to be tribal strongholds until 1970, underwent large-scale development. Further changes resulted from the rural exodus, which disrupted the social structures of these towns. Through demographic blending, local identities became diluted with regional ones. Consequently, the tribe or village is now less important for the younger generations in identifying the members of other groups. Based on social networks that developed in the regional centers, new regional identities have emerged all over the country (e.g., dakhli, "from the interior"; sharqi, "from the east"). These solidarities gave rise to a new trend of nepotism, which is no longer based exclusively on kin but also on regional professional and educational networks. Although Oman's civil society remains embryonic, some indicators hint at the citizens' will to express their opinions on domestic and international issues. This trend diametrically refutes the official propaganda of a "virgin"

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sultanate that is untroubled by public debate because of unanimous support for its benign sovereign, who protects those entrusted to him from all worldly hazards. For instance, important demonstrations took place during the Iraq crisis of spring 2003. Turning more against the Americans and the British than against the war itself, the slogans16 revealed a high degree of exasperation among the population, particularly the young. Geared indirectly toward the ruler, they displayed disagreement with the government's allocation of the oil rent, with Oman's military expenditures ranking among the highest even in the Gulf. Another indication of a growing awareness of international debates in Oman is the rising appeal of religious and conservative ideas, whose prevalence has risen constantly among young people. As in Egypt or Iran twenty years ago, various factors have contributed to the Islamization of daily life, such as economic difficulties, religious charities granting assistance to the underprivileged and to recent returnees from East Africa and Baluchistan, the widespread perception of a growing gap between those who have access to oil rent and the majority who do not, and finally, the lack of a means of public expression. The protests are subtle but obvious, manifesting themselves in dress codes (such as a dishdasha, which reaches the ankle, or an Ibadi turban ['imrna]', for women, the niqab replacing the hijab), in the popularity of radio and TV programs advocating the strict observance of the Shari'a, and in other phenomena of daily life (long beards, student protests against music at universities, etc.). Challenges on the Job Market

The Omani authorities' efforts to diversify their sources of revenue by investing in the tourist industry, gas exploitation, and other industrial sectors bear witness to the fact that the regime has woken up to the new challenges. However, one major challenge that underlies all others is the Omanization of jobs, an initiative introduced at the 1995 national conference, "Oman 2020: Vision for Oman's Economy," as part of the struggle against youth unemployment. In December 2001 the issue became so acute that the Ministry of Manpower was created. Today, the national challenge of Omanization has brought mixed results. In the public sector, which covers 15 percent of all salaried jobs, the share of nationals has reached more than 83 percent, with shares of 90 percent and higher in Omantel, the semipublic phone company, and the Central Bank. In the pri-

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vate sector the government's provisions seem to have been efficient in some subsectors, such as small merchandise and service shops in rural regions, which offer jobs to shopkeepers, foodstuff managers, and so on. Some branches have reached Omanization rates greater than 80 percent, such as the oil industry and the banking sector. For the last four years the Ministry of Manpower has regularly announced the full Omanization of low- and unskilled work. However, the share of the national workforce registered in the private sector was 18 percent in February 2007, one reason being that rising overall rates of employment usually attract more expatriates as well, because the number of job positions are usually doubled. In the private sector a rising number of employees (currently 59%) earn less than 120 rials (US $310) per month, the official minimum salary of nationals working in the private sector. Although official numbers indicate that more than 60,000 Omanis under the age of twenty-four were currently looking for a job in 2003,17 that is, 22 percent of this age group, an official at the Ministry of Manpower has estimated in private that the real unemployment rate is close to 30 percent for the whole national population.18 The situation is aggravated further by those roughly 50,000 young people who leave secondary school and enter the job market every year. Omanization will have a large impact on the country in the midterm, far beyond the economic realm. However, a major conflict of interest has hitherto remained unresolved because political and economic competencies are still in the same hands. The regime's leading figures must reconcile the public interest they promote as political decision makers (such as the policy of Omanization) with the particular interests they defend as businessmen. THE STABILITY OF THE OMANI MONARCHY

Inspired by Ibn Khaldun, Albert Hourani puts forward three interlinked explanations for the apparent paradox of the stability of Arab monarchical regimes: (i) a cohesive ruling group that (2) succeeds in linking its interests with those of the powerful societal groups and (3) the embedding of this alliance in a political idea that endows the rulers with legitimacy in the eyes of society (Hourani 1991, 448). In Oman, Sultan Qaboos has co-opted the country's traditional elites, that is, the capital's merchants and the tribal political leaders, into the state system because he could not rely on his small family. Thus he has managed to turn potential outsiders into his most loyal defenders. This strategy could not have been successful without a national ideology that united all factions of Oman's diverse society under a single new order.

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Sultan Qaboos's legitimacy rests fundamentally on the reinvention of traditional references of identity, which link the country's economic and social development inextricably to the modernizing state (as the administrator of rent), on the one hand, and to the paternalist ruler who embodies that state, on the other. The same applies to traditional solidarity groups, which the central authorities have tried to "de-autonomize," rendering them fully dependent on a political game that the regime controls and whose rules the regime establishes. However, the old and new 'asabiyyat also attempt to reappropriate the state in their own interests, seeking power positions that can ensure their members' survival. The state is thus both the author and the object of redistribution, the framework that is reshaping and reinventing the traditional 'asabiyyat while simultaneously being reshaped by them. There can be no doubt that Sultan Qaboos has been highly successful in creating an Omani identity that has long been an empirical reality. Today, every social and political actor must make his claims and draw up his political strategy within the context of the modern Omani nation. However, this is not to say that the sultan's authority will not be questioned in the near future, especially in view of approaching challenges (such as the exhaustion of oil rent within two decades or increasing unemployment among the younger generations). Moreover, Qaboos has no heir and does not want to designate one. In conclusion, the Omani model of legitimacy described here has worked well for thirty years, but it is intimately linked to the person of Qaboos and to him only. One may therefore wonder whether the young Omani society will be willing to grant his successor the same degree of authoritative paternalism as their parents have done.

THE ECONOMY AND THE POLITY

Part 3

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LINKING ECONOMIC AND POLITICAL REFORM IN THE MIDDLE EAST The Role of the Bourgeoisie Giacomo Luciani

IT is WIDELY MAINTAINED in social sciences literature and by politicians and opinion makers that economic reform and liberalization go hand in hand with political liberalization. The exact operationalization of the link can vary. Emphasis maybe placed on the expectation that economic liberalization will precipitate political liberalization. Alternatively, respect for political freedom and the rule of law are said to be prerequisites to successful economic liberalization. The timing is frequently overlooked, with the assumption being that causality works fast. Nevertheless the connection is asserted. In contrast, the Middle East appears to negate the validity of this link, as Kienle confirms (see Chapter 14). The progressive dismantlement of the etatist regimes in almost all Arab countries has not (yet?) led to any serious push toward democratic government. Leaving aside explanations that are rooted in culture or religion (the main argument of which is exactly that the region does not behave in accordance with "normal" expectations), scholars of the political economy of the region have offered reasons to explain why this has been the case. For the oil-exporting countries in the region, the explanation has been offered primarily by the rentier state model.1 This model claims that regimes with access to significant sources of rent accruing from the rest of the world can establish their legitimacy on their distributive role and do not need democratic legitimation. Access to a source of external rent confers extraordinary resiliency on incumbent regimes even when faced with dramatic declines in 161

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economic and political fortunes, and it emasculates the will of societal forces to coalesce and press for change. The origin of democratic government is linked to the need of the state to receive economic support from society, that is, to impose taxes. Where this need does not exist or where it is largely inferior to the state's ability to distribute revenue and benefits to its people, a demand for democracy is unlikely to emerge or will be weakened.2 However, not all Arab states enjoy direct access to significant external rents.3 For those that do not, the literature has tended either to deny the reality of economic liberalization, underlining the multiple reservations about and despairingly slow pace of the process, or to insist on the controlled nature of it, which has allowed the state to manage economic liberalization in such a way as to maintain full political control (e.g., Egypt, Syria, Tunisia). It is not clear, however, whether the successful resistance to political liberalization can be anything more than tactical. In other words, although nonrentier Arab states are slow to introduce economic reforms, they are progressively liberalizing their economies, and the process is cumulative. Egypt is paramount in this respect, but Algeria is also an example. Syria obviously lags behind, whereas Jordan, Lebanon, and Morocco have always been relatively open. Slowly but surely, the incumbent regimes are losing their grip on the economy and some of the key instruments of control of society. Sooner or later the link between economic and political liberalization should become clearly visible, if it exists. Maybe, in positing the existence of this link, both social scientists and practitioners simply have assumed a speed in the reaction that is not necessarily there. This would be an important conclusion per se, because the sufficiency of promoting free trade and capital movements as a tool to promote democracy might be questioned if the link became operational only after some decades. Consider, again, Egypt: The Infitah policy was inaugurated more than thirty years ago, but we are still waiting for the democratization to follow (Kienle 2001). In both rentier and nonrentier Arab states the literature has tended to portray the business sector—or, as I prefer, the bourgeoisie—as mainly parasitical, being simply the beneficiary of rent redistribution in the rentier setting or "crony capitalist" in the context of controlled liberalization (Heydemann 2004; Sfakianakis 2000). If anything, there has been a tendency to downplay the role of the bourgeoisie (Springborg 1993) and to play up the role of an illdefined middle class, which includes the intellectuals and academics, who are more likely to openly favor democracy.

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How we view the bourgeoisie or the middle class is crucially important in this discussion, because the link between economic liberalization and political liberalization is not mechanical but is mediated by the emergence and coming to the fore of a new class—the middle class or, as I argue, the bourgeoisie—which may or may not turn out to be a promoter of democracy. This chapter is a modest attempt to bring the Prince of Denmark back on stage in this representation of Hamlet. In other words, in exploring the link between economic liberalization and political liberalization, we should focus on the issue of which social forces establish this connection and why—we should ask who are the protagonists of the play. The fact that the link can be empirically observed in some cases and not in others points to the necessity of discussing circumstances that affect the strength and vitality of the social forces that may establish this link. The failure of the expected link, or its delayed and reduced impact, can be explained by the presence of circumstances that either prevent the protagonist from appearing on the scene or delay his appearance so much that the play develops in a different direction. MIDDLE CLASS OR BOURGEOISIE?

It is frequently assumed that the protagonist of the democratization process is the middle class. The middle class per se has no other distinguishing feature except that it finds itself between a top class, comprising the elite, and a lower class, comprising the masses. The difference is based primarily on earnings. The members of the top class are very rich and/or very powerful, although the exact origin of their wealth (whether access to a source of rent, entrepreneurial abilities, the use of political power and influence for private profit, or some combination of these) is not a determining factor. The lower class is poor, and its members are constantly struggling for a living. They have no access to the level of education or information that is required to play a meaningful political role. The middle class includes all those whose income is in the middle, whether employees of the state or the private sector or self-employed; whether well-educated professionals or small entrepreneurs or rich peasants. Hence the concept of middle class differs from the definition of bourgeoisie because the latter concept distinguishes between owners of the means of production (i.e., entrepreneurs) and the rest; the bourgeoisie therefore includes a part of the top class, but not all of it,4 plus a part of the middle class (the small entrepreneurs and agricultural capitalists, the self-employed), but, again, not all of it.5

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The middle class is expected to be the key supporter of democracy out of a combination of capability and will; it has the tools to be active in politics (access to information and technical knowledge, a modest degree of financial independence) and is expected to claim a role (at least in a nonrentier setting, where their income is likely to be taxed to support the state; less so in a rentier setting). The top class, in contrast, is expected to be conservative because it benefits from the existing state of affairs. That is, its members have the capabilities but lack the will. As for the lower classes, they may have the will, but they lack the capability. Writers who stress the role of the middle class assume that democracy is brought about primarily by pressure from below, that is, by emerging strata claiming a larger political role. On the contrary, in stressing the role of the bourgeoisie, I implicitly accept the view of those who see democracy as the product of dissent and power struggles within the elite.6 The appeal of the middle class as the protagonist of our play is that it is most frequently among well-educated intellectuals and professionals that we find individuals who articulate the prodemocracy discourse. However, experience—and repeated electoral tests—tell us that the impact of such Westernized liberals on public opinion in the Arab countries is limited indeed. Within the same social structures we also find the articulation of the Islamist discourse, in more or less moderate or jihadi variants. The stereotypical profile of the Islamist is middle class—with a few crucially important bourgeois elements. The Islamist discourse has much better traction among the Arab masses than the Western liberals' prodemocracy position. If we analyze the middle class and look at the economic bases of each segment, we see that employees of the public sector ("the scribes") constitute the bulk of it. Small and medium-size enterprises are notoriously few in the Arab economies, and their owners have limited economic or political influence. The composition of the middle class may evolve as a consequence of the process of economic reform and liberalization—within which the state is expected to privatize assets and transfer functions to the private sector. However, in its initial stages and up until now, societal support for reform has been limited. It is hardly surprising that the Arab middle classes, and the scribes in particular, are in fact more often opposed to economic reform than in favor of it. They include primarily individuals who stand to lose from the transformation. "Bureaucratic resistance" to economic and political reform is the reaction of a middle class that is not accustomed to dealing with market forces and

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probably views itself as too weak and incompetent by international standards to withstand the cold currents of globalization—hence originates the populist discourse (privatization will benefit the rich and damage the poor), which becomes coupled with the nationalist instinct (we should resist globalization and not open the doors to foreign capital). The Arab countries achieved, by international standards, a relatively egalitarian distribution of income in the'i96os and 19705; that is, their middle classes are relatively large (World Bank 1995). Far from being part of the solution, this circumstance is part of the problem, because the members of the middle class, with few exceptions, are likely to resist economic reform. As for political reform, the strongest advocates of respect for human rights and free elections are the Islamists—whose definitions of both, once in power, would not conform to the internationally recognized standards. The fallacy concerning the middle class as the main character of the democratization play is logically tied to the equally flawed use of "modernization" as a tool of analysis. To speak of modernization implies that there is a universally accepted concept of modernity and that selective adoption of various aspects of what we normally consider modern is not possible. In this view modernity is an organic and interconnected set composed of technology, scientific thinking, free markets, civic conscience, human equality, good governance, democracy, and so on. But in fact the "modernity box" can be unbundled, and individuals or groups can pick and choose which aspects of it they will accept and which they will reject. Hence in many ways al Qaida and the Islamist opposition in general are modern phenomena, because they make sophisticated and effective use of technology, markets, communications, and so on. But once modernization is abandoned as a holistic concept, the grounds for expecting that the middle class will perform a reformist role—in politics and in the economy—are seriously eroded. Indeed, the middle class is more likely to become an instrument in the hands of the incumbent regime; the scribes constitute the "second stratum"7 without which the elite could not effectively govern; they are co-opted and mobilized in support of the strategy of the regime through growing institutionalization. However, this is different from being an autonomous class, capable of bargaining with the holders of power and forcing compromises. Moreover, in certain countries the separation of the bourgeoisie and the second stratum is not clear-cut. Their compenetration has always been significant in the Arab Gulf countries, where members of the most important

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bourgeois families routinely serve in key government and administrative positions. Furthermore, it is also rather common to have government bureaucrats running their own business. But if we ignore these forms of overlap for a moment, in rentier settings the bargaining power of the middle class or second stratum is especially weak because of their privileged income with respect to global market realities. That is, the average government employee is paid well above what he would get in a job in a competitive setting in the private sector or abroad. Dissent is expressed through "voice" or "exit" (Hirschman 1970):8 Voice is what eventually generates political debate and a demand for democracy, but exit can also be important if it deprives the regime of an efficient second stratum and creates a significant diaspora capable of exerting pressure from abroad. This phenomenon has been especially relevant in Latin America. But the dialectic between holders of political power and the exiled second stratum that the former wish to return from exile is key to understanding developments in many Arab countries (and Iran) as well. But members of the middle class in rentier states generally know very well that if they choose to leave the country, they may face a drastic reduction of income, because in a global comparison, their services are generally not competitive. Again, the reference here is to the average GCC (Gulf Cooperation Council) government employee. The combination of the freedom to move—in contrast to authoritarian regimes elsewhere in the world that have attempted to limit this freedom—coupled with the nonattractiveness of actually moving in the end represents a form of support of the regime and facilitates the regime's task of co-opting and reabsorbing dissent. ECONOMIC LIBERALIZATION AND THE BIRTH OF A NATIONAL BOURGEOISIE

The position and role of the bourgeoisie is altogether different, because the bourgeoisie enjoys a significant degree of autonomy from the state and can engage in a process of bargaining, albeit generally from a junior position, thus reaping concessions in the context of compromises for reform. The extent to which the bourgeoisie can play this role depends on whether it is at least partly autonomous from the state or entirely subservient. It depends, in other words, on whether the country has a strong or a weak national bourgeoisie.9 Following this line of reasoning, the crucial question is, Does economic liberalization support the birth and strengthening of an assertive national

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bourgeoisie? The birth and strengthening of a national bourgeoisie is not a necessary outcome, or, at least, the resulting bourgeoisie will be more or less strong and influential depending on the path of state encroachment on the economy and successive liberalization. It is not difficult to show that under certain circumstances economic liberalization may indeed have the effect of weakening the national bourgeoisie. Much depends on state policies toward the national bourgeoisie before liberalization and economic reform. In some Arab countries the state has moved to destroy the preexisting bourgeoisie, either because it was foreign and perceived as a colonial remnant that should be eliminated with independence10 or because, albeit national, it was not ready to invest wholeheartedly in the nationalist heavy-industry projects that the military regimes favored.11 The socialist discourse prevailed in most of the leading Arab countries in the 19505 and 19608, and the traditional bourgeoisie was almost completely destroyed.12 In contrast, in the Arab Gulf countries the state expanded its role in support of a nascent bourgeoisie. Starting from a class of merchants who were wealthy only by their own country's standards—but who had a habit of dealing internationally and who participated in traditional yet efficient international business networks13—the Arab Gulf states have created a powerful entrepreneurial class.14 This was achieved through a set of deliberate policies that are certainly not in line with the dictates of economic liberalization, primarily with respect to limiting foreign direct investment by forcing alliances with local partners, and in the allocation and management of government procurement and contracts. Interestingly enough, external trade was always quite open, and the degree of tariff protection afforded to national producers was normally quite limited. Export of capital was entirely free—a reassuring feature in the eyes of the nascent bourgeoisie. We can characterize this as the Gulf consensus, as opposed to the Washington consensus. It is an original blend of openness in areas where other countries are frequently closed (e.g., capital movements but also controlled labor inflow) and protectionism where others are frequently open (e.g., the treatment of foreign direct investors). Other Arab countries, such as Jordan and Morocco, also adopted relatively probusiness policies, but they did not have access to a source of external rent. Budgetary and economic requirements forced them to be more open to international investment. The limitation of available resources prevented the state from engaging in ambitious procurement programs, subsidies to private

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investment, provision of infrastructure, cheap energy, and other services. There were attempts to imitate the Gulf consensus, but a lack of financial resources aborted them. When the time to liberalize came, in some cases the national bourgeoisie found itself in a position to play a major role; in other cases it remained marginal. Economic reform entails the liberalization of capital movements, the opening up to imports, and the sale of state-owned enterprises. The liberalization of capital movements may signal to the bourgeoisie an opportunity to deploy their financial assets internationally. If this opportunity had been denied or severely restricted previously, the immediate outcome of the package might be a sharp increase in capital outflow. Russia in the last decade provides a clear example of this. On the contrary, if investment abroad has always been permitted, economic liberalization is likely to be viewed primarily as the opening up of new opportunities for private investment and may be accompanied by a return of some of the assets accumulated internationally. This is what we have seen happening in the Gulf. Most observers have tended to impute the repatriation of assets accumulated abroad to the impact of 9/11; however, the opening up of new investment opportunities at home surely contributed to the final outcome. The opening up to imports under conditions that were previously severely restricted will create some obvious opportunities for profit, which the state will continue to control at least in part and will allocate to individuals it intends to favor. The state in fact commonly maintains a right to grant import licenses or other forms of control of access to the import business. The initial impact may be that available savings and entrepreneurial resources are drained from domestic production and shifted into the import business. In the opposite case, in which the economy has fundamentally been open to imports for a long time and the import business was managed so as to facilitate the emergence and development of local distribution and after-sale service companies, not much of a shift should be expected. Finally, privatization can have radically different outcomes if it results in a prominent role for multinational corporations (foreign direct investment) rather than national entrepreneurs. Foreign direct investment is a positive indicator of the competitiveness of the economy, but as regards the political impact of liberalization, multinational corporations are not considered legitimate political actors in the host country, whereas national entrepreneurs are.

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Therefore privatization that results in massive investment by foreign corporations rather than by national entrepreneurs may lead to a social structure in which the bourgeoisie remains weak and control of the levers of economic power is in the hands of professional—and frequently foreign—managers. The foreign managers are unlikely to have a political agenda beyond the protection of their immediate interests and will be afraid of being accused of improperly meddling in national politics. Also, foreign managers of local multinational corporation subsidiaries rotate frequently, have limited understanding of the local political scene, and have limited identification with the host country. The other side of the coin is that whenever privatization leads to surrendering the control of national industry to foreign investors, the state is left with even less control than if the investors were national. The state can always talk to national entrepreneurs—and these are quite likely to listen because to them the relationship with the state is a long-term and multifaceted one; in contrast, foreign investors are more likely to be constrained by externally dictated rules of behavior, or benchmarks for judging performance, and will not display the same flexibility. Hence the process of privatization when the investors are primarily foreign corporations entails a greater loss of control over the economy by the state and a greater loss of society's influence on the state, or at least that component of society that is the bourgeoisie. Hence under conditions in which a national bourgeoisie has been established but in which its further development has been hindered by the excessive and pervasive role played by the state, a process of economic reform and liberalization will be seen as an opportunity for the bourgeoisie to assert itself. In contrast, if the bourgeoisie is weak, liberalization itself will not find societal support and will likely be perceived as an imposition from abroad, that is, a neocolonial design. MONEY HAS NO ODOR

Recognition of the path to the transformation of the role and significance of the national bourgeoisie is essential at this point. The business class, although initially rent seeking or crony capitalist, may with time mutate into a genuine entrepreneurial class, that is, a proper bourgeoisie. An analysis of the conditions for this transformation is key to understanding the possible impact of economic liberalization on the transformation of the political regime. There is no question that initially in all Arab countries the bourgeoisie was merely a client of the state. The process of "primitive accumulation" (Marx

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1867, bk. i, ch. 24) passes through the initial access to opportunities for gain that are controlled by the state. However, over time the grip of the state on economic opportunities is weakened. This would be the normal outcome of the process of economic development, which entails the economy's growing more complex and interrelations with the outside world through trade and financial flows. The state maintains a crucial macroeconomic role, but its ability to pick winners and losers or extend specific benefits might fade away. Quite naturally, some of the businesspeople initially favored maybe expected to prosper significantly, whereas others might prosper less. With time the successful businesspeople would tend to attribute their success to their own business acumen and appetite for risk rather than to their access to the state's generosity. This sentiment is likely to be further strengthened with the retirement of the founders' generation and the coming to the fore of a new generation, in which the qualitative difference between good and bad business instinct might be even more pronounced. The more successful entrepreneurs invest internationally and accumulate significant fortunes. Historically, it has been shown that when the Gulf economies experienced rapid growth and offered significant opportunities for wealth accumulation, the economies of the industrial countries were likely to experience slow growth. Vice versa, when the Gulf economies experienced stagnation, the industrial countries' capital markets witnessed significant asset appreciation.15 The emerging Gulf bourgeoisie has benefited from both phases. They accumulated their initial wealth in the boom years of the 19705 and 19805 and, being prevented from investing more at home by the pervasiveness of government intervention in the economy, invested a good part of the returns abroad in real estate or the major stock markets. Then the tide changed, and they gained significantly from asset appreciation in the industrial countries, to the point that their wealth and earnings abroad surpassed their wealth and earnings at home.16 Consequently, their dependence on the goodwill of their respective governments was reduced. Now the tide is changing again, and the Gulf economies are experiencing rapid growth on the back of stronger petroleum prices coupled with economic reform; the powerful bourgeois families of the region are ready to take advantage of the opportunity and invest in their countries of origin. The point about investment at home is essential and not to be taken for granted. It could have been the case that the bourgeoisie became so disillusioned with conditions at home that it lost its appetite for investing there. Indeed this is the

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case of the non-oil-producing Arab nations (Lebanon, Syria, Palestine, even Egypt), whose expatriate bourgeoisie is extremely reluctant to again engage in investment at home, notwithstanding reform and reassurances. Among businessmen in the Gulf the desire to invest at home originates from the realization that, if they become alienated from their countries of origin, they will carry no weight as major international business characters. Their international status is contingent on their remaining closely associated with their countries of origin. Also, these countries offer by far the best opportunities for investment and growth, much better than those offered by the industrial countries. The comparative advantage of the Gulf bourgeoisie lies exactly in being the protagonist in the development of the Gulf and of the Arab world more broadly, rather than in the real estate market in Mayfair, Knightsbridge, and Belgravia—although these markets also can be lucrative. Hence the Gulf bourgeoisie is, on the one hand, substantially autonomous from the state but, on the other hand, very much committed to the development of their countries of origin—and to demands from the state that it should vigorously promote it. Gulf entrepreneurs share the desire to invest at home with the Brazilian, Chinese, and Indian business diasporas with respect to their own countries of origin. It is not clear that the Russian bourgeoisie, which emerged after the collapse of the Soviet Union, is also committed to investing at home, as opposed to accumulating wealth in Swiss bank accounts. What determines the commitment of a globalized bourgeois class to its country of origin is an interesting issue for research. Culture and identity surely appear to be important components. Depending on the political regime, the demand for improved investment opportunities can be articulated differently. It is probably more subdued in China than in India. In the Gulf businesspeople have long been complaining that the state did not open up sufficient investment opportunities. The state monopolized entry into all the most promising sectors, beginning with oil. Clamoring for more investment opportunities is of course different from asking for more profit opportunities, for example, by way of government procurement. The bourgeoisie thus becomes the social base of the process of economic reform and liberalization. It does so—it is important to note—selectively, in the sense that there are components of the Washington consensus package that the bourgeoisie favors unreservedly and other components that it will

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accept only reluctantly. The national entrepreneurs will certainly be in favor of privatization and the redefinition of the role of the state, which should ideally leave as much room as possible for private initiative. However, they will want to keep limitations on foreign direct investment because their position is built on being the indispensable partners of major international corporations and they would be weakened if this role became unnecessary. National entrepreneurs will be in favor of freedom of movement of capital, but each will want to maintain curbs on imports of competing products—although collectively they will be in favor of free trade.17 Finally, national entrepreneurs will not be sympathetic to moves to curb monopoly power18 or to protect the consumer—which the technocratic component of the middle class (the scribes) will wish to promote. The scribes will also be against privatization and will insist on controlling private investment. Concerning the details of economic policy making, the bourgeoisie and the middle class definitely do not share the same set of objectives. IS THE BOURGEOISIE DEMOCRATIC?

Can the bourgeoisie, then, be the answer to the time-honored question of "democracy without democrats"? (Ottaway 2oo5b; Salame 1994). We should here distinguish between the subjective and discursive level and the objective role played by the bourgeoisie as a class, independently of the subjective preferences of bourgeois individuals. At the subjective level we are likely to find in the bourgeoisie a broad range of political opinion. In fact, most of the businesspeople will not directly express any political opinion.19 They may, for matters directly related to their business interests, express themselves collectively through the chambers of commerce or other such institutions. They may also indirectly express themselves through the financial support that they might give to members of the middle class (intellectuals, writers, preachers), who in turn do articulate political opinions.20 Only a few of them, who in addition to being businesspeople are also members of the ruling family21 or have been co-opted in a political or governmental position, will occasionally express political opinions,22 but they are the exception. In general, the bourgeoisie is unlikely to be a force for radical change. Typically the attitude is one of support for the existing order of things coupled with a request to implement certain economic reforms for the benefit of the nation. At most, when the political elite is unable to face current challenges,

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the bourgeoisie may gently push for a change in the distribution of responsibilities within the elite, yet not for a change of regime.23 It is thus highly unlikely that the bourgeoisie will take up the flag of democratization, all the more so because the ruling families are part and parcel of the bourgeoisie in many Gulf countries. However, the development of a strong private sector will provoke a transformation of the state and its relationship with society. With the progressive shifting of roles and responsibilities from the public to the private sector, the ability of the state to penetrate society in all its ramifications and establish tight client links will be reduced. In parallel, the development of the private sector and the privatization of formerly state-owned economic activities will create the premise for the introduction or tightening of taxation—particularly on corporations—and hence for the transformation of the economic foundations of the state. The gradual nature of the process should be noted. At the beginning, elite cartels may be a likely outcome—re-formed coalitions where bargains are struck behind the scenes, transparent to the public at large and to competitors. However, as the complexity of the game increases, the number of entrepreneurs and members of ruling families will multiply, and maintaining a hold on the process will become increasingly difficult. The control and arbitration of conflicting bourgeois interests that Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid can still accomplish in Dubai will become more difficult at the federal level, now that he is the Emirates prime minister, and King Abdallah can probably no longer achieve them in Saudi Arabia. It is interesting to note in this context how size plays an important role. Some of the smaller Gulf countries may express only a relatively small if powerful bourgeoisie, which will be more easily co-opted by the ruling elite. But in larger countries—Saudi Arabia first and foremost—the bourgeoisie will become progressively more articulated, and the power elite will find it increasingly difficult to co-opt all segments. The attempt to do so is clear in Saudi Arabia and has so far been quite successful (including institutional diversification and the creation of posts that the bourgeoisie can fill), but one can see how informal processes will eventually have to be supplanted by more formalized procedures, opening a discussion on rules and rights that will inevitably point to progressively increasing participation, possibly evolving toward democratization (Khalaf and Luciani 2006). Also important are the constant evolution of equilibria within the bourgeoisie and the inevitable and physiological emergence of new entrepreneurs alongside the

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better-established ones.24 These new entrepreneurs will claim equal opportunities for access to political power. Because this claim is unlikely to be satisfied quickly enough, it may very well lead to interplay between and alliances with less satisfied fringes of the ruling elite. The homogeneity of the bourgeoisie is another important factor. If the bourgeoisie is segmented not only because of competition in the marketplace but also because of religion or national background, then the position of the ruling elite is greatly strengthened. One can see this phenomenon in several countries in the Gulf as well as in other regions, especially if the bourgeoisie is composed primarily, or to an important extent, of members of a minority group who may feel threatened by political change. For example, in Malaysia the Chinese bourgeoisie has accepted discrimination and supported the government, for fear that the alternative might be much worse. Let us also note an element of diversity between the national bourgeoisie and foreign investors. Much that can be attributed to the development of a national bourgeoisie is true also for a process in which foreign investors dominate. However, what is different is the political dynamic that is set in motion. Individual members of the bourgeoisie are in competition with each other, but they are all legitimate political players in their respective countries. After a while the diversification of interests and alliances within the bourgeoisie may be expected to result in louder demands for a level playing field and transparency. These demands will also emerge if the process is entirely in the hands of foreign investors, but probably less so.25 For example, the strong participation of local entrepreneurs in major business contests—such as the sale of the second mobile telephone license in Saudi Arabia—has forced a much more transparent process than would have been the case if foreign investors had participated without local partners.26 As the bourgeoisie develops, the interplay between its various segments and segments of the political elite competing for political power will become more complex. Alliances will be struck that will translate into greater influence for the bourgeoisie and political articulation. In a rentier state even more than in a state based on domestic taxation, democracy is likely to result from articulation and competition within the elite.27 In this game some will emerge as soft-liners and others as hard-liners, some as progressives and others as conservatives. Initially, neither of the two camps is likely to be genuinely democratic. In other parts of the world democratization processes have sometimes taken

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place as the unintended consequence of political openings that were meant to stop much earlier than establishing a democratic regime (O'Donnell and Schmitter 1986,24-28). We may guess that in the rentier state the ability of the power elite to control the process and prevent a political opening from "degenerating" into a proper democratization process is much greater. In fact, it remains true that the state is much more powerful, thanks to access to rent, than would otherwise be the case. The transition argument normally assumes that beyond a certain point blocking or reversing the process would cost too much. Even if the cost is nonmonetary, a rentier state nevertheless has a much better chance of being able to pay it than a state depending on taxation. A final consideration of importance is whether the ruling elite will be able to offer reasonably competent government. So far, the ruling families of the Gulf countries have normally been able to offer acceptably competent governments, sometimes thanks to coups organized from within the families themselves. Nevertheless, some of the rulers are obviously more competent and entrepreneurial than others, and the bourgeoisie has noted it and is manifesting its opinion through unequivocal behavior. The freedom of movement within the GCC plays a role in establishing a degree of competition in governance, which is in a sense a guarantee against degeneration. That said, the aging of the ruling families and the difficulty in some cases of passing the scepter to one of the younger members may point to the danger of sclerotization, which would then lead to more vocal calls for change. CONCLUSION

The heatedly debated durability of authoritarian rule in the Arab world is likely to continue for some time. By contrast, those who claim that authoritarianism is here to stay throughout the region and for decades to come might find themselves surprised by significant social and/or political transformations (although not necessarily outright democratization) in other Arab regimes. I suggest that such transformative cases might be found where most observers tend to expect them least, namely, in the monarchies of the Gulf peninsula. The period June 2005-January 2006 saw three important transitions, in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and the United Arab Emirates. In all cases the expectation that government would become more effective was palpable and generally solicited a positive response from the business community. We now have

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relatively young and forward-looking leadership in Bahrain, Qatar, and the United Arab Emirates. The new leaders in Saudi Arabia and Kuwait have been saluted as forward looking, but their age is inevitably a source of uncertainty. I expect the litmus test to come from Kuwait. Much of the literature is still influenced by the image of regimes struggling to make ends meet in the face of growing population and deteriorating economic conditions. Instead, the Arab Gulf countries have entered into a phase of growth that—barring major policy mistakes that are unlikely, if for no other reason than there is a plurality of independent countries involved— is bound to radically transform the economic structures and the quality of the relationship between the Gulf and the global economy. This may reduce the incentive to reform but more likely will embolden incumbents as well as challengers to dare to reform, in the confident expectation that they will not lose control of the process. The role of the GCC as an institution is important in this respect. Created as a club of the patrimonial rulers—the quintessence of authoritarianism—the GCC has now gained substantial societal (bourgeois) support. Notwithstanding sometimes deteriorating relations among the top leaders, the GCC now has a vitality of its own, which emerged clearly when the United States challenged its relevance by imposing the signing of free trade agreements bilaterally rather than with the GCC as a group. As the GCC gains importance—with the progressive implementation of the customs union and probably also monetary union, the unification of financial markets, and the implementation of regional transport projects, in addition to the increasingly intense circulation of individuals, especially intellectual and business elites— a new level of political debate will emerge. Contrary to the experience of Europe, where the individual member countries are democratic but the regional level suffers from a lack of democratic legitimation, the GCC may turn out to be an uncanny opportunity for democratic development—to solve tensions between rulers whose legitimation is limited to begin with.

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THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF REGIME MAINTENANCE IN EGYPT Linking External Resources and Domestic Legitimation Thomas Richter

"THERE is MORE to the durability of regimes in oil-rich states than patronage and coercion. Even when access to oil rents dropped dramatically, regimes in these states do not appear to have suffered much," contends Benjamin Smith (2004, 242). By concentrating primarily on domestic means of authoritarian regime maintenance, Smith is in accordance with a larger body of literature. In fact, most research on the modes of nondemocratic political development in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA)1 has almost exclusively focused on the internal preconditions of authoritarian regime maintenance.2 By contrast, in this essay I contest claims that a purely domestic perspective is adequate for addressing the puzzle of authoritarian resilience in the MENA region. More specifically, I argue that Smith's conclusion leaves several important questions open: First, what sources of revenue other than oil rent have an impact on the life expectancy of political regimes? Second, in trying to estimate patronage and material co-optation, why do we not concentrate on the state expenditures they require rather than on state revenues? And third, what causal mechanisms link external payments to domestic structures? In the present chapter I aim at providing answers to these three questions. To do so, I propose revisiting the political economy perspective on authoritarian regime maintenance in the Arab countries to (i) take into account the entire revenue mix available to states rather than oil export receipts only, (2) focus on public expenditures rather than public revenues, and (3) assess the balance of external and internal resources on the durability of authoritarian power. To illustrate these conceptual points, I take the case of Egypt and explore the government's budget expenditures and revenues since the early 19805. The 177

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relatively stable distribution of financial resources can be traced back to the main avenues and beneficiaries of co-optation. Thereby three societal backbones of authoritarian rule can be identified: the army, the bourgeoisie (quite in contrast to Luciani's assessment of the bourgeoisie's role in Chapter 10), and the state-employed middle class. I argue that the maintenance of the political status quo hinges on the relatively continuous flow of state expenditures and privileges toward these three social groups. In the second section I look at the origin of resources used for redistribution and distinguish between internal and external revenues. This additional effort allows a rough estimate of the degree to which the stability of authoritarianism in Egypt depends on external factors. Amazingly, in Egypt the aggregate per capita distribution of revenues has rarely corresponded with oil boom and bust periods in the past. Although nontax foreign payments have played a crucial role in financing the state's commitments vis-a-vis society, these resources consist only fragmentarily of oil money. Given the largely constant level of Egypt's state expenditures, it is thus doubtful that authoritarian regimes must really switch to alternatives to patronage to stabilize their rule during oil bust periods, as many scholars assume. In the next section a brief look at the literature on the endurance of Arab authoritarianism finds a bias in this research that consists in its overly strong focus on domestic explanatory factors. I therefore introduce, in a first step, what I call a "fiscal sociology approach" to regime maintenance that criticizes recent attempts to link authoritarian regime stability with material redistribution. This allows me to identify the most prominent avenues of domestic patronage and co-optation in Egypt and their core beneficiaries. I then turn to the origins of material resources that the regime spends on buying legitimacy and thereby provide empirical evidence for the dependency of Egypt's state budget on external financial resources. I conclude with a call for a balanced political economy of authoritarian regime maintenance in the Arab world. This balance would take into account external as well as internal resources available to regimes for legitimation through the distribution of material resources to strategic groups of domestic society. LIMITS OF THE CURRENT DEBATE ON RESILIENT AUTHORITARIAN RULE

I start with three theoretical assumptions: (i) The durability of authoritarian rule, and thus the maintenance of the political status quo in Arab countries,3 is

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a function of repression on the one hand and legitimacy on the other;4 (2) patronage and the co-optation of societal actors by the regime are the main instruments of ensuring legitimacy over time; and (3) material resources, or access to them, are the primary prerequisites for successful patronage and the co-optation of relevant parts of society.5 It is striking that in the current postdemocratization debate on regime maintenance in the MENA region, emphasis is placed almost exclusively on the domestic dynamics of authoritarian rule.6 This is all the more astonishing because the metaphor of the Janus-faced state figures prominently in comparative political sociology and international relations, academic fields that have always acknowledged that states are simultaneously embedded in domestic and international political environments.7 In light of the fiscal crisis of the state resulting from the sharp decline of external revenues in the Middle East since the early ipSos,8 the domestic focus of comparative politics literature is understandable. However, it is not clear why a domestic perspective alone would be best equipped, conceptually, to explain the success of authoritarian power maintenance. What, then, are the assumptions that underlie purely domestic explanations of authoritarian survival? If political rule is the reciprocal interaction between the ruler and the ruled, two ideas immediately come to mind: (i) the prerequisite acceptance of the rule by the ruled and (2) the ruler's need for certain capabilities that enable him to execute his rule. This implies that the durability of the political status quo depends on some combination of repression and legitimacy, independent of space and time (see note 4). Both sides of the coin—the repression of the ruled and the garnering of legitimacy by the ruler—depend on the ruler's capacity to rule. And this capacity is highly dependent on the availability of resources. Purely domestic-centered accounts of authoritarian resilience ignore that the material foundation of authoritarian political power rests not only on domestic but also on external sources of revenue. TOWARD A FISCAL SOCIOLOGY OF REGIME MAINTENANCE IN THE MIDDLE EAST AND NORTH AFRICA

Research on Arab politics has shown that successful strategies of legitimation always depend on sufficient resources, which in the MENA region are largely composed of external rent.9 The rentier state approach provides a useful framework for analyzing the ways in which external rent influences

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domestic societal and political formations. Unlike profits, rent or rentlike resources constitute a surplus that originates from neither investment nor labor but from natural advantages and organizational skills.10 These approaches claim that the predominance of rent produces structures, processes, and outcomes that are different from those in a profit-based system. A core feature of rentier states is the lack of a necessity to reinvest resources to maximize the societal surplus. As a result of the constant access to rents, Arab states have developed less complex forms of domestic resource extraction (particularly taxation), which in turn renders them less susceptible to the demands of social groups, such as a bourgeoisie or middle class. Instead, social classes remain inchoate and are patronized and co-opted by the state.11 This reasoning serves as an explanation for two pivotal empirical observations: (1) the lack of a feedback loop between the ruler and the ruled (no participation without taxation) and (2) the rulers' lacking the intention to introduce consistent and long-term economic policies according to capitalist standards. However, the slogan of "no participation without taxation" cannot fully describe the political reality of the rentier state. As Luciani (1987, 76) pointed out two decades ago, "Revenue from abroad dramatically improves the state's ability to buy legitimacy through allocation and increases regime stability."12 In short, rents serve as a major precondition not only for garnering legitimacy through the allocation of material resources (the "soft" way of achieving acceptance) but also for achieving acceptance through repression or the threat of it, because repression implies the maintenance of a costly apparatus of organized state coercion (the repressive way of achieving acceptance). The "classical" argument linking oil rent to regime stability has recently been challenged by Smith (2004) and by Moore (2002, 34), who states that "after well over two decades of fiscal downturn, none of the Gulf oil-exporting countries have conformed to the expectation of regime decline." If we take their findings seriously, two alternative conclusions arise: Either (i) the causal mechanism postulated by rentier state theory is to be rejected in total, or (2) the theory should be amended to regain its explanatory power, even at the expense of some of its parsimony. Although the first alternative is discarded here because it would entirely do away with well-established knowledge about the stabilizing power of co-optation and control beyond pure repression in developing countries, the second conclusion hints at a shortcoming in the version of rentier state theory that Smith tested; his model accommodates neither the multitude of sources from which rent can originate nor the diverse range

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of mechanisms by which rents are distributed within society. In fact, Smith's way of operationalizing and testing the influence of oil rent on regime stability leaves open what other types of rent income (apart from oil) may affect authoritarian resilience and in what ways exactly state expenditures (as opposed to state revenues) are used by regimes as their material basis to create legitimacy. Types of Rent

Classical economic theory recognizes many sources of income, other than oil revenues, that qualify as rent. According to Karl Marx and David Ricardo, for instance, rent occurs from payments to the owners of land and property (with absolute rent being the basic payment and differential rent signifying additional payments for land with above-average productivity) as well as from market imperfections (with rent occurring from the difference between the market price of a good and its opportunity costs).13 A thus broadened view, I contend, is imperative for examining the causes of regime stability in the Arab world in greater depth. Table 11.1 provides an overview of the multitude of types of rent accruing to Middle Eastern states.14 Clearly, authoritarian regimes can use more resources than oil revenues to stabilize their rule. I distinguish five different types of rent: (i) rent from the export of minerals and raw materials on the world market, the most prominent example being oil revenues; (2) location rents arising from the ownership of major transportation facilities or traffic routes, such as the Suez Canal; (3) strategic rents, that is, grants and soft loans given to countries in the form of military or budgetary aid; (4) political rents granted by Western or Arab donors to state institutions and civil society organizations for developmental or human rights-related purposes; and, finally, (5) large inflows into the domestic financial systems in the form of migrants' remittances. Theoretically, all these types of rent can be tapped by the state and redistributed according to political criteria, that is, with the goal of power maintenance. Revenues vs. Expenditures

As mentioned, most works on the interrelation of oil rent and regime stability have focused exclusively on state revenues rather than on state expenditures.15 However, if Delacroix's (1980) and Luciani's (1987) observations that the relation between government and society in rentier states is determined by the distribution of resources holds true, then the focus should be shifted to state spending rather than state income. The share of oil exports in gross domestic product (GDP), however, will not measure the distributive capacity of a

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Table n.i. The multiplicity of rents in the Middle East and North Africa Origin of rent (internal vs. external; private vs. governmental; regional affiliation)

Substantial derivation of rent (Stofflichkeitj

Disposability of rent by the state

Raw material rents

Ownership of minerals and raw materials

External; private and governmental; MENA and international

Very high (immediate absorption by the state through state-owned enterprises)

Location rents

Ownership of transportation facilities (e.g., oil pipelines)

External; private and governmental; MENA

Ownership of traffic routes

External; private; international

Very high (immediate absorption by the state through state-owned enterprises)

Strategic rents

Grants and soft loans in the form of military and budget aid

External; governmental; OECD and MENA

High (direct incorporation into the budget or strategic segments of the state apparatus, depending on donors' policies)

Political rents

Total official flows

External; governmental; OECD and MENA

Medium (traditionally absorbed by state institutions but increasingly by civil society organizations—generally depending on the foreign aid regime)

External; private; OECD and MENA

Partial (accrue directly to civil society, although major parts are transmitted through the domestic banking system; thus partial absorption by a stateowned banking system, the Central Bank, and through customs duties and taxes on international trade)

Official development assistance Other official flows

Migration rents

Migration remittances

MENA = Middle East and North Africa OECD = Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development

rentier state. Although public revenues decline in oil bust periods, states are able to find substitutes or can borrow on national and international financial markets to level out their budget deficits.

. . . To sum up, a fiscal sociology of resilient authoritarianism in the MENA region should take into account multiple sources of rent (i.e., oil and others) on the one hand, and state expenditures rather than state revenues on the other.

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THE POLITICS OF SPENDING: MATERIAL LEGITIMATION IN EGYPT

I now take a closer look at how and to what degree material resources have been distributed by the Egyptian regime since the early 19808. This analysis demonstrates that over the last three decades the distribution of wealth toward societal forces—as indicated by the relative state expenditures for defense; for wages, salaries, and pensions; and for subsidies—has remained surprisingly stable. However, on an absolute level, spending on these three items has increased remarkably.16 Also, oil income oscillated much more than state spending over the last twenty-five years. This hints at a low covariation of oil income and the distributive power of the state in Egypt. Third, it can be observed that strategic segments of society have continuously received special privileges. After the ultimate decline of pan-Arabism, it became a widely held conviction that the safeguarding of material needs constituted the main pillar of Egypt's postrevolutionary social pact.17 According to this view, domestic legitimacy is acquired predominantly through the distribution of material resources.18 In this section I identify four main avenues of state patronage that are based directly or indirectly on material means: (i) informal legislation, which grants the military influence on economic affairs, thus conceding privileged access to material resources to the ultimate guardian of authoritarian rule; (2) legal business and trade opportunities, which accord business elites access to monopolistic or oligopolistic structures; (3) state employment, which entails access to an intermediate level of income, social security, and opportunities for personal enrichment for the middle classes; and (4) basic food and service subsidies, which help to provide for the basic material needs of all social strata. Each of these four avenues of patronage is geared toward a particular social group, with no single measure being all-encompassing. The Alimentation of Egypt's Military with Material Resources and Privileges

Egypt's military forces (and those of other Arab countries, for that matter) are not only the guarantor of the country's sovereignty but also the ultima ratio of its internal stability (Springborg 1998, 4; Wurzel 2003,130; because they are such an important actor, Droz-Vincent's chapter in this volume [Chapter 12] is devoted to Middle Eastern armies and their economic role in particular). By ensuring the government's—or rather, the president's—monopoly over the

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means of coercion, the military remains the sole institution willing and able to suppress any destabilizing societal action.19 Loyalty to the president and the state institutions is the main requirement for this indispensable function. Although data and information on Egypt's military are difficult to obtain, official budget positions reveal that state spending on the military has been quite constant. Defense spending in Egypt has followed a relatively stable pattern, even during oil bust periods since 1980. As Table 11.2 illustrates, pooled per capita spending on defense has continuously ranged between US$30 and US$50 since the early 19808. Furthermore, the exclusive allocation of resources to the military has effected three distinct structural changes that deserve some explanation: (i) the modernization of the regular armed forces, financed by US government funds after the war of October 1973, (2) the evolution of a military-economic complex, and (3) the emergence and maintenance of privileges for military personnel and their families. First, the equipment and armament of Egypt's regular forces were remarkably improved and modernized after the Camp David peace accords between Israel and Egypt in 1978-1979, with the military's budget becoming almost untouchable for both the government and parliament (Frisch 2002, 97; Springborg 1998, 4, 6-7; Weiss and Wurzel 1998, 191; Wurzel 2003, 130). The peace treaty with Israel paid off directly for the military, which has received an annual sum of roughly US$1.3 billion in US military aid ever since. These resources are not part of the official budget (US Department of State 2000) and would—if included—almost double the official annual spending on defense.

Table n.2. Arab Republic of Egypt, selected indicators (in US dollars per capita) 1980-1985

1986-1990

1991-1995

1996-2000

2001-2004

Public expenditures for defense

47.44

46.65

31.63

35.81

37.31

Public expenditures for wages, salaries, and pensions

62.42

67.11

56.64

80.95

102.83

Public expenditures for direct subsidies

63.55

46.90

31.66

20.54

23.04

Public revenue from oil and gas exports

36.92

25.50

120.04

106.26

57.26

Indicator

SOURCE: Author's calculations using IMF Archives (various years); pooled annual data based on official exchange rates.

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Second, Egypt's military-economic complex, which dates back to the late 19508, has matured rapidly since the 19708, emerging as an active and important player in the national economy. Apart from the assembly of arms products, economic activities of the military have moved into the construction and service sectors, into a wide range of other industries (such as the production of automobiles and electronics), and into agriculture and land reclamation projects (Frisch 2002,106-107; Kunde i996a, 13; Richards and Waterbury 1996, 341; Springborg 1998, 107; Weiss and Wurzel 1998, 192). Moreover, the military has made substantial profits in the past by selling land formerly used for military purposes and through its involvement in the country's two biggest land reclamation projects, the Northern Sinai Project and the Toshka Project (Frisch 2002,107). Third, officers and their affiliates are privileged in many ways, materially and immaterially (Springborg 1989,95; 1998). For example, (i) officers can buy real estate at subsidized prices; (2) domestic and imported goods are made available to military personnel at low prices by chains of military consumer cooperatives (Weiss and Wurzel 1998,192); (3) the military has developed an exclusive educational system (Frisch 2002, 102; Weiss and Wurzel 1998, 192); (4) special health, recreational, and retirement facilities were established and are essentially free for officers (Springborg 1998, 4); and (5) officers are routinely offered lucrative jobs in the public sector after retirement (Weiss and Wurzel 1998,192). Emerging Trade and Business Opportunities for Egypt's Bourgeoisie

The so-called Infitah bourgeoisie that emerged under Sadat's presidency in the 19708 represents the largest group within the contemporary Egyptian capitalist class, together with remaining capitalists of the pre-Nasser era. Originally intended by the rulers to foster structural economic change (Pawelka 1997,3), the Infitah bourgeoisie was soon instrumentalized to set in place large networks of domestic patronage (Henry 1996; Henry and Springborg 2001, 152-155). Nowadays, large parts of the Egyptian business elite control sectoral monopolies or are part of an oligopoly that manages the market for the upper 15 percent of Egyptian society. Those who engage in the more risky business of producing for the competitive international market remain the exception. Some observers have remarked that in Egypt "capital does not constitute a strong, independent, and—most importantly perhaps—cohesive constitu-

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ency" (Kassem 2001, 73). Social institutions, such as business associations, are instruments of control used by prominent business figures or the state itself and are by no means institutionalized organs of interest aggregation and representation (Kassem 2001,70; Wurzel 2000,74,117-118). Linkages between the private sector and the public sector remain abundant. Public banks in particular bail out private companies, and members of the state bureaucracy work as agents or gatekeepers to ensure that the businesses of private companies run smoothly (Mitchell 1999; Wahdan 2001, 129-131). Egypt's private capital has no interest in changing this status quo. Rather, the existing structures are prerequisites for domestic capitalists to thrive. If the current ruling elite were to fail, the capitalists' privileges (and in some cases even their very existence) would be threatened. In short, the relationship between the state and the bourgeoisie is dominated by domestic rent-seeking arrangements and extensive multidimensional patron-client networks, a condition that has been referred to as crony capitalism (Henry and Springborg 2001,135; Soliman 1998, 85). Although public spending is not directly allotted to the bourgeoisie, it is obvious that cronies and the bourgeoisie are the winners of the economic liberalization process begun in the early 19905, which has meant little more than the transfer of monopolies from the state to the bourgeoisie (Abdel-Khalek 2000, 43; Mitchell 1999).20 State Employment for the Middle Class

Despite its relative social and financial descent over the last two decades, Egypt's educated urban middle class is still privileged and co-opted through labor market policies, basic services, and food subsidies. Employment in the government and public enterprises amounted to more than one-third of total employment throughout the 19905. Taken individually, government employment increased at a rate of 3.4 percent over this period (FEMISE Coordinators 2004,155; Rivlin and Even 2004,17). Working for the government still equals job security, more-encompassing social insurance and medical coverage, fewer working hours, less work effort, access to subsidized commodities and housing, access to free transportation, and access to bribes and opportunities for moonlighting (Assaad 1997, 114). In the 19908 government salaries were raised by 10 percent every year (Abdel-Razek 2004, 77; FEMISE Coordinators 2004, 171; World Bank 20oia); in 2003, 170,000 new graduates were appointed to new jobs in the state bureaucracy (Din 2003). In short, along with defense spending the wage bill remains the only budget position left untouched by major cuts during the economic adjustment of the 19808

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and 19905 (Handoussa and El Oraby 2004, 4). Table 11.2 includes pooled per capita expenditures on wages, salaries, and pensions. It is noteworthy that per capita spending on government employees almost doubled in the first years of the new millennium compared to the early 19908. Subsidies for the "Rest"

A core aim of Egypt's structural adjustment program was to diminish the subsidies allocated directly to the populace. However, the program did not completely erode the system of subsidized basic goods. In 1980 almost twenty different foods were subsidized directly, accounting for about 15 percent of total government expenditure (Adams 2000, 4). Toward the end of the 19908—as a consequence of heavy budgetary pressures—only four food items remained subsidized; however, these still accounted for almost 6 percent of total government expenditure. Until today, one type of both bread and wheat is sold in unlimited quantities to the public, whereas edible oil and sugar are distributed according to monthly quotas and ration cards (Adams 2000). At present, about 40 million citizens benefit from these cards (Fiqi 2005). During the 19905 all Egyptian citizens had unlimited access to affordable bread, and about two-thirds had access to additional subsidized food items. Moreover, after years of gradually decreasing food subsidization, seven new items were added to the list of ration-card-subsidized foodstuffs in 2003 (Abdel-Razek 2004; Fiqi 2005), with the Egyptian government reintroducing vouchers for some additional basic foods such as rice and tea in May 2004 (Mitchell 2004; World Bank 2004a, 39). Data and publications on indirect subsidies are not available because the vast majority of them are not listed in the official budget accounts (Adams 2000, 6; Harik 1997, 87). However, what is known for sure is that water, electricity, petrol, and gas are sold to the public far below market prices. Adams (2000, 6) estimates that the total value of indirect subsidies exceeds the value of direct subsidies by far. According to press reports, indirect subsidies in fiscal year 2004-2005 accounted for ££26 billion (Fiqi 2005), that is, almost 15 percent of the government's expenditure and 21 percent of its revenues.21 Thus the Egyptian government continues to spend tremendous amounts on subsidized foodstuffs, basic commodities, and a few social services. After two sharp cuts in the 19808 and the early 19905, spending on subsidies increased again slightly in the late 19908. The pooled per capita data on subsidies in Table 11.2 support this picture.

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Egypt's political elite is very much aware of the strategic importance of keeping subsidies for basic material goods above a certain threshold. For instance, former prime minister Atef Ebeid addressed the parliamentary assembly in June 2002, explaining that "we cannot cut subsidies when the vast majority of the population are limited-income citizens" (Din 2002). In 2003 President Mubarak himself announced an increase in the government's food subsidies, raising the proportion of government expenditure on direct subsidies from 4.7 percent to 5 percent (Din 2003). Even members of the parliamentary opposition underline the major role that subsidies play in contemporary Egyptian politics: "Subsidization is now a major NDP [National Democratic Party] policy and it is not expected to relinquish it in the near future."22 Overall, these findings help to explain the durability of a system of material legitimation that remains essentially intact despite changing external conditions, a virtual fiscal crisis, and oil bust periods. Although subsidies have in fact shrunk over the last twenty-five years, spending on defense has remained more or less robust, whereas expenditures on wages, salaries, and pensions in the public domain have risen significantly. Furthermore, indirect privileges for military personnel and business elites also create an obvious burden on state resources, even though available data are insufficient to measure them exactly. At any rate, the discussed material instruments that the Egyptian regime uses to attain legitimacy are extremely costly. Therefore in the following section I cast a closer eye on the origins of these resources. THE EXTERNAL DEPENDENCY OF EGYPT'S DOMESTIC FINANCING

To explore the origins of the resources sustaining the regime's costly allocation politics, it is necessary to examine the governmental budget and balance of payments.23 One key finding is that more than a third of Egypt's expenditures can be traced back to external revenues (rent and foreign financing). In fact, the aggregate share of rent and foreign financing composed about onethird of total state expenditures between 1980 and 2004, with an all-period low of about 27 percent in fiscal year 2000-2001 and a peak of almost 54 percent in fiscal year 1990-1991. Moreover, when taking into account the patterns of domestic financing over the 19905, it is unlikely that local banks could have met the increasing need for domestic loans (resulting from the public deficit) without migrant workers' remittances from abroad and without revenues from tourism.

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Egypt's budget was in permanent deficit throughout the entire period under examination. Although the annual budget deficit had reached a more or less constant level by the mid 19905, it increased again in subsequent years to reach levels in excess of 10 percent of GDP in the mid 2ooos (Abdel-Razek 2003, 2004; Fiqi 2005). A closer look at the expenditures dealt with in the previous section reveals that wages, salaries, and pensions to government employees increased most in relative terms.24 This relative rise is topped only by payments for interests on public debts, which quintupled from 4.6 percent in 1980 to 24.87 percent in fiscal year 2003-2004. How were these rising payments for employees and interests financed? First, the share of direct subsidies was reduced in two rounds, once in the early 19808 and again as part of the structural adjustment program in the early 19908. Second, the share of capital expenditures declined dramatically, from 38.24 percent in 1980 to 14.37 in the 2003-2004 budget. This drastic reduction in public investments obviously created some new financial scope for the regime to finance the continuous rise of interest payments and allowed for augmenting expenditures on wages, salaries, and pensions. How far were these expenditures covered by budget revenues? Several observations are important in this regard: (i) The share of tax revenues in total expenditures decreased slightly over time, reaching a level above 50 percent in the 19908; (2) direct nontax revenues persisted at a level of more than 20 percent; and (3) the share of uncovered expenditures (i.e., the budget deficit) rose to more than 20 percent of total expenditures in fiscal year 2000-2001. At first glance, tax revenues seem to be astonishingly high. However, revenues from the three largest public cash suppliers—the Egyptian General Petroleum Cooperation, the Suez Canal Authority, and the Central Bank of Egypt—are split between two separate budget lines. A major part of these organizations' income enters the budget as "taxation," with only the remaining share being transferred directly to government accounts, although all three corporations are in reality providers of external rent to the government. Table 11.3 aggregates the share of external rent in the budget, including the pooled revenues from the Egyptian General Petroleum Cooperation, the Suez Canal Authority, and the Central Bank of Egypt. In addition, I have added income from taxes on international trade, grants, and foreign financing. In short, the share of external capital in Egypt's public budget never fell below 20 percent of total expenditures; in most years foreign capital amounted to more than one-third of total expenditures.

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Table 11.3. Arab Republic of Egypt, selected revenues (percentage of public expenditures) Revenue source International trade taxes and customs duties Suez Canal Authority Egyptian Central Petroleum Cooperation Central Bank of Egypt

1980-1985

1986-1990

1991-1995

11.69

9.26

9.89

12.38

9.59

3.06

2.58

9.60

6.76

9.93

12.10

5.14

12.89

9.08

3.68

1.58

2.17

4.88

6.12

5.33

2.38

1.57

2.66

Grants Foreign financing Sum of external rent and external financing in the public budget

1996-2000 2001-2004

6.87

8.26

6.99

-2.12

0.23

35.30

27.41

46.63

33.79

31.42

SOURCE: Author's calculations using IMF Archives (various years); pooled annual data based on official exchange rates.

As mentioned, the budget has been afflicted by a permanent (structural) deficit ever since valid data became available. This deficit was, in general, financed mainly by using the savings of the domestic social insurance funds (SIF)25 or through loans from both domestic and foreign markets (AbdelRazek 2003, 7; Alba et al. 2004). Overall, most budget deficits of the past— especially during the structural adjustment programs of the 19908—were financed from domestic sources. Over the last fifteen years the Central Bank, the National Investment Bank, and the four largest state-owned banks26 have routinely lent money to the government or bought government-issued treasury bills (Abdel-Khalek 2000; Alba et al. 2004). Egypt's banking system is thus of prime importance for supplying the government with the cash it needs to finance the material needs of society.27 Finally, by including balance-of-payment data in the analysis, it is possible to assess the influence of external payments, such as tourism receipts and migrants' remittances, on the macrobalance of the state's deficit financing. Egypt's trade balance remains negative even if oil and gas exports are included. Imports have exceeded exports ever since detailed data have been available.28 The negative trade balance is only partly offset by the mostly positive balance of services, which includes revenues from the Suez Canal and tourism. Once both positions are taken into account, the trade balance deficit

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is reduced nearly by half, but it is still sizable. If additional private and public transfers (e.g., remittances, Official Development Assistance) are included in the current account, deficits diminish decisively and even turn into surpluses in most cases (FEMISE Coordinators 2004). In sum, the Egyptian balance of payment in the 19908 relied heavily on the influx of external capital, such as migration remittances and tourist receipts, to counterbalance trade deficits and capital flight. Without these sources of external income the state could not have financed its budget deficit through domestic borrowing for so many years; instead, cuts in the vast public expenditures would have been likely. CONCLUSION

My analysis of budgetary trends and of the main avenues used by the Egyptian regime to distribute material resources has shed light on four distinctive characteristics of the nexus between domestic legitimation and external revenues. First, Egypt's expenditure patterns have corresponded neither with the rise and decline of world oil prices nor with the expansion and shrinking of the share of oil revenues in the budget. In other words, the covariation between the government's distributional policies and oil income is quite low. Second, the distribution of material resources in Egypt has become increasingly selective over the past twenty-five years. Although per capita spending on state employees increased and even reached an all-time peak during the 19908, military expenditures have remained relatively stable. Budgetary spending on subsidies fluctuated during the 19808 and was reduced by a single major cut between fiscal years 1991-1992 and 1993-1994, hence stagnating at that level. Third, Egypt's dependency on external rent has not diminished over the last twenty-five years. Interestingly, however, this dependency has not been sustained by oil receipts alone. Although oil rent has played a role in the period under study, Egypt has also enjoyed direct access to other forms of external resources such as Suez Canal fees, inflows of foreign aid and grants, and income from taxing foreign trade. Furthermore, the Egyptian government borrowed heavily on the domestic market to close the gap between declining revenues and constant levels of state expenditures in the 19808 and again in the 19908. Fourth, the analysis of the balance of payment data reveals that, under circumstances of high domestic borrowing and low saving rates, sustained deficit spending was feasible only because large amounts of external capital (tourism receipts and migrants' remittances) have continuously flowed into the country's financial sector.

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These observations from the Egyptian case suggest three major conclusions regarding the impact of external material resources on authoritarian stability. First, the look at state revenues alone is insufficient to confirm the causal link between rent income and authoritarian structures proposed by rentier state theory; rather, the capability of regimes to buy political consensus and legitimacy rests on their distributive power. Second, the income that distributive states have at their disposal is not composed solely of oil rent. And third, if foreign capital influences authoritarian stability, then the Egyptian case demonstrates that this factor has indeed had a large impact over the last three decades. Without any doubt the adjustment of state spending and the cutting of subsidies have been necessary consequences of the regime's declining overall resources. From a methodological viewpoint these variations in per capita spending, and the shrinking subsidies in particular, could be interpreted as indicators of the often predicted crisis of legitimacy of the Egyptian state, which eventually could bring about authoritarian instability. If one assumes a model of political stability as a function of repression and legitimacy, as I have in this chapter, then lower levels of material allocation will ultimately entail a lower degree of legitimacy and, ceteris paribus, an increased likelihood of authoritarian instability or regime breakdown. In consequence, the model predicts that states that suffer from declining legitimacy must increase coercion vis-k-vis their societies.29 Alterman (2000) and Kienle (i998c, 2001), whose analyses of deliberalization in Egypt have shown that state repression increased in the 19908, provide evidence of this mechanism: Decreasing legitimacy brings increasing coercion. However, the observations made here are only a first step toward a possibly more encompassing inquiry into the interplay between external revenues and domestic legitimation. In fact, further concept-based but empirical research is needed, especially because political liberalization and deliberalization have been found to oscillate, but the causes for varying degrees of state coercion at different points in time still remain largely unknown. The fiscal sociological approach to authoritarian resilience in the Arab world suggested here thus allows us to gain some new insights. Although numbers always convey a somewhat illusory degree of precision, which cannot possibly mirror the complexity of social realities, Table 11.3 highlights the influence of external factors on the stability of the Egyptian political system. Even if the data given in that table are taken only as rough estimates of Egypt's

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external fiscal dependency, they do support the view that approaches with an exclusive focus on domestic politics will not grasp the full explanation of authoritarian regime maintenance. To conclude, it seems advisable that existing approaches be refined by future research on authoritarianism in the Arab world that takes into account both the domestic conditions and the external determinants of authoritarian rule and its dynamics. I hope this chapter will be read as an initial step in such a direction.

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FROM POLITICAL TO ECONOMIC ACTORS The Changing Role of Middle Eastern Armies Philippe Droz-Vincent

MANY ARGUMENTS have been put forward to explain the persistence of authoritarianism in the Arab world, one of which is the crucial role played by institutions of state coercion. In particular, a loyal army is often deemed pivotal to the robustness of the coercive apparatuses. However, analysts nowadays encounter some difficulties in assessing the role of the military in Arab political systems. Although military organizations continue to play a vital part in the politics of many Middle Eastern countries, the countries are rarely military dictatorships or overtly military-dominated regimes. Even if some regimes' origins lie in the politicization of military officers, the uniforms at the helm of Arab polities have been successively replaced by civilian suits since the 19708. In most Arab countries the ostensible "civilianization" of major authoritarian institutions is now complete, because the military has retreated from active politics. However, the heads of state remain closely tied to the military, which therefore continues to have great weight in Arab polities. In this chapter on the expanding economic involvement of Middle Eastern armies and the resulting political consequences, I develop a more accurate picture of the relations between the military and the state in the Middle East. A POLITICAL SOCIOLOGY OF THE ARMED FORCES

The Arab world was swept by a series of military coups in the 19505 and 19608. Many regimes rose to power out of the politicization of the armed forces, and their enduring stability has been closely related to the position of the army ever since (Beeri 1970; Hurewitz 1969; Ward and Rustow 1964). Military coups 195

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paved the way for new political orders (as in republican Iraq and Egypt) or made a clean sweep of civilian politics altogether (as in Syria). In Jordan, young King Hussein had to foil a coup attempt and assert his power vis-a-vis the armed forces before he could rebuild the Hashemite kingdom. The Saudi regime refrained from enhancing the capacities of its military as a way to keep it under control until the early 19708. However, the withdrawal of the British and rising security threats in the Gulf, along with uncovered plots, convinced the Saudis that they needed to modernize and expand their armed forces. Why the military has so often interfered in (Middle Eastern) politics is a controversial question addressed by military sociology (Finer 1962; Huntington 1957; Nordlinger 1977; Perlmutter 1977). Modernization theory, which used to dominate the study of political praetorianism, interpreted the military's intervention in politics as a precondition for development; the military officers, infused both with a sense of mission and nationalistic sentiments and buoyed by their superior organizational capabilities and their monopoly on violence, were seen as ideal instruments to direct the process of economic and political development and fill a number of "political gaps" (Huntington 1968). These praetorians were due to relinquish their positions once the national goals were met, rendering the army a so-called professionalized fighting force under the control of a stable civilian leadership, with external defense as its main task. Although Huntington (1957) maintained that military officers were not to be feared so long as they remained true professionals dedicated to their mission and that military professionalization entailed the subordination of the military to civilian leaders, others held that the army's professionalization was a double-edged sword fostering military interventions (Finer 1962; Janowitz 1977). In the Arab world this became evident in the early 19508, when Middle Eastern societies experienced profound transformations, most notably the rise of a new middle class made up of the most educated, politicized, and technologically oriented societal strata (cf. Lerner 1958). At the forefront of the new middle class was the military, which was better equipped than other groups to assume a leading role (Halpern 1963). It was thus preprogrammed that the outbreak of praetorianism would bring enduring changes in its wake (Perlmutter 1977). Upon seizing power, the military rulers (in Syria, Egypt, and Iraq) steered their respective countries in radically new directions. Enjoying broad popularity, the military became the main engine of large-scale political, economic, and social change. It banned parties and filled the gap with mass organiza-

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tions; it followed radical economic strategies (land reform, nationalization) and set up hegemonic public sectors with far-reaching and lasting effects. The officers benefited from "a moment of enthusiasm" (Binder 1978); they justified their interventions in nationalist terms and by the need to confront Israel to unify the polity by overcoming ethnic and tribal fragmentation or to promote socioeconomic reforms. As Abdel Malek (1968) put it for Egypt (the same applies to Syria and Iraq), Arab polities became "military societies" in which officers dominated the state institutions and formed the core of the ruling elite. Even in Jordan the military was a crucial actor. King Hussein kept tight control of his military yet simultaneously appointed individuals from a new generation of East Bank officers to key positions in the state apparatus. Military sociology has offered important insights into the take-off phase of authoritarianism in the Arab world and the military background of rulers and high bureaucrats. But things have changed markedly since then. As early as the 19705, a paradigm shift in Arab politics occurred that transferred legitimacy and control from the military to the political regimes. Also, although monarchical and republican systems were traditionally seen as distinct modes of state and nation building in the Arab world (Anderson i99ia; Hudson 1977), both converged in the 19708 around the control exercised by the regimes over their respective polities (and armies). Since then, the number of coups has dwindled in the Middle East, a region once infamous for its political instability. Against this background the resulting longevity of Arab regimes is all the more striking; although coups are still plotted, they are rarely executed and are often foiled before being pulled off (Brooks 1998). In Egypt, for instance, the president is the undisputed protagonist in the political arena (Springborg 1989). Likewise, Hafiz al-Asad and Saddam Hussein managed to bring armies under their control that had been loci of upheavals for years. The regimes' taming of the monster had both a repressive and a co-optative dimension, as became clear by the president's or king's extensive management and control of the military, the appointment of loyal officers to key positions, the frequent rotation between posts, and regular purges of the officer corps. A complementary factor was the recruitment policy for the regular army, which was guided by tribal, clannish, or ethnic criteria—hence the overrepresentation of Alawi officers in Syria, the disproportionately large number of officers from the Sunni triangle in Iraq, the bias toward soldiers of rural origin in Jordan, and the leaning toward families with close ties to the Sa'ud in Saudi Arabia.

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In the 19705 the regimes began to expand and supply the police and paramilitary forces with new equipment (Janowitz 1977) in order to closely monitor potentially disruptive groups and counterbalance the regular military (e.g., the Royal Guard in Jordan, the Presidential Guard in Egypt, the Republican Guard and the Special Forces in Syria and Iraq, the National Guard in Saudi Arabia, or the tribal militia in Kuwait). The task of the paramilitary forces, which were often better equipped than the regular armed forces and were headed by proven loyalists with a broad mandate, was to provide internal security. This enabled the regimes to expand their control of the military while reducing their dependence on the military's coercive capacities (traditionally a source of bargaining power for the military vis-a-vis the regime). Commonly applied terms for such developments, such as "demilitarization," military "professionalization," or "military disengagement," fail to identify the persistent intricate relations between both actors. The rise of stable regimes has not settled the issue of the subordination of the military to the state once and for all. Without exception, the so-called civilianized (and often ex-military) rulers of the Middle East still rely heavily on the army, calling on it regularly when they are about to lose control. Examples are manifold: Egypt after the assassination of Sadat and the impending Islamist uprising of 1981; Egypt in 1986 when the Ministry of Interior failed to quell riots started by its Central Security Forces; Egypt in the 19905 when police operations were launched in Upper Egypt to suppress Islamist uprisings; Jordan when order had to be restored in Karak (1996) and Ma an (1998, 2001). In Syria the armed forces have remained loyal, although the task of countering threats to the regime is bestowed mainly on the paramilitaries and praetorian forces. Saddam Hussein contained his armed forces by creating resentment among the officers and transforming them into an ideological army for fear of military unrest. At regular intervals, however, he had to promote officers (as opposed to political commissars) within the army—for example, during the war with Iran, when he needed the army's support to deal a serious blow to the Iranian forces. In general, therefore, the less sectarian and repressive a ruler is vis-^-vis his army, the more he can rely on it in crucial moments (positive examples are Egypt and Jordan; negative ones are Iraq or Syria). A weak military poses no threat to the regime, but it also provides no security. Throughout the Arab world the armed forces have retained some bargaining power, their loyalty being in fact agreed subservience rather than total submission. Therefore the regimes treat their military cadres with great care. When military officials

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leave the realm of active politics and turn to other activities, their political clout spreads to other areas as well. The study of the political economy of the military sheds more light on these complex relations. THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF THE ARMY IN THE STATE

Three aspects of the political economy of state-military relations deserve further attention: (i) Arab armies actively lobby for larger budgets; (2) Middle Eastern armies have begun to invest in the civilian sector; and (3) a closed-off military society has evolved in each Arab state. The first aspect is the recognition that Arab armies remain budget-hungry actors who keep lobbying for high military budgets. Although figures are to be taken with a grain of salt, military expenditure in the Middle East is higher than in all other world regions, both in absolute terms and in relation to other expenditures and even after some Arab states reached peace with Israel (Cordesman 2OO5a). Arab countries are also among the top importers of military equipment. This predominance of the military sector in the Middle East is directly correlated with the availability of direct or indirect oil rent1 (directly in the oil states and indirectly through inter-Arab aid to non-oil states). The vast funds available to many Arab states allow profligate defense budgets and the purchase of new equipment. Large military expenditures have thus persisted despite being decried by economists as a diversion of resources. However, apart from this external logic, the high military budgets of Middle Eastern states also have an internal explanation. Because the (civilian) technocrats who promote economic reform have no say in the defense sector, the military continues to have access to a large share of the scarce available resources, even in times of fluctuating national income (as a result of debt rescheduling or variations in external rent or aid). The end of Syria's profitable alliance with the Soviet Union is a case in point, as is Jordan's "budget security," which can hardly be called secure (Brand 1994). Battles over the budget were fought in Syria in the 19805 and 19905. Yet although the Syrian army remains undercapitalized and poor (with adverse effects on battlefield capacity), the living standard of Syria's military personnel is higher than the national average. By continually dispatching officers to the small Gulf emirates (where salaries are several times higher), the Jordanian military has direct access to rent, just as the Syrian military was able to tap resources from Lebanon. In fact,

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the bulk of the Gulf states' officer corps is made up of East Bank Jordanians who hold key positions in the army and receive extensive financial rewards for being considered the regime's most trusted constituency. In Egypt high military officials regularly use the country's newspapers as channels for claiming large budget allocations, which the regime can hardly ignore because these demands are embedded in a nationalist discourse and portray the army as the guardian of the country's ideals and an indispensable supporter of the public sector, a function presupposing self-sufficiency. Another dimension of Middle Eastern countries' high military expenditures is the development of the arms industry coupled with the desire to equip their armies with the latest military technology. Egypt's defense industry, for instance, employs 80,000-100,000 people in the domestic production of military hardware and under-license assembly of tanks, helicopters, and aircraft. Egyptian military factories also export equipment to other Arab and developing countries. Egypt's arms exports peaked during the Iran-Iraq war (1980-1988) when parts of old Soviet weaponry were sold to Iraq, producing high profits that went off the budget directly into the military coffers. In Syria the Syrian Organization of Military Factories produces military spare parts and assembles small arms, with the military controlling a large and secretive network of scientific research institutes. In Saddam's Iraq tense regional relations, the war against Iran, and the regime's determination to achieve military supremacy and hegemony in the Gulf left no time for expanding the war industry. Iraq's so-called military industrialization, therefore, did not result so much from a concerted strategy to achieve self-sufficiency but rather was based on imported or smuggled facilities. Moreover, Iraq under Saddam Hussein controlled an impressive international network of firms so as to be able to evade foreign restrictions. The rationale behind military industrialization is more psychological than functional because military industries need extensive funds for research and development when the global arms market is closed to all but a few operators. Still, many Arab officers push the political leadership to enhance their country's international prestige and power by investing in the development of new military technology. One reason for this is that Arab officers perceive national security as interrelated with other areas of national development, because their states' food imports (so-called food security), arms procurement, and technology transfers depend heavily on smooth foreign relations. Moreover, Arab officers are sensitive to the threat of national security being under-

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mined by economic embargoes and the failure of economic development. Arab militaries are characterized by a strong sense of corporatism (transmitted through the military hierarchy, but also through a common identity cultivated in schools, clubs, traditions, customs, and the military press), a strong self-image, and high societal esteem, which fosters the officers' identification with the success or failure of their countries' policies, as military sociology has shown (Finer 1962; Huntington 1957). When the US coalition destroyed the Iraqi army in 1991, then allegedly the largest and best equipped in the Arab world, most Arab officers felt humiliated, which added to their desire for more sophisticated military systems and technology. The same holds true after the 2003 Iraq war. Yet, although no regime could ignore such claims, because no regime can hope to survive with an economically constricted and humiliated officer corps, their fulfillment depended on each country's respective economic situation; high oil income (as in Iraq or Saudi Arabia) permits high military expenditures and large external debt levels, whereas oil-poor countries such as Syria or Jordan must find a balance between the defense budget and nonmilitary expenditures when faced with decreasing external rent (although the bulk of the meager resources still goes to the military). In Egypt and Jordan high levels of US military aid enable the regimes to service their military. To summarize, a military with an interest in new technology and modernization also has a vested interest in maintaining close foreign relations, especially with the United States, and thereby contributes to political stability. Rentierism and foreign (especially US) military aid greatly help the regimes respond to their armies' desires and thus enhance legitimacy. The second aspect of the political economy of state-military relations is that armies all over the Middle East have begun to invest in the civilian sector, thus becoming business actors in their own right. In some cases (e.g., Egypt) this is reminiscent of the 19505 and 19608 ideological fancy of the military modernizing the economic sector. Since then, however, the military's business interests have greatly expanded. Armies have made inroads into the civilian economy both for military and other purposes. In Egypt the defense industry, which used to be plagued by low productivity rates, has converted many production facilities to factories that make civilian goods for the domestic market (washing machines, heaters, clothes, pharmaceuticals, electrical appliances, cars, etc.). To ensure self-sufficiency but also to make profits, the army has developed a wide network of farms and milk-processing and

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bread production facilities as well as poultry and fish farms (Sadowski 1993). In addition, it is involved in the lucrative reclamation of desert land and runs numerous hotels and tourist resorts. All income from such activities goes to the army's own coffers and is off budget. In Syria the military owns two of the country's largest construction companies (among them the famous Milihouse Company, with 45,000-50,000 employees). Milihouse, originally set up to construct housing for military personnel in both Syria and Lebanon, has built roads, bridges, schools, irrigation systems, and hospitals. Other military enterprises produce food, industrial furniture, and medicines, and the military also runs a nationwide chain of retail outlets. Smooth business relations are secured by Syria's post-1970 state bourgeoisie, which is partly composed of top generals who operate as partners of private businessmen. Compared to the Egyptian military, Syria's army is involved in more basic economic activities (construction), lacks the capacity to invest in sophisticated technologies, and is more preoccupied with protecting and giving subcontracts to civilian businessmen and foreign firms than with setting up its own private businesses. The Iraqi military under Saddam Hussein had an economic wing (the so-called cement makers) that helped to rejuvenate the Iraqi private sector in the 19805 and performed a variety of economic, technical, and social functions. The Iraqi military industry produced a multitude of items—copper, pesticides, electronics, optics, plastic, and engines for the civilian market. In Jordan, too, the army pursues many economic and social activities, especially in the rural south, where many of its cadres originate from and have been involved in a significant number of infrastructure projects in association with civilian businessmen, many of them retired officers. As I have shown here, the Arab armies' organizational structure and endowment with skills and assets have enabled them to become successful business actors. Their maneuverability in the civilian sector has been further reinforced by their experience in the management of violence (Janowitz 1977). Moreover, the top military leaders seem to be inspired by the ideal of a heroic national leader with a strong sense of public service who is simultaneously a manager and a technocrat—a notion that has had a strong impact on Arab societies. As the armies seek better technology, it is only natural that their officers will put out feelers in areas outside their original purview—that is, the civilian sector—and justify all inroads into the civilian sector with the transferability of skills coming from their (military) activities.

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However, Arab armies are not Weberian or Schumpeterian entrepreneurs in the strict sense but rather parasitic actors who know better than others how to play by or benefit from the rules of the game. In other words, the military knows how to make use of its comparative advantages, such as the cheap manpower of its conscripts, its access to technology and highly qualified civilian engineers, its heavy equipment infrastructure, its privileges (e.g., disguised subsidies, tax exemptions, and absolute financial autonomy), its monopolistic right to produce goods of strategic interest, and its sheer size, which enables it to alter market conditions and circumvent regulations. Thus, although Arab armed forces have retreated from open politics, they still bear great weight in the political process through their economic position. Moreover, the armed forces use their resources less for forging political alliances in search of power than for financial gain. Thereby they heavily influence the political economies of the region. Whatever the army's contribution to economic development may have been, the military itself has benefited the most from its expansion into the civilian sector. The flip side of the coin, however, is that the military's economic activity is used by the regime to offer lucrative posts to high military officials or members of the security apparatus (as was the case in Syria and Iraq during the 19908), to buttress its officers' income, or simply to lessen constraints on the state treasury (in Egypt). Therefore the military economy does not entail much formal institutional power for the military in the political system. When officers perform important economic and social functions, they inevitably become part of the elite or are at least tied to the regime (and its status quo). The distinct features of Arab political-economic systems (rentierism, statism, cronyism, along with stalled economic reforms) have thus created a breeding ground for alliances between military leaders and prominent businessmen (the so-called military munfatihun lobby; cf. Picard 1993). By contrast, South Asian governments empowered themselves by establishing bigger armies than necessary and by making the armed forces fend for themselves through economic activities. The soldiers in turn helped to keep the government in power, an arrangement that lasted until the outset of economic reforms in the 19905. In the context of structural adjustment most South Asian armies have been driven out of business at a surprising rate; this happens less so in Arab polities, where the authoritarian regimes maintain tight control over the economy. Finally, the third aspect of the political economy of state-military relations is that a "military society" has evolved in all Arab states—a term that, in

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contrast to Abdel Malek (1968), is used here to denote a closed-off social group living, secluded from civilians, in exclusive suburbs or residential areas; this society is further distinguished in most Arab countries by corporate privileges, such as access to military-only facilities (schools, hospitals, clubs, leisure facilities, military shops, etc.), cheap housing, transportation facilities, easy access to low-interest credits, access to scarce consumer goods at cheap prices, better medical care, and higher salaries than employees in the civilian public sector (see also Richter's chapter in this volume [Chapter n]). Finally, officers also have access to military networks, which pool the working power and accumulated experience of thousands of retired officers in a milieu with a distinct and elitist worldview that regards the military as superior. In Arab countries the army's economic activities generally serve as a life jacket for protecting the living standard of the military personnel from the adverse effects of economic liberalization (infitah). In addition, the privileges and networks confined to military officials benefit their relatives as well, because they pave the way for employment in the state bureaucracy and thus to financial security. In the Syrian (Alawi) countryside and in southern Jordan, many depend on military services unavailable to the general public for their living (somewhat similar to East Germany's dictatorship of needs in the 19605 and 19708). In Saddam Hussein's Iraq, army officers received high salaries, privileged access to subsidized goods, and other private benefits even though they were subject to strong repression and not trusted by the regime. Consequently, the dissolution of the Iraqi army by the Coalition Provisional Authority in May 2003 deprived many people of their livelihood, soon giving rise to a resistance movement against the US forces. Economic liberalization has by now been carried out in all Arab states in one way or another. In this context the corporate benefits granted to military personnel have become sensitive issues in all Arab countries, but even more so where economic liberalization has gained currency and has led to great economic and social disparities (with stagnating public-sector wages, inflation, inequality, etc.). Because military officials are equally affected by the consequences of liberalization, regimes pursuing that strategy must pay special attention to quelling the dissatisfaction of the officer corps. In Syria lower-military officials were able to enrich themselves by selling illegal imports from Lebanon on Syrian markets and by taking bribes at checkpoints, whereas higher-command officers stationed in Lebanon accumulated considerable wealth by patronizing entrepreneurs.

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Yet, apart from these most visible and controversial incidences, the military networks serve profit-seeking individuals in even more legal, semilegal, and, at times, illegal ways. Much is also heard about corruption in Jordan and Egypt, where more and more officers (generals, in particular) are entering what the official Egyptian press calls "the battle of production and modernization," a catchphrase to describe active or retired officers who are appointed to the boards of private companies. In Egypt a career in the ranks of the army is a key to lucrative jobs that provide both economic security and prestige after retiring. In Jordan the military's high societal esteem (the late King Hussein referred to the army as "his family, his tribe and his main support") makes it easy for military officials to start a second career in the civilian sector. Retired Jordanian officers increasingly serve as contractors or consultants to both Jordanian firms and foreign investors, using their contacts and intimate knowledge to help clients navigate the intricate (liberalized) economy. In Saudi Arabia partnerships between entrepreneurs and retired officers are frequent in the chambers of commerce of the Najd region. In Syria the offspring of powerful families with affiliations to the military increasingly pursue lucrative careers in the private sector, setting up monopolies in the areas of mobile communication, information technology, pharmaceuticals, and duty-free merchandising. The corporate and individual privileges obtained by military officials explain why a career in the army remains attractive. However, things have changed markedly since the 19605 and 19705 because most of the brilliant, energetic, or privileged individuals once predestined for a military career now prefer private-sector positions in engineering, finance, or international organizations—jobs that continue to be out of reach for most strata of Arab societies. A military career does retain some luster, especially for the lower classes, which have been the main victims of poverty and societal neglect, and for the middle classes, which suffer most from the consequences of economic liberalization. Hence the army remains a provider of livelihood and a channel of social mobility for many young individuals and families, granting them privileges that maintain their purchasing power amid rising inflation and enable them to purchase status symbols such as cars or apartments. For Arab regimes this socialization effect is of prime importance because they have always seen the middle class as both a safety valve and a potential risk factor. The army's social function thus provides a partial explanation for the continuing political weight of the army and today remains a basic tenet of

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Arab authoritarian regimes—although it contributed to the downfall of civilian regimes in the 19608. The Arab Gulf regimes' strategy toward their regular armies (as distinguished from the paramilitaries) sheds further light on the political economy of the military in the Middle East. The crux is that Arab armies are underdeveloped, although the regimes have overspent on the military. As a result, Gulf armies employ many foreigners (Jordanians, Pakistanis, and Omanis) at all levels, with the regimes relying on external protection (mostly through military ties with the United States) for security. The Saudi army, for instance, is small by any standard, lacks combat capacity, and is understaffed; according to experts, it also lacks projection capabilities. On the other hand, the Saudi air force owns advanced equipment but lacks crews and technicians. Numerous confidential US reports have urged the Saudis to upgrade security by enlarging and training the regular army, but Saudi rulers have continued to rely on the US-Saudi special relationship (on this, see Aarts's chapter in this volume [Chapter 15]); in addition, the Saudi rulers postponed any decision to expand their military until Islamist protests against the US bases in the country became a threat to them. Indeed, the Saudi regime spent billions of dollars on military training under the supervision of foreign experts and purchased vast quantities of the most sophisticated weapons available. The Saudi state went to great lengths to construct huge military bases, usually far from the kingdom's major cities. In case of an external threat these bases can be leased to US forces, whereby the overall impression of an ineffective Saudi military is reaffirmed. This is clearly in accordance with what the Saudi rulers want; they have never liked the idea of a large and dynamic army and have kept the armed forces under the direct supervision of princes, who have been placed at the head of informal lines of command within the military. The Saudis' overspending in training, equipment, and military bases can thus be interpreted as an investment in a marvelous sandcastle to buy the quiescence of a weak army. CIVIL-MILITARY RELATIONS AND ARMIES IN AUTHORITARIAN SETTINGS: BRINGING THE REGIMES BACK IN

Is the political economy of the military merely a side effect of the natural development of armies, or is it interrelated with the character of the regimes these armies are embedded in? Quite clearly, the latter is true, because there is a purposeful element in the relation between military and state in the Arab

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world that goes way beyond the armed forces' quiet return to the barracks or military disengagement, as is illustrated by the military's active involvement in the civilian economy. Therefore Arab armies diverge markedly both from the liberal conception of the military's subordination to civilian authorities in a democratic setting and from interventionist armies such as the Turkish army. The alleged demilitarization of the Middle East has not come as far as it may seem, which is why we must bring the regime and its rationale of power maintenance back in. The days are gone when a small clique of officers could seize power by mobilizing a few military units. The states of the Middle East are now leviathans with strong public sectors and large bureaucracies. In general, the military is too weak or ineffective to control the state apparatus or to bring new regimes to power, a limitation that precludes any direct political influence of the military (on the "weaknesses" of the military, cf. Finer 1962). Rather, it is the president or king who assumes control with the support of family members and ethnic, sectarian, clannish, or tribal affiliates (e.g., the Saudi princes and their allied families from the Najd, the Syrian Alawis, the Iraqi Sunnis under Saddam Hussein, and Jordan's rural constituency from the East Bank). In addition, rulers control the dominant political parties, such as the National Democratic Party in Egypt or the Ba£ath Party in Syria and Iraq. In this sense we can indeed speak of a demilitarization of Arab political systems; the regimes have acquired some legitimacy of their own by maintaining political stability while consolidating their own networks of trusted individuals in the bureaucracy, the political sphere, the economic sector, and the military apparatus who are directly tied to the authoritarian center (i.e., the president or king). Although authoritarian (civilianized) Arab regimes suffer from "a crisis of legitimacy" (Hudson 1977), in the eyes of key societal groups they have been able to secure more legitimacy (indeed a weak legitimacy) than their potential opponents. The usurpation of power by Arab regimes was also closely tied to the militarization of the state in discourse and/or practice (Heydemann 2000). Middle Eastern regimes keep preparing for all kinds of wars in rhetoric and practice (on Syria, cf. Perthes 2000), stating as reasons the necessity of building up a strong army for external defense, Israeli hostilities, and, in all cases, the unavoidable modernization of the armed forces. Hence the military retains a kind of symbolic power in Arab polities, as the responsibility for conjuring up threats and defending the country rests on its shoulders. However, the regimes seek to prevent any cultural autonomy of the army and rather instrumentalize

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the war-prone atmosphere in the Middle East for their own purposes (the Arab regimes are busy preparing for war with the help of the military—but a military under their control). Therefore the modernization of the armed forces is strictly monitored, rendering the military more of a background figure in this affair and thereby weakening the self-image of many Arab officers. Rulers with a military background (e.g., Hosni Mubarak, Kings Hussein and Abdallah II, Hafiz al-Asad) are more receptive to these dimensions and will thus find it less difficult to acquire legitimacy to rule. At any rate, the military remains an essential component of authoritarian rule in the Middle East. Hosni Mubarak, for instance, is a military officer who seeks the trust of the military establishment. Therefore the difference between military and so-called civilian channels of influence becomes blurred at the top of the Egyptian state; the president's staff is composed of trusted officers whose networks penetrate the entire state apparatus (Cassandra 1995). The crucial position of the Egyptian army may have become less observable, but it is no less relevant than before. In Syria Hafiz al-Asad and his son Bashar fought their battle for power both within the army and through military channels. Hafiz al-Asad removed a number of potential rivals from their positions, infusing the military with young officers who owe their careers to him and to Bashar—the rising star of the system. This measure triggered a generational transition in the army before that transition occurred in the political leadership in a "natural" way. The smooth transition in the succession period of June 2000 was mainly ensured by a group of officers from the mukhabarat and the minister of defense (Mustafa Tlass). In all Arab countries the armed forces have retreated from conventional politics and are no longer involved in the repressive routine unless the situation becomes critical for the regime or unless military tribunals are held. However, because a close relationship and mutual dependence continue to exist between the military, the bureaucratic elites, and the regime, the relative weight of the military in Arab politics has diminished quantitatively but not qualitatively. Keeping an intimate nexus with the armed forces and hence tolerating their autonomous economic activities are the price that authoritarian regimes must pay to survive. Arab regimes' ongoing reliance on the armed forces mirrors the regimes' lack of accountability and strength and invigorates the weight of the military within the political system. An opposite example is the Iraqi army. Saddam Hussein, himself not a military officer (although General al-Bakr helped him to seize power), did not manage his army with

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great care. Desertion was frequent, the morale low, and the officers' frustration high, because many officers were deeply offended by being overruled by political officeholders and mediocre colleagues from Tikrit linked to Saddam Hussein's family. Hence it is not surprising that numerous reports attested to military coup attempts or that the army did not fight for Saddam Hussein's regime during the intifada in the south (1991) or against US forces in 2003. The relation between the regime and the army never reached a point of agreed stability and went through frequent ups (when the president needed the help of the regular armed forces, as during the war with Iran) and downs (when he relied on paramilitaries and purged his officer corps). The endeavors of Arab regimes were thus not so much geared toward demilitarization or pushing the military back to the barracks but rather toward the progressive institutionalization of the military apparatus into the authoritarian state (for a convergent view, see Bellin 2004). Therefore the trend of the disappearance of uniformed men from high posts (such as governors, ministers, heads of public companies) does not contradict the thoroughgoing integration of the military into the formal and informal authoritarian decision-making networks. However, this institutionalization is not to be confused with Huntington's professionalization, although it has a professional element in that cronyism, patrimonialism, and ethnic or sectarian affiliations in the military are increasingly complemented by formal, meritocratic, and professional promotion criteria. Some results of this transformation have been the appointment of more competent officers to high posts, the emergence of corporatism, and greater cohesion within the military. Despite all this, the military is not in the process of becoming just another interest group. For instance, military autonomy in the Middle East differs greatly from conditions in Latin America (Stepan 1988), where the military was granted autonomy (more accurately, it negotiated "transition pacts") in matters of personnel recruitment, budget spending, promotions, arms procurement, and amnesty for its human rights violations after the transition to democracy.2 In the Arab world a picture of the army's withdrawal from active politics emerges, although many ties to authoritarian regimes persist. All in all, the political quiescence of the military in the Middle East is not the product of the military's (re)professionalization or its return to an external mission (the defense of the country) but of its close relationship with its regime and the benefits it gains from it. Nonetheless, the military's bargaining power is lessened to some degree by its agreed subordination to the regime.

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We cannot understand the relationship between the military and authoritarian regimes of the Middle East without taking into account the thorough transformation that regimes have imposed on the armed forces. Sadat shook up the officer corps by eliminating a number of powerful and politicized officers, thus achieving, at last, what Nasser had yearned for: control over the military. In Syria and Iraq coups and countercoups, the successive elimination of the more prominent and brilliant officers, and the promotion or appointment of officers based on their political loyalty and/or ethnic affiliation made the officer corps waver. Consequently, Arab armies are no longer loci of politicization where officers can discuss politics as freely as in the 19605. Twenty to thirty years of interaction with authoritarian regimes have left their mark on the armed forces, which are now characterized by overcentralized authority, hidden lines of command (i.e., the monitoring of military activities behind the scenes), and rivalries between different organizations of military and security/paramilitary services that counterbalance each other. In all cases dealt with here, the presidential or royal palace is the center of power. Promotions of military personnel are based on loyalty to the regime, or at least on passivity, rather than on field ability or skills. The top brass of the military are often enticed by material and immaterial benefits and become an integral part of the regime's power network. Officers of lower rank usually maintain a lower profile and are primarily concerned with their personal (sometimes semilegal) economic interests while otherwise acting as docile yes-men who lack the will and/or capacity to take initiative, preferring not to be identified as innovators or individuals prone to making the first move. These are also explanatory variables for the generally poor performance of the Arab military (Pollack 2002) in military terms, because the new military elite is wed to the political status quo and restricts itself to the roles of quiet modern technocrats and apolitical specialists. Furthermore, the military's reluctance to intervene in politics because of the disappointments of earlier decades and the risk of its own fragmentation along political lines benefits authoritarian regimes of the Middle East. CONCLUSION

All these developments hint to a changed role and self-perception of Middle Eastern armies in general, but it has also become clear that Arab militaries are still of paramount importance for the regimes' survival, albeit for different reasons than in earlier decades. The military continues to play an important

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role in many political structures. With much less active formal involvement in day-to-day politics than before, armies have extended their activities deeply into the civilian economy. This, however, makes the Arab military remain a crucial actor in its own right, and one with a strong corporate identity. The same phenomenon can be observed in virtually all Arab regimes: The military is weakened insofar as it has retreated from politics proper to a significant degree. Contrary to the earlier notion of a professionalization of the armies or a demilitarization of the polities that would just lead the armed forces back to the barracks, armies in the Middle East have successfully been transformed into key economic players. Thereby they fulfill functions important to the regimes from both an economic and a social perspective— functions that are, in most cases, rewarded generously through untouched military budgets, corporate and individual privileges, and the emergence of what I have called here a military society, a network and partial amalgamation of business and military interests that further enhance the well-being of all echelons of Middle Eastern armies. The military today hardly poses any immediate challenge to the regimes, not least because it is among the main beneficiaries of the authoritarian status quo. But its new role and activities leave it ample room for self-enrichment, for decisively influencing Middle Eastern political economies, and thus, albeit often indirectly, for continued membership in the inner circles of "politically relevant elites" (Perthes 2o04a, 5-7). The direct political role of the armies has waned, but having been transformed by the regimes, they have kept an essential role in the Arab authoritarian state. In the long run, however, these armies may also become frustrated as a result of political constraints, and Islamism may make inroads into the officers corps, as was the case in Sudan in the early 19805.

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THE INTERNATIONAL ARENA

Part 4

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13

INTERNATIONAL DIMENSIONS OF MIDDLE EASTERN AUTHORITARIANISM The G8 and External Efforts at Political Reform Mustapha K. Sayyid

IMPACT OF WESTERN DEMOCRATIZATION PROJECTS IN THE ARAB REGION

The Middle East is probably the only region in the world that has been the object of a deliberate campaign by outside powers—in this case the highly industrialized countries of the Group of Eight1 (G8)—to bring about the democratic transformation of its regimes. However, despite the forceful regime change in Iraq, none of the region's countries, with the exception of Israel, have so far been elevated to the status of "free countries" in the famous Freedom House reports. Although Bahrain, Jordan, Lebanon, Yemen, and Morocco were described as partly free in the 2006 report, all other Arab countries were classified as not free (Freedom House 2006, 7-12).2 This lack of transformation shows that the G8's efforts to induce democratic change in the Middle East have remained largely unsuccessful; major features of the region's authoritarian political systems are still intact. Although some reforms have been introduced in countries such as Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, and Kuwait, these countries can still not be called democracies if one conceptualizes democracy in terms of the possibility of a change of government through the ballot box. Another case in point is Israel, which was not excluded from the category of free countries by the authors of the Freedom House report, despite its violations of Palestinian rights in the Occupied Territories. If this rating is taken as an indicator of the effectiveness of democracy promotion in the Middle East, one must therefore conclude that little has been achieved. 215

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The major contention of this chapter is that Arab authoritarian regimes have a long life expectancy not because democracy is low on the agenda of both their ruling elites and their major opposition groups but rather because history in general and Western history in particular have shown that the transition to liberal regimes—commonly but inaccurately equated with democracies—is an outcome of domestic change and the maturation of balanced relations between state and society (see also the contributions in Parts i and 2 of this volume). Foreign support can therefore be useful and effective when domestic prodemocracy groups are powerful enough to constitute a credible alternative to the status quo. External support to these groups might help to provide the last push in a long journey. In this chapter, however, I argue not only that democratic forces in Arab countries have been either nonexistent or lacking in credibility but also that foreign interest in the promotion of democracy in the Middle East has been too feeble, inconsistent with other policies, and lacking public support in Western countries themselves. I contend that Arab regimes were generally skillful enough to weather the storm of democracy talk until it passed. To explain the failure of G8 efforts to promote democracy in the Middle East, I present three arguments: (i) the insufficient commitment of the G8 to the promotion of democracy in the region, (2) the lack of Western sympathy for Arab opposition parties and movements, and (3) the skepticism of public opinion in Western countries with regard to the democracy promotion effort itself. The G8 governments are neither united in their commitment to democracy promotion nor sufficiently interested in pursuing this goal, particularly if it clashes with other Middle East-related policy objectives. Unlike their counterparts in other regions where democratization has already taken place, democratic opposition groups in Arab countries do not entertain friendly relations with political parties and civil society institutions in the West and therefore do not receive any substantial support from the West. Finally, public opinion in G8 countries is ill-disposed toward the prospect of democratic change in the Arab world in particular and has concerns about the uncertain consequences of democratic change if it were ever to happen. Thus, despite changes of government through regular elections in Morocco (1999), Lebanon (2005), and the Palestinian territories (2006), authoritarian regimes in the Arab world are alive and well and seem to have a longer life expectancy than authoritarian regimes in other parts of the world.

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LACK OF UNITY AND COMMITMENT AMONG THE G8 COUNTRIES

The most prominent international advocate of the promotion of democracy in the Middle East is the highly industrialized countries of the G8. The G8 adopted a detailed action plan on how to achieve this goal at its summit conference at Sea Island, Georgia, on June 9, 2004. Only a few months after the summit, however, it became clear that previous disagreements on the issue among its members still persisted. Moreover, the G8 believes that chances to achieve their goals in the short term were particularly hampered by the events in Iraq. Old cleavages still set the US administration apart from the other G8 members, including the United Kingdom and particularly France, which tends to take the most outspoken stance against unilateral US interests. Although the European Union (EU) is not indifferent to the cause of human rights and civil society in Arab countries, as shown by its Barcelona Declaration, democracy promotion has not been a major concern for the EU and has often been overshadowed by trade interests, such as the institutionalization of broader economic relations with Arab countries through "association agreements." Yet not only have the United States and the EU adopted divergent views on the question of democracy promotion in the Middle East, but also—even after they came to an agreement at Sea Island—past differences have remained, which explains why the Europeans have awarded little enthusiasm to the issue ever since. This lack of enthusiasm is probably also due to the fact that the world's leading advocate of democracy promotion in the Middle East, the US administration under George W. Bush, lacks credibility in this regard. Although it is true that all US administrations since President Reagan have toyed with the idea of democracy as a goal of US foreign policy, democracy promotion in the Middle East was rhetorically elevated to a major goal only by the administration of George W. Bush. The Clinton administration, for example, preceded the Republican administration in its espousal of democracy promotion as a general concern of its foreign policy, but it did not make democracy promotion a prominent goal of its foreign policy in the Middle East. For the Bush administration the rationale behind this goal is twofold: It is consistent with US political traditions, and it is considered a necessary precondition for US security.3

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However, in this regard the Bush administration suffered from a lack of credibility even before the events at Abu Ghraib and the inhumane treatment of Afghan prisoners at Guantanamo became known to the world. It had refused to sign major international treaties approved by the vast majority of countries, such as the Kyoto Protocol on Climate Change, and manipulated public opinion in the United States to go to war against Iraq on the unfounded claim that Iraq possessed weapons of mass destruction. As a result of the unilateralist policies of the Bush administration, the United States lost credibility and acquired a negative image in most countries, as has been well documented by several opinion polls. According to the Pew 16 Nation Global Attitudes Survey—conducted in sixteen countries over the period 1999-2005 by the US Pew Research Center—the United States had a better image in 2002 than two years earlier. This was a result of the September n attacks in 2001, which led many people in these sixteen countries to sympathize with the United States. Three years later, people had a less favorable image of the United States again, even in countries that had joined the war on Iraq, such as the United Kingdom, Spain, and Poland. The only exceptions were India and Lebanon, where the US image had improved. The lowest percentages of people with a favorable image of the United States were found in Muslim and Arab countries, such as Jordan (ranking lowest with 21%), Pakistan, Turkey, and Indonesia (38%). In Lebanon those with a positive image of the United States accounted for 42 percent of the sample in 2005, perhaps because the US position on the assassination of the late Lebanese prime minister Rafiq al-Hariri in February 2005. However, even in Lebanon those who had a favorable image of the United States remained less than half of those polled (Pew Research Center 2005). This negative image of the United States in the world was further fed by the wide gap between US claims to promote democracy and its lukewarm reaction to human rights violations by "friendly governments," such as those of Israel, Tunisia, or Libya after 2003, not to mention the practices in Iraq and Guantanamo. Under such conditions it is hardly surprising that the Bush administration's espousal of democracy promotion in the Middle East received a less than warm welcome in European capitals. Divergences became manifest when several European countries (among them France, Germany, Denmark, and Italy) advanced their own ideas on how to promote democracy in the Middle East. The major issues of contention were the degrees of priority attached to foreign policy goals by the major G8 members as well as the pace and methods of

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the promotion of political reform in general. President Bush has declared the advancement of freedom in the Middle East a major goal of his government's foreign policy, without specifying the methods of its achievement. The manner of regime change in Iraq indicates that the US administration would not hesitate to use military force to change other regimes in the region, particularly those of Syria and Iran. In contrast, both Germany and France tended to prioritize settling the region's most pressing security issues, particularly the Arab-Israeli dispute. Also, they preferred to cooperate with the governments of the region and considered political reform a long-term goal. By contrast, the United States, particularly during President Bush's first term of office, seemed to attach higher priority to political reform as an immediate policy goal to be adopted by the countries of the region. It even severed diplomatic ties with the late Yassir Arafat, accusing him of being an authoritarian leader and subjecting cooperation with the Palestinian leadership to the condition of reforming the Palestinian Authority, which the United States deemed impossible so long as Arafat remained its head. Obviously, the Bush administration did not rule out military action and economic sanctions as ways of introducing democracy to the Middle East. This notion was shared by several European countries that participated in the US-led war against Iraq (particularly the United Kingdom, Italy, Spain, Denmark, and Poland), whereas other EU countries (such as France and Germany) were unequivocally opposed to the use of force as a means of bringing about regime change.4 Such divergent views are also reflected in the G8 document adopted at Sea Island on June 9, 2004, "Partnership for Progress and a Common Future with the Region of the Broader Middle East and North Africa." This joint statement of the G8 leaders acknowledged that "the resolution of longlasting, often bitter, disputes, especially the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, is an important element of progress in the region," but it hastened to add, "At the same time, regional conflicts must not be an obstacle for reforms. Indeed, reforms may make a significant contribution toward resolving them" (G8 Information Centre 2004b). The statement further added that "successful reform depends on countries of the region, and change should not and cannot be imposed from outside" (G8 Information Centre 2OO4b, 2). To dispel any fears that the G8 would not respect the so-called "particularities" of the region, they stressed that "each country is unique and their diversity should be respected. Our engagement must respond to local conditions and be based

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on local ownership. Each society will reach its own conclusions about the pace and scope of change." Simultaneously, however, it was warned that "distinctiveness, important as it is, must not be exploited to prevent reform" (G8 Information Centre 2O04b, 4). At the same summit the G8 also adopted what it called a "Plan of Support of Reform," which spelled out practical measures for promoting reforms in the broader Middle East. These reforms fall into four main areas: politics, economics, gender relations, and culture. The most concrete measure agreed on was the establishment of the Partners' Forum for the Future, which serves mainly as a consultation framework and brings together senior government officials, businesspeople, and civil society activists from both G8 and Arab countries to exchange their ideas on how to best promote democracy in the region (G8 Information Centre 2o04a). The G8 proposal was presented as a response to demands for reform from the Arab world. Thus the document quoted extensively from statements issued by selected Arab "civil society" meetings, such as the Arab Summit in Tunisia, which had preceded the Sea Island summit by a few weeks, as well as the United Nations Development Program's Arab Human Development Report (UNDP 2002). A number of Arab leaders (from Algeria, Jordan, Bahrain, Yemen, and Iraq) were present at Sea Island and had the occasion to meet the G8 heads of state. Disagreements among the G8 leaders became public immediately after the summit. President Jacques Chirac of France declared at a press conference on June 10 that the summit's conclusions had been drafted by the G8 presidency without his prior consultation. He went on to emphasize the necessity of complete respect for state sovereignty and held that although the G8 should respond favorably to demands emanating from Middle Eastern countries, solutions were never to be imposed but should instead be enacted in a spirit of partnership with the countries concerned. Chancellor Gerhard Schroeder of Germany expressed a similar idea when he met with President Bush after the summit. Schroeder maintained that the West should refrain from trying to impose its own societal models on others. Instead, democracy would have to emerge from within the countries in question. Schroeder moreover emphasized that he and the US president saw eye to eye on this matter (Federal Government of Germany 2004). One should not be surprised that in the Sea Island statement the US administration accepted a position that closely resembled Chirac's and Schroeder's

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earlier critique of its hazardous adventure of regime change under the guise of the search for weapons of mass destruction and the war against terror. In its second term the Bush administration realized the difficulty of the enterprise to establish democracy in Iraq, which it had wanted to present as a model to be exported to other Arab countries. Furthermore, the US image had been tarnished by the practices of US troops and the provisional administration in Iraq. True, elections did take place, and a majority of registered voters did turn out to elect a national assembly. However, several human rights organizations reported human rights violations by US troops against individuals who were not necessarily involved in armed resistance (Amnesty International 2004-2006). The US failure to provide basic security to the majority of Iraqis rendered the new Iraq an even less attractive model to other Arab countries. Thus, although the US administration continued to sell Iraq as a model democracy, US think tanks and policy advisers began to realize the difficulty of hauling democracy into Iraq on armored vehicles. Richard N. Haass, until June 2003 the director of policy planning for the State Department and in this capacity principal adviser to Secretary of State Colin Powell on a range of foreign policy issues, had to admit that great risks were involved in forceful regime change. Distinguishing between regime removal and regime replacement, Haass found regime replacement to be uncertain, costly, and obtainable "only at the cost of prolonged foreign military occupation" (Haass 2005, 70-71). The most concrete collective action taken by the G8 following the Sea Island summit was the Forum for the Future held in Rabat, Morocco, on December 10-11, 2004. This forum brought together ministers from twenty Arab countries along with representatives of regional civil society organizations and the private sector. The event was dominated by discussions on economic reform and job creation. Arab civil society leaders felt that they were marginalized during that meeting.5 One year later, a meeting in Bahrain even failed to produce a joint statement because of major disagreements between the G8 and several Arab countries on the question of direct aid to civil society organizations, which was opposed by the Arab countries. At the bilateral level, policies pursued by the G8 were in many cases far from consistent with its claim to support democracy. Countries that had taken steps to introduce reforms, such as Egypt, were criticized, and some countries that were unwilling to undertake reforms at all, such as Tunisia and Libya, were spared from criticism.6 Syria was the object of a Security Council

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resolution supported by both the United States and France. The United States had a long list of complaints against Syria that went beyond the authoritarian nature of its Ba athist regime.7 The two countries' major concern was Syria's continued military presence in Lebanon. In sum, the G8 members' stance toward political reform in the Arab world has been ambiguous. ARAB OPPOSITION GROUPS HAVE FEW FRIENDS IN THE WEST

Another possible cause for the failure to promote democracy in the Arab world is perhaps the fact that Arab opposition groups have few friends in Western countries. Unlike opposition groups in Southern Europe, Latin America, Eastern Europe, and East and Southeast Asia, which are composed predominantly of liberal, Christian, socialist, or communist parties, leading Arab opposition groups are mostly Islamist and nationalist movements that call for combating Western and particularly US influence in the region. Opposition movements in Latin America in the 19705 and 19805 included Christian Democrats as well as socialist, communist, and liberal parties. All of them had in common that they were supported by foreign (particularly European) sympathizers who shared their ideology but often also by members of the same international nongovernmental organizations. In those years the socialist and communist parties of Europe had strong allies in the world trade union federations and among the European intelligentsia. Christian parties and clergy were also active in opposing military dictatorships in Latin America, particularly in Chile and Brazil. Political leaders who opposed the authoritarian rule of Ferdinand Marcos in the Philippines and the South Korean military dictatorship had strong ties with members of the US Congress or even went into exile in the United States. Opponents of the communist regimes in Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union could count on the support of both public opinion and governments in the West. Besides, the ideal that inspired these opposition movements was often a democratic one. Thus even their socialist and communist factions were compelled to water down their long-term goal of building a socialist society in favor of the more immediate necessity of removing military dictatorships and authoritarian regimes. Consequently, Western public opinion in general could identify itself easily with the democratic ideal advanced by those movements. Matters are entirely different with opposition groups in Arab countries,

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in most cases Islamist or nationalist parties and organizations. On the one hand, the concern that the colonial domination of the past could be perpetuated under new economic, cultural, political, diplomatic, or military arrangements is a major preoccupation of many of those movements. On the other hand, the Islamist ideals pursued by these movements are often perceived as erroneous trends in the West at a time of democracy's third wave and heightened international interest in human rights and gender equality. Moreover, Arab nationalists strongly oppose any peace agreement with Israel that would fail to ensure the Palestinian people's legitimate right to self-determination. Because this stance is shared by the Islamists, both groups are viewed in the West as an obstacle to peace in the Middle Eastern region. Both Lebanon and Tunisia are good examples to illustrate this point. Although Rachid Ghannouchi, leader of the Islamist Nahda Party (Tunisia's major opposition movement), went into exile in Great Britain, he established few ties with British political groups or parties. Rather, he linked up with fellow Islamists and other Tunisian opponents of Ben Ali's harsh rule, such as militants of the Tunisian League of Human Rights and social democratic, nationalist, communist, or liberal organizations and parties. None of these parties managed to get more than 4.6 percent of the popular vote in any election, whereas the (Islamist) Nahda Party received close to 14 percent in the only election it was allowed to participate in, in April 1989 (White et al. 2002). There have been few signs of sympathy with that movement in the West, nor any solidarity with Ghannouchi when the British authorities decided to extradite him. The situation in Lebanon has been more complex, even before Israel's 2006 war against the country, although one can discern similarities with opposition groups in other Arab countries. For two reasons several factions of the former Lebanese opposition movement had sympathizers in the West, particularly in France and the United States: First, the Lebanese opposition was largely composed of Christian Maronites, who for historical reasons looked to France for protection; second, both the United States and France wanted to drive Syrian troops and intelligence agencies out of Lebanon. In addition, the late Sunni prime minister—Rafiq al-Hariri—was a successful businessman with powerful friends not only in other Arab countries such as Saudi Arabia, where he had made his fortune, but also in France and the United States. When he was assassinated in February 2005, presumably by Lebanese security agents with close ties to Syria, the United States and France put heightened

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pressure on Syria to evacuate its troops from Lebanon. Shortly thereafter, the parties and organizations that had formerly made up the Lebanese opposition movement won a landslide victory in the 2005 Lebanese legislative elections. They were united mostly by their common wish to drive Syria's influence and supporters out of Lebanon but also by their commitment to maintaining Lebanon's confessional, patron-client-based political system (Prothero 2005, Ay). On the other hand, one major political force in Lebanon is Hizbullah, which is sustained primarily by the Shiite community. Hizbullah led the armed struggle against Israel's occupation of southern Lebanon and is therefore considered a terrorist organization by the United States and the European Union. It has strong ties to Syria and Iran but few sympathizers in Western countries. Domestically, however, Hizbullah received a boost in legitimacy when Israel in summer 2006 destroyed the country's infrastructure, but not that of Hizbullah. It is thus legitimate to ask whether Western sympathy with the former Lebanese opposition movement, now in government, was due to the perception of it in the West as democratic or because it shared with the West the wish to drive Syria out of Lebanon. At any rate, the Siniora government continued to receive Western support even after having become largely delegitimized at home. Although the two examples given here cannot claim to provide sufficient evidence for the entire region, they nevertheless hint at problematic interrelationships between the Arab world and the West on a societal level. The density of international interaction is relatively low and so are levels of support for local opposition movements. Both contribute to an environment that is conducive to the perpetuation of political power in the hands of incumbent regimes. WESTERN PUBLIC OPINION AND THE PROMOTION OF DEMOCRACY

In their statement issued at the Sea Island summit the G8 leaders promised to support a process of economic, social, and educational reform in the Middle East, with the "Plan of Support of Reform" spelling out many concrete measures to this end; these measures would require the allocation of resources for their implementation. However, the democratic governments of the G8 countries would be inclined to pursue these policies only if there were public support for them. Although governments are able to pursue foreign policies

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even in the absence of public enthusiasm, elected politicians are unlikely to do so in the longer run. It seems that public opinion in most G8 countries is by and large in favor of using foreign aid to promote political change in recipient countries. In fact, a survey on public attitudes toward development aid conducted for the European Commission in all EU countries in 2004 found that nearly threequarters of European citizens agree that development aid should be used as an incentive for sustainable democratization. What is more, this percentage rose from 69 percent to 74 percent between 2002 and 2004. However, when asked about the use of European development aid for making "benefiting countries more democratic," the share of those who agreed was only 50 percent in 2002, increasing to 54 percent two years later (European Commission 2005). The difference in the proportion of those who answered positively to the two questions is quite significant, because it reveals that the European public is divided on the question of using development aid for introducing democracy, whereas it is more in favor of using aid to consolidate democracy once it has already been established. Support for the G8's and, in particular, President Bush's policy of democracy promotion reached its peak in the first half of 2005, when it seemed that several Arab countries were embarking on a path of political reform. French, German, British, and US newspapers published articles and reports on the progress of reforms in the Middle East. The citizens of Iraq elected a constituent assembly in January 2005. The Lebanese people revolted against their government and Syria's military presence in the country following former prime minister Rafiq al-Hariri's assassination in February of the same year. Municipal elections took place in Saudi Arabia. The Egyptian parliament approved a constitutional amendment that paved the way for the first multicandidate presidential election in the country's history. The Kuwaiti parliament approved the extension of voting rights to women. A correspondent for Agence France Presse sent a dispatch from Cairo: "Two Years After Iraq Invasion, Old Middle East Order Crumbling" (Zenati 2005). The Figaro went even further, stating that "the initial intention of redesigning the Middle East map as a preamble to peace may have looked unrealistic at the time, but seems to be on the way to appearing achievable. For the US, the success of the Iraqi elections means that they will continue to export democracy with whatever means possible."8 This enthusiasm was finally shared by major British newspapers such as the Financial Times, which published an exclusive

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joint statement on Lebanon by the foreign ministers of France, Germany, and the United States on March i, 2005. The statesmen explained that they had felt obliged to make this unexpected move in the wake of the popular uprising in Lebanon following the assassination of Rafiq al-Hariri, the elections in Iraq and the Palestinian Occupied Territories, and the announcement of multicandidate presidential elections in Egypt (Adams 2005). A few months later, however, it had become rare to find any suggestion of a trend of democratization in the Middle East or any appreciation of the Bush administration's policies in these newspapers. The Sunday Times reported that Iraqi police were "linked to ethnic cleansing" (Jaber 2005). The Independent, for its part, sarcastically described the referendum in Iraq as a vote on an "invisible" constitution because of the last-minute squabble about the conditions for its implementation amid the insecurity in the country (Whitaker and Elliott 2005). A correspondent for the Financial Times argued that rejecting the Iraqi constitution might not be a bad thing after all, because this might compel the Iraqi factions to draft a more consensual document (Khalaf 2005). Even before Hamas won the Palestinian national elections in February 2006, Le Monde claimed that the victory of Hamas in the preceding local elections caused significant concern in the EU, which had Hamas on its list of terrorist organizations.9 Commenting on the situation in Lebanon before the legislative elections of May-June 2005, Le Monde emphasized the internal divisions within the Lebanese opposition.10 Taking stock of all these developments, Hugh Miles (2005), a Middle East analyst with the BBC, asked, "What might free and fair elections in the Middle East throw up, and is the West ready for the consequences?" His answer to both questions was that it seemed quite probable that Islamist parties hostile to the West's interests might "sweep the board" in many Arab countries. Under such conditions, he believed that "a democratic Saudi Arabia may opt no longer to sell its oil to the West, a democratic Egypt may start to develop nuclear weapons, and a democratic Jordan may start a new war with Israel." Hence Miles concluded that Western governments might prefer the current authoritarian rulers to the uncertainty that would characterize the domestic and foreign policies of freely and fairly elected Islamist governments. Even in the United States the media were increasingly skeptical of President Bush and his ideas on the promotion of democracy in the Middle East. The Washington Post, which had openly supported the war on Iraq, reported that the US administration was lowering its expectations of what could be

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achieved in Iraq. The paper quoted an unnamed official who stated that the "United States no longer expects to see a model new democracy, a selfsupporting oil industry, or a society in which the majority of people are free from serious security or economic challenges" (Wright and Knickmeyer 2005, Ai). The criticism by the editor of the New York Times was even more severe. Commenting on a speech in which President Bush reminded the American people of the constant threat of terrorism, he stated: "Americans need clear guidelines for judging how long it makes sense to stay in Iraq. Are our troops helping make a nation, or simply delaying an inevitable civil war? Does continued American presence help push the Middle East towards peace and democracy, or simply inflame hatred of the United States and serve as a rallying point for Al Qaeda. The fact that the president isn't willing even to raise the questions does not increase confidence in the ultimate outcome."11 Finally, in light of growing domestic and international problems, the US public became more and more disgruntled both with President Bush's performance in general and the Iraq war in particular. According to an opinion poll conducted for the Washington Post and ABC television, Bush's overall approval rating fell to an all-time low of 42 percent in 2005 and approval of his management of the Iraq war dropped to 38 percent (Morin 2005). In September 2005 the Program on International Policy Attitudes published a nationwide survey based on a sample of 808 Americans and found that the majority of Americans (55%) were opposed to promoting democracy through the use of force and that 35 percent were in favor. Two-thirds found that the threat of the use of force for this purpose did more harm than good, and 21 percent were of the opposite opinion (Chicago Council on Foreign Relations, Program on International Policy Attitudes 2005,1-13). Almost three-quarters of those surveyed (74%) were not convinced that overthrowing the authoritarian regime of Saddam Hussein and establishing a democracy in Iraq were sufficient reasons to go to war, and those convinced of Bush's rationale accounted for less than one-fifth of the sample (19%). In addition, the majority (68%) were not convinced that democracy could make the world a safer place. Nearly half of the sample believed that although promoting democracy abroad should be a goal of US foreign policy, it should not be a top priority. Furthermore, the majority of the interviewees did not think that the United States should promote democracy in a country where this would bring fundamentalist Islamists to power (Chicago Council on Foreign Relations, Program on International Policy Attitudes 2005).

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As to the methods of promoting democracy, between two-thirds (66%) and three-quarters (74%) held that the United States should use economic and technical assistance, including the monitoring of elections, as a means of promoting democracy. Only a minority supported such measures as the withholding of development assistance (44%), the use of military force to overthrow authoritarian regimes (35%), or assistance to dissidents (31%). A large majority (66-71%) believed that the United States should use diplomatic means to pressure countries to respect human rights, for example, by speaking out against human rights abuses and by encouraging other countries to do the same. In the cases of Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and Iran, 69 percent, 68 percent, and 66 percent of interviewees, respectively, supported the use of such measures. Finally, when asked to evaluate the degree of democracy in the United States compared with other countries on a scale of o-io (with o denoting complete absence of democracy), the mean score for the United States was 6.2; the United States and Sweden ranked third after Great Britain and Canada, which received a top score of 7.1 (Chicago Council on Foreign Relations, Program on International Policy Attitudes 2005). Thus Western public opinion, despite approving of democracy promotion in principle, is mixed with regard to the instruments used for that goal and with regard to the desirability of possibly unintended outcomes. CONCLUSION

In this chapter I have claimed that Western efforts to promote democracy in the Middle East have been halfhearted and disorganized. The G8 countries are divided as to the priority attached to democracy promotion in the Middle East, especially after the United States lowered its expectations of what it would like to achieve in both Iraq and the entire region. Arab opposition movements continue to have few friends in the West, and public opinion in the United States and major European countries is rather skeptical of what democratization in the Middle East may bring. Some might argue that despite the halfheartedness of the G8Js democratization efforts, they have precipitated important changes in the Middle East. Thus, apart from Libya, Syria, and the United Arab Emirates, all Arab governments have embarked on a process of political reform. The process seems to have accelerated since 2003, when President Bush declared the promotion of freedom in the Middle East a major goal of his administration's foreign policy.

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Bush reconfirmed his commitment two years later in his second inaugural address, which centered exclusively on the advancement of freedom in the United States and the entire world (The White House 2005). However, if the success of democracy promotion were to be assessed in terms of regime change, it would be found limited. Whatever reform measures may have been introduced in Arab countries such as Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Bahrain, or Jordan, authoritarian power structures are still intact everywhere in the region. Either mechanisms for changing these structures do not exist, as is the case in all Gulf countries and the monarchies of Jordan and Morocco, where the ruling families retain extensive power and control a good part of their countries' wealth; or such mechanisms exist only on paper, as in all Arab republics that prohibit free media, the freedom of association, and free and fair elections—the latter ironically to challenge the ruling families' monopoly of power. How, then, should political scientists interpret this situation? Is the Middle East a political subsystem capable of straying from the dominant global discourse of democracy and human rights? Are Arab rulers irrationally determined to remain the exception in a world of eighty-nine free and fifty-eight partly free countries, according to Freedom House's 2006 ranking? In fact, on closer observation the Middle Eastern subsystem turns out to fully reflect the interests of the dominant global players. Because the statement of the G8 countries, with the approval of the Bush administration in its second term, stressed that democracy should not be imposed, that country-specific particularities should be respected, and that the pace of progress toward democracy should be determined case by case, the global system leaves it to Middle Eastern rulers to shape their countries' political trajectories as they please, so long as they remain on good terms with those who control the global system. Once this changes, as in the cases of Syria and Iran, all means of pressure and even coercion are conceivable. There can henceforth be no doubt that Arab rulers who have embarked on a process of reform, albeit in a limited and even cosmetic fashion, are rational actors. Aware that the big global players prefer them to their Islamist or nationalist counterparts and resigned to the democracy discourse emanating from the capitals of the United States and Western Europe, they have decided to play the game by pretending to introduce reforms while not conceding a single inch of real power to their serious rivals. Irrational actors are hence not the authoritarian rulers of the Middle East but rather those who have every

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means of power, soft and hard, but who either use this power in a way that undermines their own security (as illustrated by the conduct of the United States in Iraq) or act in contradiction to their own declarations of principle, as evidenced by the cordial relations that all G8 countries maintain with the regimes of Libya and Tunisia, neither of which, despite apparent differences, can be described as democratic.

14

DEMOCRACY PROMOTION AND THE RENEWAL OF AUTHORITARIAN RULE Eberhard Kienle

IT is GENERALLY ASSUMED that over the last two decades the foreign policies of European, North American, and (other) OECD governments toward their southern counterparts have put greater emphasis than ever on the promotion of democracy. Taken together, official government statements on the merits of democracy worldwide and the more or less coherent policies that underpin them (including dedicated credit lines, conditionalities, support for civil society in its contemporary definition, and military intervention) have gone way beyond activities aimed at similar objectives ever since the dividing lines of the Cold War were drawn in the 19408 and 19505. Simultaneously, they also form a package that is qualitatively different from past policies and claims in that the myriad support activities on the ground are added to rhetoric and the use (or threat) offeree.1 However superficial, naive, selective, or perhaps downright cynical the current emphasis on democracy promotion may be, it cannot be dismissed as sheer rhetoric, and even then such rhetorical choices would have to be accounted for. Unquestionably reinforced by the end of the Cold War and the perceived triumph of the "West," the wish to transform authoritarian regimes worldwide into procedural and liberal democracies is perfectly in tune with two political beliefs widely held among constituencies influenced by EuroAmerican Enlightenment thought. First, the principle of one vote for any one woman or man has come to be seen as the most just and therefore only legitimate mode of selecting rulers, a belief frequently accompanied by the opinion that (therefore) democratic 231

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regimes are performing better than other regimes in terms of policy outputs as well. Second, sometimes with explicit reference to Kant, democracies have come to be considered guarantors of international peace unwilling to go to war against each other. Thanks to the resources available to the holders of these beliefs, democracy has become the inescapable point of reference, even for authoritarian rulers. With few exceptions authoritarian rulers nowadays subscribe to democracy verbally, sometimes even enthusiastically so; almost as frequently they reconfigure the regimes they dominate to stress their seemingly participatory elements. Democracy obviously remains a contested concept among democracy promoters. However, it can safely be said that the simple equation of democracy with elections has increasingly given way to the slightly more comprehensive concept of a regime where the ruled enjoy the right to dismiss or reelect their rulers at regular intervals according to clearly established nonviolent procedures, where the liberties of the respective losers and their constituencies are respected, and where sufficient mechanisms are in place to enable them to win future elections. Put differently, democracy promoters have moved away from purely procedural definitions to concepts of liberal democracy. They increasingly acknowledge the need to foster positive and negative liberties in order to put in place the necessary checks and balances. In Thomas Carothers's terms, democracy promotion has embarked on a learning curve (Carothers 1999). In the Arab and Muslim "world," often considered particularly inhospitable to democracy,2 external pressures for political reform have also become stronger recently (Youngs 2004) and outweigh fears that the promoted good will favor the advent of evil Islamists. These pressures, which grew after the attacks against the United States on September n, 2001, and in the run-up to the Iraq war in 2003, may of course remain largely verbal, without major consequences for the distribution of power and for political participation. Far-reaching US proposals for political reform and democratization in the Middle East have subsequently been scaled back and may be further diluted. European and US criticism in particular has led the Bush administration to revise its Broader Middle East and North Africa Initiative, launched in 2003. The initial "forward strategy of freedom in the Middle East"3 gave way to emphasis on the need for local actors to set the agenda for reform.4 Election results in Iraq, Egypt, and Palestine may further calm the ardor of democracy promoters in the West, whose own fate remains bound up with the vagaries of palace intrigues and electoral politics in the United States.

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The reforms advocated today nonetheless envisage far more substantial political change than did the "enlargement of the democracy" program of the Clinton administration and the United States-Middle East Partnership Initiative unveiled in 2002 (International Crisis Group 20O4b, 2). They also exceed the political dimension of the Euro-Mediterranean partnership, including the association agreements between the European Union (EU) and southern Mediterranean states signed after the Barcelona conference in 1995; these agreements, with their lonely and laconic clauses on democracy and human rights, have hardly ever been invoked successfully.5 Two types of projects stand out in particular in which the established democracies of the Northern Hemisphere seek to actively promote democracy elsewhere. Those of the first type are specifically concerned with the political reconstruction of "failed states" or the arrest of the decline and descent into chaos of "failing states" (Zartman 1995). Despite the Bonn agreement and the recent presidential election, post-Taliban Afghanistan is at the very beginning of political reconstruction at best (Goodson 2003; International Crisis Group 2004a; Roy 2004). How long and difficult such processes may be can be gauged from the difficulties that have plagued Lebanon since even before the 2006 war and indeed ever since the Ta'if agreement was signed more than fifteen years ago (on Lebanon, cf. Bahout 1996; Harris 1997; Kassir 1997; Khazen 2003; Picard 2002). Similar cleavages persist in Algeria, where the military stole the 1991 elections but, despite its (military) victory over the opposition, never managed to reconcile the country (Martinez 2000; Ruf 1997). The political rebuilding of Iraq will be a still more monumental task (Bozarslan and Dawod 2003; Dawisha 2004; Diamond 2005; Dodge 2005). In Sudan the process has only just started (Johnson 2003; Woodward 2002). The projects of the second type are the far more ambitious ones epitomized by the Broader Middle East and North Africa Initiative. They are almost demiurgical schemes to reform and reshape entire parts of the "third world," with the declared aim of preempting threats that allegedly emanate from them. Arab countries particularly feature high on this agenda to promote a new world order through social, economic, and political engineering. ANTECEDENTS OF SORTS

By no means new or original, these projects have numerous precedents, not least in the history of European imperialism. Then too, stronger actors in the global game frequently attempted not only to impose unfavorable terms of

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trade on weaker ones and subjugate or even destroy them but also to radically change and re-form the conditions shaping their lives. The settlement of nonindigenous populations in such places as Mandatory Palestine (as defined by the San Remo conference in 1920 and the League of Nations in 1922), Algeria, or southern Africa was certainly one of the most visible ways in which European powers appropriated what did not belong to them and affected the relations between local actors. Indeed the arrival of new, resourceful actors from outside not only reduced the highest ranking indigenous actors to a state of subservience but also modified more generally the relations among all indigenous actors, strengthening some and weakening others. However, settlement policies were not the only or most consequential interference by the European powers. In Mandatory Syria, for instance, the French authorities favored French and other European entrepreneurs over their local counterparts in the awarding of contracts, licenses, or franchises, including monopolies in the service and utilities industries (Khoury 1987; Owen and Pamuk 1998). In British-dominated Egypt, where clear-cut distinctions between "national" and "foreign" bourgeoisies had been exaggerated in some of the literature, owners of capital were nonetheless treated more or less respectfully according to their nationality (Vitalis 1995). Similarly, the French mandatory authorities pursued policies that reinforced religious boundaries. For some time the Druze and the Alawites were each given a separate "state" intended to better meet their aspirations and to favor their submission to French rule (Khoury 1987, 57-60; Raymond 1980). Although inspired by existing societal boundaries, the new administrative boundaries, in their turn, reinforced the societal ones and further divided the population of the country. Cleavages of that sort have continued to bedevil Syrian politics until today, even though they must not be overemphasized (Kienle 1991; Perthes 1990; Seurat 1980; Van Dam 1996). Across the border, the famous Sykes-Picot line, the British strengthened Iraqi tribal leaders, sometimes to the point of (re)inventing their tribes, in order to create internal counterpowers to the Hashemite monarchy. Although themselves installed by the British, the Hashemites could in case of need be reminded by these counterpowers that they were meant to protect British interests rather than advance their own (Batatu 1978; Tripp 2000). Economic policies implemented by the European powers dominating the Middle East and North Africa were no less consequential. For instance, the

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French and British mandatory authorities set protective tariffs at rates that penalized local industrial production and therefore had negative effects on industrialization (Owen and Pamuk 1998, 65). Likewise, the government of Egypt, which had been highly dependent on its European creditors since the 18708 and in particular on the British who had occupied the country in 1882, was unable to freely set protective tariffs until 1930 (Owen and Pamuk 1998,35). Simultaneously, the British and French authorities managed exchange rates at will and largely pegged them to their own currencies (Khoury 1987; Owen and Pamuk 1998,30,52, 64-68). In conjunction with other factors, though not all related to external domination, these policies heavily contributed to longterm industrial underdevelopment and related socioeconomic features. No less affected were political regimes and systems. As illustrated, for instance, by the Sykes-Picot line, the imperialist powers themselves delineated the territories over which local governments were to exercise some sort of jurisdiction. Where decisions were not directly made by representatives of the respective imperialist power, local rulers were selected by it or at least bound by "preferential treaties" that strongly restricted their powers and the sovereignty of their countries. Constitutional and institutional frameworks were entirely designed by the Europeans (cf. Khoury 1987; Louis 1984; Marsot 1985; Meouchy and Sluglett 2004; Vatikiotis 1991; Yapp 1987,1991). Unlike the projects discussed today, the transformations initiated in the wake of World War I were not meant to bring democracy to the Middle East and North Africa, even though they instituted a degree of popular participation and constitutional separation of powers copied from European models. The parliaments and elections that the French and the British brought to the countries they controlled were not supposed to disturb that control. In constitutional terms and in terms of real internal balances of power, they never matched the influence and power of the foreign representative or the local monarch. Nonetheless, they allowed for more substantial representation than most of the assemblies that had existed earlier in these lands. These externally induced transformations were probably as consequential in terms of outcomes as might be the more recently announced projects for reshaping the Middle East and North Africa. They profoundly and lastingly affected social relations, modes of production and exchange, state borders, and political systems. They were at the origin of many of the political entities and continued to influence these entities and their borders once they had been established. Where political regimes subsequently changed, they did so

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largely out of local contestation of earlier European intervention. Thus the "revolutions" that in the 19505 and 19608 brought down the anciens regimes in Egypt, Iraq, Syria, and Libya reflected growing hostility among the less well off toward political arrangements put in place by the imperialist powers, dominated by upper classes whom they saw as foreign stooges. Along with the demise of the anciens regimes, the liberal democratic elements introduced earlier by the European powers also disappeared, delegitimated as they were by their foreign origins (cf. Batatu 1984; Farouk-Sluglett and Sluglett 1987; Vatikiotis 1991). RECENT AND PRESENT SCHEMES

If US schemes such as the Broader Middle East and North Africa Initiative epitomize recent attempts to reshape the Middle East, they are by no means the only projects of the sort. The European Union and its constituent states have been promoting similar initiatives. The Euro-Mediterranean partnership launched in 1995 also seeks to reshape societies, economies, and polities. The political conditionality clauses already referred to are only one among a host of generally more consequential instruments. The main differences are that the European Union launched its initiative in the presence of the countries at the receiving end, although with little input (and indeed much criticism) from them; that the language is less boisterous and more discreet; and that actual results have been far more modest than both initial expectations of the partnership and current expectations of the Broader Middle East and North Africa Initiative (cf. Kienle i998b; Pace 2002; Youngs 20O4).6 Intended to surround the enlarged EU with a "ring of friends," the New Neighborhood Policy formulated by the European Commission in March 2003 pursues the same objectives in a more structured, results-oriented way that entails heavier constraints for the countries concerned (Commission of the European Communities 2003). These highly visible initiatives on the part of the United States and the EU are underpinned, accompanied, or complemented by numerous bilateral or sectoral programs supported by individual governments, intergovernmental organizations, or nongovernmental organizations. Together these projects (although naturally not any one of them individually) seek to profoundly transform the countries concerned, although of course not necessarily in the ways their predecessors in the first half of the twentieth century did. Socially, they seek to generate a (however ill-defined) middle class, which is supposed

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to enhance social cohesion and almost naturally carry democratic and liberal values. Where applicable, they also aim at overcoming religious, ethnic, and other vertical cleavages within states, again in an attempt to foster cohesion and harmony. Economically, these projects seek to replace strong public sectors, rentierism, and precapitalist modes of production and accumulation with strong private sectors, less or substantially modified state intervention, and markets as the principal mechanism for the allocation of resources. Frequently the growth of markets is considered a mere corollary of the growth of the private sector relative to the public sector, with crony capitalist arrangements as a result. Finally, these projects seek to promote political liberalization and ultimately to replace authoritarian with liberal-democratic forms of government. For the sake of historical comparison it is useful to add that redrawing state borders is not part of the agenda. To the contrary, every effort is made to maintain existing state borders, the former Yugoslavia being a rare exception. In total, these schemes cannot but remind us of James Mill's view of British India as a tabula rasa. Similar to the teacher who fills the blank sheet that allegedly was the mind of the individual, the planner inspired by utilitarian ideas could build a new and better India, thus showing the way for similar such transformations back in Britain (Majeed 1992). VARIETIES OF POLITICAL ENGINEERING

The different forms of political engineering on which I am focusing reflect two basic assumptions about politics and its workings. None of the varieties is in principle limited to the Middle East or Arab states. The first (and presently rather widespread) assumption is that political action and its outcomes, intended or not, are highly dependent on institutions. Supposed to influence and channel action, these institutions then affect the rational choices of actors or prompt them to do the right, "adequate," or "appropriate" thing.7 From this point of view the transition to and consolidation of democratic rule depend on creating institutions that force actors to play by the rules of democratic decision making. The second assumption is that political action and its outcomes are the result of balances of power between actors, categories, or groups of actors. Accordingly, democratization involves affecting and changing these balances of power by strengthening some actors while weakening others. The notion of empowerment grasps well the strategies and processes concerned, even though

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it is often ill-defined and remains silent about the inevitable disempowerment of the previously powerful.8 Promoters of democracy seem to hold these two assumptions alternatively rather than jointly, often neglecting that balances of power influence institutions and conversely that institutions influence balances of power.9 The most radical form of political engineering is to prompt an institutional revolution and thus to overthrow a nondemocratic regime for a democratic one to emerge. The expectation that democratic regimes will emerge spontaneously involves the belief in democracy as a sort of state of nature toward which all polities converge if they are not artificially deviated from that felicitous course. Although this expectation is rather naive, it nonetheless seems to have been held by some in the Bush administration before the intervention in Iraq. Alternatively, the removal of nondemocratic institutions can be seen as the necessary step in building democratic institutions to replace them. The coalition that overthrew Saddam Hussein has been actively involved in the process of drafting a new Iraqi constitution and more generally in the process of institution and state building ever since. The naivete' here resides in the belief that conditions are the same as those that prevailed in Germany and Japan after World War II. Less radical are attempts at institutional reform, a form of political engineering that obviously also derives from the view that institutions matter. External promoters of democracy support anything from redefining the responsibilities of government agencies to the supervision of elections and the creation of permanent assemblies. Institutional reform, defined as reforming rules, differs from capacity building, defined as providing actors with the means to meet targets defined by given rules. Providing members of parliament with computers and databases is simply an empowerment attempt, limited by potentially disempowering institutions such as dependency on the executive. Empirically there is no evidence that institutional reform has had any positive impact on democratization. Partly such an effect is difficult to measure in the presence of other potentially active variables. More important, institutional reform never goes as far as transforming existing centrally controlled institutional frameworks into frameworks that could be used by actors to emancipate themselves from central control. As for capacity building, there is no reason that newly built capacities should be used as expected by their builders and (moderately) empower actors.

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An important variety of institutional reform is reform requested from outside in exchange for certain advantages. Economic or political conditionally may be "positive" in the sense of promising additional benefits against additional reforms or "negative" in the sense of imposing sanctions in the absence of reforms. Thus signing an association agreement with the EU opens up new possibilities of obtaining project aid, loans, and access to markets. Conversely, such an agreement might be suspended if human rights or democratic principles are violated.10 Not only does conditionality suffer from a lack of credibility as a result of the highly selective application of even clearly stated principles, but it also has perverse consequences in many of the cases in which it is actually applied. Almost invariably pressures from outside, in particular from the "West," entail reactions against foreign interference. Even the potential beneficiaries of reforms requested from outside then rally around their repressive rulers, who seek to avoid these reforms. When, for instance, in February 2005 US Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice expressed concern about the arrest and continued imprisonment of Ayman Nour, the founder of the new Egyptian party Al-Ghad, her statements were condemned not only by the Egyptian regime but also by most opposition parties who otherwise complain about the regime's authoritarian nature.11 Probably the most subtle form of political engineering is the dissemination of values and norms that are thought to favor democratic decision making. Particular emphasis is put on the merits of procedures, such as elections; guarantees for minorities that are generally associated with democratic rule; or formal education, in which case the underlying assumption is that democracy appeals more readily to the educated than to the illiterate unwashed. Whatever its manifestations, this form can be considered both a strategy to empower less resourceful actors and an attempt to change institutions that in the wider sense of the term obviously include values, norms, and suitable knowledge. There is no empirical evidence that the dissemination of values and norms actually contributes to democratization. Innumerable studies have established linkages between levels of formal education and democracy or democratization but ultimately have failed to demonstrate causation beneath correlation. The average level of formal education in Tunisia is higher than in India, yet India is democratic while Tunisia is not. Before the sanctions imposed in the wake of the Kuwait war in 1991, Iraq was one of the most highly educated Arab

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states, yet it was ruled by an extremely repressive regime.12 Externally promoted reforms in education and training also easily run afoul of allegations of foreign interference that delegitimize them. An eloquent example is the frequent argument that family planning awareness programs are "Western" plots to contain the numerical strength of the Muslim or respective national community.13 Attempts to rewrite textbooks used for religious education are another case in point. Such reforms can succeed only if their advantages are commonly perceived. Another form of political engineering is the strengthening of selected actors whose enhanced position is deemed to have a democratizing influence on the polity at large. First among these is civil society in its current definition as the sum total of nonlucrative and generally noncommunally based associations independent of the state that are created by citizens concerned about issues ranging from the collection of stamps to communal health care and human rights. Allegedly, the number, membership size, and efficacy of these organizations is positively related to democratic transformation. Sometimes their own (equally alleged) democratic practices are said to show the way for decision making elsewhere; sometimes they are seen to form a counterweight to the state; and at other times their demands are considered sufficiently compelling as to be accepted, even by authoritarian rulers.14 A form of more indirect political engineering that has exerted particular charm over European and US advocates of reform in Arab countries is the alliance with or reliance on supposedly reformist leaders. To an extent this approach reminds me of earlier European attempts to rule Arab countries with the help of local actors. Certainly, the British did not entrust the Hashemites in Transjordan or Iraq with an important reform program, but they nonetheless relied on them to put into practice policies meant to serve their own interests. In particular, since the late 19905 high hopes have been pinned on the reformist will and capacity of young monarchs and presidents (in waiting) who have been at least partly educated in the "West." These young (or prospective) leaders would quite naturally advocate the relevant values and norms, instill them in their populace, strengthen the weak, and put in place participatory mechanisms as well as checks and balances. Put differently, they would either implement the empowerment strategies or build the institutional framework necessary to bring about democratic rule. So far the new rulers have failed to live up to the promises that they themselves in fact never explicitly made. Enthroned in 1999, King Abdallah II of

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Jordan postponed parliamentary elections twice. In 2001 he waited for the outgoing parliament to adjourn to use his own residual (and indeed concurrent) legislative powers to amend the electoral law. Not surprisingly, a docile parliament convened after elections were held in 2003 (Greenwood 2003; Parker 2002; Ryan 2002). Inheriting Morocco, also in 1999, King Mohammed VI in 2001-2002 organized parliamentary elections that resembled very much those of 1997-1998 with much backstage interference and manipulation by the palace to compensate for the risks of their apparent competitive nature, as Wegner's chapter in this volume demonstrates (Chapter 5). No less important, the young king delayed for months the nomination of the new prime minister, thus reminding voters that the government was first of all responsible to him; government and parliament continued to lose power to the governors, who are directly appointed by the king. The only, although important, change was the new personal status law (mudawwana) enacted in 2003; this law strengthens women's rights and hopefully their role in politics (on Morocco cf. BennaniChrai'bi et al. 2005; Bordat and Kouzzi 2004; Catusse and Vairel 2003; Ferrie' 2002; Lust-Okar 2004; Roussillon 1999). In Syria the "Damascus Spring," with its debating clubs (muntadayat), public petitions, and open discussions, was no doubt prompted by the advent of Bashar al-Asad in 2000, but it came to an end eight months later when some of its protagonists were tried and jailed. Freedom of expression continues to exceed the limits set for it under Bashar's father, Hafiz al-Asad, while the number of political prisoners has significantly decreased. However, neither the constitution nor the electoral law has been amended in ways that could signal a transition from authoritarianism. Government reshuffles have not increased the number of non-Ba'ath members, nor has the retirement of older generals diminished the power of largely Alawite and kinshipbased networks in the armed and "security" forces that support the Asads (George 2003). In Egypt President Hosni Mubarak's son Gamal openly distanced himself from demands to amend the constitution in order to reinforce the separation of powers and allow voters to freely choose the president from among several candidates. The recent amendment to the constitution that, in principle but not so much in practice, allows more than one candidate to run is a response to US pressures rather than Gamal's wishes. Gamal even defended the continuous enforcement of the state of emergency that suspends numerous personal and political freedoms (Kassem 2004b; Kienle 2004).

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The disillusionment that by now has affected even previously optimistic observers should not hide another, more substantial point. There is no historical precedent for a transition to democracy arranged from above, by the incumbent rulers, except where and when they felt forced to do so. Nor could one logically think of any reason that incumbent rulers should favor such a transition to democracy (see also Schlumberger 2006). Except in cases of heavy domestic or external pressure, rulers obtain no advantage from sharing power. Wisely, perhaps, they may think that associating with others as junior partners will prolong their own longevity in power, but such considerations are only a variation on the theme of threat. Finally, transitions to democracy are thought to be facilitated or even prompted by economic liberalization. Economic liberalization is a key component of economic reform, as defined by the Bretton Woods institutions, in particular structural adjustment but also macroeconomic stabilization (cf. Taylor 1993). Incidentally, austerity measures, which are another main component of economic reform, are hardly ever discussed as variables favoring democratization. This is curious because they could easily be considered a form of taxation that reduces the income of the ruled and therefore should entail similar demands for representation and participation (Kienle 2003). Economic liberalization emphasizes more or less selective deregulation, the growth of the private sector relative to the public sector, or the growing importance of markets as mechanisms for the allocation of resources (as opposed to authoritarian allocation from top to bottom, which characterizes command and patrimonial economies). Although seemingly going hand in hand, private sectors and markets logically need not expand at the same rhythm, nor have they historically done so. Often economies based on the private sector have been dominated by monopolies or oligopolies. Conversely, centrally run economies have introduced competition between publicly owned companies without attempting to transfer their ownership into the hands of private capital. Far from byzantine or academic, the distinction is highly relevant to the linkages that are often established between economic and political liberalization. A first type of argument assumes that economic liberalization entails growth and therefore improvements in the standard of living, which, in line with Lipset's classic claim, favor the transition to democracy (Lipset 1959). Alternatively, higher average per capita income is assumed to allow for higher expenditures for education, which in turn is supposed to favor democracy.

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Notwithstanding the distinction that has to be made between improvements in the average standard of living and greater income equality, this argument about empowerment fails to accommodate important exceptions. Some democracies, such as India, have a low per capita income, whereas Saudi Arabia and the other monarchies in the Persian Gulf have a high per capita income. Certainly, it cannot be denied that most democracies have a relatively high per capita income, but, again, such correlation does not point to causation.15 A second type of argument emphasizes the growth of a frequently illdefined middle class or bourgeoisie that economic liberalization is supposed to bring about.16 Some scholars hold that these classes are almost natural carriers of democratic values, for instance, because they own property, are sufficiently educated, or resolve conflicts of interest in certain structured ways. Accordingly, the argument stresses either the importance of empowerment or the role of institutions in the wider sense (Moore 1966; Schumpeter 1994). Bourgeoisies and middle classes, however, have been seen to defend authoritarian rule no less than private sectors (which of course is a truism if bourgeoisies are defined as owners of capital).17 Chile under Augusto Pinochet or pre-Nazi and Nazi Germany provide ample illustration if needed.18 A third type of argument links democratization primarily to the growing importance of markets as mechanisms for the allocation of resources. Whether the defining element of economic liberalization or simply a corollary of private sector growth, the growth of the "economic market" is considered to bring about the emergence and growth of a "political market." The argument is frequently traced back to Anthony Downs (1957), who, however, established an analogy, not a causal link, between the growth of economic and political markets. Even a superficial survey shows that historically the growth of economic markets has not translated into the growth of political markets. In the Middle East and North Africa, for instance, current developments in Tunisia and Egypt invalidate the claim. Despite numerous imperfections, markets in both countries have become mechanisms that are far more central today to the allocation of resources than some fifteen or twenty years ago. Nonetheless in Tunisia the growth of markets since the second half of the 19808 was quickly followed by growing repression and the self-perpetuation of the authoritarian Ben Ali regime. In Egypt the growth of markets in the 19908 also coincided with a period of increasing political deliberalization (Bellin 2002; Camau and Geisser 2003; Kassem 2OO4a; Kienle 2000).

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According to a fourth line of thought, economic liberalization contributes to political liberalization primarily because the expansion of the private sector relative to the public sector rolls back the influence of the state. Sometimes the argument simplistically claims that the state as such stands for authoritarianism, whereas the private sector stands for democracy. More elaborate arguments identify the twin processes of state shrinking and private sector expansion with the emergence of different (at least two) power centers and therefore with a healthy separation of powers of sorts (Friedman and Friedman 1962). The problem with this argument is that the relative growth of the private sector may simply entail the growth of a private monopoly or of oligopolies that may even be as powerful as the state monopoly once was. Nor does the growth of the private sector relative to the public sector exclude crony capitalism, in which the private sector remains heavily dependent on the state. Although the political economy of authoritarianism in Latin America has been checkered, examples abound where private capital favored nondemocratic rule. And where early independent regimes in Latin America appeared to be democratic, the vote was frequently linked to the ownership of property (cf. Dabene 1997). In summary, there are numerous reasons that economic liberalization need not translate into political liberalization. There is also ample historical evidence that this has often not been the case; to the contrary, repeatedly economic liberalization chronologically coincided with additional restrictions to political freedoms. In Egypt economic liberalization in the 19905, in particular private sector growth, even contributed to such deliberalization (Kienle 2000, ch. 6). Nonetheless, as we will see, some of the arguments are not as wayward as they may seem, provided that they are recast appropriately. ASSUMPTIONS, IMPLEMENTATION, AND HISTORY

From the ineffectiveness of the various engineering techniques arises the question of whether the fault lies with the techniques or with the underlying assumptions about the role of institutions and empowerment. More to the point is the question of whether the institutions that were created were strong enough and whether the empowerment strategies were substantial enough to favor democratization. What we tend to forget is that institutions influence and channel action only if at least one of two conditions obtains. The first condition requires that the actors concerned consider the institu-

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tions sufficiently adequate or legitimate. The second condition requires that the institutions impose themselves on the actors to the point that ignoring or avoiding them would result in unacceptable costs. Only institutions that are strong in at least one of these respects are able to influence the rational choices of actors in the sense of a "logic of consequentialism" or to make them act adequately in the sense of a "logic of appropriateness" (March and Olsen 1984). Similarly, empowerment strategies work only if they redistribute resources to such an extent that less resourceful actors are sufficiently empowered to challenge the dominant position of their counterparts. The latter requirement is of particular relevance to Arab states, which in their vast majority remain rentier states, even though the concept needs to be further debated and refined.19 Thanks to the resources they can sovereignly allocate, including the loyalty they can buy and the repression they can threaten with, rentier states, or rather their rulers, easily erect themselves as hegemonic actors within the territory and population they control without any serious challenge from within their jurisdictions. The extremely unequal distribution of politically relevant resources that characterizes hegemonies, even more than other political systems dominated by particular actors, prevents the emergence or survival of challengers and therefore of competing power centers. From his survey of 172 countries Tatu Vanhanen concludes: "Capitalist economic development is conducive to democratization only in cases in which it furthers the distribution of economic power resources among competing groups" (Vanhanen 1997, 54). Put differently, entrenched dominant positions and hegemonies prevent the emergence of groups able to enter and sustain conflict (konfliktfahige Grupperi) (Evers 1966; Schubert and Tetzlaff 1998; Schubert et al. 1994). Clearly, the argument hinges on more than average per capita income or rolling back the state. Comparative historical analysis can show us how important shifts in balances of power within polities are for democratization and how strong institutions need to be in order to favor it. Rueschemeyer and colleagues (1992) in particular show how today's established democracies emerged from conflicts among actors who were able to mobilize sufficient politically relevant resources to confront each other (cf. also Mahoney 2003). Such conflicts were particularly prone to producing democratic results when hegemonic or dominant actors were on the decline and formerly weaker actors were on the rise. At the origin of democracy we find power-sharing arrangements between competing actors, groups of actors, classes, or power centers. Incidentally, the

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splits within ruling groups, for instance between soft-liners and hard-liners, that, according to part of the transition literature, favor democratization (Colomer 1991; Huntington 1991; O'Donnell et al. 1986), are nothing but splits of one existing power center into two or more new power centers who fight or compromise. The successive domestic challenges to the kings of England (and later Scotland) that manifested themselves in such developments as the Glorious Revolution in the seventeenth century and the extension of suffrage in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries are one example; the successive revolutions in France beginning in the late eighteenth century and continuing throughout the nineteenth century are another (Tilly 2004). Democracy promotion through empowerment has hardly ever empowered or been intended to empower the disempowered to the extent that they would be able to seriously challenge dominant actors or hegemons. Similarly, institutions created to promote democracy have never been reinforced sufficiently to contain and channel action toward democratic outcomes. In most cases "civil society" remained an array of associations and organizations supported from abroad rather than by strong domestic constituencies.20 The inability of such civil societies to promote democracy is not surprising if one accepts that in established democracies they were not at the origin of democratization either; although linked to this process, they were precisely the expression of the emergence and coagulation of strong domestic constituencies. Categories of actors such as women or the poor are too vast and internally heterogeneous to turn into organized collective actors promoting democracy. For its part, economic reform so far has not established markets with sufficient safeguards against market failures as the primary mechanism for the allocation of resources. Nor has economic reform (otherwise) enabled the private sector to emancipate itself sufficiently from regime tutelage and cronyism to challenge the rulers; this is hardly surprising, as it is generally implemented by those very rulers and thus enables them to shape it into forms compatible with, or even furthering, their own economic and political agendas. Obviously, not all power-sharing arrangements result in democratic institutions. They may also give birth to oligarchic forms of government. In socalled plural or divided societies power sharing can result in what is known as consociational democracy, a political regime in which individuals belonging to "us-versus-them groups" or "we groups" (Elwert 199/a, 199/b), such as ethnic or religious communities, separately elect a number of representatives corresponding to their relative demographic strength.21 Liberal-democratic

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institutions in the narrow sense emerge only when the parties in conflict who are reaching power-sharing arrangements accept the principle of one vote for any one woman or man and therefore changes in the size of their own support bases. This in turn implies that the parties concerned consider other elements of the political regime as sufficiently reassuring to guarantee their vital interests, even if their share in the vote declines. In most cases power-sharing arrangements involve a minimal consensus shared by the parties in conflict, be it only with regard to the territory supposed to be placed under their joint or alternate exercise of power. However, even a minimal consensus does not necessarily guarantee against disaster. Conflict may escalate beyond the point of no return, thereby destroying a previously given minimal consensus. It might also degenerate into the complete defeat of one side, its domination, or its destruction. Inasmuch as conflict is at the origin of power-sharing arrangements and their potential transformation into democratic rule, it does little to guarantee such felicitous outcomes. Democracies come into being "without democrats" (Salame 1994), but the absence of democrats does not guarantee democratic rule. RECONFIGURING AUTHORITARIANISM OR PROMOTING DEMOCRACY?

The only conclusion that can safely be drawn is that standard recipes for democracy engineering contribute to the reconfiguration of authoritarian rule rather than to democratization. At worst, limited empowerment of the disempowered and the building of institutions insufficiently strong to make equals out of actors come down to window dressing; at best, they foster heavily circumscribed and nonbinding inputs by actors who may live under the impression of being participants without actually participating in the making of decisions.22 To the extent that participation is enhanced, it remains fungible and is reabsorbed at new or higher levels of the authoritarian institutional arrangements in place. Bahrain, for instance, under its new constitution of 2001, has a largely elected lower house of parliament, but at the price of the creation of a new, entirely appointed upper house invested with veto powers (cf. Dazi-Heni 2002; Lawson's contribution in this volume [Chapter 7]). In Egypt, thanks to a ruling of the Supreme Constitutional Court, the parliamentary elections of 2000 and 2005 were conducted under more stringent judicial supervision than previous elections and indeed resulted in reduced majorities for the regime party; however, still dominated by the regime, the

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2000 parliament soon lifted the immunity of several opposition deputies, and, in by-elections heavily rigged in ways falling outside the scope of the court ruling, regime-friendly candidates were declared elected (cf. Kassem ioo4a; Kienle 2000, 2004). This is not to say that the introduction of new and limited participatory elements into existing authoritarian regimes does not at all affect their structure and workings. For instance, it does not mean that Bahraini politics today are identical to what they were before the constitutional changes. What is important is to accept that authoritarian rule at the beginning of the twenty-first century need not in all its aspects resemble authoritarian rule in the 19505 when Juan Linz wrote his seminal analysis of Franco's Spain (Linz 1964). In principle, there may obviously be knock-off and ramification effects that ultimately result in systemic change; however, such effects are not inescapable further stages in a transition toward a predefined end state.23 Compared to the period after 1952, the political regime of Egypt has become considerably more participatory in formal and constitutional terms with the reforms introduced in the second half of the 19705. In part, these reforms were a concession to US sensitivities that could not be ignored in a period in which US support was needed to rebuild the country after the wars with Israel and indeed to negotiate a peace treaty with Israel. In part, these reforms were the result of a limited policy of economic liberalization and domestic coalition building intended to prop up Anwar al-Sadat's leadership (cf. Kassem 2OO4a; Roussillon 1998; Waterbury 1983). Ever since, Egypt has "benefited" from external democracy promotion programs, including institutional reform measures, awareness programs, civil society support, and economic reform. By 2007 neither the changes of the late 19705 nor the subsequent externally initiated activities have brought the country closer to democracy. Indeed they even failed to prevent the earlier mentioned regression in the 19908 in which positive and negative liberties suffered substantial new restrictions. Instead of prompting wider changes, the introduction of participatory elements has consolidated authoritarian rule in key domains. In line with arguments about opposition as regime support, these elements have become a crutch for authoritarian rule (Zartman 1990; Lust-Okar and Albrecht in this volume [Chapters 3 and 4, respectively]). Although the sort of political engineering advocated by current democracy promotion prescriptions is largely inappropriate for actually promoting democratization, it would be dangerous to assume that more radical recipes,

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such as fostering conflict, would necessarily bring about democratic government. If conflict was at the origin of contemporary established democracies, it has failed to have similar such outcomes elsewhere. The Algerian civil war of the 19905, the divisions it reflected and that it in turn (re) created, and its violent aftershocks have not necessarily brought the country closer to democracy. Nor will the numerous violent conflicts in Iraq, after the removal of Saddam Hussein's regime, ipso facto favor power sharing and democracy. Although standard measures of democracy promotion may well consolidate or even revitalize authoritarian rule, more radical techniques may produce as much good as evil. Definitely, at this point, the limits of political engineering have been reached.

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15

THE LONGEVITY OF THE HOUSE OF SAUD Looking Outside the Box

Paul Aarts

OVER THE COURSE of the twentieth century several Middle Eastern monarchs lost their thrones, but some remained alive and kicking, having some of the highest "YIPPI scores" (years in power per incumbent) on earth. The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia is a prominent example of such monarchical resilience and of a "dynastic" monarchy (Herb 1999) that remains extremely hesitant to encourage political and social pluralism. Thus one should look much less for dynamics of political liberalization, let alone democratization, and much more for dynamics of political change in an overtly nondemocratic context (Schlumberger and El-Khazen 2003,3). Recent developments in the kingdom, though, may suggest otherwise. As elsewhere in the region, the notion of reform has acquired quasitalismanic status in Saudi Arabia also (International Crisis Group 2004C, n). It has become a mantra among royalty, government officials, Shura Council members, Islamists, academics, liberals, and businesspeople alike. Indeed, some changes have taken place since early 2003; a petition lobby resulted in three National Dialogue rounds in which aspects of reform were discussed and recommendations regarding future steps were issued. The sessions took place behind closed doors but with women present and, for Saudi norms, an impressive range of opinions (notably the presence of both Shiites and Sufis, both considered heretical by many among the dominant 'ulatna). In late 2004 municipal elections were announced, and after some delay these elections took place in three rounds over the course of 2005.

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"FOR THE YANKEES TO SEE"

Opinions differ on how to evaluate these reform measures. Some dare to ask the question of whether one can speak of a Saudi "glasnost" (Bergen 2005), whereas others clearly see progress, albeit in terms of baby steps (Abou-Alsamh 2005; Cordesman 2oo5b; Luciani 2004). Most observers, however, are less sanguine and label recent reform measures mostly as cosmetic or "for the Yankees to see"—although in some fields one recognizes that changes are not completely insignificant, such as in the fields of gender and education (International Crisis Group 2O04C; Ottaway 2OO5a; Teitelbaum 2005). As was aptly noted in a recent report by the International Crisis Group: "As is true in many other countries under pressure to reform, the focus so far has been essentially on economic steps designed to invigorate the non-oil sectors . . . as opposed to the more difficult—but equally critical—social and political transformations" (International Crisis Group 2004C, 11). Some even conclude that the regime, now that it appears to have gotten the upper hand in its battle with radical Islamists (and thus has proven to be a crucial and reliable ally in the global war on terrorism), is closing ranks and "reasserting its totalitarian rule" (Bradley 2005). Although some investigators enthusiastically endorse the thesis "Want democracy? Get a king" (Kirby 2000)—under the assumption that succession crises provide a possible path toward democratization from authoritarian monarchies—this viewpoint looks far from realistic. In an excellent review article on monarchical authoritarianism, Russel Lucas convincingly argues that "[historical] practice had shown that, although some fresh young monarchs are willing to offer taaddudiya to their subjects, none is willing to follow Spain's Juan Carlos and offer a full, immediate transition to democracy. Hard-line factions of the regime coalition, moreover, do not generally pass with the old king" (Lucas 2004,116). And specifically on Saudi Arabia, Lucas continues, "Reading Kechichian [2001], one comes to understand that, no matter how populist' Crown Prince Abdallah has become in Saudi Arabia, the confidence of his family trumps that of the public. It is doubtful that any of the Middle Eastern monarchs, or any potential future aspirants, will offer a transition to democracy. The privileges of the throne offer too attractive a prize" (Lucas 2004,116). The Need to Look Outside the Box

Thus Middle Eastern monarchies (and republics for that matter) look extremely persistent, and the House of Saud is the primus inter pares. It has

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unremittingly ruled the country since 1932 in an authoritarian fashion, notwithstanding the fact that the fall of the House of Saud has often been predicted. Obviously, the kingdom is not quite the dinosaur that "instant experts" seem to think (Peterson 20O2b, 68). An interesting discussion has commenced, offering an almost exhaustive list of different recitals that might explain the resilience, some of course having more exegetic power than others. One point is certain: No single vindication has been able to elucidate the stability in all these intriguing cases. In this chapter I cannot go into all the causes offered, but a small sample will serve my purpose. Fred Halliday has warned us not to replace the "republican telos" of the 19508 and 19608 with a modern "monarchical telos" (Halliday 2000, 291). Because the strategy has proven its attractiveness to many academics, this warning is quite in its place. After the collapse of the monarchical regimes in Egypt, Iraq, Libya, and Yemen in the 19508 and 19608, many scientists started to think that the monarchy had already had its florescence and that republicanism was heading toward the lighting future. The modernization perspective of Daniel Lerner and Samuel Huntington modeled the train of thought concerning this subject. The 19708,19808, and 19908 have proven, however, the persistent character of numerous monarchies—with the obvious exception of Iran. This perception eventually led to a revision of the academic perspective. Michael Hudson's Arab Politics (1977) was the first book to acknowledge that monarchies might be more enduring than hitherto expected. It was followed by, for instance, Sharabi's Neopatriarchy (1988). Such writers subscribed to the idea that local (or regional) political culture was central to an explanation of the longevity of monarchical systems in the Arab world. These recitals, although not lacking expressiveness, have their own weaknesses (summarized by Cause 2000). It is important to bear in mind that all these explanations—together with what later came to be known as the rentier state perspective—limit themselves to internal causes.1 The same goes for more recent contributions to the debate, such as Herb's All in the Family (1999), Champion's The Paradoxical Kingdom (2003), and, less extensively, Neil Quilliam and Maggie Kamel's "Modernising Legitimacy" (2003). Each explanatory framework that focuses on local actors and factors naturally leads to important insights, but no framework offers a sufficient elucidation of the persistent character of the monarchies, not even when all the frameworks are taken together. Part of the answer we are looking for certainly lies somewhere outside the box of domestic politics. It appears to be far more

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conceivable that the crucial difference between the success and failure, or the persistence and fall, of monarchies can be found in the regional and global strategic-economic picture rather than in the local one. At the very least a combination of the two perspectives is necessary to get to a reasonable explanation. It would be rather simplistic to attribute the survival of regimes solely to external backing, but it would be equally naive to suppose that such support (or the lack of it!) would be of no importance (Halliday 2000,16). In a recent contribution Eva Bellin (2004) comes close to such a combinedperspectives approach. First, she forcefully reacts against conventional explanations ("that suggest a litany of regional failures"), such as the weakness of civil society, state-controlled economies, poorness of the people and high illiteracy rates, remoteness of the region from the epicenter of democratization, and the cultural factor (Islam in particular). In all these respects the Middle East and North Africa are not unique. Other regions, with similar characteristics, have nonetheless managed to make the transition to less authoritarian forms of governance. "Cross-regional and cross-temporal comparison indicates that democratization is so complex an outcome that no single variable will ever prove to be universally necessary or sufficient" (Bellin 2004, 141). Bellin subsequently suggests that it is mainly the will and capacity of the Middle Eastern states' coercive apparatuses to suppress democratic initiatives that have extinguished the possibility of transitions. "Herein lies the region's true exceptionalism" (Bellin 2004,143). The robustness of this coercive apparatus, then, is explained by referring to four variables, of which one—finally—connects to the external environment: successful maintenance of international support networks.2 In this chapter I presume that the chances of regime survival are as much dependent on the capacity to build dependable international alliances as on the ability to mobilize economic resources and internal coalitions. International alliances as an explanatory variable for regime persistence are regrettably either completely disregarded or given scant attention. Therefore they receive additional notice in the following paragraphs, which focus in particular on Saudi-US relations.3 FROM SPECIAL TO NORMAL

After the shock of 9/11 it may look somewhat odd to concentrate on the relationship between the United States and Saudi Arabia. For sure, there has been a perceptible anti-Saudi backlash within the US body politic. Because fifteen

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of the nineteen hijackers carried Saudi passports, the burden did weigh heavily on Riyadh. It took the Saudi authorities a long time to publicly accept the fact that the country had been at least an indirect source of terrorism. Simultaneously, Washington began to realize that Saudi Arabia's role in the war on terror was ambiguous at best; on the one hand, Saudi Arabia is an important ally in the Middle East, but on the other hand, it is itself (indirectly) a source of terrorism. For many Americans, including some in the government, patience with the Saudis started to run thin. In July 2003 members of the House of Representatives supported a bill to add Saudi Arabia to the official State Department list of state sponsors of terrorism, and somewhat later versions of a so-called Saudi Accountability Act were introduced in both the House and the Senate. "September n, 2001, of course, changed everything," claims Abukhalil (2004, 199). It is true that it caused "irreparable damage" to US-Saudi relations at the public level; but what about the official level? And, can we readily conclude that we are indeed witnessing the end of the special relationship between Saudi Arabia and the United States?4 Especially after the successful military campaign against Saddam Hussein's regime, the relationship between Washington and Riyadh no longer appears to be worth pursuing. After all, or so the plea goes, the United States has already withdrawn US troops from Saudi soil and has alternatives in the region. Furthermore, dependence on Saudi oil is likely to diminish drastically once the full potential of Iraqi oil is realized. So why bother any longer about the House of Saud? At the same time it may seem that the Saudis themselves are increasingly keeping the United States at arm's length. Some Saudi watchers claim that the regime in Riyadh does not care anymore about the United States providing security. Rather, the People's Republic of China might enter into "securityfor-energy swaps" with Saudi Arabia (Fuller 2003,190). Some go even further, (over-) stating that "the United States, a key ally for more than half a century, is at present openly wary of the Saudi regime and doesn't seem any longer to consider its survival a strategic priority. Saudi Arabia, long considered America's main ally in the Gulf, has been stripped of this position" (da Lage 2005, 7). In this chapter I take a closer look at these claims to arrive at the conclusion that enough common interests remain to sustain the US-Saudi relationship—including, ironically, the war on terror. Saudi-US relations date back to the 19308 and have remained pretty robust ever since, occasional sharp tensions notwithstanding. Just as those earlier moments of tension failed to

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undermine the underlying strength of the relationship, it can be presumed that this pattern will not be radically altered in the years to come. Hence the Saudis and the Americans do not find themselves at a crossroads and the historic oil-for-security pact is not coming apart. The most likely scenario is that the United States and Saudi Arabia are entering a more normal relationship. It is the strength of the institutional ties between the Saudi regime and its US counterpart that largely explains the resilience of the Saudi-US alliance. It should be stressed that this stands in direct contrast to those who focus on the familial ties between the House of Saud and the Bush family—or to the ties of the Bush family with the bin Laden family. Both aspects have been covered extensively—coming close to the level of conspiracy thinking. Out of fear of disrupting the long-established relationship, there has not been a single US administration that dared to speak openly about the dismal human rights conditions in Saudi Arabia. That leads to the obvious conclusion that it is highly unlikely that the White House will diverge from the standard US policy of protecting and propping up the Saudi royal family. It is commonly understood that the special relationship was built on four pillars: oil, security, Saudi Arabia's role as the moderate power in the ArabIsraeli conflict, and its prominent place within the Arab and Islamic world.5 In the following text I concentrate on a discussion of the first two pillars, oil and security. Obviously, these two not only are the most relevant but also are interlinked with one another to the extent that energy relations dictate security ties. In what follows I first turn to the security factor before expanding on the energy component of the Saudi-US relationship. THE ONLY SHOW IN TOWN

Reacting to growing public anti-Saudi sentiments after the events of 9/11, George W. Bush telephoned Crown Prince Abdullah to "reassure him of the country's 'eternal friendship'" (Abukhalil 2004, 28). A number of incidents can be seen as showcases of this commitment. A high point was the crisis over the twenty-eight pages that were blacked out in a document put together by Congress. "Security issues," according to President Bush, demanded this level of secrecy. Unger's allegations of the alleged early evacuation of a number of Saudi royals as well as members of the bin Laden family, flown out of the United States in private jets shortly after 9/11, also raised controversy—even if the subsequent 9/11 report disproved the claim that they had been let go before air space closures had been lifted.

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Security is one of the key issues where the United States and Saudi Arabia share a common interest. This interest dates back to early 1945, when Ibn Saud received a pledge from Franklin Roosevelt that the United States would at all times guarantee Saudi territorial integrity. Throughout the Cold War period there were many reasons for the Saudi and US leaders to work together. Oil apart, the kingdom's geographic location and ideological leanings were additional components underpinning the special relationship. In the following decades the agreement developed de facto into a quid pro quo: The United States guaranteed protection from external threats and favorable trading terms, and Saudi Arabia committed itself to producing sufficient oil at reasonable prices and to recycling a significant portion of its oil income through the economies and banks of the developed world, prominently including the United States.6 That such choices on the part of the Saudi leadership were arguably simply good economic sense, given the country's low absorption capacity and its interest in long-term oil market stability, does not diminish the extent to which their consistent application helped consolidate the relationship with Washington. Indeed, Saudi Arabia has been the destination of a great number of US arms exports, although it must be stressed that the kingdom has always done its utmost to keep the benefits of multidependence (for data see Nonnemann 2001, 2006). Saudi Arabia spends more on defense per capita than any other country in the world (more than one-third of its budget). The total value of US arms sales to Saudi Arabia over the past half-century approaches $100 billion, with over a quarter of the contracts signed in the 19905. These figures include weapons, support equipment, spare parts, support services, and construction. The best-known military facility in the country, built by the Americans, is the Prince Sultan Air Base, which has been home to 4,5005,000 US soldiers since 1991. The presence of these troops has always been one of the things that aggravated bin Laden and his followers, and he never missed an opportunity to avow that he wanted to see an end to it. This constituted a dilemma for both Washington and Riyadh: how to remove the US presence without seemingly giving in to bin Laden. The solution came more quickly than expected after the Iraq war, which did away with the need for a military presence on Saudi soil. Already in April 2003 the announcement was made that most US troops would leave the country, and evacuation had taken place by August of that year.7 Moreover, the Saudis had covertly supported the United States in the Iraq war. Even though US bombers were not allowed to take off from Prince Sultan

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Air Base, the command and control center on that base was used intensively. Virtually every request made by the Bush administration for military or logistical assistance was met positively. "We would never have been able to conduct the war against Iraq as we did without Saudi assistance," admitted a US diplomat in Riyadh (Gresh 2003). Captivating detail is provided by Dobbs (2003) and Bradley (2004). The Los Angeles Times reported that during the invasion of Iraq, 10,000 troops were employed at Prince Sultan Air Base. Even beyond the war on Iraq, the military bond between the two countries has not been cut off, nor is this likely to happen in the future. As an observer remarked, "Saudi Arabia remains dependent on the United States for training and technical services. It cannot sustain independent combat without US support ... and it cannot use many of its air control and warning assets without the US back up. ... Any break with the United States would virtually derail its modernization efforts" (Cordesman 2003). Although the Saudis will try to hedge the kingdom's strategic position by cultivating different kinds of ties with China, it is not likely that the Asian giant will soon become a substitute for the United States. Cause pointedly argues: "As distasteful as it might be for some people in Saudi Arabia, the US is the only show in town" (Cause 2005). Still, both Riyadh and Washington are in high spirits over the almost total removal of any visible operational component on Prince Sultan Air Base. Indeed, the withdrawal marked the end of an extraordinary period of open military cooperation that started with the 1990-1991 Gulf War. It is now clear that the military relationship between the two countries has reverted to normal, that is, to what it was before Iraq's invasion of Kuwait in 1990: cooperation on arms sales and military training but without significant numbers of US troops on Saudi soil. All in all, it is clear that in a different, less visible way, US involvement in the military infrastructure of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia will remain strong (Cordesman 2004; Russell 2002).8 In George W. Bush's second term there has been an incessant need for the US administration to join forces with the Saudi leadership on a number of issues. First, in the war on terror Saudi Arabia can be seen as ground zero (Leverett 2005,100; Telhami and Steinberg 2005), and Washington cannot do without the kingdom's full engagement. Second, the United States cannot neglect Saudi Arabia's importance as a moderate power in the Arab-Israeli conflict. Third, prolonged instability in Iraq necessitates cooperation from Iraq's neighbors, Saudi Arabia (and Iran) in the first place. Fourth, and finally, in the longer term, Saudi Arabia can be seen as the big enchilada when it comes to promot-

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ing reform in the "broader Middle East" (Leverett 2005,101). If, one day, sustained economic reform and political liberalization take place in the kingdom, this might have an enormous demonstration effect on other Muslim countries. From a Saudi perspective, on the other hand, the United States remains crucial as its most powerful potential protector—even though the leadership is aware that there is a trade-off with concerns over domestic legitimacy. AN OILED RELATIONSHIP

Apart from common security interests, there are of course shared interests in the field of energy. With the United States accounting for one-fifth of the world's oil consumption and Saudi Arabia being the world's largest oil exporter, the equation seems straightforward. A closer look, however, reveals a more complex situation. Even if the United States were to reduce its oil imports from Saudi Arabia or were to refrain from using Saudi oil altogether, it would still be in Washington's best interest to preserve friendly relations with Riyadh. Why is that so? "No One Swings Like the Saudis"

By far the most important motive for the United States not to neglect the Saudis is the unique position of Saudi Arabia as the world's only swing producer; the country retains the single largest spare production capacity of all oil producers. This means that the world market—and the world's largest oil consumer in the first place—has a major interest in a cooperative Saudi government. The national spare capacity allows the Saudis to control the oil market to such an extent that they can fix or at least contain sudden serious disturbances (but not control prices, as is often suggested).9 The United States, and the rest of the oil-consuming world, has been dependent since the mid 19705 on the Saudi capacity to manage the oil market in this way—and not only under extreme circumstances, such as in the aftermath of the Islamic Revolution, during the Iraq-Iran war, during the second Gulf War, and, again, during the 2003 war against Iraq (Aarts and Renner 1991; Barnes et al. 2003-2004). Indeed, Saudi Arabia has consistently performed this moderating role for the past quarter of a century, although there may have been moments when some particular country felt squeezed by the Saudis (such as the Soviet Union in the 19808 and Venezuela in the late 1990$). During 2004, when oil prices started to climb, it was rumored that Saudi Arabia would soon face the challenge of tired oil fields. Such skepticism was

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fiercely rejected from many sides, and market forces did not react to these gloomy predictions. The fact that oil prices did not stop rising clearly was not to be blamed on Saudi Arabia, which raised its production as requested, but on other market conditions that the Saudis had little control over—surging demand in China and the United States, political instability in Venezuela and Nigeria, uncertainties in the Russian oil industry, oil terrorism in Iraq, and capacity problems of US refineries. In early 2005 Saudi Arabia's role as a safety valve was brought to the fore again when the government decided to increase production capacity to 12.5 million bd (barrels per day) within four years. "No one swings like the Saudis," as the Economist once rightly stated, and it is this fact that gives the regime many of the aces in the energy game. It is hardly imaginable that a serious disruption of the Saudi oil supply (and its attendant rise in oil prices) would be without consequences for the US market—even if the Americans stopped using Saudi oil altogether. No Relief Elsewhere

In the wake of 9/11 an increasing number of voices have been raised in the United States, especially within neoconservative circles, to minimize the Saudi relationship and import oil from elsewhere, including post-Saddam Iraq. However, this is not feasible in the foreseeable future. Clearly, the biggest problem lies in developing a transport fuel that can compete with oil. But, as Cassidy and others have shown, it would be more useful to concentrate on the demand side, without neglecting the supply side. Thus, getting serious about conservation would be a lot more practical than talking about the "hydrogen economy" (Cassidy 2004, 8). Can non-Middle Eastern oil supplies bring relief? Russia ranks high on the alternative list, followed, at some distance, by Caspian Sea countries and several oil producers in western Africa. All these alternative sources could supplement the imports already flowing from countries closer to home, such as Canada, Mexico, and Venezuela. However, the short-term prospects for substantially increased oil imports from Russia or the Caspian Sea countries are not very promising: Oil from these regions cannot easily find its way to the world market because of logistical problems, among other factors. The message is a sobering one: other sources, other problems (Barnes et al. 20032004). Moreover, the oil reserves in these countries are far less extensive than those in the Persian Gulf. Russia, for example, holds 4.6 percent of proven world oil reserves, whereas Saudi Arabia holds 25 percent. At the same time,

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production costs are substantially higher in Russia than in the Middle East. In short, there is little reason to conclude that Russia and the Caspian Sea region are likely to act as a ministering angel, and much of the publicity about the global potential of these oil resources is hype, for commercial and political reasons (Halliday 2005b, 70-71). What about the Iraqi potential? The country has proven oil reserves that amount to 115 billion barrels, the second highest in the world after Saudi Arabia, and it is believed that the country's probable reserves are considerably larger. In the short term, however, Iraq will not be of great help to an oilthirsty United States. Three years after the war, at the time of this writing, Iraq's oil sector is still limping. Although regime change in Baghdad definitely has reshuffled the cards and given US (and British) firms greater access to Iraq's oil sector, it will take many years before this access materializes into substantially increased oil production. Rehabilitating the existing infrastructure and regaining the pre-Gulf War capacity of around 3.5 million bd might cost up to US$6 billion. It is not clear where such investment would come from under present conditions. Iraq is producing less oil than it did before the war—about 2 million bd, sometimes even less as a result of sabotage by insurgents. The conclusion is clear: Iraq will never be the kind of swing producer that Saudi Arabia is (Cole 2005; Klare 2005). Thus, in both the short term and the medium term, it looks like the United States cannot do without oil supplies from the Middle East, and Saudi Arabia in particular, although the kingdom's position has seemed to become a little less prominent since late 2002. Although this is difficult to document, up to the final months of 2002 the Saudis had been discounting their price of oil for the US market by about 30 cents per barrel—some even speak about a $1 per barrel discount—in order to maintain themselves as one of the top suppliers. Now that the special relationship has turned out to be no longer so special, the Saudis are gradually going where the market takes them, and that is to East and South Asia, China and India in particular. The other side of the coin is that in recent years the United States has been increasing its oil imports from countries such as Canada, Mexico, Venezuela, Nigeria, and Iraq (Energy Information Administration 2004). However, as a result of supply irregularities in some of these countries, compounded by a growing oil thirst in the transportation sector, the kingdom has regained its position as the top crude supplier to the United States (Oil Daily, March 18, 2005). Also, in the longer term net imports of energy are projected to meet a

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growing share of US energy demand. As the Energy Information Administration of the US Department of Energy disclosed, total energy consumption is expected to increase more rapidly than domestic energy supply through 2025. As a result, net imports are expected to constitute 38 percent of total US energy consumption in 2025, up from 27 percent in 2003. In 2025 net petroleum imports, including both crude oil and refined products, are expected to account for 68 percent of demand, up from 56 percent in 2003 (Energy Information Administration 2005). In this context the most relevant forecast from the Energy Information Administration is that the Persian Gulf share of US total petroleum imports, 20.4 percent in 2003, is expected to increase to almost 30 percent in 2025. The Saudis have a special responsibility: To meet demands, Saudi production alone must more than double in the next twenty years (to 23.8 million bd). The United States, in consequence, will become increasingly dependent on oil supplies from the Gulf region and from Saudi Arabia in particular. All this underlines the country's continuous importance, hence Washington's unrelenting interest in stability in the kingdom, which, in turn, influences US geostrategic thinking. Keeping the Peer Competitors Out

In a recent debate between today's uncrowned king of realism, Stephen Walt, and some liberal internationalists (e.g., Mary Kaldor, Richard Falk, Ivo Daalder, and James Lindsay), the question discussed was whether "the age of geopolitics" has ended (Walt 2005).10 On the one hand, one feels sympathy for the liberal-internationalist view about the limits of state sovereignty, postWestphalianism, and humane global governance. On the other hand, it cannot be denied that the nation-state remains the most robust political form on the planet, and nationalism is still the most important political ideology (even as it sometimes takes an Islamic garb). In trying to understand US policy in the Middle East and Saudi foreign policy vis-a-vis the United States, the prism of realism is still useful—although in a modified form, giving due weight to both material and ideational factors (Halliday 2005a, 21-40; Hinnebusch 2002, 1-27; Hinnebusch 2003,1-13 and 54-72; Nonneman 2003,118-130). For lack of space, I mainly deal here with the material factors. The Bush administration's geostrategic thinking was first systematically formulated in its National Energy Policy document, also known as the Cheney document (early 2001). The basic goal of this document is to focus less on

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energy conservation and to find additional external sources of oil for the United States. The report also calls for substantially expanding Saudi capacity, preferably through increased US oil company investments. The Cheney document was supplemented by the National Defense Strategy of the United States, issued by the Department of Defense (March 2005). The report's language is revealing: "Our role in the world depends on effectively projecting and sustaining our forces in distant environments where adversaries may seek to deny us access" (US Department of Defense 2005,13). The military doctrine also envisions "pre-emptive military action" (or, more accurately, "preventive" action) intended to cripple adverse combat capabilities. In the face of perceived perils, the US government has placed an ever-increasing reliance on the use of military force to protect global access to oil and its transport. The search for overseas military bases—a term that the Pentagon has gone out of its way to avoid—is in full blast. In terms of policy goals there is a remarkable degree of convergence among the US's main concerns: terrorism, the pursuit of foreign oil, and the rise of China (Klare 2004, 2005). One could argue about the real need for physical (military) presence in vital regions to exercise control. I hold that there is no need to control vital areas directly; one merely needs to ensure that they do not fall under the control of a hostile great power and in particular not under the control of a socalled peer competitor (Walt 2005). In this respect the position of the People's Republic of China is indeed paramount. It is a truism that the Chinese are not going to be content with long-term second-class status and thus will speed up their use of energy, primarily oil. China's indigenous oil resources in the Xinjiang basins are steadily producing 3.5 million bd and thus clearly fail to meet China's rapidly growing demand. The country is now an integral part of the world economy, and in global manufacturing it is destined to be what Saudi Arabia is to world oil markets. China's oil imports in 2004 were set to expand by some 40 percent, giving Saudi Arabia the position of being China's principal oil supplier.11 China is already importing 60 percent of its oil from the Gulf, and this share is likely to increase to 80-90 percent in the coming two decades. China is expected to double its imports by 2010 up to the amount of oil that the United States is importing these days. It already ranks second on the list of the world's largest oil importers, having overtaken Japan. If China maintains its growth dynamic without major political and/ or social disruptions, it will indisputably become a dominant player in the

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international economic and financial system. The country is already the world's number one importer of cement, coal, steel, nickel, and aluminum. Some Chinese economists believe that China's economy will catch up to the United States by 2030 or 2040—maybe earlier. Obviously, this is of great concern to the United States, which realizes that not only China but also India has joined the scramble for oil. India, like China, is already on a collision course with the United States when it comes to energy investment deals both in Africa (Sudan, Angola) and Asia (Iran, Myanmar). Although China may well share major US goals in the war on terror, it does not necessarily share Washington's approach to these problems in the Middle Eastern region. Most notably, China opposed the war against Iraq and it may well perceive the United States as a source of instability in the area. Beijing believes that the Bush administration has a containment policy against China, and indeed it does not need a lot of imagination to see some kind of "strategic encirclement" emerging (Engdahl 2005; Klare 2005; Ramonet 2005). Eighty percent of China's (and Japan's) oil passes through the Malacca Straits, making it one of the most strategic "world oil transit chokepoints" (Engdahl 2005). The closing of this vital sea lane would wreak havoc on the Chinese economy. Of course, China and the United States also need each other: Washington not only needs Beijing economically, but China's assistance is also warmly welcomed as intermediary in the negotiations to persuade North Korea to give up nuclear weapons. In Washington a report on Sino-US competition has been circulating saying that China has identified the United States as "a paramount threat to its energy security and economic stability." The Chinese, says the report, "equate security with physical possession or control of energy supplies [and] have a tendency to see securing their energy as a zero-sumgame" (Chen 2005,74). In a way, this was confirmed when the New York Times announced that "five hundred and ninety years after a Chinese fleet cast anchor at Hormuz, the Chinese are back in the Arabian Sea" (New York Times, April 11, 2005). The story was about a visit of the Chinese prime minister to Pakistan, where he presumably talked about the "potential establishment" of a permanent Chinese naval presence. All this does not mean that China and the United States will necessarily be at odds or that China will actively seek conflict with the United States, or vice versa. But it does mean that there is a great potential for misperception, misinterpretation, and missteps. Somewhat ominously, we are reminded

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that "dreadful wars have been precipitated by concerns over access to such [energy] sources . . . and a casus belli could quickly develop between a rapidly arming China and an over-extended United States" (Gaffney 2005). In the long term it cannot be excluded that the United States may one day consider using its power in the Middle East to frustrate oil supplies destined for a booming Chinese economy—or at least using a high-price strategy to contain China by pressure on its most vulnerable point, that is, imported oil. Far-fetched as this may seem, President Bush hinted at such thinking in his June 2002 West Point speech, when he stated that the United States would not allow the development of any "peer competitors" in the world (Hallinan2004). Apart from intensifying commercial contacts, thus far there are only limited indications that China is developing a proactive diplomatic and strategic approach to the Middle East, but there can be no doubt that this will happen. There is a certain logic to the growing economic and political relationship between China and Saudi Arabia. As Thomas Lippman astutely observed, "Looked at from a Saudi perspective, they say: 'Wait a minute—we need a good relationship with a country that is a permanent member of the Security Council, is a strong and growing market for our oil, is a nuclear power, and, by the way, is untainted by having invaded any Arab country'" (Lippman 2004). The Chinese need large and increasing amounts of oil, and its state-owned oil companies are eager to invest in Saudi Arabia, just as the Saudis are eager to get downstream access to the Chinese market. In security terms, however, it does not seem likely that the Saudi regime sees China as a serious alternative to the United States; but there is a certain logic to the Saudis wanting to increase their options. The regime may even try to play off the two against each other, and that is exactly the reason that Washington persists in courting the House of Saud, showing deference to keep them on their side. All in all, when the chips are down, Riyadh's long-standing relations with Washington will prevail. FEAR OF THE ALTERNATIVE

Particularly against the backdrop of the terrorist attacks in Saudi Arabia itself since 2003, it seems to have become a parlor sport to predict the downfall of the House of Saud. At the same time, several journalists, commentators, scientists, and some politicians have claimed to see—or argued for—the end of the special relationship between Saudi Arabia and the United States.

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Indeed, the Saudi system has some difficulties. The economic and security situations nurture plenty of worries, not to mention the uncertainties and possible problems over the succession of Abdallah. Nevertheless, the Al Saud remain in control of plenty of capital—economic, religious, political, and symbolic.12 Moreover, it is in the best interests of the United States to see that the current regime stays in power. Against the background of the factors highlighted earlier, Washington simply cannot afford to witness regime change in Riyadh. As recent history has shown, radical domestic political changes in oilproducing countries often lead to suppressed output, whether the change is anti-American (as in Iran) or pro-American (as after the collapse of communism in the Soviet Union). It is rather difficult to imagine a situation in which a radically different Saudi regime willingly cuts all its oil exports and orders its citizens to tighten their belts for more than a month or so. "Without air conditioners and desalination plants, the kingdom would quickly look like Darfur. Not even religious fanatics are ready to go back to the sweaty business of raising goats and dates" (Rodenbeck 2004, 24). Washington will always prefer market stability and thus will try to keep reliable partners in power, or—in the worst case—occupy the Eastern oil fields.13 Substantially higher prices would be the inevitable consequence, with concomitant effects on the global and US economies. This is not to say that any reduction in Saudi oil production would automatically have deleterious consequences. The countries of the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development have ninety days of oil reserves to guard against short-term shocks. But real problems would arise with a more prolonged drop in Saudi oil production or in a tight market situation of ever-growing demand without simultaneously increased production—in effect the situation both the International Energy Agency and the Energy Information Administration were positing as potential scenarios in their recent annual reports. A different scenario has no less damaging effects. Consider the possibility of a flood-the-market approach, which is not unimaginable under a radical Islamist regime that could impose on its people the hardships and privation of lower prices "for the sake of a final victory over the enemies it deems unholy" (Maugeri 2003). This not only would have a devastating effect on US oil production but also would negatively impact Russian oil production, endanger Caspian basin prospects, and halt new exploration and technology development. Consequently, within five to ten years the world would be even far more

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dependent on the Persian Gulf than it is today—an outcome that would seem like a real victory for a radical Islamist regime. Both scenarios would have negative effects for the US economy, which raises the question of whether there is any practical alternative to the present Saudi regime that would really serve the interests of the United States. Washington's conclusion looks obvious: It is better to deal with the devil you know. Despite 9/11 and regime change in Iraq, Riyadh and Washington still do have many of the characteristics of Siamese twins. The four pillars on which the special relationship has been built remain essentially intact. Paradoxically, one might add the common interest in combating Islamic terrorism as a fifth pillar. Although there has been a period of trial and tribulation, relationships recently returned to former levels of warmheartedness, illustrated by the much publicized visit of Crown Prince Abdallah to President Bush's ranch in Crawford, Texas, in April 2005. In this way the US government showed its willingness to continue its decades-old policy of embracing convenient dictatorships, all the more so if they produce oil. This situation echoes James Schlesinger (former secretary of defense and CIA director) in the pre-9/ii days, when he rhetorically asked whether the United States should "prescribe democracy as the proper form of government for other societies." He then gave Middle Eastern oil exporters as an example: "Do we seriously want to change the institutions in Saudi Arabia? The brief answer is no: over the years we have sought to preserve those institutions, sometimes in preference to more democratic forces" (quoted by Carapico 2005,9-10). Notwithstanding its rhetorical bombast about Arab democratization after 9/11, the Bush government largely continues the policies of previous US administrations. By doing so, it helps the House of Saud to improve its already high "YIPPI" score.

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REFERENCE MATTER

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NOTES

Chapter 1 1. "Authoritarianism" in this book refers to Linz's (1964,1975, 264) classic definition. 2. Except as a result of external military intervention, and state collapse, as in Iraq. 3. See the Alexandria Statement at http://www.pogar.org/themes/reforms/ documents/alexandria.pdf and the info on the Beirut NGO summit at http://www .apfw.org/indexenglish.asp?fname=newsenglish200412428.htm. 4. The documents can be found at the following websites: Dead Sea Declaration, http://www.oecd.org/dataoecd/36/36/34945817.pdf; Tunis Declaration, http://www .arabsummit.tn/en/tunis-declaration.htm; and Sana'a Declaration, http://www.npwj .org/netrep/documents/sanaa/SanaaDecll2JAN04AR.pdf. 5. For details, see http://www.mepi.state.gov/. 6. There is more information on the websites of the named organizations and initiatives: http://www.undp-pogar.org; http://www.oecd.org/mena/; http://usinfo .state.gov/mena/middle_east_north_africa/forum_for_the_future/forum_keydocs .html; http://usinfo.state.gov/mena/middle_east_north_africa/me_partnership_ initiative/mepLfact.html; http://www.fco.gov.uk/Files/kfile/Art%2017%20BMEN A%20Political%20Statement,0.pdf; and http://web.worldbank.org/wbsite/external/ countries/menaext/extmnaregtopgovernance/0,, contentMDK:20512305~menuPK:4 97031~pagePK:34004173~piPK:34003707~theSitePK:497024,OO.html. 7. Apart from several regimes that had experimented with liberalization in the 19708 (such as Bahrain [cf. Lawson 1989] and Egypt [cf., e.g., Hinnebusch 1985]), many Middle Eastern regimes initiated political openings of sorts in the late 19805, often as a result of economic distress.

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8. Schmitter (2001, 94) then wrote: "I would argue—as I did earlier for Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union—that transitologists and consolidologists can travel safely to the more exotic ... places in the ME/NA [Middle East/North Africa]. Until they are taught otherwise... they should stick to their initial assumptions, concepts and hypotheses. I believe they can treat these admittedly weak or prospective cases of regime change ... as analogous to those that preceded them." 9. To take another example, Diamond and colleagues (1988, xvi) define one out of three conditions necessary for a political regime to be considered democratic as the presence of competition "for all effective positions of government power." In fact, all definitions of democracy contain this notion of contestation for power. Dahl's second overarching dimension of democracy is inclusive participation or, in other words, political pluralism. The restriction of pluralism, by contrast, is a defining element of authoritarianism (cf. also note i). It is thus clear that the Arab polities fall short of minimal classical requirements for democracy, and at the same time, maybe the most important defining element of the concept of authoritarianism is a key component of all the polities discussed here. Arab political regimes are thus clearly authoritarian in nature. Hence it seems little helpful to refer to varying degrees of liberties prevailing in different individual countries by resorting to classificatory notions such as "semidemocratic" or "semi-authoritarian." 10. As regards, for instance, strategies of legitimation vis-^-vis both domestic society and the outside world, the form of state organization (monarchies vs. republics), institutional arrangements (e.g., anything from multiparty systems to dominant-party systems to the prohibition of political parties altogether), ideology (e.g., religious, secular-nationalist, liberal), foreign policy orientation (pro-Western vs. anti-Western), or the prevailing degree of physical repression. 11. Except dynastic intergenerational power transfers, such as those that took place in Bahrain, Syria, Jordan, Morocco, Kuwait, or the United Arab Emirates. 12. This is another important aspect in which the present volume is distinct from other contributions to the debate, such as Cavatorta and Volpi (2006), who focus on the interrelation of religion (Islam) and democracy and who examine both pre- and posttransition cases. In such analyses the crucial point of reference remains, as the title implies, democracy and democratization. 13. Suffice it to mention three of the most common empirical and methodological counterarguments. First, there is a significant amount of counterevidence of majority Muslim polities that have undergone democratic transitions, ranging from Turkey in the West to Indonesia in the East. Second, to assume that culture or "civilization" (based on religion) is key to explaining the persistence of authoritarianism in a certain world region fails to explain non-Muslim and non-Arab examples of resilient authoritarianism in such culturally diverse places as China, Belarus, Cuba, or a number of African cases. Third, essentialist arguments are fundamentally incompatible with

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methodological frameworks that view actors as rational and self-interested, possessing at least a degree of autonomy. 14. These are Chapters 2 and 3 (Heydemann and Lust-Okar, respectively), Chapters 6 and 7 (Sluglett and Lawson, respectively), Chapter 10 (Luciani), and Chapter 13 (Sayyid). Note that these are not intended as textbook-style overviews that would outline the state of the art on the respective theme; rather, they represent original research by their respective authors. 15. Chapter 5 on Morocco, Chapter 9 on Oman, Chapter 11 on Egypt, and Chapter 15 on US-Saudi relations. 16. Chapter 4 (Albrecht) in Part i, Chapter 8 (Pioppi) in Part 2, Chapter 12 (DrozVincent) in Part 3, and Chapter 14 (Kienle) in Part 4. Chapter 2 1. One important exception is the recent volume on structuring conflict by Ellen Lust-Okar (2005). 2. Because states in the Middle East have followed such similar paths with respect to political liberalization, the issue of convergence becomes an obvious place to start an essay on the organization of mass politics. However, claims of convergence have an interesting genealogy of their own. They have often been used to impose flat, usually superficial, analytic categories on the region (identifying it as monolithically Islamic or Arab), as if these categories themselves are sufficient to account for political outcomes. But there is a more interesting debate around claims of convergence. Within comparative politics as a subfield, there is skepticism about the extent to which Middle Eastern cases exhibit enough variation on dependent variables related to economic and political reform to make intraregional comparisons theoretically interesting, at least with respect to these specific issues. Middle East comparativists, not surprisingly, tend to perceive higher levels of variation across cases. For the purposes of this chapter I assume that Middle Eastern cases do not vary much on the relevant variables and that this is theoretically interesting. 3. Political institutions, including electoral institutions, are taken much more seriously by scholars of the Middle East today than was the case ten or fifteen years ago, but old habits die hard. Institutions still tend to be seen as the veneer beneath which real politics—patrimonial, clientalist, tribal, clan-based—take place. The argument I make here will be taken seriously only to the extent that readers are willing to view as meaningful the institutions that structure much of state-society relations in the Middle East. 4. As a former president of Brazil once said: "For my friends, anything. For my enemies, the law." 5. I am not suggesting that disorganization is an effect or the intentional product of governments that act strategically to create it. Authoritarian regimes in the

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Middle East may well imagine themselves as all-powerful leviathans. I am arguing, though, that in the context of a limited capacity to impose a coherent set of rules—a reality that Migdal (1988) captures quite well—regimes have, over time, established modes of governance that make good use of the disorganization associated with having multiple sets of rules in play to keep themselves in power. 6. One implication of a heavy state presence in import-substituting sectors is the increased difficulty of managing a shift from import substitution industrialization to export-promoting strategies of development. In the Middle East and North Africa, this shift has meant not simply the reallocation of private capital from one set of sectors to another but the more difficult task of restructuring public enterprises. 7. Or among the new and more established neocorporatist democracies of Europe. Schmitter and Grote (1997,2-3), for example, discuss the core features of neocorporatist institutions in a range of European democracies precisely in terms of their rigidity and lack of flexibility: "These corporatist practices [of conflict resolution] might have seemed, from an abstract and external point of view, inflexible in their demands and suboptimal in their performance. Normatively, they may have represented 'second best solutions' for all involved, but operationally, if one takes into consideration the uncertain 'shadow of the future,' the participants seemed prepared to bear the mutual burden of rigidities and inefficiencies—at least until some manifestly better solution presented itself." 8. Elsewhere I have argued that large patronage networks can become a drain on regimes, threatening the survival of governments whose legitimacy is linked to the provision of social welfare more broadly. Under these conditions market-oriented economic reforms and regime survival can become complementary rather than competing aims (Heydemann 1992). 9. This sounds similar to the claim of Olson (1982) and other public choice economists that the proliferation of embedded interests will, over time, diminish the capacity of a government to innovate, reduce economic efficiency, and lower rates of growth. It isn't. Although here I am concerned only with possibilities for political, not economic, change, I start from a different assumption than Olson: that there is no way to predict, ex ante, whether the proliferation of embedded interests will or will not lower a government's capacity for political innovation and impede the transition from authoritarianism to more participatory systems of rule. Were this inevitably true, Vicente Fox would not have become president of Mexico or Abdurrahman Wahid president of Indonesia, and Imelda Marcos would still be first lady (if not president) of the Philippines. 10. To add yet one more bit of speculation to the mix presented here, I suspect that the capacity to transform systems of property rights without transforming structures of political authority is the key element that differentiates systems that exhibit bounded adaptiveness from those that do not. In the Soviet case the transformation

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of property rights required the destruction of political authority. In China and the Middle East, where property rights are being modified more gradually, it has not. 11. Nee and Ingram (1998,32) make the same observation about the relative adaptiveness of firms in China. Failure to adapt to the changing institutional environment selects large state-owned enterprises not because they go bankrupt but because their share of industrial output declines relative to that of nonstate firms. Chapter 3 1. These classifications are similar to those of Dahl (1971) and Tilly (1978, ch. 3), but these scholars do not explore how state-created institutional structures affect opposition-government dynamics. For a more detailed version of this argument see my Structuring Conflict in the Arab World (Lust-Okar 2005). 2. For in-depth accounts of the Moroccan and Egyptian opposition and regimes' strategies to confine them, see Chapters 4 and 5 by Albrecht and Wegner, respectively. 3. For details on the economic crisis in Morocco, see Khrouz (1993) and Sinclair (1986). For details on the economic crisis in Jordan, see Satloff (1986) and Smadi (1987). For details on the economic crisis in Egypt, see Handoussa (1991) and Wickham (2002, 43). 4. Personal interviews with M. Merghadi (Socialist Union for Popular Forces [USFP] member; May 16, 1995, Fes, Morocco), N. Amaoui (secretary general of the CDT and member of the USFP Central Committee; May 1995, Casablanca, Morocco), and A. Bouzouba (adjoint secretary general and secretary of information of the CDT and council member of the USFP; July 14,1995, Rabat, Morocco). 5. Party members noted that "now was not the time" to mobilize the masses, whereas students argued that the parties were unwilling to challenge the palace (information from interviews with economics students, party members, and Western observers, Casablanca and Rabat, 1995). 6. Small radical groups that refused to recognize the legitimacy of the monarchy remained illegal, including Islamic Jihad al-Bayt al-Muqaddas and Hizb al-Tahrir. 7. Cf. also personal interview with T. Feisal (November 1995, Amman, Jordan). 8. On Jordanian-Palestinian relations, see Abu-Odeh (1999). 9. Personal interviews with R. Abdallah (political science professor; November 15, 1995, Amman, Jordan) and S. Kilani (journalist; December i, 1995, Amman, Jordan); cf. also Jordan Times, June 17,1992. 10. A third Islamist movement, the traditionalist Sunni opposition led by al-Faqih al-Zamzami, did not advocate the regime's overthrow. See Munson (1993,332-334) and Tozy(i999a). 11. It should be noted that Yasin's daughter, Nadia, reportedly states that the government has made some attempts to co-opt Yasin and convince him to moderate his demands.

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12. Munson argues that this call for participation in the elections is a "ploy resulting from [Yasin's] movement's inability to overthrow the regime of Hassan II" (Munson 1993,168). 13. Personal interview with I. Madanat (founding member of the Jordanian Communist Party, November 20,1995, Amman, Jordan). Chapter 4 1. See Richter's contribution to the present volume (Chapter n). Richter treats this point in greater detail using the Egyptian case. 2. On the following discussion, see Albrecht (2005,13-15) for greater details. 3. A number of institutions have been created solely for the purpose of cooptation, most notably the Shura Council, the National Council for Human Rights, and the recently initiated National Dialogue for Reform. 4. Cook (2006) and others regard the scenario of Przeworski-type democratization schemes as a possible future for Egypt; however, such hopes are usually not based on a thorough understanding of contemporary Egyptian politics. 5. In 2005 the national media observed what was perceived as a power struggle between a young guard of reformists around Gamal Mubarak—representing younger reform- and business-oriented NDP figures such as Hossam Badrawi, Ahmed Ezz, and Muhammad Kamal—and the old guard of party bigwigs around Safwat Sharif, Kamal ash-Shazli, and Zakariya Azmi. 6. On this external dimension of authoritarian rule, see Sayyid's contribution to this volume (Chapter 13) as well as those by Kienle (Chapter 14) and Aarts (Chapter 15). 7. Gamal Mubarak entered the political scene in 2003, taking over the NDP's Policies Committee, which then quickly rose to become a power center of its own within the party. Although a decision in favor of a power shift from father to son may not yet have been made, Gamal's salient position in contemporary politics is a clear sign that this option is under consideration. See Abdelnasser (2004) for a discussion of succession politics. 8. The regime has always made sure, by various means, that the NDP secures well over two-thirds of the seats in parliament. This is the majority required to change the constitution. Repressive tools do not constitute the main strategy to engineer the intended outcome. Rather, in Egypt's patrimonial-clientelist environment, access to state resources is almost entirely restricted to NDP candidates, thus giving them a significant advantage over their competitors (cf. Kassem 2004a); on the socioeconomic background, see Richter's contribution in this volume (Chapter n). 9. Restrictive passages in the Egyptian constitution serve as a legal tool, widely used by the authorities, to bar the formation of new parties. 10. Until 2003 Nour had been a member of the Wafd Party, which he left after Noman Gomaa outplayed his internal rivals and took over the party's leadership.

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11. The amendments were subjected to a popular referendum on May 25, 2005. According to government sources, 82.9 percent voted in favor of the amendments. Official voter turnout was high at 53.6 percent, a figure disputed by the opposition. Indeed, the struggle over the truth of these figures seems particularly relevant because they imply the success or failure of the opposition's boycott call. 12. Needless to say, the presidential election of September 7, 2005, was not designed to pose a real challenge to the president. The official result was designed to see Mubarak (88.5% of the votes) ahead of Ayman Nour (7.6%) and Noman Gomaa (2.9%); official voter turnout was 23 percent. 13. The National Front for Change had indeed a common list of candidates, without the Muslim Brotherhood however, who filed their own candidates. The election results were extremely miserable: Only 12-15 successful candidates (of 222 running) were associated with the Front (8 Wafd; 2 Tagammu; i Liberal Party; and some Independents). 14. The amendments to Article 76 of the constitution stipulate electoral supervision by the Supreme Judicial Council and the Presidential Election Commission. Contrary to the rebellious judges organized in the Judges Club, the Supreme Judicial Council had announced that it was ready to supervise elections without any preconditions (Cairo Magazine, May 18, 2005). Following the boycott threat, the regime tried to split the judges' ranks further, for example, by offering financial rewards to loyal judges (Al-Ahram Weekly, no. 744, May 26-June i, 2005; Brown and Nasr 2005). 15. Cf. Al-Ahram Weekly, nos. 791 (April 2006) and 793 (May 2006). 16. For a first account, see Vairel (2006). 17. Bayat (2002,3) distinguishes six forms of social activism: urban mass protests, trade unionism, community activism, social Islamism, NGOs, and "quiet encroachment." The Kifaya movement does not match any of these expressions; for comparisons with cases outside the Arab world, look at the Trop-C'est-Trop movement in Burkina Faso or the Kmara! movement in Georgia's Rose Revolution (Hagberg 2002; Karumidze and Wertsch 2005). 18. The initiators of the Kifaya movement appeared on the scene of street politics as the organizers of the Committee in Solidarity with the Palestinian Intifada, founded in October 2000 in support of the Al-Aqsa Intifada. 19. The winds of change also seem to blow in several professional syndicates, where, for instance, Engineers or Doctors for Change have seen the light of day. Although the term "Kifaya," routinely employed in the media, implies a homogeneous movement, one may well assume that its street politics will end up in the dead end of fragmentation. 20. The Brothers have organized massive demonstrations in recent years. However, the demonstrations were either of an apolitical nature (e.g., at the funerals of late

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leaders) or tolerated by the state, such as the movement's anti-Iraq war rally of April 2003, which was even jointly organized with state security forces. 21. Already in the 19908 the reformist discourse figured prominently within the Islamist current, particularly among a growing moderate-centrist faction of the Wasatiya movement (Baker 2003). 22. Of their total share of eighty-eight seats, the Brotherhood managed to win only twelve in the last electoral round held on December 8, 2005. This third round was marked by the usual degree of violence and ballot rigging, leaving several people dead and wounded, along with an alleged 1,300 Brotherhood supporters in custody (Amrani 2005); for a general picture of the 2005 elections, cf. Meital (2006) and Ghobashy (2006). 23. The reason behind the initial toleration of the demonstrations remains unclear. Local reports had it that in 2004 the regime had signaled to allow anti-US and anti-Israel protests, which then shifted to domestic affairs (Al-Ahram Weekly, no. 742, May 12-18, 2005). 24. Brotherhood sources claimed that the number of detainees came close to 2,500; all of them, including the prominent activists, were released by early November 2005. 25. This announcement sounds surprising, particularly since Akef himself claims to have masterminded the creation of the Wasat Party in 1997 (author's interview with Akef, January 18, 2005, Cairo). Initially a Brotherhood platform composed of prominent members of the middle generation, the Wasat Party was absolutely determined to form a political party. After several failed attempts, most Brotherhood bigwigs returned to the mother organization, leaving the Wasat Party as an independent breakaway faction. 26. From the logic of regime maintenance, it follows that the Egyptian incumbents will prefer the NGO business over strong opposition parties. First, NGOs do not challenge the political elites through strategically important institutions such as elections or the parliament; and second, political mobilization among the populace is even more restrained for NGOs than for parties. Thus neither the regime nor some informed observers regard NGOs as actors conducive to democratic change (cf. Abdel Rahman 2002; Langohr 2004). 27. Ironically, as of early 2006, both parties are seriously fragmented and on the brink of falling apart. For Hizb al-Ghad, see the discussion in the text. As for the Wafd Party, the struggle between party leader Noman Gomaa and his internal rivals around Mahmoud Abaza escalated in February and led to the ousting of Gomaa, who later tried to recapture party leadership. 28. Nour was charged with the forging of signatures for the party's legalization procedures.

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Chapter 5 1. Panebianco (1988,4-5) points out that the presumption of a causal link between official party goals (ideology) and behavior leads to a dead end in research: "If we consider it sufficient to rely upon the definitions that actors or institutions proffer of their own goals, we will never be able to go beyond simple descriptions of their ideological self-representations." This is not to argue that ideology or party goals do not matter. The gap between goals and action is, however, well illustrated by the coexistence of revolutionary language and reformist practice in the history of socialist parties. 2. The social movement literature distinguishes between ideological (goals) and active support. The gap between active involvement and ideological support for social movements can reach as much as 70 percent (Kriesi 1992, 26). For social movements in an authoritarian setting this gap should be even larger, given the potentially higher costs of active participation. 3. The MPCD—a split from the Mouvement Populaire—was founded in 1967. 4. Interviewees indicated figures between 70 percent and 90 percent as the movement's initial share of party membership. Members of the MPCD's founding generation (or their sons) are mainly represented in the General Secretariat through quotas. 5. This relationship is not static. The party has formalized its decision-making structures and increased its organizational resources in terms of propagandist means and human and financial resources. I have argued elsewhere that there is a noticeable development toward the establishment of formal and informal boundaries vis-a-vis the MUR, which indicates an increasing separation of the two organizations (Wegner 2004). 6. Interviews with members of the PJD's General Secretariat, Rabat, September 4, 2003, and November 12, 2003. 7. Interviews with members of the PJD's General Secretariat, Rabat, March 7,2003, and December n, 2003. Alternance, in the Moroccan context, meant the appointment of a political prime minister (i.e., the leader of the strongest party) and that opposition parties held a majority of ministries in the 1998 government. 8. Apart from the General Secretariat, the National Council is the party's most powerful committee. It mainly comprises the members of the current and previous General Secretariats, regional coordinators, and provincial secretaries and vicesecretaries. 9. The PJD did not reject the bill on microcredits as such but had aimed at introducing an amendment that would have allowed interest-free modes of financing (interview, Rabat, April 12, 2004). 10. Interview with a member of the PJD's General Secretariat, Rabat, November 12, 2003.

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11. The party's decision to downplay its political strength became especially important in the 2002 and 2003 electoral rendezvous, when the regime aimed at enacting more transparent elections. In 1997 a number of opposition parties criticized the government's interference, and some called for a boycott of parliament. The PJD was not among these parties, as its leaders were positively surprised to have been allowed to gain any seats at all (interview with a member of the PJD's General Secretariat, Rabat, November 6, 2003). Rumor (and the allusions of one party leader) had it that the PJD actually performed best in the 2002 elections but had agreed to take the third rank (interview with a member of the PJD's General Secretariat, Khenitra, November 9,2003). 12. On May 16, 2003, a series of suicide bombings shook the country's largest city and left 33 dead and more than 100 injured. The bombings were the deadliest terrorist attack in the country's history. 13. For instance, Mohamed Elyazghi, leader of the leftist USFP, called for the PJD's apologies to the Moroccan people. He argued that the PJD's "discourse of hatred" had contributed to the terrorist assaults (Aujourd'hui le Maroc 2003, i). See also Liberation, the USFP's newspaper, which claimed that the PJD's treasurer was actively involved in the attacks (Liberation 2003, i). 14. Besides this, the General Secretariat made it a priority to work on the PJD's image problem. It heavily intervened in the composition of the electoral lists (mostly in favor of technocrats and women). Some members of the General Secretariat had already suggested listing candidates according to competence (rather than popularity with the rank and file) in the 2002 elections. At that time, however, they were not able to garner enough support for this position (interview with a member of the PJD's General Secretariat, Rabat, September 10, 2003). 15. Interview with a member of the PJD's General Secretariat, Rabat, September 4, 2003. 16. The party leadership did not want to risk much in the outcome of these elections. The congress deputies could choose among only three candidates preselected by the National Council. The remaining members of the General Secretariat were to be proposed by the newly elected secretary general and approved by the National Council. These changing procedures and prerogatives show that the party executive was increasingly suspicious of the vote populaire. As the new secretary general put it: "One needs to find a balance between the interests of the party and the interests of the militants" (interview, Rabat, December 12, 2003). 17. According to a questionnaire I distributed at the PJD's 2004 congress, about 40 percent of the delegates had joined the party after 1999. I suggest that these new members were partly former members of the Islamist movement and partly new sympathizers. The diversification of the membership is shown by the profiles of the electoral candidates for the 2002 elections, with only about one-third of the candidates belonging to the MUR. Given that 90 percent of the 2002 candidates were chosen by

NOTES TO CHAPTER 6

281

the party base, these profiles can serve as a proxy for a changing composition of the overall party membership. 18. Admission to the party is not conditional on membership in the MUR, but the party has an elitist concept of membership. The party statutes distinguish between participating and working members. Initial admission is conditional on two recommendations, and participating members have no access to any of the party's legislative or executive bodies. After one year, provided that both the adherent's screening and the evaluation of his or her efforts are positive, participating members can be promoted to working members. 19. Interviews with members of the PJD's General Secretariat, Rabat, November 25, 2003, and December 14,2003. 20. For instance, as a symbolic move against absenteeism, the members of the PJD's parliamentary group signed attendance lists for the General Assembly and the parliamentary commissions, which were then published in the party's newspaper; in the Wednesday sessions during which oral questions are broadcast on Moroccan TV, they repeatedly insisted on enforcing Sections 164 and 165 of the parliament's internal regulation, which authorizes the parliament's president to sanction absent MPs. 21. Interview with a PJD MP, Rabat, February 15, 2003. 22. The gross salary of a Moroccan MP is 30,000 DH (€3,000). The average monthly income in Morocco is approximately 1,400 DH (€140). 23. Interview, Casablanca, December 6, 2003. 24. Interview with a member of the PJD's General Secretariat, Rabat, September 4,2003. 25. Interview, Rabat, April 12, 2004. 26. In autumn 2003 only one of the interviewed MPs had already drafted a proposition, together with other colleagues. 27. Interview with a member of the PJD's General Secretariat, Rabat, April 8,2004. 28. Electoral boycotts such as those in Jordan in 1997 and in Egypt in 1990 do not contradict this argument. In both cases the Islamists joined a more general electoral boycott of oppositional parties and eventually came back to the game under worse conditions (Ryan and Schwedler 2004,146; Wickham 2002, 215). Chapter 6 1. In particular, perhaps, in the face of the considerable difficulties the United States is experiencing and will most likely continue to experience in Iraq. On the other hand, Seymour Hersh's analysis (2005) is quite disconcerting. 2. "In the end, such a secure but boring life became intolerable. Older generations could always get rid of their surplus energy after a non-challenging working day by working in their small gardens or arranging exhausting eating and drinking orgies" (Kupferberg 1999,163); and my own observations.

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3. US visas are much harder to come by, and the atmosphere is increasingly restrictive. "Young [Saudis] who had been studying in the West were afraid to return there. Businessmen confessed that they would feel humiliated if they tried to travel to the United States and were fingerprinted upon entering the country. These were men who had once enjoyed the nearly universal access that a Saudi passport vouchsafed them" (Wright 2004, 62). 4. Herb suggests (wrongly, I think, at least in the case of contemporary developments in Saudi Arabia) that such pessimism is not entirely warranted and that "monarchism appears to provide a sound institutional base for the incremental emergence of democratic institutions" (Herb 1999,15). Herb's optimism seems to have been particularly influenced by developments in Kuwait. 5. Tunisia and Morocco had been French (and in the case of Morocco, also Spanish) protectorates since 1882 and 1910, respectively; Algeria, which had been gradually conquered by France since the 18305, was administered as part of metropolitan France, with settlers represented in the Chamber of Deputies in Paris. Libya had been an Italian colony since 1910; Egypt had been (de facto since 1882 and de jure since 1914) a British protectorate but emerged as a semi-independent state by 1923; Turkey became an independent republic in 1923. 6. Makiya's works were first published under the pseudonym Samir al-Khalil (1989,1991). 7. Perthes (1995, 104) notes that Asad had done his best to "accommodate" the petty bourgeoisie and bourgeoisie of Damascus in the 19705, with the result that they generally remained aloof during the armed conflicts between 1979 and 1982. "After the defeat of the Hama uprising of 1982, the petty bourgeoisie of Hama, Horns and Aleppo had also, nolens volens, to come to terms with the regime." 8. "With the 1989 democratic elections in Brazil and Chile, all Latin American countries, with the exception of Cuba, had elected constitutional governments, marking a significant transformation in the region away from military authoritarianism These transitions from authoritarian rule make the region an important component of the 'third wave' of democratization... which had begun in Portugal in 1974 and quickly spread to Spain, Greece, Latin America and other authoritarian countries in Asia, Africa and Eastern Europe" (Foweraker et al. 2003,34). 9. See Aarts's contribution to the present volume (Chapter 15), which confirms the view presented here, for more details. 10. There are similar examples from other parts of the world: "Between 1898 and 1934, the US intervened militarily on more than thirty occasions to support conservative oligarchs in Central America and the islands of the Caribbean. . . . Although the official justification of these interventions was the 'export of democracy,' the real motives were economic and geopolitical" (Foweraker et al. 2003,14). The cutoff point of 1934 does not, of course, cover US support of the Batistas in Cuba until their over-

NOTES TO CHAPTER 8

283

throw by Castro in 1959, of Trujillo in Santo Domingo until his assassination in 1961, of the anti-Allende coup in Chile in 1973, and of the Somozas in Nicaragua until their overthrow by the Sandinistas in 1979. Another dimension worth discussing is the general strategy of democracy promotion and its intellectual justification. The effects of democracy promotion in the Middle East are covered by Kienle (Chapter 14 in this volume). 11. For a divergent view, see Heydemann's contribution to this volume (Chapter 2). Heydemann claims that Middle Eastern regimes have displayed a high degree of adaptiveness and flexibility. Chapter 8 I first treated this topic in From Religious Charity to the Welfare State and Back: The Case of Islamic Endowment Revival in Egypt (RSCAS Working Paper 2004/34, European University Institute, Florence, Italy). The work presented here is based on empirical material that was researched in the context of a larger project on the Egyptian awqaf. For more on the topic, see my Declino e rinascita di un'istituzione islamica: II waqfnell'Egitto contemporaneo (Orientale Ricerche Series; Rome: Universita di Roma "La Sapienza," 2006). 1. For an introduction to the history and legal development of the institution of waqf, see Peters (2000). 2. For an interesting critical discussion on the independence of Islamic religious institutions before the advent of the modern state, see Crecelius (1980). 3. The legal distinction between waqfkhayri and ahli is modern. 4. On the variable fortunes of the institution of waqfin different periods of political centralization or decentralization, see Crecelius (1991). 5. For a general introduction to the history of land tenure in the modern Middle East, see Owen (1981); for Egypt see Baer (1962). 6. Afeddan is 4,200.833 m2. 7. Similar processes also occurred in Europe. See, for example, Rosanvallon (1990). 8. Law 180 (1952). 9. Law 247 (1953). 10. Law 152 (1957) and Law 44 (1962). 11. Similar processes were witnessed in almost all Islamic countries. 12. Islamic courts were abolished in 1955, and in 1961 the Islamic University of al-Azhar was reformed and nationalized. Within a few years all mosque personnel started receiving state salaries like other public employees. The national network of mosques and other religious institutions was then used to propagate the official version of Islam. On religious institutions, reforms, and ulama, see Zeghal (1996). 13. For the Islamic charitable sector in Egypt, see the work of Ben Nefissa and Qandil (1995) and Sullivan and Abed-Kotob (1999).

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14. Private mosques (ahli, as opposed to hukumi, governmental mosques, that is, under the direct administration of the Ministry of Awqaf) proliferated starting in the 19705, often thanks to a law that granted tax exemption for construction work when the building included a mosque. 15. At the end of the 19708 the relationship between Sadat and the Islamic political movement started to deteriorate. The confrontation ended with the assassination of Sadat himself by a young extremist, followed by harsh repression. 16. The Egyptian fiscal crisis became more acute at the end of the 19808. In 1991 Egypt signed an agreement with the International Monetary Fund that implied a strong reduction in state expenses. For an overview of the Egyptian fiscal and debt crisis, see Richards and Waterbury (1996, 216-219 and 225-229). 17. Three years later, Mayu (August 17,1992, issue) published a report chronicling the entire project. 18. Articles and reports on governmental and opposition press on the annexation plans are numerous, starting in the mid-1980s and continuing throughout the 19908. The term used in this context is damm, literally "annexation," and not ta'mim, "nationalization." See the articles in al-Ahram, April-May 1985, or in al-Nurfor the same period. 19. There are many examples of official declarations in this sense, emanating both from the president himself and from the minister of social affairs. See, for instance, al-Masri, August 29,1993; al-Ahram, April 18,1994, and July i, 1996; al-Watan, June 18, 1995; and al-Akhbar, January 15,1995. 20. The slogan of the press campaign, which preceded Law 153 for the control of foreign funding to nongovernmental organizations in 1999, was "No to Western funding, Yes to a private movement [haraka ahliyya] strong and independent." See, for example, al-Ahram al-Iqtisadi, August 18, 1997; al-Sha'b, April 28, 1998, and June 4, 1999; and al-Usbu\ May 31,1999. 21. See, for instance, al-Ahram, April 18,1994, and May 8,1994. See also the reports in al-Jumhuriyya, June 18,1996, and al-Akhbar, June 18,1997. 22. On charity and social prestige for the emerging Infitah bourgeoisie, see Haenni (1996,1997). 23. I heard this expression for the first time from Ga'far 'Abd al-Salam, law professor at the Islamic University of al-Azhar and director of the League of Islamic Universities and of the Center Salah Kamil (author's interview, Cairo, June 2003). 24. For example, Bayumi Ghanim (1998). 25. See, for instance, the proceedings of a conference organized by the League of Islamic Universities (1998) or the seminar at the Islamic Benevolent Society (2000). 26. See also Tareq al-Bishri's preface in Bayumi Ghanim (1998,7-16). 27. On Islamic socialism see, for instance, Carre and Michaud (1983). 28. On (Egyptian) opposition, including political parties, see also the chapters by Lust-Okar (Chapter 3) and Albrecht (Chapter 4) in this volume.

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285

29. In most cases awqafare donated to charitable associations. This is the case with the waqf founder Shawqi al-Fangari, who endowed awqaffor the financial support of the Islamic Benevolent Society, or some of the customers of the lawyer Ga'far 'Abd al-Salam (author's interview with Ga'far 'Abd al-Salam, Cairo, June 2003). Shawqi alFangari also endowed awqafto the Islamic University of al-Azhar and other Egyptian universities for scholarships. See Shawqi al-Fangari (200ob). 30. This is the case, for instance, of the awqafofthe Islamic Benevolent Society. See Shawqi al-Fangari (200oa); or those of the Association for the Worthy Deed (cf. al-Ahram, March 11,1993). 31. Existing laws do not formally impede private administration of waqf. It is up to the Ministry of Awqafto decide. 32. For an analysis of the slow process of Nasser's agrarian reform reversal up to the end of the 19805, see Springborg (i99oa, i99ob) and Hinnebusch (1993). 33. The effects of Laws 96 and 4 on waqf land and real estate properties are mentioned by the Minister of Awqaf, Hamdi Zaqzuq, in the seminar of the Islamic Benevolent Society (2000, 44) and by Bayumi Ghanim (1998,497-498). 34. See the reports published in Akhar saya, March 16, 1994, April 13, 1994, and May 4,1994; al-Ahrar, January 28,1996; al-Uktubir, April 28,1996; al-Ahramy May 23, 1996, and June i, 1996; al-Wafd, June 25,1996; and al-Jumhuriyya, August 29,1996. 35. Waqf promoters often mention the law of 1946 as their preferred model. On this law see Anderson (1952). 36. I do not have any formal documentation of waqf reappropriation by the Ministry of Awqaf, but this is what Shawqi al-Fangari affirmed in an interview with me (Cairo, June 2003). 37. See the quotation of Gabriel Baer (1969, 92), but there are also many Egyptian examples. For an account on the Egyptian waqf debate in the first half of the twentieth century, see S£kaly (1929). 38. For a more detailed critique of this picture, see Tripp (2001). 39. See the informal relationship between the public sector and the private sector in many countries of the world or even the multiple linkages and patterns of interaction (if not cooperation) between the state and illegal actors, such as the Mafia in Italy, smugglers in Morocco, or the drug cartel in Colombia. Chapter 9 1. Qaboos had never seen Muscat and knew little about the country he would rule until his return from military studies in England in 1964. He effectively lived under house arrest in the six years before his accession to power. 2. Most often translated as group feeling or esprit de corps (cf. Ibn Khaldun 1980). 3. Oman's history has been shaped by many waves of immigration and emigration that have laid the foundation for the current diversity of the country's population.

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Among such groups are more than 100,000 former Omani emigrants to East Africa who returned in the 19608 and populations originating from the Indian subcontinent who have settled on the coast for several centuries (and who are, again, composed of two groups: the Shia Lawatiyya, native of the Sind but of Omani nationality; and the Banyans, a Hindu group native to the Indian Gujarat); finally, 200,000 to 300,000 Omanis of Baluchi roots have settled on the northern coast (greater Muscat and Batina province). 4. Foreign children are not allowed to attend Omani public schools. Young Omanis can attend international schools only with special permission. 5. According to a 1986 constitutional amendment and a 1972 law of nationality, any national who is not disabled, who is younger than sixty years of age, and who marries a non-GCC foreigner risks losing Omani citizenship. The only alternative is to file a detailed request to the Ministry of Interior. 6. After World War II the sultan quelled diverging political ambitions twice. In the 19505, in Jebel Akhdar, a conflict that received little international attention arose between the Ibadi Imamate authorities and the sultan, backed by Britain. In 1962 the southern Dhofar province saw an uprising of some mountain tribes that took on a nationalist character, turning into the Dhofar Liberation Front (DLF). 7. In May 1994 the Omani police arrested 200 so-called Islamic militants accused of preparing a plot to overthrow the government. Even if many details of this affair have remained blurred, it was the first sign of public dissatisfaction openly recognized by the regime since the Dhofar war. In September 1995 Vice-Prime Minister Qays al-Zawawi died in Dhofar in a car accident in which the sultan himself suffered injuries. 8. See al-Hayat, January 26, 2005, and May 3, 2005. 9. One example is the current minister responsible for foreign affairs, Yusuf bin 'Alawi, who was one of the DLF leaders in the Dhofar war before 1968. 10. For an in-depth study of Omani business elites in the twentieth century, see Valeri (2007). 11. A prime example of a business dynasty playing a key role in political decision making is the Zawawi family. Yusuf, a trader of Hijaz origin, became an unofficial adviser to Sultan Faysal in the late nineteenth century. His son 'Abd al-Mun'im officiated as Sultan Sa'id's commercial agent in Karachi. Both sons of 'Abd al-Mun'im, Qays and 'Umar, established close ties with Qaboos after 1970. From 1973 to 1982 Qays chaired the Ministry of State for Foreign Affairs and was afterward appointed viceprime minister for finance and economy until his death in 1995. His brother, 'Umar, is currently special adviser to the ruler for external relations, and Omar Zawawi Establishments (OMZEST) has become one of the leading business groups in Oman. 12. al-Watan, Muscat, January 28, 2003. 13. Royal Decree 86/97. 14. Personal interview, June 10, 2003.

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15. Personal interview, September 17, 2003. 16. In Arabic, to the ruler: "Shame, shame on Oman! America out!" ('ar, lar ya 'Uman! Bara, yaAmrika!), and in English, to the coalition: "Down, down UK! Down, down USA!" or "No war through our land!" 17. Middle East Economic Digest, May 2, 2003. 18. Personal interview, August 30, 2005. Chapter 10 1. The rentier state paradigm was first proposed by Hossein Mahdavy (1970) and was further developed and systematized by Hazem Beblawi and Giacomo Luciani (1987). In the last decade it has become a common tool in the interpretation of the political dynamics of oil-producing countries; see Brynen (1992), Cause (1994), Henry and Springborg (2001), and Vandewalle (1998); for a critical assessment see Chaudhry (1997) and Herb (1999). 2. This is frequently expressed as "no representation without taxation"—I regret having myself used this motto, because it is a crude and imprecise way of presenting the argument. 3. Rentier Arab states certainly include the member countries of the Gulf Cooperation Council: Algeria, Libya, and Iraq. Egypt and Yemen are border cases. The rest of the group do not have access to significant external rent. 4. Not the pure rentier, not the holders of political or military power who derive their wealth from it. 5. Certainly not the government employees; as for private sector employees, it depends on the structure of their remuneration. 6. O'Donnell and Schmitter (1986,19) hold that "there is no transition whose beginning is not the consequence—direct or indirect—of important divisions within the authoritarian regime itself, principally along the fluctuating cleavage between hard-liners and soft-liners." 7. The concept of the second stratum was originally introduced by Gaetano Mosca (1896) and was later brilliantly adopted in Leonard Binder's classic book, In a Moment of Enthusiasm (1978). 8. Dissatisfaction with the performance of a firm is normally expressed by exit, that is, a shift to the competition. But dissatisfaction with states is more rarely expressed by exit (i.e., migration). Nevertheless, the massive exodus of the second stratum has been historically important in contributing to the downfall of authoritarian regimes in Latin America. It has not been as effective in precipitating change in Saddam Hussein's Iraq, in Iran, or in Venezuela. 9. Ghassan Salami (1990, 29) notes that "there is, in contemporary political sociology, a clear reluctance to distinguish between 'strong' and 'weak' states." The same would apply to the bourgeoisie. I would measure the bourgeoisie's strength by

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its accumulated wealth, access to global finance and know-how, competitiveness and profitability of enterprises it owns, independence from government subsidies, and sales to market rather than directly to the government. 10. That was, for example, the case with the French in Algeria or the Levantine bourgeoisie in Egypt after 1952. 11. The progressive rift between Nasser and the nationalist Egyptian bourgeoisie is analyzed, for example, by Waterbury (1983). 12. The degree to which the preexisting bourgeoisie has been disbanded varies in different countries. Some of the old bourgeois families survived abroad, and new business was established in the shadow of the regime. However, it seems to me that in all countries that have undergone a socialist phase, the bourgeoisie has remained weak. This applies also to Egypt, where a relatively small number of entrepreneurs have amassed significant fortunes under protection from the regime, but the liberalization process has been slow and contradictory, and multinational corporations have played a major role. The crony capitalist description that may apply to Egypt does not equally apply to the business community in the Gulf, although that, too, initially was dependent on the state. I thank Roger Owen for pointing out to me that in Egypt there is a clear gap between the few larger capitalists and the rest of the business class, which is made up of small entrepreneurs. Huge differences do exist in the Gulf as well, but there is greater continuity in the distribution, with an important number of intermediate entrepreneurs. I would not dare say anything about comparative wealth concentration, because no statistics exist to measure it. 13. As described, for example, by Field (1985). 14. Surely, had it not been deliberately created by the state, this class would not have arisen spontaneously. In countries in which the state did not do so, there is no bourgeoisie worth speaking of (e.g., Libya). 15. This point was made by Brad Bourland, chief economist of the Saudi American Bank, in his speech to the conference "Future Vision for the Saudi Economy" organized by the Ministry of Economy and Planning of Saudi Arabia in Riyadh on October 20, 2002. 16. I have made this point before (Luciani 2006). 17. These contradictions are frequently voiced, for example, in the domestic debate around Saudi Arabia's accession to the World Trade Organization. 18. Indeed, a proposed competition law was effectively killed by the Chambers of Commerce in Saudi Arabia. 19. This is just prudent behavior in most countries, including democratic ones. Most entrepreneurs find it expedient to enjoy good relations with whoever is in power. 20. The Gulf bourgeoisie is well known for generously supporting various charities and causes, hence the recurrent accusation that they support Islamic terrorist organizations. I believe that this is in fact neither common nor direct (although we do not

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know); nor can the Saudi government control the flow: It can, and does, control money sent out of Saudi Arabia (it has in fact stopped the flow altogether), but a lot of the accumulated wealth and consequent income stream are entirely outside Saudi jurisdiction. 21. The most visible case of businessman-prince is Alwaleed bin Talaal in Saudi Arabia. See my earlier analysis (Luciani 2006,174-177). 22. In general, it is the member of the family who holds office who expresses political opinions, whereas members concentrating on business do not. Examples of opinionated families in Saudi Arabia are the Al Zamil and the Al Ghosaibi families. 23. Kuwait may be worth following closely. The bourgeoisie had clearly grown impatient with the poor health and lack of leadership of Sheikh Jaber (the emir) and Sheikh Saad (his crown prince). The bourgeoisie has supported the sidelining of Shaikh Saad upon the death of Sheikh Jaber, and the elevation of Sheikh Sabah al Ahmed to the post of emir. This was a discontinuity, which did not, however, endanger the stability of the regime. Parliament was reported to have wished the appointment of a new prime minister from outside the al-Sabah family, which would have been a step closer to regime change. The emir confirmed the separation of the post of prime minister from that of crown prince but again appointed a prime minister from within the ruling family. Liberals in the country were deeply disappointed with the new government (see "The Future of Kuwait's 'New Era' Dim: Liberals," in Kuwait Times, February^, 2006). 24. The issue of openness of the bourgeoisie is the key in this respect. Steffen Hertog, for one, believes that there are no new entrants in the Saudi bourgeoisie (personal communication, 2005). My impression is different, but I am ready to admit that mobility in the ranks of the bourgeoisie is more limited than in the United States and some European countries. 25. This is true also in cases where the foreign investor is not a multinational corporation but a locally implanted foreign bourgeoisie. Dubai combines a smaller albeit powerful national bourgeoisie with the presence of multinational corporations and a foreign, primarily Indian, bourgeoisie, plus considerable direct state intervention in the economy. The ruler's control is enhanced by such segmentation. 26. The license was granted on the basis of an international tender. Eleven international consortia entered the field, many including prominent princes among their partners, and six were invited to submit bids. The cynical talk of the town was that one of the princes would necessarily win the concession, but in the end that proved unfounded. The consortium led by the United Arab Emirates Etisalat won by a significant margin, and it included no member of the royal family. 27. Again, the Kuwaiti case will be interesting. The accession of Sheikh Sabah has led to the total disenfranchisement of the al-Salem branch of the al-Sabah family. To achieve this, Sheikh Sabah required the support offerees present in Parliament. This may have set in motion a dynamic that will prove difficult to contain.

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Chapter 11 I gratefully acknowledge important comments and criticisms by Holger Albrecht, Andreas Obermaier, and Anja Plomien and the work by the editor on previous versions of this chapter as well as the financial support of the Graduate School of Social Sciences, University of Bremen. 1. General accounts of the Middle East are by Schlumberger (2002), Posusney (2004), and Posusney and Penner Angrist (2005); see also Schlumberger's chapter in this volume (Chapter i). 2. Brownlee (2002a, 2005) is a notable exception. 3. As do the other contributors to this volume, I use Juan Linz's (1964,197) definition of authoritarianism. Although the terms "authoritarian regime maintenance," "survival," "durability," and "resilience" are used interchangeably, they all imply the absence of democratic modes of governance. 4. This claim is explained and formalized by Schlumberger (2004). Repression refers to the coercive way of safeguarding (societal) acceptance (of the political status quo), by force or the threat of it, whereas legitimacy refers to the noncoercive way of achieving acceptance. Acceptance of the status quo is thus both the necessary and the sufficient condition for the stability of a political entity. For examples of such a perspective applied to the Middle Eastern context, see Schlumberger (2002), Schlumberger and Bank (2002), and Albrecht and Schlumberger (2004). For a more general perspective on developing countries, see Diamond et al. (1995, 9). In view of the limited space available, I omit here a detailed analysis of repression as the coercive component of regime stability and emphasize legitimation, more precisely, the material dimension of creating legitimacy. 5. Many researchers on Egypt and the Middle East share this assumption, but they do not make it explicit; cf. Delacroix (1980), Luciani (1987), Singerman (1997, 244-245), Kienle (2000, 24), and Lesch (2004). 6. This domestic perspective is found in the contributions by, for example, Moore (2002), Kassem (2004a), Langohr (2004), Lust-Okar (2004), Bank (2004), and Albrecht (2005). Cf. Brumberg (2002), Albrecht and Schlumberger (2004), Bellin (2004), and Posusney (2004) for accounts that still place major emphasis on domestic factors but at least point to nondomestic influences. Only two out of eight studies in Posusney and Penner Angrist's book (2005) discuss external determinants of authoritarianism. 7. Cf., for instance, Evans et al. (1985,1993), Ikenberry (1986), Barnett (1990), and Gourevitch (2002). 8. Cf. especially Luciani (1995, 212), Shafik (1997, 241), and Henry and Springborg (2001,12). 9. Cf., for instance, Luciani (1987), Pawelka (1993), Richards and Waterbury (1996), and World Bank (20O4b).

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10. For this definition see the German literature on the rentier state. The main proponents of this definition have offered fruitful ideas on the refinement of the concept, for example, Schmid and Pawelka (1990), Beck and Schlumberger (1998), and Beck (2002). Middle Eastern states seize the lion's share of incoming rents through political decisions and institutions, such as the nationalization of the oil industry, taxes on foreign trade and transfers, or their exclusive control over aid from foreign donors. For an overview of different forms of rent, see Table 11.1. 11. For a diverging account of the role and development of the bourgeoisie and the middle class in rentier states, see Luciani's contribution to the present book (Chapter 10). 12. Luciani has defined the allocation state in terms of state revenue, which in Middle Eastern cases means predominantly oil rent (Luciani 1987, 70). Moreover, the "political rules of the game in an allocation state" referred to by Luciani apply mainly to the regimes' practice of buying political legitimacy (Luciani 1987, 73-76). For a general account of the political economy of distributive states, see Delacroix (1980). 13. For an excellent discussion of the historical development of the concept of rent, cf. Schmid (1991). For an economic perspective on rent, see especially Krueger (1974) and Khan and Sundaram (2000). 14. The application of this classification is not limited to the MENA region. Rent, especially that accruing from raw materials, is a well-established feature of state budgets everywhere in the developing world. 15. Smith (2004, 235), for instance, measures the ratio of oil exports to gross domestic product in a given year to compute oil dependency as an independent variable. Similarly, Ross (2001,337) looks at the export value of nonfuel ores and metal exports as a share of GDP. 16. I use pooled nominal per capita values in US dollars to estimate purchasing power parity and to make these figures comparable with the per capita oil revenues accruing to the state. 17. For more on the notion of social pacts and their potential role in authoritarian regime maintenance, see Heydemann's chapter in this volume (Chapter 2). 18. Cf., for instance, Pawelka (1993,131), Wurzel (2003,120), and Handoussa and ElOraby (2004, i). 19. Military forces routinely suppress societal uprisings. For instance, the Egyptian military contained the bread riots of 1977 as well as the rebellion of the Central Security Forces in 1986 (Kunde i996b, 48). In the wake of the killings committed by Islamic extremists in Luxor on November 17,1997, the military was placed in command of the governorate for several days while the president set out to purge the Ministry of Interior and especially its Upper Egypt directorates (Springborg 1998, 4). 20. Quite contrary to the view held here, Giacomo Luciani (cf. Chapter 10) sees

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an at least potentially more active future role for the Arab bourgeoisie, even for the bourgeoisie's role in processes of political change. 21. According to Abdel-Razek (2004), projected expenditures for fiscal year 20042005 were ££177.4 billion and projected revenues were ££125.1 billion. 22. Mounir Fakhri Abdel-Nour, spokesperson of the liberal Wafd Party, in AlAhram Weekly (Din 2003). 23. Data in this section are based on the my own calculations, using IMF Archives (various years), if not indicated otherwise. 24. Although this item absorbed no more than about 15 percent of total expenditures in 1980, its share more than doubled by fiscal year 2003-2004. 25. The SIFs are social security schemes entirely funded by the reserves and contributions of employees. The practice of using SIF resources to cover budget deficits seems to have been widespread for some years. Because SIF revenues are invested almost exclusively in government and National Investment Bank liabilities, the government will have to finance these paybacks from its own resources or with further loans in the future (Alba et al. 2004, 8). 26. These were the Banque du Caire, Bank Misr, the National Bank of Egypt, and the Bank of Alexandria. 27. It is unlikely that the recent banking privatization will alter this situation anytime soon. Two of the four big public banks have simply been merged, and one has been sold in part to a foreign consortium, with a significant portion of shares being retained by elite members. Control over the financial sector as a whole thus remains predominantly with the regime. 28. This assessment is based on the World Development Indicators on Egypt's balance of trade since 1976 (cf. World Bank 2oo4c). 29. Admittedly, this mechanism assumes a kind of zero-sum relationship between legitimacy and coercion, which renders them perfect substitutes—a picture that might not depict reality perfectly. For more on the reasoning behind this assumption, see Schlumberger (2004). Chapter 12 1. For external rent income and its domestic distribution, see Thomas Richter's chapter in this volume (Chapter n). 2. For a different argument on the military's autonomy and the relationship between the military and the regime, see Fred Lawson's chapter in this volume (Chapter 7). Chapter 13 1. The G8 is composed of the United States, Canada, Japan, Russia, France, Germany, Italy, and the United Kingdom. 2. In addition, it should be noted that all the countries mentioned are at the

NOTES TO CHAPTER 14

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lower end of the category "partly free," with scores of 5 (7 being the worst) for political rights and 4 for civil liberties (Jordan, Morocco, Lebanon) or scores of 5 for political rights and 5 for civil rights (Bahrain and Yemen). All five countries remain firmly autocratic. 3. Remarks by President Bush in his commencement address at the University of South Carolina, May 9, 2003 (available at http://www.whitehouse.gov/news). 4. The invasion of Iraq was the first and (then) only case of regime change by military force in the region. In contrast, the war on Afghanistan two years earlier had been driven by the wish to retaliate against the attacks of September 11 and to eliminate the bin Laden-led militant organization accused by the United States of masterminding those attacks. 5. "US Downplays Goal of Democratizing Mideast," Inter Press Service, January 3, 2003. 6. See "The Ugly Uzbeck," Washington Post, October 8,2005, for another example of US selective policy toward dictators and the divergent approaches of the United States and the EU. 7. The list of charges levied by the United States against Syria included Syria's support of Palestinian organizations opposed to Israel and of Hizbullah in Lebanon, the maintenance of close relations with Iran, and permission for individuals intent on resisting the US military occupation of Iraq to cross the Syrian border into Iraq. 8. "World Papers Ponder Mideast Change and Bush's Call for Greater Democracy," Le Figaro, February 28,2005 (quoted on the website http://www.worldpress.org, October 9, 2005). 9. "Les succes du hamas aux elections palestiniennes cr£ent un malaise de Punion europ£enne," Le Monde, May n, 2005. 10. "Une opposition morcele'e," Le Monde, May 27, 2005. 11. "Sounding Old Themes on Iraq," New York Times, October 7, 2005, p. A28. Chapter 14 1. On democracy promotion in general, see Burnell (2004), Carothers (1999), and Crawford (2003). 2. For a nonessentialist discussion of such exceptionalism, see Bellin (2004), Ghalioun (2004), Lakoff (2004), and Stepan and Robertson (2004). 3. President George W. Bush at the twentieth anniversary of the National Endowment for Democracy, Washington, DC, June n, 2003, quoted from International Crisis Group (2004b, 2). 4. For the history of these projects, see International Crisis Group (2004b) and Carothers and Ottaway (2004). 5. For an early critique of the partnership, see Kienle (i998b) and Schlumberger (20oob); for a reassessment ten years after, see Youngs (2003).

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6. For the definition of civil society referred to in these contexts, see the following text. 7. For illustrations of these institutionalist varieties, see, for instance, North (1990) and March and Olsen (1984). 8. For a focused definition, see Kabeer (1999, 2001) and Sen (1999). 9. These linkages are particularly emphasized in the definition of empowerment given in the World Bank's World Development Report 2000/2001 (World Bank 2ooib). 10. See, for instance, Kienle (i998b), Youngs (2004), and individual association agreements with southern Mediterranean states as published by the European Union. 11. See, for instance, Cairo Magazine, February 11, 2005, February 19, 2005, and February 26, 2005; and Al-Ahram Weekly, February 17, 2005, and February 24, 2005. 12. See, for instance, the World Bank's annual World Development Indicators. 13. For instance, on the occasion of the United Nations International Conference on Population and Development held in September 1994 in Cairo; see Al-Ahram, April 1-15,1994, and most of the international press for that period, in particular, the International Herald Tribune and the Guardian. 14. For the Middle East, see Norton (1995) and Ibrahim (i996a). 15. For figures, look at the World Bank's World Development Indicators. 16. See the thorough discussion of the bourgeoisie and the middle classes in Giacomo Luciani's contribution to this volume (Chapter 10). 17. See the argument of Giacomo Luciani in his contribution to this book (Chapter 10). 18. For other examples and references, see Mahoney (2003,148). 19. On rentierism and its effects, see Mahdavy (1970), Beblawi and Luciani (1987), Luciani (1994), Karl (1997), and Richter (Chapter n in this volume). For a nuanced critique of the commonly assumed effects of rentierism, see Herb (2005a) and Ross (2001). 20. On this issue, see also Langohr (2004). 21. In the sense of Lijphart (1977,1993). 22. On this point, see also Lust-Okar's chapter in this volume (Chapter 3). 23. On revamped, reconfigured, or modernized authoritarianism, see Brumberg (2002), Carothers (2002), King (2001), and Pawelka (2002). Chapter 15 1. For a rentier state perspective of externally induced stability, see Richter's contribution to this volume (Chapter 11). 2. The others, which clearly receive more attention than the external factor, are maintenance of fiscal health, the patrimonial logic of both the regimes and their coercive apparatuses, and low levels of popular mobilization. 3. Domestic factors that may help to explain the Al Sauds' steadfastness are fur-

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ther elaborated in several contributions to the book edited by Aarts and Nonneman (2006). 4. This view is strongly held by, among others, Bronson (2006) and da Lage (2005). 5. Concerning the fourth pillar, a reference can be made here to the role that proUS Saudi Arabia played after the Islamic revolution took place in Iran, and to Saudi support in the fight against the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan. The pillars also feature, although in a different shape, in the excellent survey of Saudi-European relations by Gerd Nonneman (2001); see also Leverett (2005). 6. For a recent, sober assessment of Saudi petrodollar surpluses put into US banks, see Rodenbeck (2004, 23-24); cf. also Hinnebusch (2003, 39-45). For the broader historical framework, see Halliday (2oo5a), again Hinnebusch (2003), and several contributions to Fawcett (2005). 7. Robert Vitalis points out, however, that the United States had given up bases under pressure before—at no cost. He argues that speaking in terms of dilemmas is merely part of a "rhetorical strategy" (personal communication, February 2004). 8. Cordesman specifies to what extent the United States has not left Saudi Arabia in security terms; cf. also Cordesman and Obaid (2004). Kate Dourian, Middle East editor of Plaits, confirms this by stating that the Saudis—notably Oil Minister Ali al-Naimi—still view the United States as "the only superpower" (interview, Dubai, September 2004). 9. It should be noted, however, that spare capacity of the Saudis has been somewhat falling in recent years. 10. A useful general survey of the debate is given by Baylis and Smith (2005). 11. Early in 2006 Iran has overtaken Saudi Arabia as China's main supplier of crude oil. 12. This conception of capital is taken from Ousmane Kane (2003). For a different view, see Madawi Al-Rasheed's contribution to the book edited by Aarts and Nonneman (2006). 13. For more on this, see Bremmer (2004), Bahgat (2005), Mandelbaum (2003), Boer (2005), and interviews with Abdelaziz Sager, chairman of the Gulf Research Center, Dubai (September 2004), as well as interviews with Kate Dourian and John Roberts. For a contrary view, see Preble (2003,3-5).

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Youngs, Richard (2003). "European Approaches to Security in the Mediterranean." Middle East Journal, 57 (3), 414-431. (2004). "European Democracy Promotion in the Middle East." Internationale Politik und Gesellschaft, 4,111-122. Zartman, I. William (1987). "Opposition as Support of the State," in I. William Zartman (ed.), The Political Economy of Morocco. New York: Praeger. (1988). "Opposition as Support of the State," in Adeed Dawisha and William Zartman (eds.), Beyond Coercion: The Durability of the Arab State. London: Groom Helm. (1990). "Opposition as a Support of the State," in Giacomo Luciani (ed.), The Arab State. London and Los Angeles: Routledge and University of California Press. (1991). "The Conduct of Political Reform: The Path Toward Democracy," in I. William Zartman (ed.), Tunisia: The Political Economy of Reform. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. (i995)- Collapsed States: The Disintegration and Restoration of Legitimate Authority. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Zeghal, Malika (1996). Gardiens de I'lslam: Les oulema d'al-Azhar dans l'£gypte contemporaine. Paris: Presses de la Fondation Nationale des Sciences Politiques. Zenati, Hassen (2005). "Two Years After Iraq Invasion, Old Mideast Order Crumbles." Agence France Presse, March 16. Available at http://infoweb.newsbank.com Zisser, Eyal (2001). "The Syrian Army: Between the Domestic and the External Fronts." Middle East Review of International Affairs, 5 (i), 1-12. (2003a). "Does Bashar al-Assad Rule Syria?" Middle East Quarterly, 10 (i), 15-23. (2OO3b). "A False Spring in Damascus." Orient, 44 (i), 39-61. (2004). "Bashar al-Asad and His Regime: Between Continuity and Change." Orient, 45 (2), 239-255. Zubaida, Sami (1989). Islam, the People, and the State: Political Ideas and Movements in the Middle East. London: I. B. Tauris.

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INDEX

Abdallah II (king of Jordan), 28, 173, 240-241,252,256,266,267 'Adi wa al-Ihsan, al-, 50, 51, 52 Administration for the Awqaf (Egypt), 133 Afghanistan, 233,293n4,295n5 Agrarian reform, 32,138 Agrarian Reform Administration (Egypt), 132, 133, 134 Ahali, al-, 99 Akef, Muhammad Mahdi, 71 Akhbar, al- (newspaper), 46,136 Alawi, Alawites, 197, 204, 207,234 Alexandretta, sanjak of, 97 Algeria, 31, 33, 37, 75, 162, 234, 249, 287n3, 288nlO Algiers Agreement, 103 Alim, Muhammad al-, 67 Alliances: political engineering of, 240-241 Alternance government: PJD support for, 80-81, 85 Amended Constitution (Bahrain), 121 Anti-Normalization Committee, 45 Arab Human Development Report (UNDP), 220 Arab Socialist Organization (Egypt), 47 Arafat, Yassir, 219 Armed forces. See Military Arms industry, 100,106,200-201 'Asabiyyat, 143,144,151,155, 158 Asad, Bashar al-, 94,107-108,208,241 Asad, Hafiz al-, 96, 100, 105,107, 115, 197, 208, 241, 282n7

Assassinations, 50-51, 108, 284nl5 Authoritarianism, 7-8, 21-22, 290n3; adaptive capacity of, 27-28; durability of, 35, 272nl3; liberalized, 60-62; opposition and, 59, 62-63; transitions from, 113-114 Autocracies, 16; liberalized, 6, 60-61 Autonomy: of armed forces, 110, 112,116, 122, 207-9; of bourgeoisie, 11-12 Awqaf, 11, 131-132, 285n29, 285n36. See also Ministry of Awqaf Azhar University, al-, 46 Baath Party, 55,207, 222; in Iraq, 96, 99-100, 107; in Syria, 3, 99-100, 101, 105, 116, 118 Baha, Abdallah, 78 Bahrain, 11,110, 115, 176, 215, 292n2; economy and politics in, 119-121; political reform in, 229, 247, 248; regime structure in, 118-119 Bakr, Ahmed Hassan al-, 208 Banking system: Egyptian, 190, 292nn25-27 Banna, Hasan al-, 54 Bar Association (Egypt), 67 Barcelona Declaration, 217,233 Batatu, Hanna, 103 Ben AH, Zine el 'Abdine, 124, 126, 223, 243 Benkirane, Abdelilah, 78 Black September (1970), 56 Bonn Agreement, 233 Bounded adaptiveness, 26 Bourgeoisie, 16,137, 162-163, 287n9, 288nlO,

337

338

INDEX

288n20, 288n24, 288n27, 291n20; autonomy of, 11-12; democratization and, 173-175; economic liberalization and, 166-169, 172-173, 243; Egyptian, 185-186, 288nl2; Iraq and Syria, 97-98, 99; and second stratum, 165-166, 287n8; state, 33, 288nl4; state clientelism and, 169-170 Boycotts: electoral, 73, 75, 281n28; of Muslim Brotherhood, 68-69 Broader Middle East and North Africa Initiative, 236 Bureaucracy, 162; middle class and, 164-165; Omani, 148-149 Busa'idi dynasty, al-, 145 Business sector, 286nll, 288nl8; in Egypt, 185-186; military and, 201-202. See also Bourgeoisie Bush, George W., 3; China policy, 264, 265; energy policy, 262-263; Middle East policy, 217-218, 219, 221, 225, 226-227, 228-229; and Saudi Arabia, 256, 258-259, 267 Bush family, 256 Casablanca: May 16,2003 attacks in, 82, 83 Caspian Sea: oil production in, 260-261, 266 CDT (Confederation Democratique du Travail), 43 Central Bank of Egypt, 189, 190 Chadirchi, Kamil, 99 Chambers of commerce, 30, 288nl8 Charities: Islamic, 134-137, 284nl4, 285n29; waqf, 130-142 Cheney document, 262-263 China, 155; economic growth, 263-264; and United States, 264-265 Chirac, Jacques, 220 Citizenship, 29; Omani, 144, 286n5 Civil society, 2, 139; Egyptian, 61, 72; in Iran, 105-6; in Oman, 155-156 Clientelism, 11; bourgeoisie and, 169-170 Clinton administration, 217 Coalition Provisional Authority (Iraq), 204 Coalitions, 30, 35-36, 46 Colonial experience, 29, 282n5; state formation, 96-100 Commercial Bank of Syria, 118 Commission for Women and the Family (PJD), 84 Communists, 47, 55 Competition, 2, 3, 147-148, 149, 272n9

Conference for National Reform (Jordan), 46 Constitutions, 235; Egyptian, 64-65, 68, 276n9, 277nnll, 14; Omani, 150-151 Consultative Council (Bahrain), 119, 120 Consultative Council (Oman): elections to, 152-153, 154; formation of, 151-152 Contestation: structures of, 10, 39-41 Contracts, 110, 112 Co-optation, 14, 48; of elites, 147-148, 157; of moderates, 53-54 Corporatism, 22, 33, 201 Corruption, 3, 41, 44, 84, 205 Council for National Security (Tunisia), 126 Council of Agriculture, Fisheries, and Industry (Oman), 151 Council of Ministers (Oman), 151 Damascus Spring, 241 Dawla, Aida Seid al-, 67 Debt, 116, 123, 189 Defense industry, 200-201 Democracy, 9, 28, 37, 105, 150, 242, 272n9, 274n7; through empowerment, 245-246; G8 promotion of, 216, 217-222, 224-226; power-sharing and, 246-247; promotion of, 3, 13,226-228,231-232 Democratization, 3, 4, 7, 35-36, 59, 114, 173, 215-216, 247, 252, 276n4; economic liberalization and, 162, 173-175; and Islamists, 75-76; middle class and, 163, 164; political engineering, 248-249; social values and, 239-240 Demonstrations, 2, 46, 156, 277n20 Denmark, 219 Dependency, 291nl6; Egypt's, 188-193 Development projects: legitimizing, 32-33 Dhofar, 153, 286nn6-7 Dhofar war, 148, 286n7, 286n9 Diaspora: economic, 166 Dictator's dilemma, 26-27 Direction for Tribal Affairs (Oman), 149 Document of Complementary (Shura Council), 79 Druze, 234 Dubai, 173, 289n25 East Bank (Jordanians), 56, 200 Ebeid, Atef, 188 Economic and Social Committee (Tunisia), 125 Economic crises, 114,125, 271n7, 284nl6; in

INDEX

Bahrain, 119-120; in Morocco, 42-43; in Yemen, 122-124 Economic development, 3, 32, 155, 196,228; in China, 263-264 Economic policies: European promoted, 234-235 Economic reform, 16,44,168; bourgeoisie and, 172-173; middle class and, 164-165 Economies, 1, 38,42,267; Bahrain, 119-21; bourgeoisie role in, 169-170; China, 263-264; Gulf State, 170-171, 175-176; liberalization of, 166-169, 204, 242-244; military role in, 183-185,201-202; Oman, 148,151,156-157; and political liberalization, 113-114; rentier state, 161-162; state control of, 31, 139, 162; state intervention in, 111-112; structure of, 109-110; Syria, 115-118; Tunisia, 124-125; Yemen, 122-123. See also Political economics Education, 190; and democratization, 239-240, 242-243; in Oman, 150, 286n4 Egypt, 5, 10, 11, 12, 16, 30, 31, 33, 37, 42, 98-99, 105, 114, 171, 234,235, 241, 243, 276n3,276n9, 277nl4,278n21, 278n26,283nl2,284nl4,284nl6,287n3, 292nn25-27; bourgeoisie in, 185-186, 288nlO, 288nl2; democratic reforms in, 215,221, 225, 226, 228,276n4; dependency of, 192-193; economic liberalization of, 162, 244; elections in, 232,247-48, 277nnll-12, 281n28; finances in, 188-191; Kifaya movement in, 66-67, 277nnl7-19; as liberalized autocracy, 60-62; mass politics in, 29, 70-71; middle class employment in, 186-187; military, 183-185,196, 197, 198, 200, 201-202,205,207,208,291nl9; moderate opposition in, 53-54; Muslim Brotherhood in, 68-69, 75, 277n20, 278n22; opposition in, 59-60, 62-66, 69-70,239; political economy in, 177178; political parties in, 64-65, 71-73, 74, 276n8, 276nlO, 277nl3, 278n27; political reform in, 229,236,276n5; structures of contestation in, 39,40,46-48, 57; subsidies in, 187-188; waqf 'system in, 130, 131-142,285n29, 285nn35-36 Egyptian General Petroleum Cooperation, 189 Egyptian Movement for Change, 67 Eissa, Ibrahim, 73

339

Elections, 15, 77, 98,123,165, 216,225,232, 241,281n28, 282n8; Egyptian, 23, 3, 5, 47, 61,64-65,247-248, 277nnll-12,278n22; Jordanian, 45, 46; Moroccan, 81, 84, 276nl2,280nl4, 280nl6; Omani, 152-154 Electoral systems, 29 Elites, 15, 16, 44, 76, 121, 163, 164, 173, 175; co-optation of, 147-148, 157; development projects, 32-33; in Egypt, 63, 186-187, 188; in Oman, 148-149, 152, 153, 154; opposition, 41, 48, 49, 50; and second stratum, 165-166; society control, 139,140 Employment, 206; in Egypt, 186-187; in Oman, 156-157; in public sector, 144, 164-165 Empowerment: through democracy, 245-246 Energy, 1; U.S. needs for, 260-263 Energy Information Administration (U.S.), 262 Enterprises: private v. public, 116-117; staterun, 124-125 Entrepreneurs, 234; Saudi, 173-174; Syrian, 116, 117-118 Europe: post-Ottoman policies in, 234-235. See also various countries European Commission, 236 European Union, 217, 226, 236 Exceptionalism, 1,13 Exiles, 120, 166 External players, 2, 16-17; good governance and, 3, 4 Ezzat, Mahmoud, 70 Failed states: reconstruction of, 233 Families, 148, 256; bourgeoisie, 288nl2, 289n22, 289n27; ruling, 229, 252-253 Fieldwork: in Iraq and Syria, 102-103; in Saudi Arabia, 103-104 FIS (Islamic Salvation Front), 75 Foreign aid, 91nlO, 225 Forum for the Future, 221 FSCP (Free Social Constitutional Party) (Egypt), 64 France, 29, 96,106,226; and Lebanese opposition groups, 223-224; and mandate states, 97-100,235; Middle East policy of, 217, 219, 220, 282n5; and Syria, 222,234 Freedom, 17,215,229, 292n2 Freedom House reports: country evaluations in,215,229,292n2

340

INDEX

Freedom of speech, 44 Futuh, Abdul Moneim Abul, 67 GCC (Gulf Cooperation Council), 166, 175, 176, 287n3 GDR (German Democratic Republic): public welfare in, 94-95 G8 (Group of Eight), 4, 215, 230, 292nl; democracy promotion, 216, 217-222, 224-226, 228 Gender equality, 223 Germany, 101, 219, 220, 226 Chad, al- (newspaper), 73 Ghafat, al-, 146 Ghannouchi, Rachid, 223 Globalization, 17, 165 Gomaa, Noman, 65, 278n27 Governance, 2, 3, 4; informal, 33-34 Great Britain, 29, 96, 217, 218, 219, 223; and mandate states, 97-100, 234, 235; Omani opposition to, 156, 286n6; promotion of democracy, 225-226 Greater Syria, 96 Gulf states, 167, 200, 288n20; bourgeoisie, 11-12; economies, 170-171, 175-176. See also various countries Gulf War, 258 Haass, Richard N., 221 Hadid, Muhammad, 99 Kama: massacre in, 105 Hamas, 226 Hariri, Rafiq al-, 108, 218, 223-224, 225 Hashemites, 234 Hassanein, Muhammad Farid, 65 Hassan II (king of Morocco), 40, 49, 81; and radical opposition, 50-53 Hemeida, Ragab Helal, 64 Heritage: folklorization of, 145-146 Hilali, Nabil, al-, 67 Hizb al-Ghad ("Tomorrow Party"), 64, 65, 73 Hizbullah, 105, 108, 224, 293n7 Human rights, 2, 3, 72, 165, 221, 223, 228 Hussain, Magdi, 67 Hussein bin Halal (king of Jordan), 40; military and, 196, 205; opposition to, 54-57; political reforms of, 44-45; structures of contestation and, 45-46, 49 Hussein, Saddam, 96, 100, 108, 197, 227, 249, 287n8; foreign support of, 106-107; and military, 200, 204, 208-209

IAF (Islamic Action Front) (Jordan), 45, 75 Ibadi school, 146, 154, 286n6 Ibrahim, Ashraf, 67 Ibrahim, Saad Eddin, 48, 65 Identity: collective, 30; national, 144, 169; in Oman, 154-155, 158 IMF, 44, 116, 125,284nl6 Import substitution industrialization, 31, 274n6 Independence movements, 29 India, 218, 264 Indonesia, 218 Industry, 169; military, 200-201 Infitah policy, 162,185 Informal networks, 33-34, 35 Institutional reform, 244-245; through political engineering, 38-39; powersharing arrangements in, 246-247 Insurrection: in Bahrain, 119 Investment, 124, 189; in Bahrain, 120-121; foreign, 168-69; in Gulf states, 170-171; Syrian, 117-118 Iran, 100, 103, 114, 166, 228; civil society in, 105-106; U.S. policy, 219, 293n7, 295n5 Iran-Iraq war, 106, 198, 200 Iraq, 22, 29, 30, 31, 46, 95, 106, 108, 122, 215, 225, 232, 234, 249, 261, 287n3, 287n8, 293n4; building state in, 93-94; education levels in, 239-240; military in, 196, 197, 198, 200, 201, 204, 207, 208-209, 210; political rebuilding, 233, 236; post-invasion, 104-105; repression in, 102-103; Saudi Arabia and, 257-258; state formation, 96, 97-100; U.S. policy in, 218, 219, 221, 226-227, 281nl Iraq Memory Foundation, 106 Iraq war, 156,219,257-258 Iryan, Essam al-, 70 Ishaq, George, 67 Islam, 9, 44, 129, 142; charity in, 130-131, 134-137; in Oman, 146, 154; Saudi Arabia as guardian of, 95,107 Islamic Group, 78 Islamic Youth Association (Morocco), 78 Islamist Nahda Party, 223 Islamists, 8, 14, 28, 75-76, 211, 223, 281n28; in Egypt, 46, 47-48, 53-54, 60, 70, 278n21, 282nl2, 284nl5; in Jordan, 44, 45, 54-57; in Morocco, 50-53, 82-87, 275nn 10-11; political inclusion of, 87-89; political reform, 165, 227 Israel, 45, 46, 56, 105, 107, 184, 197, 215, 223

INDEX

Israeli-Palestinian conflict, 219 Italy, 101,219, 282n5 Jama'a, al- (review), 51, 52 JebelAkhdar, 146, 148,286n6 Job market: in Oman, 156-157 Jordan, 3, 31, 33, 114, 215, 218, 226, 229, 241, 292n2; economic liberalization in, 162, 167; electoral boycotts in, 75, 281n28; mass politics in, 29, 37; military in, 196, 197,198,199, 201,205; political opposition in, 42, 54-57; structures of contestation in, 39,40, 44-46 Judges Club (Egypt), 66 Judicial system: in Egypt, 66, 73 Khalifah family, Al, 118-119 Khalil, Kamal, 67 Khatami, Muhammad, 106 Kifaya movement, 2, 65, 66-67, 70, 71, 72, 74, 277nnl7-19 Kutla al-Wataniyya, al-, 99 Kuwait, 22, 100, 175-176,198,215, 258, 289n23, 289n27; Iraq's invasion of, 106, 122; women's rights in, 2,225 Labour Party (Great Britain), 99 Laden, Osama bin, 257 Laden family, bin, 256 League of Nations, 96,234 Lebanon, 2, 30, 31, 96, 162, 171, 199, 215, 216, 218, 233, 292n2,293n7; opposition groups in, 223-224; Syrian control of, 100,105, 107-108,204,222; uprising in, 225,226 Legitimacy, legitimation, 11,15, 272nlO, 290n4, 292n29; Sultan Qaboos's, 143, 150,158 Liberalization, 81; economic, 16, 161, 162, 166-169,204, 242-244; political, 4, 6, 7, 11, 111, 114, 120, 121, 124, 237, 273n2 Libya, 105,230, 236, 282n5,287n3 Living standards: military, 199,204 Lower class, 163,164 Maadi, Abu Ela, 67 Ma'an riots, 46 Majhuddhati policy, 135-136 Makram-Ebeid, Mona, 64, 73 Malacca Straits, 264 Maronites, 223 Masri, Tahir, 56

341

Massacres: in Kama, 105 Mass organizations: military and, 196-197 May 16, 2003 attacks: PJD response to, 82, 83 MEPI (Middle East Partnership Initiative), 3 Merchant class, 118,148, 167 Middle class, 29, 99,162, 166,205; democracy and, 163, 243; economic reform, 164-165; Egyptian, 186-187; role of, 236-237. See also Bourgeoisie Migration: rural to urban, 99, 144,285n3 Militancy: of opposition groups, 47-48 Military, 11,12,110,113,116,126,257,293n4; autonomy of, 112, 206-209; Bahrainian, 119, 120; Egyptian, 183-185,291nl9; political economy and, 199-206; regime control and stability, 195-199; state relationships, 210-211; U.S. doctrine and, 263,282nlO; Yemeni, 122,123-124 Military aid, 201 Military coups, 195-196, 210 Military Economic Corporation (Yemen), 122 Military Housing Establishment (Syria), 116 Military society, 203-204 Military Technical College (Egypt), 46 Mineral resources, 11. See also Oil production Ministry of Awqaf (Egypt), 131-132, 133, 134-135, 136, 138, 284nl4, 285n36 Ministry of Heritage and Culture (Oman), 145 Ministry of Interior (Morocco), 82-83 Ministry of Interior (Oman), 149 Ministry of Justice (Egypt), 66 Ministry of Manpower (Oman), 156, 157 Ministry of Muslim Affairs (Morocco), 52 Ministry of Religious Affairs (Oman), 146 Ministry of the Habbous (Morocco), 52 Mobilization, 2-3, 29, 41, 44, 70-71, 114, 121 Moderates: in Egypt, 53-54; in Jordan, 54-57 Modernization, 165,196, 208 Mohammed VI, 81,241 Monarchies, 13, 31, 77, 234, 252-254; Omani, 149, 157-158 Moral economy: social pacts, 25-26 Morocco, 3, 8, 10, 22, 29, 31, 33, 215, 229, 279nn3-5, 279nn8-9,280nl2, 282n5, 292n2; economic liberalization in, 162, 167; elections, 216, 241, 276nl2, 280nl6; Movement of Unity and Reform, 78-80, 281nl8; parliamentary system in, 85-87;

342

INDEX

PJD in, 80-89, 280nll, 280nnl3-14, 280nl7, 281n20; political liberalization in, 114, 275n5; political opposition in, 42-44, 77; radicalism in, 50-53; structures of contestation in, 39, 40, 49, 57 Mosques, 52, 135, 283nl2, 284nl4 Moussa, Mustafa, 73 MPCD (Mouvement Populaire Constitutionnel et De"mocratique) (Morocco), 78-79, 279nn3-4 Mubarak, Gamal, 63, 66, 241, 276n5, 276n7 Mubarak, Hosni, 2, 42, 60, 61, 63, 135, 241; Kifaya movement and, 66-67; structures of contestation and, 40, 47-48, 57 Mubarak, Susanne, 135 Multinational corporations, 168-69, 288nl2 MUR (Movement of Unity and Reform) (Morocco), 78-80, 82, 279n4, 280nl7, 281nl8 Musandam, 153 Muscat, 144, 148, 285n3; cultural divisions in, 154-155; elections in, 152-153 Muscat Festival, 145 Muslim Brotherhood, 105,278nn24-25; in Egypt, 47, 54, 60, 62, 65, 68-69, 70-71, 74, 75, 277n20, 278n22; in Jordan, 45, 55, 57 Muti, 'Abd al-Karim al-, 50, 51, 52, 53 Nabulsi, Prime Minister al-, 55 Nahda Party, 223 Najd, 207 Nasserist Party, 64 National Action Charter (Bahrain), 120, 121 National Consultative Council (Jordan), 44,55 National Council (Morocco), 81,279n8, 280nl6 National Day (Oman), 147 National Defense Strategy of the United States, 263 National Democratic Party (Iraq), 99 National Dialogue for Reform (Egypt), 71, 73, 276n3 National Energy Policy (U.S.), 262-263 National Front for Change (Egypt), 65, 67, 277nl3 National Guard (Saudi Arabia), 198 National heritage: Omani, 145-146, 150-151 National Investment Bank, 190, 292n25 Nationalist movements, 29-30, 223 Nationalization, 139, 291nlO

National-populist-social pacts, 10, 31, 33, 34-35 National Pact (Tunisia), 125 National Progressive Union (Egypt), 47 Nation building: Oman, 143-146 NDP (National Democratic Party) (Egypt), 63, 64, 69, 73, 188, 207, 276n8 Neoliberalism, 139 Networks, 10, 28; informal, 33-34, 35 New Neighborhood Policy, 236 NGOs, 27; in Egypt, 61, 62, 67, 72, 278n26 Northern Sinai Project, 185 North Korea, 96 Nour, Ayman, 64, 65, 73, 239, 276nlO, 278n28 NPUP (National Progressive Unionist Party; Tagammu) (Egypt), 64, 65 Occupied Territories, 215 OECD, 3-4, 266 Oil industry, 12, 201, 266-267, 291nlO, 291nl5; Bahrain, 118, 120, 121; revenues from, 181-182, 183; Saudi Arabia, 257, 259-260; U.S. energy needs and, 260-262, 263 Oil rent, 191, 291nl2; Oman, 144, 145, 156; regime stability and, 180-181. See also Rentier states Old Social Classes and the Revolutionary Movements of Iraq (Batatu), 103 Oman, 3, 11, 143, 144, 285nl, 285n3, 286nn4-7, 286n9, 286nll; bureaucratic hierarchy, 148-149; civil society in, 155156; Consultative Council in, 151-152; elections in, 152-154; elite co-optation in, 147-148; identity issues in, 154-155; job market in, 156-157; monarchy in, 157-158; national heritage, 145-146; paternalism in, 146-147; Qaboos's annual tour of, 149-150; sultanism in, 150-151 Opposition, opposition groups, 10, 39, 50, 77, 286n6; divergent, 48-49; in Egypt, 46-48, 59-60, 62-66, 69-70, 71-73, 239; in Jordan, 45-46; in Morocco, 42-44; structures of contestation and, 40-41, 57-58; weakening, 48-49; Western support for, 222-224 Othmani, Saadeddine E1-, 83 Pakistan, 218 Palestine, 96, 171, 232, 234 Palestinian Authority, 219

INDEX

Palestinian Occupied Territories, 226 Palestinians, 216,219,223,293n7; in Israel, 105, 215; in Jordan, 55, 56, 57 Parliaments, 39; "open," 149-150 Partners' Forum for the Future (G8), 220 "Partnership for Progress and a Common Future with the Region of the Broader Middle East and North Africa," 219-220 Paternalism: Omani government, 143, 146-147, 151 Patronage networks, 11, 95, 100, 183, 274n8 PDRY (People's Democratic Republic of Yemen), 121, 122 Peace process: Egypt-Israeli, 46, 184; Jordanian-Israeli, 45, 56 Peasants, 29, 32 Peasants' unions, 27, 30 People's Republic of China. See China Pew 16 Nation Global Attitudes Survey, 218 PJD (Party for Justice and Development) (Morocco), 77, 279n9, 280nll, 280nl3, 280nl7; and alternance government, 80-81; and MUR, 79-80; organizational capacity of, 83-84; origins of, 78-79; political participation of, 82-83, 85-89, 281n20 "Plan of Support and Reform" (G8), 220,224 Pluralism, 3, 17 Poland, 218, 219 Political architecture, 10-11 Political economies, 22-23, 31, 103; in Egypt, 177-78; military and, 199-206 Political engineering, 13, 237, 248-249; alliances and, 240-241; economic liberalization and, 242-244; institutional reform and, 238-239, 240 Political parties, 27, 30, 39, 120, 123, 279nl; in Egypt, 40,47, 61, 62, 64-66, 74; in Jordan, 45, 46; in Morocco, 85, 275n5, 279nn3-5, 280nl7, 281nl8, 281n20; opposition, 71-73; in Tunisia, 125-126 Political Parties Law (Jordan), 45 Political prisoners: amnesty to, 117,126 Political reform, 2, 23, 165, 228-229, 232, 247-248, 251, 271n7, 276n5; in Bahrain, 120-121; European-influenced, 235-236; in Jordan, 44-46; in Tunisia, 126-127; in Yemen, 123, 124 Politics, 15, 32, 45, 74, 180, 273n3; mass, 26, 29, 30, 37, 70-71, 273n2; military intervention in, 196-197; in Oman, 147-148

343

Popular Campaign for Change (Egypt), 67 Population growth: in Syria, 116 Populism, 33. See also National-populist social pacts Powell, Colin, 221 Power sharing: and democracy, 246-247 PPC (Political Parties Committee) (Egypt), 64 Presidential Council (Yemen), 122 Presidential Guard (Egypt), 198 Press and Publication Law (Jordan), 46 Press, 45, 46, 47, 67, 123 Press Law (Jordan), 45 Press Law 93 (Egypt), 47 Press Syndicate (Egypt), 67 Prince Sultan Air Base: and Iraq war, 257-258 Private enterprise: in Syria, 116-117 Private property, 11,109,110,112, 113,119, 138; in Syria, 115,116-117 Private sector, 157, 173, 287n5; in Bahrain, 120-121; charity, 137-138; in Egypt, 186, 284nl4; in Syria, 116-117; in Tunisia, 125,126; welfare in, 135-136; in Yemen, 122,124 Privatization, 38, 165, 168-169; in Egypt, 138,292n27 Program on International Policy Attitudes, 227 Property rights, 109, 110, 112, 119, 122, 274nlO Protests, 2, 60, 156; in Jordan, 45-46; and structures of contestation, 41-42 PSF (Public Security Force) (Bahrain), 120 Public sector, 33, 38, 117,138, 141, 186; and middle class, 164-165; in Oman, 144, 156-157; in Yemen, 122, 123 Public welfare: state as agency of, 29, 31, 94-95 Qaboos, Sultan, 143, 145, 285nl; annual tour, 149-150; elite co-optation, 147-148; paternalistic authority of, 146-147; regime stability, 157-158 Qaddhafi, Mu'ammar, 105 Qandil, Abdel Halim, 67 Qasim, 'Abd al-Karim, 103 Qatar, 176 Qenawi, Mamdouh, 64 Radicalism: in Morocco, 50-53; of opposition groups, 43, 58

344

INDEX

Raissouni, Ahmed, 79 Rashid, Mohammed bin, 173 RCD (Rassemblement Constitutionnel Democratique), 126 Reagan administration, 217 Redistribution, 31, 141 Regime change, 219, 272n8 Regimes, 15, 273n5; maintenance of, 28, 179; single-party, 31; stability of, 11, 94, 195-199 Renaissance Day (Oman), 145 Rentier states, 11, 15-16, 161-162, 175, 179, 183, 201, 245, 287nnl-2; middle class and second stratum power, 166, 287n8; oil revenues, 181-182, 291nnl2, 291nl5; regime stability of, 180-181 Rents, 33, 110, 181, 182(table), 291nl4; external, 179-180, 189, 191. See also Oil rent Repression, 14,290n4; in Egypt, 70-71,184; in Iraq and Syria, 102-103; by Sadat, 46, 47 Republican Guard (Syria and Iraq), 198 Republics: totalitarian regimes as, 101-102 Resource allocation, 32, 33-34, 183, 184 Rice, Condoleezza, 239 Rifa'i, Zayd al-, 44 Riots, 43, 44, 45-46, 48, 119 Roosevelt, Franklin D., 257 Royal Guard (Jordan), 198 Russia: oil production in, 260-261, 266 Saadawi, Nawal, 65 Sadat, Anwar al-, 133, 138, 210, 248, 284nl5; and Islamists, 53-54; and political opposition, 42, 46-47, 57; structures of contestation and, 40, 49 Sahhari, Ibrahim al-, 67 Sai'd family, Al, 148 Sa'id, Sultan, 148 San Remo Agreement, 96, 234 Saud, House of, 252-53, 256, 265, 266 Saud, Ibn, 257 Saudi Accountability Act, 255 Saudi Arabia, 3, 95, 105, 106, 175-176, 225, 226, 243, 267, 282n4, 288nnl7-18, 289n22; bourgeoisie in, 173, 174, 288n20, 289n21; democratization in, 215, 228, 252; military in, 196, 197, 198, 205, 206; oil industry, 259-260; political reform, 229, 251; ruling family in, 252-253; scholarly access to, 103-104;

U.S. relationships, 8, 12-13, 107, 108, 254-259, 265-266, 282n3, 295n5 SCC (State Consultative Council) (Oman), 151 Scholarship: on Iraq and Syria, 102-103; on Saudi Arabia, 103-104 Schroeder, Gerhard, 220 Sea Island Summit (G8), 219, 220, 221, 224 Second stratum, 287nn7-8; and bourgeoisie, 165-166 Secularists, 50; in Jordan, 44, 54-57 Secularization, 139 Security, 37; Arab national, 200-201; U.S.Saudi relations, 256-257 Security Council: and Syria, 221-222 Self-effort societies, 135-136 September 11, 2001 attacks: and U.S.-Saudi relationships, 254-255, 256 Shabibah al-Islamiyah, al-, 50-51, 53 Shakir, Zayd Bin, 45 Sheikhs: Omani tribal, 148-149, 152 Shi'is, Shi'as, 107, 154 Shopping centers: in Bahrain, 119 Shura Council (Morocco), 79 Sidqi, Aziz, 65 Single-party regimes, 31 Siniora government, 224 Socialism, 116, 137 Socialist Liberal Organization (Egypt), 47 Social pacts/compacts, 21, 22, 23, 29, 31, 33, 37, 95; defining, 24-26; elasticity of, 26-28 Socialist Party (Morocco), 51 Soviet Union, 106 Spain, 218, 219 Special Forces (Syria and Iraq), 198 State(s), 10, 25, 30, 215, 233, 272nlO, 291nlO; and bourgeoisie, 169-170; colonial formation of, 96-97; economic interventionism, 111-112; mandate, 97-100, 234-235; military and, 206-208; and political economy, 199-206; and public welfare, 29, 31, 94-95, 138-140; strength of, 95-96 State building, 14, 29; in Iraq and Syria, 93-94, 97-100 State Council (Oman), 153-154 State enterprises, 116; in Tunisia, 124-125 State Security Court (Bahrain), 120 State Security Court (Tunisia), 126 State Security Law (Bahrain), 120 Strikes: in Morocco, 43

INDEX

Structural adjustment program: in Egypt, 187 Structures of contestation, 39-40; in Egypt, 46-48; in Jordan, 45-46; in Morocco, 42-44; opposition groups and, 40-41, 57-58; and protest, 41-42 Students, 50, 275n5 Subh, al- (newspaper), 52 Subsidies: in Egypt, 187-188,189, 192; government, 44, 124 Succession crises, 252 Sudan, 114,211 Suez Canal: revenues, 190, 191 Suez Canal Authority, 189 Sultanism: in Oman, 150-151 Sunni school, 146, 154 Supreme Elections Committee (Yemen), 123 Syria, 11, 22, 30, 31, 33, 95, 101, 102,103,106, 110,162,171,234,236,241; Asad regime in, 96, 105, 107-108; economic reforms in, 115-118; military in, 196, 197, 198, 199, 204, 205,207,210; Lebanon and, 2, 224, 225; state building by, 94, 97-100; UN resolution on, 221-222; U.S. policy toward, 219, 293n7 Syrian Organization of Military Factories, 200 Tagammu. SeeNPUP Tanuf, 146 Television, 82 Terrorism, 82, 94, 108, 255, 280nnl2-3, 288n20 Tlass, Mustafa, 208 Toshka Project, 185 Totalitarian regimes, 101-102 Tourism: in Egypt, 190 Trade, 116, 167, 190 Trading families: Omani, 148 Transjordan, 96 Transjordanian Constitutional Bloc, 56 Transjordanians, 55, 56 Tribes: and Omani bureaucracy, 148-149 Tunisia, 11, 31, 33, 37, 110, 114, 115, 162, 223, 230,239, 243, 282n5; economy, 124-125; political structure in, 125-127 Tunisian League of Human Rights, 223 Turkey, 37, 97, 105, 218, 282n5 UGTT (Union Generale des Travailleurs Tunisiens), 124

345

UNDP, 4, 220 Unemployment, 116,156 United Arab Emirates, 175-176, 289n26 United Kingdom. See Great Britain United Nations: and Syria, 221-222 United States, 3, 5, 94, 122, 156, 222, 282nlO; and China, 264-265; and Egypt, 74, 239; and G8, 220-221; and Iraq, 104, 106-107, 108,201,221; and Lebanese opposition groups, 223-224; Middle East policy of, 217-219, 281nl, 293n7; oil supplies and energy needs, 260-263,267; promotion of democracy, 225,226-229; and Saudi Arabia, 8, 12-13,254-259, 265-266, 282n3, 295n5 USFP (Union Socialiste des Forces Populaires) (Morocco), 80, 280nl3 Voluntary associations, 61 Voting rights: in Kuwait, 225 Wafd Party, 53-54, 64, 73, 98-99, 276nlO, 278n27 Waqf, 130; in Egypt, 131-142, 285n29, 285nn35-36 War on terror: U.S.-Saudi relationships and, 255-256 Wasat Party, Wasatiya movement, 137, 278n21, 278n25 Weapons: sales to Iraq, 106 Welfare, 11, 29; religious, 130, 134-136; state vs. private, 138-139. See also Waqf Women's rights, 2,225 Workers, 29, 30, 32 Workers' movement: in Yemen, 121-122 YAR (Yemen Arab Republic), 122, 123 Yarmouk University, 44 Yasin, 'Abd al-Salam: as Islamist, 50, 51-53, 275nll Yatim, Mohamed, 78 Yemen, 3, 11, 37, 97, 110, 115, 215, 287n3, 292n2; economy of, 121-123; military in, 123-124 Youssoufi, Abderrahmane, 80 Youth, 84; unemployment in Oman, 156, 157 Zaqzuq, Muhammad Hamdi, 136