Democratic Peace Across the Middle East: Islam and Political Modernization 9781350986053, 9780857728197

From Tunisia to Egypt and from Israel to Iran, the debates surrounding the concept of democracy in the Middle East are n

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Table of contents :
Front cover
Author bio
Endorsement
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
List of Illustrations
List of Contributors
Introduction
1. Free to Fight? Testing the Democratic Civil Peace in the Middle East
2. The End of Military Tutelage in Turkey and the Re-Making of Turkish Foreign Policy under the AKP
3. Lebanon: The Lack of a Unified and Independent Foreign Policy
4. The Challenge of Democratization in Post-Revolutionary Iran: Beyond the Democratic Peace Theory
5. Building a Federal State: Defining Democracy and the Essence of the State in Post-2003 Iraq
6. Democratization and Egyptian Regional Policy: Plus C¸a Change, Plus C’est La Même Chose
7. Democracy and Democratic Peace: The Case of the Palestinian Authority
8. The Consonance of the Islamist Shari‘a-State with Democratic Peace in the Context of the Arab Spring
Conclusion
Index
Back cover
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Democratic Peace Across the Middle East: Islam and Political Modernization
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Yakub Halabi is Assistant Professor in the Department of Political Science, Concordia University, Montreal, and holds a PhD in International Relations from the University of Denver.

‘The debate about the Arab uprisings – the causes, their nature and drivers, their social base, the political environment of the disrupted states, the role of ideology, the influence of non-state actors and Islamist political parties and movements – continues to rage just as the security crises in several “transition” countries deepen to affect the geopolitics of the entire region. While today so much of the general debate is being driven by such issues as the rise and growth of Daesh, it is refreshing to find a group of researchers looking beyond the headlines. Yet, in their excellent work in this book the contributors are also revisiting older debates about Islam and democracy. But they are doing so with a fresh eye and in the context of the fast-changing political environment of the MENA region today. The detailed case studies tell the unique stories of several important MENA countries, but they do much more than that, as in each case the contributors also provide fascinating analysis of the foreign policy implications of the democratic/political tensions being played out. This is a rich volume in terms of its strong theoretical framework and thorough engagement with the tenets of democratic peace theory, its comparative core, and also for the deep discussion it provides of the contested basic principles of “Islamic governance” and the role of these debates in today’s Middle East. The volume makes a real effort to help us theorize more fully the dynamism of the MENA region, to shed light on the dark corners of the toolkit as it were, for which we should all be grateful.’ Professor Anoush Ehteshami, Nasser al-Mohammad al-Sabah Chair in International Relations, Durham University

DEMOCRATIC PEACE ACROSS THE MIDDLE EAST Islam and Political Modernization

Edited by YAKUB HALABI

Published in 2016 by I.B.Tauris & Co. Ltd London • New York www.ibtauris.com Copyright Editorial Selection, Introduction and Conclusion q 2016 Yakub Halabi Copyright Individual Chapters q 2016 Uriel Abulof, Faten Ghosn-Halawi, Og˘uzhan Go¨ksel, Yakub Halabi, Bassem Hassan, Mojtaba Mahdavi, Gareth Stansfield, and Bassam Tibi The right of Yakub Halabi to be identified as the editor of this work has been asserted by the editor in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in a review, this book, or any part thereof, may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Every attempt has been made to gain permission for the use of the images in this book. Any omissions will be rectified in future editions. References to websites were correct at the time of writing. Library of Modern Middle East Studies 172 ISBN: 978 1 78453 206 2 eISBN: 978 0 85772 882 1 ePDF: 978 0 85772 819 7 A full CIP record for this book is available from the British Library A full CIP record is available from the Library of Congress Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: available Typeset in Garamond Three by OKS Prepress Services, Chennai, India Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

To the victims of the Arab Spring who sacrificed their lives for the creation of democracy and a New Middle East free of tyranny.

CONTENTS

List of Illustrations List of Contributors

ix x

Introduction Yakub Halabi

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1. Free to Fight? Testing the Democratic Civil Peace in the Middle East Uriel Abulof

17

2. The End of Military Tutelage in Turkey and the Re-Making of Turkish Foreign Policy under the AKP Og˘uzhan Go¨ksel

46

3. Lebanon: The Lack of a Unified and Independent Foreign Policy Faten Ghosn-Halawi

74

4. The Challenge of Democratization in Post-Revolutionary Iran: Beyond the Democratic Peace Theory Mojtaba Mahdavi

95

5. Building a Federal State: Defining Democracy and the Essence of the State in Post-2003 Iraq Gareth Stansfield

138

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6. Democratization and Egyptian Regional Policy: Plus C¸a Change, Plus C’est La Meˆme Chose Bassem Hassan

157

7. Democracy and Democratic Peace: The Case of the Palestinian Authority Yakub Halabi

191

8. The Consonance of the Islamist Shari‘a-State with Democratic Peace in the Context of the Arab Spring Bassam Tibi

221

Conclusion Yakub Halabi

259

Index

271

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Figures Figure 1.1 Reported deaths from organized violence in the Middle East and North Africa (1989–2011).

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Figure 1.2 Trends in freedom in the Middle East and North Africa (2010–13).

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Tables Table 1.1 Logistic regression for the occurrence of civil war on the basis of regime type (semi-democracies as omitted group), comparing MENA and the world.

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Table 1.2 Logistic regression for the occurrence of civil war on the basis of regime type (democracy degree as a continuous variable), comparing MENA and the world.

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LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Uriel Abulof is a senior lecturer in the Department of Political Science at Tel Aviv University and a senior research fellow in the Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs at Princeton University. Faten Ghosn-Halawi is Associate Professor of Political Science in the School of Government and Public Policy, the University of Arizona. Og˘uzhan Go¨ksel is a lecturer in the Department of Political Science and International Relations, Istanbul 29 Mayis University, Istanbul, Turkey. Bassem Hassan is Senior Lecturer in the Department of Political Science at the University of Colorado Denver. He holds a PhD in International Studies from the University of Denver. Mojtaba Mahdavi is the Edmonton Council of Muslim Communities (ECMC) Chair of Islamic Studies and Associate Professor in the Department of Political Science, University of Alberta, Canada. Gareth Stansfield is Professor of Middle East Politics and the Al-Qasimi Chair of Arab Gulf Studies at the University of Exeter, where he is also the Director of the Institute of Arab and Islamic Studies (IAIS) and Director of Research of the Strategy and Security Institute (SSI). He is also a senior associate fellow with special reference

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to the Middle East and Islamic world at the Royal United Services Institute (RUSI). Bassam Tibi is Professor Emeritus of International Relations at the University of Go¨ttingen, Germany. He taught at this university from 1973 until his retirement in 2009 and served as the Director of the Center of International Affairs with a focus on Islamology.

INTRODUCTION Yakub Halabi

Much hope was placed in the popular-led and grassroots revolutions for democratic change of 2011 that garnered the name of the Arab Spring. With the protests symbolizing local mobilization against tyranny and authoritarianism, many believed this was the start for meaningful change in the region. Four years later, have such changes been witnessed, and if so, what has been the substance of such changes for freedom, peace and human rights in the region? This edited volume examines whether the democratic wave that swept the Middle East following the Arab Spring of January 2011 will lead to democratic peace across this region. The contributors to this volume make reference to three types of democratic peace: interstate peace in dyad relations between two democracies; inter-civilizational democratic peace that could prevail between two or more democracies that belong to different civilizations, and finally domestic democratic peace. Mainstream literature of the democratic peace theory (DPT) refers mainly to inter-state peace; namely whether two democracies usually manage to solve their disputes in a peaceful manner and thus refrain from using force against one another. We argue that this type of literature ignores, or abstracts from, the cultural attributes of these ‘political units’ and focuses solely on their type of regime; something that denies the variability that legitimately exists. Some call this type of literature institutional democratic peace as it focuses on the political structure of democracies; namely, their democratic institutions.1

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Proponents of the inter-civilizational democratic peace theory examine whether democracies that belong to the same civilization usually refrain from fighting one another, while conflict between democracies belonging to different civilizations continues unabated.2 In this regard, can Islamic democracies live peacefully with other non-Islamic democracies? Can Islamic democracies that belong to different Islamic denominations also peacefully coexist with one another? For instance, can a Sunni democracy peacefully resolve its disputes with a Shi‘ite democracy and vice versa? Finally, do transitions to democracy in Arab/ Muslim states lead to domestic democratic peace, particularly in multisectarian states, such as Lebanon or Iraq, or do such transitions result in inter-sectarian violence and even civil war?3 Democratic peace between any dyad of democracies is basically a static outcome that is persistently underpinned by the domestic democratic institutions. There are many explanations for democratic peace.4 First, it is believed to develop from a rational decision undertaken by the general public and consistent with the mindset to only use violence as a last resort. While democracy magnifies individual freedom and consequently increases the importance of public opinion, citizens utilize their collective power in order to put pressure on their governments to seek peaceful resolutions to conflicts with other democracies in order to avoid bearing the costs of a potential war. Secondly, there is a structural explanation in which the separation of power between the three branches of the state (executive, legislative and judiciary) strips the head of state from the authority of declaring war without a clear confirmation by the parliament. Lastly is another rational decision made by the elected leader who is guided by the belief that they will lose office if they lose a war, thereby being more cautious about initiating a confrontation. In short, the democratic structure slows down the decision-making process and renders it more transparent to the public than in autocracies. If the same process takes place within two democracies in conflict, the combination of slowing down the process and public pressure on their respective governments gives policy-makers more time and leverage to seek a peaceful resolution to disputes. Another explanation is a normative one that is based on moral values of externalizing one’s domestic political norms and applying them onto other democratic nations guided by the belief that the people of the

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other democratic belligerent nation deserve to be treated equally based on the same values of one’s fellow citizens.5 Put differently, the normative explanation of democratic peace contends that states externalize norms that characterize their domestic political processes and apply them to the society of other democracies. In this sense, domestic norms of democracies, such as using courts as arbitrators for the sake of a peaceful and legal resolution of disputes, have been construed as universal norms. Furthermore, public opinion is not only guided by a rational choice for peace over bearing the costs of a war, but the public in one democracy motivated by moral values is convinced that the public in the other democracy is also propelled by similar norms. The entangled relationship between neighbouring democracies allows them to develop mutual respect and trust that enables them to resolve disputes based on the rule of law, regardless of the contested issue at hand. In this regard, two democratic states usually resort to a legal solution, such as arbitration through international organizations, to assist them in resolving conflicts. As a result, liberal democratic peace scholars who believe in the normative explanation assert that democratic dyads are more likely to seek arbitration by turning to a third party in a dispute resolution process rather than resorting to outright confrontation. Several questions shall be examined in regards to Islamic states undergoing democratic public movements for change. Firstly, can Islamic democracies develop a democratic institutional structure that is akin to the secular, modern structure of Western democracies? In other words, can Islamic democracies embrace a democratic system that includes a separation of power between the three different branches of the state? Secondly, can the head of state in an Islamic democracy be peacefully replaced through democratic elections? Thirdly, can civil society and society in general influence foreign policy in an Islamic democracy? And fourthly, can democratic Islamic nations be motivated by universal values of peaceful resolution based on international law, or would they externalize such norms and apply them onto other nations, even ones that do not belong to their own religion or denomination? Following the Arab Spring of 2011, massive grassroots mobilizations led to the downfall of several authoritarian leaders in the countries of Tunisia, Yemen, Egypt and Libya, and paved the way for democratization in these states. Further, Islamic parties in the Middle East such as the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt, the Al-Nahda Party in Tunisia, and

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the Justice and Development Party in Turkey won landslide victories in their respective parliamentary elections, although the subsequent fate of these parties has, of course, differed. The main objective of this volume is to explore whether the democratic peace theory is applicable to the Islamic/Islamist democracies of the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) and how it has been actualized following the Arab Spring.6 This analysis will examine whether individual freedom and public opinion can influence foreign policy given the strength of ethnic identity, the tribal solidarity in the countryside, and the collectivist traditional social structure in Arab/Muslim nations. As a result, democratization in the Middle East requires an examination of the dynamics between neo-patriarchy and Islam on the one hand, and democratization and modernization on the other, in each of the Islamic democracies discussed. Neo-patriarchy denotes a situation where traditional social forces adapt themselves to the changing political circumstances and often take control over modern social institutions.7 A good example is how tribal or religious political mobilization has catapulted tribal, ethnic or religious leaders (faqihs or sheikhs) to parliamentary positions in places such as Jordan, Kuwait, Iran and more recently Iraq, Egypt, Tunisia, and Libya. The main question here is whether individual freedom can be absorbed or rather stifled by traditional social forces and, consequently, whether its impact on foreign policy and democratic peace would remain epiphenomenal. Another related question is whether democracy leads to modernization and modern types of political solidarity, or whether democracy is merely shaped and controlled by traditional social segments or religious sects that suppress individual freedom. Alternatively, when traditional/ religious social forces take control over democratic institutions, will democratization in return weaken these social ties and magnify individual freedom? In other words, these chapters will explore how traditional social/religious structures shape the nature of the democratic institutions on the one hand, and on the other, how democracy in return reshapes society and political culture. What type of political solidarity has been consolidated in the various democracies in the region – be it class-based, religious, sectarian, ethnic, or tribal solidarity? In return, do democracy and freedom of speech stimulate the formation of new types of solidarity based on civic-identity or class, for instance? Does democracy create a demand for modern civil society organizations,

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5

including political parties that are expressions of these new types of solidarity? And equally as important, does the process of democratization lead to political modernization and the subsequent separation between the three branches of the state? Addressing the second and third aspects of institutional democratic peace (the separation of power and the ousting of unpopular incumbent leaders) requires an examination of the power/authority of the government vis-a`-vis both civil society and the parliament. The main question to be examined is to what extent can incumbent leaders or governments rig elections in order to stay in power? Can the government/regime in these new and late-coming democracies be removed from power through a vote of no-confidence by the parliament or replaced through regular elections? Late-coming democracies have the advantage of learning from the experiences of other well-established democracies about how this political system ought to operate. Essentially, these chapters will treat democracy both as a dependent and an independent variable. First, taking democracy as a dependent variable, the chapters will explore several questions: to what extent is democracy shaped by traditional structures such as ethnic or religious communities, and hamula (clans and extended families)? Does the weakness of modern civil society organizations allow the traditional/ religious forces to simply fill the void? How do these traditional social structures fit into or affect the formula of democratic peace? Secondly, taking democracy as an independent variable, the chapters will question: to what extent does democracy in an Islamic society lead to individualization and individual freedom and induce the demand for civil society organizations? As a result, does this lead to both domestic as well as international democratic peace? Based on the domestic attributes of each of the Islamic democracies under question, the volume will examine whether the process of democratization leads to a pacifist foreign policy. To what extent do democratic institutions constrain and restrain the foreign policy of one Muslim state towards another democratic state in the region (regardless of whether these states share a common border or not, such as in the case of Turkey and Israel)? The emphasis of this volume is on the domestic attributes of Islamic/Arab democracies, rather than on international or regional factors. The goal is to examine whether the process of democratization escalates or rather mitigates tension in the region among

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democracies. In short, based on these internal dynamics, the study will conclude whether the reasons mentioned above that supposedly lead to democratic peace also apply to Islamic democracies. Besides offering regional and empirical testing of the democratic peace theory, these chapters will contribute to develop the debate surrounding this theory. In part because of the quantitative methodologies to which many scholars of the democratic peace theory subscribe, this theory to a certain extent treats states as semi-black boxes where the only variable that truly matters is the type of regime, regardless of the identity of the regime/party in power. While this approach helped us with statistical analysis, it also led these scholars to overlook other internal attributes of democratic states. For example, do issues such as neo-patriarchy, cross-boundary tribal and religious ties (i.e. Muslim Brotherhood) have an effect on the chances of war and peace independent of the influence of the democracy score of these countries? A main focus is whether the combination of religion, democracy, ethnic politics and religious regimes alter the formula of the democratic peace theory – an under-explored and under-theorized subject. Some Orientalist scholars argue that an Islamic state cannot establish a permanent peace with a non-Islamic nation (the same could also be deemed relevant for relations between a Sunni and a Shi‘ite state). These scholars would predict, for example, that a Muslim Brotherhood government in Egypt will at most establish a hudna (ceasefire or respite) with Israel, but not a real peace grounded on mutual respect and peaceful co-existence. Based on this argument, foreign policies of an Islamic democracy are expected to be informed by traditional Islamic political ethics of peace and war and thus cannot normalize its foreign relations with a non-Islamic democracy. Assuming that the Arab–Israeli conflict will not be resolved in the near future, will the spread of democratic institutions mitigate or exacerbate tensions in the region? Orientalist scholars also claim that the Islamic culture is simply incompatible with democratic principles. First, in this view, the constitution in these states solely emanates from basic Islamic shari‘a laws that preclude separation between religion and state. Secondly, Islamic governments are believed to consistently refuse to transfer power to a newly elected secular party due to bearing a platform deemed incompatible with Islamic laws. And lastly, society tends to follow and obey traditional/religious leaders. Yet these contentions take democracy

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as a dependent variable and are mainly based on the social and political conditions that have prevailed under authoritarianism. These arguments do not take into account how democracy can change state – society relations within an Islamic state. Democratization in the Middle East will thus have major implications on Islamist terrorism, particularly against Western targets. Under the secular or pro-Western authoritarian regimes in the Arab/ Muslim world, many Islamic opposition groups have resorted to violence in order to advance their domestic and international goals. With the opening of political space to the Islamist groups, will these violent (radical?) organizations integrate into the democratic system and influence their country’s foreign policy from within through democratic engagement? Will they accept playing according to the democratic rules of the game and refrain from resorting to violence when they are in a minority position, such as in the case of the Al-Nahda Party in Tunisia? As the experiences of Iran, Iraq, Lebanon, Pakistan and Turkey demonstrate, there are many unanswered questions about state – society relations, pluralism and foreign relations of Arab/Muslim democracies. Arguably, these experiences shed light on the future of democracy in the nascent Islamic democracies in MENA, such as Egypt or Tunisia. The aim of this study is to endeavour to answer these questions and to increase our understanding about the process of democratization in the Arab/Muslim world. This comparative analysis has the following goals: first, to examine commonalities among these Islamic democracies. Secondly, to see whether there are certain cultural, political, and institutional features that shape the democratic outcome in these states, such as statesociety relations, the role of religion in public life, ethnic politics, modernization, civil society, and the strength of the executive branch vis-a`-vis the legislative and judiciary branches. And thirdly, to inquire whether the democratic process will result in a democratic peace between any dyad of democratic states in the region – a conventional wisdom shared by many scholars of political science in the West.

Overview of the Book This volume provides empirical analyses about factors that may affect the foreign policy of Arab/Islamic democracies towards other democracies.

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It begins the process by analysing the theory of democratic peace and examining its applicability to these states. The contributors demonstrate the diversity of the phenomenon by examining a variety of different Arab/ Islamic democracies and the impact democratic institutions could have on democratic peace. We introduced the same set of questions to each author but left them free to suggest different answers. The analyses that follow are thus not only informed by a variety of theoretical perspectives of the DPT, but also demonstrate the relevance of these different perspectives in the case of Arab/Islamic democracies. Uriel Abulof examines the applicability of the domestic democratic peace theory (DDPT) to the democracies and democratizing states of the Middle East and North Africa (MENA). The main question is whether the transition to democracy leads to domestic democratic peace in general and in MENA in particular. Abulof also conducts a quantitative analysis to test the applicability of DDPT for explaining MENA’s war and peace patterns. Scholars of DPT contend that democracy leads to both inter- as well as intrastate peace. Citizens must resolve their disputes peacefully through arbitration or the court system whose ruling is enforced by the state institutions. A democratic nation will live in peace with itself and will also coexist peacefully with other democracies. Abulof focuses on the so-called anocratric model within the DPT and argues that states that are found in a transition to democracy, are neither democratic nor autocratic, but somewhere in between. Indeed, nascent democratic institutions do not employ full constraint on the executive as we usually witness in well-established democracies. The combination of strong nationalism and weak state institutions in incipient democracies make anocracies more war-prone than other democracies. Anocracies may be engaged in either a civil war (intrastate conflict) especially in multi-ethnic countries, or interstate war. In general, Abulof contends that MENA has been one of the most politically violent regions in the world where the number of political fatalities has skyrocketed since the onset of the Arab Spring. In the chapter on Turkey, Og˘uzhan Go¨ksel analyses the changes that transpired in Turkish foreign policy following the victory of the Islamic party known as the Justice and Development Party (AKP) in 2002 that also marked the decline in the influence of the military in shaping Turkey’s foreign policy. The main question here again is whether the DPT is applicable to Turkey’s foreign policy under the rule of the AKP.

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De jure, Turkey has been defined in its constitution as a parliamentary democracy, where the parliament has been kept constitutionally separate from the executive branch. De facto, however, the Kemalists or the military elite have always been on the ready to seize power in order to maintain Turkey’s Kemalist policy of a secular state with a pro-Western foreign policy orientation. Thus, up to the early 2000s, the military elite had been the main actor behind the scene pursuing the Kemalist policy and as a result, the main determinant of Turkey’s foreign policy. According to Go¨ksel, the struggle between the AKP and the Kemalist military elite took place on the backdrop of Turkey’s request for EU accession. As the EU confirmed Turkish candidacy for the EU in 1999 and presented the Turkish parliament with a list of political reforms as a precondition for EU membership, the Kemalist military elite was forced to choose between a democratic or a secular Turkey. The Kemalists chose the former and reluctantly relinquished power to the AKP. The Kemalist generals, anxious to join the EU and who perceived EU membership as a conduit for Turkey’s modernization, were willing to take a backseat and allow the democratically elected AKP to take the lead. Thus the EU accession has accelerated the democratization of Turkey, as the AKP was enthusiastically willing to initiate democratic reforms that would harmonize Turkish political and legal system with EU standards. Interestingly, Go¨ksel mentions that the military became part of the checks and balances system in addition to the presidency and the judiciary. Yet in 2007, the term of the Kemalist president ended and the AKP was able to occupy one more fortress of the Kemalists. Ironically, given that the AKP occupied the majority of the seats in the parliament, the AKP and the parliament became a rubber stamp of the executive. Thus, after 2007, the main opposition to the AKP rule was the Kemalist judiciary, but even that ‘last bastion’ of the Kemalists was eliminated following a constitutional referendum that increased the authority of the government over the judiciary. Consequently, since 2010, Turkey fell under the full control of the executive branch without any clear separation of power between the four branches of the government in Turkey: the government, the military, the parliament and the judiciary. Go¨ksel concludes that ‘a study of the Turkish foreign policy-making experience reveals that the Turkish case does not effectively reflect the tenets of democratic peace theory’ as the monopoly over Turkey’s foreign policy passed from the military elite to the AKP chairman during the 2000s.

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In her chapter on Lebanon, Faten Ghosn-Halawi analyses the sectarian cleavage in Lebanon and its influence on Lebanon’s foreign policy. Ghosn claims that Lebanon is a confessional democracy and a deeply divided society, where each sect maintains its unique identity; allegiance to the community/sect overrides national allegiance to the state. She also asserts that each of the sects has created an alliance with at least one foreign state that allows the latter to not only influence the domestic and foreign policies of Lebanon, but also to pull these policies into a different or opposite direction. The combination of sectarian allegiance and transnational alliances with foreign states impinges on the capability of the central government to shape an autonomous foreign policy. During the 1970s, the weakness of the Lebanese state paved the way for other actors, such as the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), to utilize this power vacuum and create a state within a state and wage their own war. In 1989, the heads of the sects in Lebanon reached the Tai’f Accord that marked the end of the civil war. The Accord affirmed equal power between Christians and Muslims, and all sects agreed (in theory) to disarm themselves and share power. In practice, however, Hezbollah continued to have its own militia in clear defiance of the Accord, and the Shi‘ite sect consequently rose as the most powerful sect militarily and politically in Lebanon. Hezbollah has utilized the foreign tension with Israel and the weakness of the Lebanese army as a pretext in order to continue holding its own militia. A main question raised by Ghosn is: has sectarianism in Arab/Islamic states resulted in the consolidation of a weak state that presides over a strong society? The state in this sense remains crippled from penetrating society and imposing the rule of law, and as a result, cannot effectively run an independent foreign policy. As long as the state remains weak and absent from certain parts of the state’s territory, the sectarian militias (in the south in particular) will continue to have a free hand in conducting military operation independently of the central government. In his chapter on Iran, Mojtaba Mahdavi contends that several factors shape Iran’s foreign policy and include the political structure, social forces, and global politics. Mahdavi argues that geopolitics is the paramount factor that defines Iran’s regional policies and relations with the West. In contrast to the case of Turkey, he claims Western democracies have attempted to stifle the democratization process in Iran in 1953, 1979 and even under the moderate president Khatami

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(1997 – 2005). These attempts have strengthened the religious fundamentalist hardliners in Iran and weakened the secular liberal forces, ushering in a new era of murky, suspicious and hostile relations between Iran and the West. The post-revolution Iran has emerged as an Islamic Republic that includes democratic institutions, such as both elected parliament (Majlis) and president. These democratic institutions, however, not only share authority with the vali-ye faqih (the Guardian Jurist), but have also remained subordinated to the latter. The Guardian Jurist appoints the Guardian Council that together preside above the democratically elected institutions. According to Mahdavi, following the death of Ayatollah Khomeini in 1989, Iran’s political system developed into a semidemocracy that is neither fully authoritarian nor democratic, but a decentralized system that has kept a limited spectrum for opinion diversity. The democratization process that was accelerated under the second and third republics of presidents Rafsanjani and Khatami respectively, came to a halt under the fifth republic of President Ahmadinejad largely as a result of US president George W. Bush’s policy towards Iran. Bush listed Iran as a rogue state and pursued a regime change in its two neighbouring states, Afghanistan and Iraq, while the Iranian political elite estimated that Iran might be next on the list of the neo-conservatives within the Bush Jr administration. Finally, Mahdavi claims that peace and democratization are mutually constitutive: peace fosters democratization and vice versa. By the same token, tension has stifled democratization and strengthened the authoritarian forces within Iran: ‘Peace and democracy in Iran are at risk because the hardliners in Iran, the US, Israel, and the Arab countries are determined to stymie compromise and confidence building between Iran and the world.’ Next, Gareth Stansfield analyses the failures behind building a federal state in Iraq. Stansfield claims that what appears to be the linear development of Iraqi democracy – the conducting of several national and regional elections; constitution writing, and coalition government formation – had been experimented under American pressure as shortterm solutions to bridge over the deep-rooted sectarian rivalry in Iraq. Under the new constitution, Iraq was established as a federal state with limited parliamentary oversight over the executive branch. Further, the Shi‘ite majority in parliament endowed on the Shi‘ite absolute power in parliament and allowed the prime minister, Nuri al-Maliki, to

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elaborate on this majority in order to concentrate power in his hands. These attempts to empower the executive branch intensified sectarian tension as the Kurds and the Arab Sunnis attempted to decentralize power away from the federal institutions of the state. The refusal of Maliki to decentralize power that otherwise would have led to the creation of autonomous provinces and even a confederation brought the system of power-sharing at the federal level between Shi‘a, Kurds and Arab Sunnis to a standstill. This tension weakened the federal government and it lost control over the Sunni Arab-dominated area north of Baghdad; a political void which was subsequently filled by the forces of Islamic State of Iraq and al-Sham that have dominated the area since the beginning of 2014. In this sense, sectarianism took control over the democratic institutions of the state and resulted in the consolidation of a weak federal state that is unable to impose the rule of law within its territorial jurisdiction. Yakub Halabi examines the applicability of the democratic peace theory to the Palestinian Authority (PA) since 1993 in light of Fatah’s transformation from a movement of freedom fighters that operated within the PLO, into the ruling party of the PA. Halabi argues that Arafat imported into the PA the political culture that was developed over the years within the PLO. Arafat played a central role in the PLO as he controlled the organization’s administrative, financial and political affairs and because Fatah enjoyed the majority of seats in the PLO Palestinian National Council (PNC). In spite of this, Halabi contends that the centre of power within the PLO gravitated from the PNC to the Executive Committee and to Arafat himself in particular. This concentration of power in the hands of Arafat prevented democratic discussions and this political culture was replicated in the PA institutions. Given this authoritarianism within the PLO, disagreement with Arafat left the other factions with two options: either accept the authoritarianism of Arafat or boycott the PLO. The death of Arafat in late 2004 hence marked the end of the concentration of power in the hands of one man. The 2006 parliamentary elections also marked a watershed in the democratization process of the PA, as a new heavyweight player, Hamas, took part in these elections and even won absolute majority within the Palestinian Legislative Council (PLC). In spite of this, these developments did not usher in domestic democratic peace within the West Bank and Gaza Strip. As Fatah and Hamas occupied the presidency

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and the PLC respectively, the dispute between these two factions over the division of authority loomed large. The two factions never learned to settle their disputes in a democratic manner, based on majority rule. In short, disagreement over policy, particularly regarding the peace process with Israel, has developed into an open conflict that extended from the PLC to the street. Halabi analyses the difficulties facing the PA on exploring the best way of establishing a Palestinian state within the 1967 borders, given Israel’s refusal to relinquish its sovereignty over East Jerusalem or freeze the settlement expansion in the West Bank. Halabi explores whether the failure of Israel and the PA to establish democratic peace in their relations is due to the failure of both Hamas and Fatah to abide by the democratic rules of the game and the refusal of Israel to withdraw from territories that the PA considers as part of the future Palestinian state, given that power is clearly tilted in favour of Israel, or whether it is due to the Islamist ideology of Hamas. Bassem Hassan explores the factors that shape Egypt’s foreign relations towards Israel and Iran. Hassan defies the static outcome of the democratic peace theory; namely that democratic institutionalization leads to peace most of the time. In his view, the notion of identity provides a better explanation of Egypt’s foreign relations towards both Israel and Iran. Hassan claims that in general, identity of a state combines two variables: its given identity or culture that is shaped by its religion, language, nationality (Egypt is a Sunni Muslim Arab republic), and the common identity that is an outcome of the aggregate interactions between two states. Hassan acknowledges that Egypt is in democratic transition, which means that its democratic institutions, especially its parliament, are not sufficiently fortified to shape foreign policy, let alone lead to democratic peace. Hassan contends first, however, that the democratic transition has opened new questions about Egypt’s national identity and secondly, that the foreign policy of Egypt is also contingent on the policies of its neighbours. This second point is important in light of Israel’s continuous occupation of the West Bank, East Jerusalem and the Gaza Strip. Many scholars contend that the conventional explanations of the DPT, namely universal norms and demotic democratic institutions, do not apply to territorial disputes. Critics of the DPT claim that ‘students of the democratic peace have not as yet drawn close attention to how two democratic states in a dyad settle especially contentious issues, such as territory’.8 As Israel finds it difficult withdrawing from territories it occupied in 1967, Egyptians have as a result

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expressed identification with the Palestinians and the Palestinian cause for statehood in these territories and other territories from which they were deported in 1948. In other words, the combination of nationalism unleashed by the democratic transition, territorial dispute, past interactions and identification with the oppressed makes it difficult to establish democratic peace between a Third World country, such as Egypt, and what Hassan calls a colonizing state, such as Israel. Hassan contends in short that we need to examine the ideational structures through which Egyptians interpret foreign relations. These structures have been shaped by past interactions between Egypt and its neighbours. Hassan distinguishes between the policies of the Egyptian government that are forged under the material constraints facing Egypt and the desires of ordinary Egyptians that are an outcome of the ideational structures. The final chapter by Bassam Tibi discusses a clear distinction between Islam as a religious faith and Islamism as a political ideology; or in other words, between religious Islamic ethics and Islamist political ideology. In Tibi’s view, the former are compatible with universal ethics that underpin those of democratic peace both domestically and internationally. Domestically, Muslims and non-Muslims may enjoy equal rights and internationally Islamic nations may be guided by universal ethics, leading to the possibility of living in peace with non-Islamic ones. According to the author, this enlightened Muslim thought rejects the notion that Islam is a set of political thoughts that prescribes political regulations. The Islamists, however, assert that shari‘a law should constitute the sole source of the constitution in any Islamic state. In this sense, Islamists have politicized Islam and religionized politics and have constructed the Islamist state and imposed their own interpretation of Islamic laws on civic politics. Tibi continues that Islamists adhere only tactically to the democratic rules of the game, namely using democracy as a springboard in order to come to power, only to rebuff these rules afterwards. From a democratic peace theory point of view, Islamists are not deterred from being ousted from power through democratic elections in case they engage in an adventurous, unpopular war, simply because they have never planned to relinquish power. Further, Islamists could justify a war against non-Muslims as a war in the name of Allah or Islam against unbelievers that is based on their ideology and is sanctioned by God and Prophet Muhammad. Islamists in this sense justify war by issuing a fatwa that becomes a duty on the parliament to endorse. Tibi explores how ‘there

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exist many different understandings of shari‘a and divergent traditions’ where Islamist ideology is only one of them. Put differently, Islamists used Islamic religion as a means for providing legitimacy to their rule and imposing their own interpretation on society while excluding all other traditions. Given this distortion of Islamic shari‘a, the question becomes: can the democratic institutions of the state and universal values that guide ordinary Muslims or civil society restrain, constrain or pacify the foreign policy of an Islamist regime?

Notes 1. C. Morgan and S. Campbell, ‘Domestic structure, decisional constraints, and war: so why Kant democracies fight?’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, Vol 35, No. 6 (1991): 187– 211, p. 189. 2. B. Buzan, ‘Civilizational Realpolitik as the New World Order?’, Survival, Vol. 39, No. 1 (1997): 180– 3, p. 181; G. Chiozza, ‘Is There a Clash of Civilizations? Evidence from Patterns of International Conflict Involvement, 1946– 97’, Journal of Peace Research, Vol. 39, No. 6 (2002): 711– 34, p. 717. 3. E. D. Mansfield and J. Snyder, ‘Pathways to War in Democratic Transitions’, International Organization, Vol. 63, No. 2 (2009): 381– 90. 4. B. B. De Mesquita, J. D. Morrow, R. M. Siverson, et al., ‘An institutional explanation of the democratic peace’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 93, No. 4 (1999): 791– 807. 5. W. J. Dixon, ‘Democracy and international conflict: An evaluation of the democratic peace proposition’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 90, No. 3 (1996): 703– 4, p. 17; Z. Maoz and B. Russett, ‘Normative and structural causes of the democratic peace’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 87, No. 9 (1993): 624– 38, p. 625. 6. By Islamic democracy I mean a situation when the state is Islamic, yet the regime is a secular one, such as Egypt under the rule of al-Sisi. By contrast, an Islamist democracy means that both the state and ruling party are Islamic, such as the case of Egypt under rule of Morsi. 7. H. Sharabi, Neopatriarchy: A Theory of Distorted Change in Arab Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988). 8. P. James, J. Park and S. Choi, ‘Democracy and Conflict Management: Territorial Claims in the Western Hemisphere Revisited’, International Studies Quarterly, Vol. 50 (2005): 803– 17, p. 805.

References Buzan, B., ‘Civilizational Realpolitik as the New World Order?’, Survival, Vol. 39, No. 1 (1997): 180– 3.

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Chiozza, G., ‘Is There a Clash of Civilizations? Evidence from Patterns of International Conflict Involvement, 1946– 97’, Journal of Peace Research, Vol. 39, No. 6 (2002): 711– 34. De Mesquita, B. B., J. D. Morrow, R. M. Siverson, et al., ‘An institutional explanation of the democratic peace’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 93, No. 4 (1999): 791– 807. Dixon, W. J., ‘Democracy and international conflict: An evaluation of the democratic peace proposition’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 90, No. 3 (1996): 703 – 4. James, P., J. Park and S. Choi, ‘Democracy and Conflict Management: Territorial Claims in the Western Hemisphere Revisited’, International Studies Quarterly, Vol. 50 (2005): 803– 17. Mansfield, E. D. and J. Snyder, ‘Pathways to War in Democratic Transitions’, International Organization, Vol. 63, No. 2 (2009): 381– 90. Maoz, Z. and B. Russett, ‘Normative and structural causes of the democratic peace’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 87, No. 9 (1993): 624– 38. Morgan, C. and S. Campbell, ‘Domestic structure, decisional constraints, and war: so why Kant democracies fight?’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, Vol. 35, No. 6 (1991): 187– 211. Sharabi, H., Neopatriarchy: A Theory of Distorted Change in Arab Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988).

CHAPTER 1 FREE TO FIGHT? TESTING THE DEMOCRATIC CIVIL PEACE IN THE MIDDLE EAST Uriel Abulof

The democratic peace theory has two variants on intrastate conflicts: the ‘democratic civil peace’ thesis that proposes that democratic regimes pacify internal tensions; and the ‘anocratic war’ thesis that submits that due to nationalism, democratizing regimes breeds internal violence. This chapter statistically tests the two propositions in the context of the contemporary Middle East and demonstrates that democracy and democratization have failed to bring domestic peace to the region. This finding defies the optimism of the ‘“democratic civil peace” theory’ and seemingly backs the ‘anocratic war’ thesis. However, looking for causality beyond correlation, I propose that ‘democratizing nationalism’ might be a long-term prerequisite – not just an immediate hindrance – to peace and democracy. I also advise transcending the statist perspective – probing either intra- or interstate clashes – in order to examine intercommunal conflicts and as the democratic features of non-state polities. Kant’s vision of moving ‘toward perpetual peace’1 stands at the crux of international relations (IR) liberal thought, positing democracy, open trade, and international institutions as peace promoters. Although these liberal mechanisms intertwine,2 democratic peace theories (DPT) in particular now constitute ‘a powerful discursive core of contemporary conflict research’, quantitatively dominating this field.

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Can the contemporary realities of the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) inform this rich research field of exploration? Recent surveys among North American IR scholars reveal that while DPT is overwhelmingly considered to be the most productive IR research programme of other similar fields,3 MENA, though perceived as the most strategically important area to the US, receives the least published attention.4 Indeed, MENA appears to defy many political theories, and coupling DPT with MENA, the least democratic region of the world, seems senseless. The Arab Spring, however, calls for a rethinking.5 Whatever its causes and outcomes, the regional turmoil has resulted in augmenting the already remarkable ‘electoralization’ in the region, and the holding of more and more fair and free elections. Indeed, while MENA has been all but absent from the third wave of democratization, in the past generation, it has gone through seeming liberalization and intense electoralization.6 The evident setbacks in the late 1990s notwithstanding, recent years have witnessed an unprecedented number of generally free and fair elections in the region, ostensibly giving voice through votes to the people and highlighting the need to reassess the possible relationship between ballots and bullets in the region. This chapter focuses on one particular aspect of DPT: its application to the domestic sphere. Domestic democratic peace theories (DDPT) ultimately examine whether the pacifying effects of democracy apply not only in the interstate sphere but also to the intrastate sphere. Several authors suggest that democracy provides peaceful ways of ameliorating domestic tensions before they escalate to violence, engendering a ‘democratic civil peace’ of sorts.7 Others submit that democratizing (anocratic) states breed violence, due to their heightened nationalism.8 Either way, DDPT seems especially relevant to the study of MENA, for the main source of political violence in the region does not lie in interstate strife. As a result, I seek to analyse the applicability of domestic democratic peace to MENA, as opposed to analysing it as a concept on its own. Rather than producing a ‘democratic civil peace’, I demonstrate how democracies and democratizing states in MENA appear to be more statistically disposed to political violence over other regions. I argue, however, that contrary to the anocratic thesis, ‘democratizing nationalism’ might actually be a long-term prerequisite, as opposed to

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just an immediate hindrance, to democratic peace. I also suggest that we transcend the statist perspective, underlining the typical DPT typology of interstate and intrastate conflicts, in order to examine intercommunal conflicts as well as the democratic features of non-state polities.

Democratic Peace Theories One of the heavily analysed political theories of our time, DPT has made substantial strides since its inception, becoming progressively more nuanced, diverse, and robust.9 The ‘T’ of DPT now refers to the plurality of its often-conflicting theories. A research programme that deals with both interstate and intrastate relations, DPT spans three prominent models: monadic, dyadic, and anocratic. Monadic DPT holds that democracies are more pacific and less likely to engage in severe conflict,10 or initiate military threats and escalate them than non-democratic states. Conversely,11 dyadic DPT holds that it ‘takes two to tango’ the democratic peace, as democracies rarely, if ever, fight one another.12 Even if extended beyond large-scale wars to include both crises and militarized interstate disputes (MIDs),13 dyadic DPT seems quite robust.14 Recent studies, however, have cast doubt on whether it is democracy that causes peace per se, or whether it is in fact the other way around, or perhaps even both;15 the link may be spurious, and militarized rivalry and severe territorial disputes may hinder both peace and democracy.16 DPT’s third and youngest progeny is the anocratic model. Anocracies (in-between regimes, neither autocracies nor democracies but often in transition towards the latter), arguably tend to engage in political violence more frequently than either democracies or autocracies.17 In Electing to Fight, Mansfield and Snyder argue that emerging democracies with strong nationalism and weak political institutions in particular are likely to go to war. Although heavily contested,18 anocratic DPT is widely noted and highly influential. DPT’s three main models are predominantly about interstate relations;19 however, responding to the saliency of non-interstate violence, scholars increasingly extended the DPT research programme to intrastate conflicts. DDPT imports insights from the interstate models into two main theses. The ‘democratic civil peace’ thesis, reflecting dyadic and monadic rationales, postulates that democracies are much

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less inclined to descend into civil war than non-democracies.20 The ‘anocratic war’ thesis holds that anocracies are the most prone to suffer from internal, as opposed to solely external, violent strife. Scholarship thus often converges on a joint question: Does democratization breed or stem internal political violence? While some scholars go so far as to argue that elections may fuel political violence in both democratizing and well-established democracies,21 most scholars connect internal violence to incipient democracies. Snyder submits that when ‘liberty is leading people’,22 intrastate violence often follows: premature democratization ignites nationalism and consequently political violence, frequently resulting in ethnic and civil wars. As in the anocratic DPT’s interstate version, nationalism reigns here too as the violence-inducing factor. The threshold between the anocratic proclivity towards civil war and the democratic civil peace is thus still unclear. Quantitatively, Hegre et al. hold that ‘if we focus on countries that are at least half-way toward complete democracy, the prospects for domestic peace are promising’.23 Qualitatively, the nature of this magical mid-point remains elusive.

Votes and Violence in the Middle East Can DPT various models, DDPT included, apply to the Middle East and North Africa (MENA)? Few studies attempt to look at DPT, let alone DDPT, from a regional perspective and fewer focus on MENA.24 There seem to be good reasons for this. Prime facie, DPT and MENA are a highly unlikely match. After all, in a region largely inhospitable to democratic ideas and practices, chances for democratic peace seem slim. Up until the Arab Spring, Arab authoritarianism – whether autocratic or monarchic – has withstood domestic challenges for four long decades, making MENA an attractive ‘control case’ for theories of democratization but an unlikely candidate for testing DPT.25 As an increasingly statistics-driven research programme, DPT typically finds MENA’s democratic data a non-starter for dedicated research: ‘[T]he small variance in the independent or explanatory variable (the democratic nature of regimes) hinders our ability to estimate the effects on the dependent variable (conflict or cooperation).’26 Democratic peace per se simply appears irrelevant to MENA’s history. As a result, most scholarship addressing democracy and MENA sidesteps DPT and prefers

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to explicate the ‘democracy lag/gap/deficiency’27 or its flipside of ‘enduring authoritarianism’.28 There are few exceptions to this rule. The onset of MENA’s liberalization/electoralization in the early 1990s converged with the heyday of the Arab– Israeli peace process during the mid-1990s to produce some optimistic assessments. Maoz argues that ‘levels of hostility in the Arab– Israeli conflict are affected by changes in domestic political systems. The move toward democracy by these states reduces the intensity of conflict interaction’.29 Tessler and Grobschmith concur and further predicted that ‘the overall effect of political liberalization and democracy would be much more positive than negative with respect to the Arab– Israeli conflict’.30 If this is so, Russett notes, MENA is one place in particular where a ‘threat to the theory and the reality of ‘democracies don’t go to war with each other’ lurks’,31 since once Arab states achieve democracy, the Arab– Israeli conflict may eclipse, and thus theoretically challenge, dyadic DPT. Conversely, Hudson holds that ‘the Arab (and Arab/Israeli) cases do not clearly indicate a clear relationship between regime structure (“democracy”) and foreign policy behavior . . . to the extent that there might be such a relationship, these cases suggest that “democratic” structures might be less “peace-prone” than authoritarian structures’.32 Similarly, Solingen concludes that ‘even a minimalist, relaxed version of the democratic peace hypothesis cannot explain the big strides toward a more peaceful region made in the early 1990s’.33 The scarcity of DPT scholarship on MENA is unfortunate. After all, it ‘make[s] more sense to study the causes of war and peace among dyads in war-prone parts of the world’ than in peace-prone parts.34 In particular, the interplay between votes and violence in MENA during the last generation presents fascinating challenges and opportunities for dedicated DPT research on the region. As the least democratic and nearly the most violent region worldwide, a democratizing MENA may put DPT to an important test – and may provoke theoretical and methodological rethinking. While the democratic peace may be missing from MENA, MENA is likewise, and regrettably, missing from theorizing about democratic peace. Coupling these theories and regional practice, while taxing, may benefit our understanding of both. Ultimately, in order for DPT to inform Mideast studies, Mideast studies must first inform DPT.

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A brief exposition of conflict and democracy in MENA should help set the stage for the statistical investigation. At its most simple level, MENA has been a violent neighbourhood. Although the worldwide drop in the number of conflicts began in the MENA region at the beginning of the 1980s, it remains, and increasingly so, one of the most politically violent areas in the world. To illustrate, eight of the world’s 25 most war-prone countries since 1946 are Middle Eastern countries. Since the 1980s, MENA battle-deaths (rather than conflict numbers) have been on par with the world’s most deadly zones of Central and Southern Asia and sub-Saharan Africa, with the latter becoming the most conflict-prone and deadly by the turn of the twenty-first century. Likewise, MENA has shared first place with Southern Asia among regions plagued by political terror since the 1980s.35 Recently, the situation has further deteriorated. Indeed, ‘the Middle East/Persian Gulf and Latin America lead all other regions both in terms of total attacks and fatalities, while the former has replaced the latter as the most active terrorist region in the world over time’.36 From 2002 onwards, there was a sharp increase in violent campaigns against civilians in MENA, notably in Iraq and Sudan. The other regions showed no clear trends. The proportional share of MENA in worldwide non-state conflict battle-deaths has increased substantially, now amounting to about a quarter of the total deaths due to non-state conflicts.37 The Arab Spring has further precipitated the rise of political violence in MENA along three fronts: fighting between government forces and rebel groups (state-based conflict), clashes between non-state groups (non-state conflict) and deadly assaults against civilians (one-sided violence), such as the violent suppression of protests and demonstrations (see Figure 1.1).38 MENA’s plethora of political violence is matched by its dearth of democracy. In assessing the Mideast democratic gap, datasets generally converge. The renowned database Freedom House (FH) regards Israel as the only ‘free country’ in MENA since 1976; in 2014, six countries (Kuwait, Lebanon, Libya, Morocco, Turkey, and Tunisia) were ranked as ‘partly free’, while the rest or 66% of the MENA states (83% of the MENA population) have been deigned to be ‘not free’, significantly surpassing sub-Saharan Africa (with ‘only’ 41% of countries, and 35% of the world’s population, denoted as ‘not free’). Freedom House’s overall average score H for MENA (on a 1 to 7 scale, 1 being the most free) has changed little since the beginning of this index in 1971. In the late

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Figure 1.1 Reported deaths from organized violence in the Middle East and North Africa (1989 – 2011).

1980s to early 1990s, the decline in autocracies had mainly bred anocracies, not democracies; MENA also remains the stronghold of hereditary monarchies. The Arab Spring has thus far yielded a similar effect (see Figure 1.2).39 The Economist’s 2012 Democracy Index suggests that in 2012, Libya, Egypt, and Morocco transitioned from authoritarian to hybrid regimes,40 but that 12 out of the 20 MENA countries are still ruled by authoritarian leaders. The Polity IV Index likewise ranks MENA as the region with the lowest share of democracies (currently, solely in Israel, Lebanon, and Turkey);41 the highest number of autocracies; and about the same proportion of anocracies as Central and Southern Asia and sub-Saharan Africa. According to the Minorities at Risk project, discrimination inevitably follows: ‘For most of the last half-century a larger proportion of minorities has suffered from governmentally sanctioned discrimination in MENA than in any other world region . . . What is especially unique in this region is the lack of any real movement toward remedial actions for disadvantaged groups.’42

Testing Domestic Democratic Peace in the Middle East Democratic peace theory, like much of international relations, has become increasingly statistically driven in recent years. Hayes reasonably argues

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Figure 1.2 Trends in freedom in the Middle East and North Africa (2010 –13).

that ‘the methodological composition of the field is significantly tilted toward quantitative studies, creating significant lacunae in our understanding of the underlying mechanisms that generate the democratic peace’.43 Quantitative analysis can be part of the solution too, however, for it may indicate where things might have gone wrong and eluded our more often qualitative attempts to grasp DPT causality. To date, no study has quantitatively tested DDPT’s merits for explaining MENA’s patterns of war and peace. This section attempts to do just that. There is no evident single method for conducting such a test, as scholars still dispute the best way for estimating the effect of regime type on the probability of conflict. To ensure robustness, I chose to estimate the coefficients using two logistic regressions. The first employs the technique suggested by Beck et al. of adding natural cubic splines to control for temporal dependence.44 The second regression draws on Oneal and

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Russett’s method of generalized estimating equation (GEE) in conjunction with Huber/White robust standard error estimates and an adjustment for autocorrelation of the first order (AR1).45 After much analysis, I found that the estimations of the variables of interest in this research are not seriously affected by the selection between the two techniques. For that reason, only the results of the first method are presented. The selection of datasets for investigating DDPT is quite intricate. Both the Polity IV and Correlates of War (COW) seem to currently provide sub-optimal data for this analysis. Scholarship is increasingly critical of Polity’s ‘serious endogeneity and measurement problems’,46 holding that ‘skepticism as to the precision of the Polity democracy scale is well founded’.47 Polity’s faults are particularly troubling in the case of anocratic DPT and domestic DPT.48 In light of Polity’s problems, I opt to use Freedom House scores to code the continuous independent variable of states’ level of democracy. FH measures political freedoms and civil liberties on two different seven-point scales (thus spanning a composite ranking of 2 to 14), typically classifying democracies as scoring between 2 and 5 for a given year, semi-democracies between 6 and 10, and autocracies, a combined ranking of 11 or above. As for the dependent variable of civil wars, the UCDP/PRIO Armed Conflict dataset v.4-2011, 1946 – 2010 is preferable to COW.49 While COW focuses on interstate disputes (including wars) and large-scale intrastate wars (excluding other types of violent conflicts), the UCDP/ PRIO dataset includes all armed conflicts resulting in at least 25 battle-related deaths. This allows the dependent variable of civil wars to include all significant armed conflict between governments and resistance groups, and distinguish minor intrastate conflicts with a death toll between 25 and 1,000 people, from major civil wars, with a death toll of 1,000 people and above. I adapt Stockemer’s dataset,50 conjoining FH and UCDP/PRIO data on regime-type and civil wars from 1990 to 2007 on a state-year basis.51 For clarity, I recode the democracy variable by reversing it: ranking starts with a composite score of 1 (the least democratic) to 13 (the most democratic). The dependent variable is then recoded into a dichotomous variable of civil war occurrence. I added Mideast variables: first, a dummy variable (‘MENA’), coding Mideast states; secondly, dummy variables for the three main regime-types (Democracy, Anocracy,

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Autocracy); thirdly, a continuous variable coding the MENA countries’ FH score (‘Democracy MENA’; 0 for a non-MENA state). Beyond the independent and dependent variables, this dataset controls for time – employing the technique proposed by Beck et al. – GDP per capita measures (taken from the World Bank data (in constant PPP, US dollars));52 the state’s GDP (in billion US dollars); the number of different ethnic, religious, and/or linguistic groups constituting 5% or more of the population in a country; a country’s income inequality (drawing on Gini coefficient and clustered as a categorical variable, coded 0 for low inequality, 1 for medium-high inequality, and 2 for the most unequal countries); and a dummy variable for small states (coded 1 for a country with a population of 1.5 million or below). My hypotheses are the richer the country is, the less civil wars it experiences; that societal cleavages and inequalities increase the likelihood of internal unrest and political violence; and that small states, often more easily governed, are less prone to civil war.53 I employ both the method proposed by Beck et al. of adding natural cubic splines to the logistic regression, and the GEE method advocated by Oneal and Russett.54 Below are results for the first model (for the rather similar GEE results, see Table 1.1). I conduct two logistic regressions for the occurrence of civil war on the basis of regime type, using both regime-type dummy variables (Table 1.1) and the democracy degree as a continuous variable (Table 1.2), comparing the world to MENA. In both analyses, the findings corroborate the ‘democratic civil peace’ thesis: democracies have a significantly lower probability of experiencing civil wars, while autocracies and anocracies share a similar proclivity to such conflicts. MENA findings, however, present a reverse image. Mideast democracies are significantly more prone to experiencing civil war (Table 1.1); and the more democratic the state is, the more likely it is to experience violent intrastate strife (Table 1.2).55

Discussion Dismissing MENA’s apparent aberration is rather easy. First, these findings do not statistically refute common observations concerning democracies, non-democracies, and conflict. Secondly, MENA’s (and Israel’s) alleged exceptionalism is readily available to explain away this outlier. Supposedly, since this region is so out of synch with the political

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Table 1.1 Logistic regression for the occurrence of civil war on the basis of regime type (semi-democracies as omitted group), comparing MENA and the world. VARIABLES

World

World/MENA

Democracy1

2 1.237*** (0.409) 2 0.123 (0.245) 2 1.759*** (0.492) 2 0.00387 (0.114) 0.137** (0.0685) 0.388*** (0.0888) 2 0.000330*** (8.10e-05)

2 1.195*** (0.417) 2 0.255 (0.234) 2 1.643*** (0.501) 0.0313 (0.117) 0.183*** (0.0644) 0.336*** (0.0838) 2 0.000315*** (7.86e-05) 0.753 (0.889) 2.003** (0.991) 0.198 (0.948) 2 1.933*** (0.268) 0.191 (0.363)

Autocracy1 Small state1 Income inequalities Ethnic groups # GDP GDP per capita MENA1 Democracy MENA1 Autocracy MENA1 Peace years Constant Wald x 2 Log likelihood Pseudo R2 Observations

2 1.958*** (0.269) 0.397 (0.402) 369.90 2 587 0.488 2,711

2 574 0.499 2,711

*** p , 0.01, ** p , 0.05, * p , 0.1. For space reasons, estimates of splines are not presented. 1 Dummy variable.

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Table 1.2 Logistic regression for the occurrence of civil war on the basis of regime type (democracy degree as a continuous variable), comparing MENA and the world. VARIABLES

World

World/MENA

Democracy

2 0.0967** (0.0388) 2 1.809*** (0.496) 0.00578 (0.117) 0.134** (0.0683) 0.362*** (0.0977) 2 0.000320*** (8.50e-05)

2 0.0867** (0.0424) 2 1.686*** (0.501) 0.0362 (0.123) 0.186*** (0.0642) 0.330*** (0.0901) 2 0.000316*** (8.17e-05) 2 0.155 (0.705) 0.233* (0.123) 2 1.942*** (0.266) 0.438 (0.368) 2 581 361.27 0.494 2,711

Small state1 Income inequalities Ethnic groups # GDP GDP per capita MENA1 Democracy MENA Peace years Constant Log likelihood Wald Pseudo R2 Observations

2 1.981*** (0.269) 0.780* (0.405) 2 594 364.32 0.482 2,711

*** p , 0.01, ** p , 0.05, * p , 0.1. For space reasons estimates, of splines are not presented. 1 Dummy variable.

world, its apparent odd behaviour should come as no surprise and have little theoretical or methodological bearings on DPT. It is thus rather safe to ‘save’ DPT from the MENA anomaly. However, such ‘defensive’ moves expose DPT’s theoretical fragility, evincing yet again that ‘no experimental result can ever kill a theory: any theory can be saved from counter instances either by some auxiliary

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hypothesis or by a suitable reinterpretation of its terms’.56 Choosing a less safe path, albeit daunting, may be more rewarding – to both DPT’s research programme, and its actual utility. While we may settle for ad hoc ‘defensive’ solutions to apparent outliers, we should consider ‘progressive problem shift’, to break new theoretical and methodological grounds when empirically needed. In what follows, I provide two suggestions on how to draw upon DPT analysis of MENA in order to enrich both our theoretical tools, and our empirical understanding.

The Vices and Virtues of Nationalism As suggested by the statistical findings above, and clearly demonstrated by the Arab Spring, popular calls for democracy, even the execution of free and fair election, do not guarantee civil peace, and often precipitate violence. The puzzle, however, is causation, not correlation. Mansfield and Snyder explain that ‘nationalism is a key causal mechanism linking incomplete democratization to both civil and international war’.57 This inference is not without merit, but I argue that it might go the other way around: the subversion of nationalism, from within and without, can turn democratization violent. When state-building comes at the expense of nation-building, it may breed rather than hinder violence. Moreover, a viable nation, not just state, is often a prerequisite for progressive democratization: turning a procedural democracy (holding free and fair election) into a substantive democracy (allowing for peaceful ousting of powerful incumbents), though not necessarily a liberal one. While some anocracies go to war, others do not. Indeed, as Mansfield and Snyder acknowledge, ‘numerous countries have democratized peacefully over the past two decades in Eastern Europe, Latin America, East Asia, and South Africa’.58 What then makes certain democratizing states violently destabilizing? The authors point to two sources: strong nationalism and weak states: ‘the combination of increasing mass political participation and weak political institutions creates the motive and the opportunity for both rising and declining elites to play the nationalist card in an attempt to rally popular support against domestic and foreign rivals’.59 They define nationalism as a doctrine that ‘holds that the people as a whole have the right to self-rule’, and as such, ‘can be used to convince newly empowered constituencies that the cleavage between the privileged and the masses is unimportant compared to the cleavages that divide nations, ethnic groups, or races’.60

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This description drives prescription, which stands at the core of the ongoing dispute regarding the US’s democratization policy in MENA and beyond.61 Since coherent institutions, such as a functioning bureaucracy and a sound legal system, enable states to democratize more peacefully and successfully, Mansfield and Snyder hold that ‘efforts to promote democracy should try to follow a sequence of building institutions before encouraging mass competitive elections. Democratizing in the wrong sequence not only risks bloodshed in the short term, but also the mobilization of durable illiberal forces with the capacity to block democratic consolidation over the long term.’62 Furthermore, since ‘democratizing nationalism’ paves the ‘pathways to war’, taming, and if possible, terminating, nationalism are keys to peace.63 Only after these projects of state-building and nation-taming succeed should we advance along the democratization sequence and encourage mass political participation and elections. In my view, Mansfield and Snyder’s rationale is wanting. First, most autocrats are reluctant to encourage the building of institutions that may eventually cause their downfall. As Carothers argues, ‘Outside East Asia, autocratic governments in the developing world have a terrible record as builders of competent, impartial institutions . . . if the higher standard is indeed the controlling one, India probably still belongs in the sequentialist waiting room, not yet ready for elections. So too, for that matter, does Italy – a rather curious result.’64 Secondly, Mansfield and Snyder seem to argue that anocracies in particular are prone to dangerous greed (that is, actors utilizing weak institutions to gain domestic dominance) and creed (actors leveraging nationalism to wage diversionary war). To the extent that anocracies are the least stable regime-types, they obviously present political agents with structural opportunities to wreak havoc. It is not clear, however, whether democratization drives anocracies’ seeming instability, or whether the latter is simply a feature of some of these in-between regimes. After all, a politically unstable regime is often a violently unstable regime. Moreover, as Narang and Nelson note, the interstate and domestic anocratic models may controvert.65 Incomplete democratizers with weak institutions should ostensibly be too weak to initiate or participate in interstate wars, and are thus prone to imploding, not exploding. Thirdly, taming nationalism may backfire. Granted, nationalism has often been abused as a modern call to arms. However, modern

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nationalism’s core values can provide common moral ground for managing and resolving disputes. Modern nationalism subscribes to ‘the people’ as the source of legitimating both polity and authority through, the prescriptive principles of self-determination, and popular sovereignty respectively.66 We may debate whether the rise of the Rousseauian social contract at the expense of the Hobbesian has benefited world order and peace, but in either case, the national genie has long escaped from the bottle. The clash between the state Leviathan and the will of ‘the people’ is not inevitable – nations have engendered states as much as the other way around. Still, numerous peoples worldwide have come to believe that there is a mismatch between the borders of states and the boundaries of nations, as well as between their interests and those of their regimes. This incongruence has often precipitated both external and internal violence.67 Importantly, how violent the national quest to resolve this mismatch would be is up to the concerned societies – regimes and peoples alike – and the international (or rather interstate) society at large. Taming nationalism – through coercion, expediency and propriety – may turn it violent, but does not indicate that nationalism itself is. Finally, nationalism’s call for popular sovereignty may often be a socio-moral precondition for fostering viable democracy. Undermining the national project, even if possible, also undermines the existence of ‘a people’ on whose behalf the call for political participation and representation is made – indeed, on whose behalf the state, in the first place, exists. This realization drives Rustow’s well-known yet still often overlooked conclusion that democratization is predicated on ‘a single background condition – national unity . . . the vast majority of citizens in a democracy-to-be must have no doubt or mental reservations as to which political community they belong.’68 Mansfield and Snyder begin their Electing to Fight piece by drawing on Rustow’s seminal article, lamenting that his ideas ‘have not, however, played a central role in much subsequent scholarship or public policymaking on democratic transitions’.69 Curiously, they then misinterpret Rustow’s key argument to be that ‘democratic transitions are most successful when strong political institutions are developed before popular political participation increases’.70 Rustow’s emphasis, however, is on national identity, not on state institutions. Indeed, in a later article, Rustow again insists that ‘an

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unquestioned sense of national and territorial identity is a highly favorable precondition’ for democratization.71 Possibly, then, it is precisely the incongruence between state borders and national (often ethno-linguistic) identities that has hampered democratization in Africa and the Arab Middle East as ‘The colonial boundaries inherited by tropical Africa have created few states with linguistic unity or even linguistic majorities; and amid this scarcity of clear territorial-national identities, it is no coincidence that Africa is the region where progress toward democracy has remained most precarious.’72 Until the Arab Spring, ‘democratizing nationalisms’ in MENA usually transpired outside of the Arab world – in Turkey, Israel, and Iran. It remains to be seen whether the Arab Spring ushers in long-term ‘democratizing nationalisms’. This much may be hinted at by the demonstration’s immensely popular, and often lost-in-translation, slogan: ‘The people want to bring down the regime.’ While most observers have focused on the slogan’s ending – the negative (de)legitimation of the regime – we must also be attentive to the seemingly redundant but possibly pivotal preceding words: the positive affirmation of ‘the people’, as a singular agent, with the right to tell, morally and politically, right from wrong. This may, in the long run, engender sustainable democracies in MENA. The key question is whether progressive ‘democratizing nationalism’ will be better served by keeping states like Syria and Iraq intact or by allowing them to dissolve, ‘desecrating’ the century-old borders charted by Britain and France.

From Interstate and Intrastate to Intercommunal DPT Scholarship on DPT has made important strides, and its ongoing controversies reflect its vitality. DPT’s application to MENA, however, brings to the surface a nagging neglect in the literature. Whether analysing interstate or intrastate conflicts, DPT scholarship is statist. Indeed, ‘the democratic peace debates are caught in the “territorial trap”’, as both democracy and war-peace are understood in terms of the territorial sovereign state.73 Barkawi and Laffey agree with Agnew and Corbridge that ‘the territorial state has been “prior” to and a “container” of society only under specific conditions’.74 They thus propose refocusing on the changing capacity of states in an increasingly globalized world, and shifting the view to empires as polities with import and relevance to DPT.

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But Barkawi and Laffey too are trapped in the statist assumption, denoting as their new focus of analysis ‘states that are or have been both imperial and liberal democratic, such as Belgium, Britain, France, Holland or the US’ (my emphasis).75 DPT’s Procrustean statism engenders two acute problems. First, transposing interstate DPT to civil wars hardly exhausts the plethora of non-interstate violence. This is of particular importance in MENA, where many non-interstate armed conflicts are cross-border and the warring parties are often not the citizens of the same state. These violent clashes defy the neat typology of interstate and intrastate conflicts; they are better depicted as intercommunal conflicts. Even datasets with nuanced typology often misclassify or overlook these conflicts. The UCDP/PRIO armed conflicts dataset, for example, classifies the 2006 Lebanon War as an ‘internal armed conflict’, similar to the violent clash between the Egyptian government and al-Gama’a al-Islamiyya, the radical Islamic opposition group in the country. However, whereas the latter clearly was a domestic clash, the 2006 Lebanon War was waged between the state of Israel and a paramilitary organization based in an adjacent country, which became involved in the warfare. Conflation of the two blurs important conceptual boundaries. The UCDP/PRIO dataset also omits the September 1970 clash between Jordan and the PLO and the 1982 Lebanon War – both of which resulted in thousands of casualties – perhaps due to a lack of a fitting category. Secondly, DPT’s extension to civil wars focuses on states’ regime-type; it does not address the democratic nature of the conflicting domestic parties. In other words, studies on the ‘domestic democratic peace’ typically mix the levels of analysis, analysing the effect of a state’s regime type on internal clashes rather than examining the democratic merits of the domestic rivals themselves. This preferance is understandable, since most DPT literature is heavilly quantitative, and there were no reliable datasets regarding domestic movements’ levels of democracy until recently. Measuring this variable without referring to formal state institutions and laws is a daunting task. However, considering that the most robust DPT model is dyadic, not monadic, transposing its logic to the domestic level in a monadic form and on an incongruent level of analysis is simply odd. Few studies have evinced dyadic DPT’s merits for analysing the relations between non-state, premodern actors.76 The time has come to take up this challenge for contemporary politics.

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The Minorities at Risk Project has recently undertaken to chart just that, beginning in MENA.77 According to its data, the number of ethnic organizations in MENA has steadily grown since the early 1980s; from about 40 to about 100 since the year 2000; and ideologically, there has been a steady increase in the proportion of democratic organizations since the early 1990s, emphasizing electoral politics and protests. While suffering from various typological faults (e.g. coding Hezbollah as advocating ‘democratic forms of government’ for its participation in the Lebanese elections), this project opens new venues for future quantitative examination of DDPT.

Conclusion Through statistically testing the domestic democratic peace theory in the context of the Middle East and North Africa, this chapter has demonstrated that democratization has failed to bring domestic peace to the Middle East. However, I proposed that ‘democratizing nationalism’ might actually be a long-term prerequisite, not just an immediate hindrance, to democratic peace, and that DPT needs to transcend the statist perspective in order to examine intercommunal conflicts as well as the democratic features of non-state polities. This chapter also sought to encourage mixed-method research in DPT scholarship, not least regarding MENA. Synthesizing quantitative and qualitative methods may pave paths to enriching DPT scholarship and improving our grasp of its definitions, data, and causation. This article offered no definite answers, but puts forward puzzles and guidelines to questions that are worth pursuing. Postulating nationalism as a possible precondition to viable democratization raises a thorny question: Do values function as an intervening variable between votes and violence, and if so, how? The role of liberalism in facilitating the democratic peace theory has been richly studied.78 Conversely, nationalism, to the extent that it figures in DPT literature – mainly in the anocratic models – is typically regarded as hindering peace, which overlooks the potential pacifying role of national ideas and ideals. To put it differently, in terms of Isaiah Berlin’s famous distinction between negative and positive liberties:79 should the pacifying role of negative liberties (such as freedom of speech, press, and assembly) be complemented with that of positive liberties; mainly popular sovereignty

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and the right of peoples to self-determination? Can a mutual adherence to the latter partly explain why democratic dyads are able to peacefully resolve their territorial disputes? And, when such normative common ground is lacking among countries holding free elections, can this lack partly explain their failure to reach a utilitarian middle-ground, or even their resort to a coercive battleground? Answering these questions via discourse and content analyses as well as public opinion polls may prove pivotal to advancing our understanding of DPT’s causality. Finally, we may also want to look for answers to the big counterfactual questions that DPT models raise. Although the typical presentation of quantitative DPT studies is correlational – seeking robust ‘covering laws’ – the search for causality perforce presents us with ‘what if’ queries: for example, would a democratic Egypt have avoided launching a surprise attack against Israel in 1973? Such counterfactual investigations are all the more important if we are to assess, and warily predict, how the changing political tides in the Middle East affect the region’s prospects between war and ‘perpetual peace’.

Notes 1. Immanuel Kant et al., Toward Perpetual Peace and Other Writings on Politics, Peace, and History: Rethinking the Western Tradition (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006). 2. Michael W. Doyle, ‘Three Pillars of the Liberal Peace’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 99, No. 3 (2005). 3. Daniel Maliniak et al., The View from the Ivory Tower: Trip Survey of Ir Faculty in the U.S. And Canada (College of William and Mary: Institute for the Theory and Practice of International Relations, 2007), p. 29. 4. Daniel Maliniak et al., ‘International Relations in the US Academy’, International Studies Quarterly, Vol. 55, No. 2 (2011), p. 459. 5. F. Gregory Gause, ‘Why Middle East Studies Missed the Arab Spring’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 90, No. 4 (2011). 6. Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble, eds, Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World, 2 vols (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1995); Ellen Lust-Okar and Saloua Zerhouni, eds, Political Participation in the Middle East (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2008). 7. Matthew Krain and Marissa Edson Myers, ‘Democracy and Civil War: A Note on the Democratic Peace Proposition’, International Interactions: Empirical and Theoretical Research in International Relations, Vol. 23, No. 1 (1997); R. J. Rummel, ‘Libertarian Propositions on Violence within and between Nations’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, Vol. 29, No. 3 (1985); R. J. Rummel, ‘Libertarianism, Violence

36

8. 9. 10.

11. 12.

13. 14.

15. 16.

17. 18. 19.

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within States, and the Polarity Principle’, Comparative Politics, Vol. 16, No. 4 (1984); Daniel Stockemer, ‘Regime Type and Civil War – a Re-Evaluation of the Inverted U-Relationship’, Global Change, Peace & Security, Vol. 22, No. 3 (2010). Edward D. Mansfield and Jack L. Snyder, Electing to Fight: Why Emerging Democracies Go to War, Bcsia Studies in International Security (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2005). Steve Chan, ‘The Democratic Peace Proposition: An Agenda for Critical Analysis’, Economics of Peace and Security Journal, Vol. 4, No. 1 (2009). John Ferejohn and Frances McCall Rosenbluth, ‘Warlike Democracies’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, Vol. 52, No. 1 (2008); R. J. Rummel, ‘Democracies Are Less Warlike Than Other Regimes’, European Journal of International Relations, Vol. 1, No. 4 (1995). Paul K. Huth and Todd L. Allee, The Democratic Peace and Territorial Conflict in the Twentieth Century, Cambridge Studies in International Relations (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002), p. 281. James Lee Ray, Democracy and International Conflict: An Evaluation of the Democratic Peace Proposition, Studies in International Relations (Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press, 1995); Bruce M. Russett, Grasping the Democratic Peace: Principles for a Post-Cold War World (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993); Spencer R. Weart, Never at War: Why Democracies Will Not Fight One Another (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998). Nathaniel Beck, Jonathan N. Katz, and Richard Tucker, ‘Taking Time Seriously: Time-Series-Cross-Section Analysis with a Binary Dependent Variable’, American Journal of Political Science, Vol. 42, No. 4 (1998). Allan Dafoe, ‘Statistical Critiques of the Democratic Peace: Caveat Emptor’, American Journal of Political Science, Vol. 55, No. 2 (2011); John R. Oneal and Bruce Russett, ‘Clear and Clean: The Fixed Effects of the Liberal Peace’, International Organization, Vol. 55, No. 2 (2001). Karen A. Rasler and William R. Thompson, Puzzles of the Democratic Peace: Theory, Geopolitics, and the Transformation of World Politics (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005). Douglas M. Gibler and Jaroslav Tir, ‘Settled Borders and Regime Type: Democratic Transitions as Consequences of Peaceful Territorial Transfers’, American Journal of Political Science, Vol. 54, No. 4 (2010); Steven V. Miller and Douglas M. Gibler, ‘Democracies, Territory, and Negotiated Compromises’, Conflict Management and Peace Science, Vol. 28, No. 3 (2011). Baliga Sandeep, Lucca David, and Sjostrom Tomas, ‘Domestic Political Survival and International Conflict: Is Democracy Good for Peace?’ (Illinois: Kellogg School of Management, Northwestern University, 2009). Vipin Narang and Rebecca M. Nelson, ‘Who Are These Belligerent Democratizers? Reassessing the Impact of Democratization on War’, International Organization, Vol. 63, No. 2 (2009). Steven W. Hook, ed., Democratic Peace in Theory and Practice, Symposia on Democracy Series (Kent, OH: Kent State University Press, 2010).

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20. Krain and Myers, ‘Democracy and Civil War: A Note on the Democratic Peace Proposition’; Rummel, ‘Libertarian Propositions on Violence within and between Nations’; Rummel, ‘Libertarianism, Violence within States, and the Polarity Principle’; Stockemer, ‘Regime Type and Civil War – a Re-Evaluation of the Inverted U-Relationship’, p. 110. 21. David C. Rapoport and Leonard Weinberg, eds, The Democratic Experience and Political Violence, Cass Series on Political Violence (London; Portland, OR: F. Cass, 2001). 22. Jack L. Snyder, From Voting to Violence: Democratization and Nationalist Conflict, 1st edn (New York: Norton, 2000), p. 35. 23. Ha˚vard Hegre et al., ‘Toward a Democratic Civil Peace? Democracy, Political Change, and Civil War, 1816–1992’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 95, No. 1 (2001): 44; see also Lars-Erik Cederman, Simon Hug, and Lutz F. Krebs, ‘Democratization and Civil War: Empirical Evidence’, Journal of Peace Research, Vol. 47, No. 4 (2010); James D. Fearon and David D. Laitin, ‘Ethnicity, Insurgency, and Civil War’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 97, No. 1 (2003); Havard Hegre and Nicholas Sambanis, ‘Sensitivity Analysis of Empirical Results on Civil War Onset’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, Vol. 50, No. 4 (2006). 24. Douglas M. Gibler, The Territorial Peace: Borders, State Development, and International Conflict (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012); Kristian Skrede Gleditsch, All International Politics Is Local: The Diffusion of Conflict, Integration, and Democratization (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2002); Arie Marcelo Kacowicz, Zones of Peace in the Third World: South America and West Africa in Comparative Perspective, Suny Series in Global Politics (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1998). 25. Lisa Anderson, ‘Arab Democracy: Dismal Prospects’, World Policy Journal, Vol. 18, No. 3 (2001); Amin Saikal and Albrecht Schnabel, eds, Democratization in the Middle East: Experiences, Struggles, Challenges, The Changing Nature of Democracy (Tokyo: United Nations University Press, 2003). 26. Etel Solingen, ‘Toward a Democratic Peace in the Middle East’, in Democratization in the Middle East: Experiences, Struggles, Challenges, ed. Amin Saikal and Albrecht Schnabel (Tokyo: United Nations University Press, 2003), p. 44. 27. Brynen, Korany, and Noble, eds, Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World; Robert Springborg, ‘The Middle East’s Democracy Gap: Causes and Consequences’, Brown Journal of World Affairs, Vol. 13, No. 2 (2007). 28. Eva Bellin, ‘The Robustness of Authoritarianism in the Middle East: Exceptionalism in Comparative Perspective’, Comparative Politics, Vol. 36, No. 2 (2004); Oliver Schlumberger, ed., Debating Arab Authoritarianism: Dynamics and Durability in Nondemocratic Regimes (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2007). 29. Zeev Maoz, ‘Domestic Political Violence, Structural Constraints, and Enduring Rivalries in the Middle East, 1948 – 1988’, in Democracy, War, and Peace in the Middle East, ed. David Garnham and Mark A. Tessler, Indiana Series in Arab and Islamic Studies (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1995), p. 95.

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30. Mark Tessler and Marilyn Grobschmith, ‘Democracy in the Arab World and the Arab – Israeli Conflict’, in Democracy, War, and Peace in the Middle East, ed. David Garnham and Mark A. Tessler, Indiana Series in Arab and Islamic Studies (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1995), p. 163. 31. Russett, Grasping the Democratic Peace: Principles for a Post-Cold War World, p. 134. 32. Michael C. Hudson, ‘Democracy and Foreign Policy in the Arab World’, in Democracy, War, and Peace in the Middle East, ed. David Garnham and Mark A. Tessler, Indiana Series in Arab and Islamic Studies (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1995), p. 217. 33. Solingen, ‘Toward a Democratic Peace in the Middle East’, p. 58. 34. Benjamin E. Goldsmith, ‘A Universal Proposition? Region, Conflict, War and the Robustness of the Kantian Peace’, European Journal of International Relations, Vol. 12, No. 4 (2006), p. 547. 35. Human Security Centre, Human Security Report 2013: The Decline in Global Violence: Evidence, Explanation, and Contestation (Vancouver, BC: Human Security Report Project, Simon Fraser University, 2014). 36. J. Joseph Hewitt, Jonathan Wilkenfeld, and Ted Robert Gurr, Peace and Conflict 2010 (College Park, MD; Boulder: Center for International Development and Conflict Management, Paradigm Publishers, 2010), p. 22. 37. Lotta Harbom and Peter Wallensteen, ‘Armed Conflicts, 1946– 2008’, Journal Of Peace Research, Vol. 46, No. 4 (2009). 38. Human Security Centre, Human Security Report 2013: The Decline in Global Violence: Evidence, Explanation, and Contestation, p. 82. 39. Freedom House, Freedom in the World Country Ratings 1972– 2013 (Washington, DC: The Freedom House, 2014). 40. The Economist Intelligence Unit, Index of Democracy 2012 (London: The Economist, 2013). 41. Monty G. Marshall and Keith Jaggers, Polity Iv Project: Political Regime Characteristics and Transitions, 1800– 2008. Version P4v2007d [Computer File], (College Park, MD: Center for International Development and Conflict Management, University of Maryland, 2010). 42. Monty G. Marshall and Ted Robert Gurr, Peace and Conflict 2005: A Global Survey of Armed Conflicts, Self-Determination Movements, and Democracy (College Park, MD: Center for International Development and Conflict Management, 2005), p. 42. 43. Jarrod Hayes, ‘Review Article: The Democratic Peace and the New Evolution of an Old Idea’, European Journal of International Relations (2011), p. 770. 44. Beck, Katz, and Tucker, ‘Taking Time Seriously: Time-Series-Cross-Section Analysis with a Binary Dependent Variable’. Following Dafoe’s (Allan Dafoe, ‘Statistical Critiques of the Democratic Peace: Caveat Emptor’, American Journal of Political Science, Vol. 55, No. 2 (2011)) critique of Gratzke’s (Erik Gartzke, ‘The Capitalist Peace’, American Journal of Political Science, Vol. 51, No. 1 (2007)) findings, I also include a ‘peace-years’ variable, which counts the length

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45.

46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54.

55.

56. 57.

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of the spell of peace preceding the current observation (Beck, Katz, and Tucker, ‘Taking Time Seriously: Time-Series-Cross-Section Analysis with a Binary Dependent Variable’, p. 1276). Since ‘fixed effects’ methods are generally considered impractical and unreliable for this line of research (Dafoe, ‘Statistical Critiques of the Democratic Peace: Caveat Emptor’) and since one of our prime variables of interest (MENA) is a binary variable that does not vary over time, I did not test for it. John R. Oneal and Bruce Russett, ‘The Kantian Peace: The Pacific Benefits of Democracy, Interdependence, and International Organizations, 1885–1992’, World Politics, Vol. 52, No. 1 (1999); Oneal and Russett, ‘Clear and Clean: The Fixed Effects of the Liberal Peace’, p. 475. Cederman, Hug, and Krebs, ‘Democratization and Civil War: Empirical Evidence’, p. 377. Shawn Treier and Simon Jackman, ‘Democracy as a Latent Variable’, American Journal of Political Science, Vol. 52, No. 1 (2008), p. 201. James Raymond Vreeland, ‘The Effect of Political Regime on Civil War: Unpacking Anocracy’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, Vol. 52, No. 3 (2008). Lotta Themne´r and Peter Wallensteen, ‘Armed Conflict, 1946– 2010’, Journal of Peace Research, Vol. 48, No. 4 (2011). Stockemer, ‘Regime Type and Civil War – a Re-Evaluation of the Inverted U-Relationship’, p. 270. Here I follow Stockemer’s decision to test for incidence of intrastate wars rather than onsets of such wars. Beck, Katz, and Tucker, ‘Taking Time Seriously: Time-Series-Cross-Section Analysis with a Binary Dependent Variable’, p. 1270. For further details, see the supplemental data and the original datasets by Stockemer, ‘Regime Type and Civil War – a Re-Evaluation of the Inverted U-Relationship’, p. 265. Beck, Katz, and Tucker, ‘Taking Time Seriously: Time-Series-Cross-Section Analysis with a Binary Dependent Variable’; Oneal and Russett, ‘Clear and Clean: The Fixed Effects of the Liberal Peace’; Oneal and Russett, ‘The Kantian Peace: The Pacific Benefits of Democracy, Interdependence, and International Organizations, 1885– 1992’, p. 22. The control variables’ effects remain the same whether or not controlling for MENA. Only the GDP, GDP per capita, small state, and ethnic groups variables have consistent and significant effect on the likelihood of civil war. The interaction term in Table 1.2 is less significant (0.1 level), but this result still supports the conclusion that the relation between intrastate wars and democracy is positive in MENA states. Imre Lakatos, ‘Falsification and the Methodology of Scientific Research Programmes’, in Criticism and the Growth of Knowledge, ed. Imre Lakatos and Alan Musgrave (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), p. 116. Edward D. Mansfield and Jack Snyder, ‘Pathways to War in Democratic Transitions’, International Organization, Vol. 63, No. 2 (2009), p. 381.

40 58. 59. 60. 61.

62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73.

74. 75. 76.

77.

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Ibid., p. 383. Ibid. Mansfield and Snyder, Electing to Fight: Why Emerging Democracies Go to War, p. 2. Burcu Savun and Daniel C. Tirone, ‘Foreign Aid, Democratization, and Civil Conflict: How Does Democracy Aid Affect Civil Conflict?’, American Journal of Political Science (2011); Tamara Cofman Wittes, Freedom’s Unsteady March: America’s Role in Building Arab Democracy (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press, 2008). Edward D. Mansfield and Jack Snyder, ‘The Sequencing “Fallacy”’, Journal of Democracy, Vol. 18, No. 3 (2007), p. 5. Mansfield and Snyder, ‘Pathways to War in Democratic Transitions’, p. 260. Thomas Carothers, ‘Misunderstanding Gradualism’, Journal of Democracy, Vol. 18, No. 3 (2007): 19 – 20; Thomas Carothers, ‘The “Sequencing” Fallacy’, Journal of Democracy, Vol. 18, No. 1 (2007). Narang and Nelson, ‘Who Are These Belligerent Democratizers? Reassessing the Impact of Democratization on War’, p. 360. Bernard Yack, Nationalism and the Moral Psychology of Community (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012). Benjamin Miller, States, Nations, and the Great Powers: The Sources of Regional War and Peace (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007). Dankwart A. Rustow, ‘Transitions to Democracy: Toward a Dynamic Model’, Comparative Politics, Vol. 2, No. 3 (1970), p. 350. Mansfield and Snyder, Electing to Fight: Why Emerging Democracies Go to War, p. 4. Ibid., p. 3. Dankwart A. Rustow, ‘Democracy: A Global Revolution?’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 69, No. 4 (1990), p. 82. Ibid., p. 84. Tarak Barkawi and Mark Laffey, eds, Democracy, Liberalism, and War: Rethinking the Democratic Peace Debate, Critical Security Studies (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2001) Tarak Barkawi and Mark Laffey, ‘The Imperial Peace: Democracy, Force and Globalization’, European Journal of International Relations, Vol. 5, No. 4 (1999), p. 413. John A. Agnew and Stuart Corbridge, Mastering Space: Hegemony, Territory and International Political Economy (New York: Routledge, 1995), p. 94. Barkawi and Laffey, ‘The Imperial Peace: Democracy, Force and Globalization’, p. 414. Neta C. Crawford, ‘A Security Regime among Democracies: Cooperation among Iroquois Nations’, International Organization Vol. 48, No. 3 (1994); Carol R. Ember, Melvin Ember, and Bruce Russett, ‘Peace between Participatory Polities: A Cross-Cultural Test of The “Democracies Rarely Fight Each Other” Hypothesis’, World Politics, Vol. 44, No. 4 (1992). Minorities at Risk Project, Minorities at Risk Organizational Behavior Dataset (College Park, MD: Center for International Development and Conflict Management, 2008).

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78. Gil Friedman, ‘Identifying the Place of Democratic Norms in Democratic Peace’, International Studies Review, Vol. 10, No. 3 (2008); John M. Owen, Liberal Peace, Liberal War: American Politics and International Security, Cornell Studies in Security Affairs (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1997). 79. Isaiah Berlin, Liberty: Incorporating Four Essays on Liberty, ed. Henry Hardy and Ian Harris (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002).

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Fearon, James D., and David D. Laitin, ‘Ethnicity, Insurgency, and Civil War’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 97, No. 1 (2003): 75 – 90. Ferejohn, John, and Frances McCall Rosenbluth, ‘Warlike Democracies’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, Vol. 52, No. 1 (2008): 3 – 38. Freedom House, Freedom in the World Country Ratings 1972– 2013 (Washington, DC: The Freedom House, 2014). Friedman, Gil, ‘Identifying the Place of Democratic Norms in Democratic Peace’, International Studies Review, Vol. 10, No. 3 (2008): 548– 70. Gartzke, Erik, ‘The Capitalist Peace’, American Journal of Political Science, Vol. 51, No. 1 (2007): 166– 91. Gause, F. Gregory, ‘Why Middle East Studies Missed the Arab Spring’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 90, No. 4 (2011): 81 – 90. Gibler, Douglas M., The Territorial Peace: Borders, State Development, and International Conflict (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012). Gibler, Douglas M., and Jaroslav Tir, ‘Settled Borders and Regime Type: Democratic Transitions as Consequences of Peaceful Territorial Transfers’, American Journal of Political Science, Vol 54, No. 4 (2010): 951– 68. Gleditsch, Kristian Skrede, All International Politics Is Local: The Diffusion of Conflict, Integration, and Democratization (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2002). Goldsmith, Benjamin E, ‘A Universal Proposition? Region, Conflict, War and the Robustness of the Kantian Peace’, European Journal of International Relations, Vol. 12, No. 4 (2006): 533– 63. Harbom, Lotta, and Peter Wallensteen, ‘Armed Conflicts, 1946 –2008’, Journal of Peace Research, Vol. 46, No. 4 (2009): 577– 87. Hayes, Jarrod, ‘Review Article: The Democratic Peace and the New Evolution of an Old Idea’, European Journal of International Relations (2011). Hegre, Ha˚vard, Tanja Ellingsen, Scott Gates, and Nils P. Gleditsch, ‘Toward a Democratic Civil Peace? Democracy, Political Change, and Civil War, 1816– 1992’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 95, No. 1 (2001): 33 – 48. Hegre, Ha˚vard, and Nicholas Sambanis, ‘Sensitivity Analysis of Empirical Results on Civil War Onset’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, Vol. 50, No. 4 (2006): 508–35. Hewitt, J. Joseph, Jonathan Wilkenfeld, and Ted Robert Gurr, Peace and Conflict 2010 (College Park, MD; Boulder: Center for International Development and Conflict Management, Paradigm Publishers, 2010). Hook, Steven W., ed., Democratic Peace in Theory and Practice, Symposia on Democracy Series (Kent, OH: Kent State University Press, 2010). Hudson, Michael C., ‘Democracy and Foreign Policy in the Arab World’, in Democracy, War, and Peace in the Middle East, ed. David Garnham and Mark A. Tessler (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1995), pp. 195– 222. Human Security Centre, Human Security Report 2013: The Decline in Global Violence: Evidence, Explanation, and Contestation (Vancouver, BC: Human Security Report Project, Simon Fraser University, 2014). Huth, Paul K., and Todd L. Allee, The Democratic Peace and Territorial Conflict in the Twentieth Century, Cambridge Studies in International Relations (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002). Kacowicz, Arie Marcelo, Zones of Peace in the Third World: South America and West Africa in Comparative Perspective, Suny Series in Global Politics (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1998).

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Kant, Immanuel, Pauline Kleingeld, Jeremy Waldron, Michael W. Doyle, and Allen W. Wood, Toward Perpetual Peace and Other Writings on Politics, Peace, and History, Rethinking the Western Tradition (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006). Krain, Matthew, and Marissa Edson Myers, ‘Democracy and Civil War: A Note on the Democratic Peace Proposition’, International Interactions: Empirical and Theoretical Research in International Relations, Vol. 23, No. 1 (1997): 109– 18. Lakatos, Imre, ‘Falsification and the Methodology of Scientific Research Programmes’, in Criticism and the Growth of Knowledge, ed. Imre Lakatos and Alan Musgrave (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), pp. 91–196. Lust-Okar, Ellen, and Saloua Zerhouni, eds, Political Participation in the Middle East (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2008). Maliniak, Daniel, Amy Oakes, Susan Peterson, and Michael J. Tierney, The View from the Ivory Tower: Trip Survey of Ir Faculty in the U.S. And Canada (College of William and Mary: Institute for the Theory and Practice of International Relations, 2007). Maliniak, Daniel, Amy Oakes, Susan Peterson, and Michael J. Tierney, ‘International Relations in the Us Academy’, International Studies Quarterly, Vol. 55, No. 2 (2011): 437– 64. Mansfield, Edward D., and Jack Snyder, ‘Pathways to War in Democratic Transitions’, International Organization, Vol. 63, No. 2 (2009): 381–90. Mansfield, Edward, D., and Jack Snyder, ‘The Sequencing “Fallacy”’, Journal of Democracy, Vol. 18, No. 3 (2007): 5 – 10. Mansfield, Edward D., and Jack L. Snyder, Electing to Fight: Why Emerging Democracies Go to War, Bcsia Studies in International Security (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2005). Maoz, Zeev, ‘Domestic Political Violence, Structural Constraints, and Enduring Rivalries in the Middle East, 1948– 1988’, in Democracy, War, and Peace in the Middle East, ed. David Garnham and Mark A. Tessler (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1995), pp. 170– 94. Marshall, Monty G., and Ted Robert Gurr, Peace and Conflict 2005: A Global Survey of Armed Conflicts, Self-Determination Movements, and Democracy (College Park, MD: Center for International Development and Conflict Management, 2005). Marshall, Monty G., and Keith Jaggers, Polity Iv Project: Political Regime Characteristics and Transitions, 1800 – 2008. Version P4v2007d [Computer File] (College Park, MD: Center for International Development and Conflict Management, University of Maryland, 2010). Miller, Benjamin, States, Nations, and the Great Powers: The Sources of Regional War and Peace (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007). Miller, Steven V., and Douglas M. Gibler, ‘Democracies, Territory, and Negotiated Compromises’, Conflict Management and Peace Science, Vol. 28, No. 3 (2011): 261 – 79. Minorities at Risk Project, Minorities at Risk Organizational Behavior Dataset, (College Park, MD: Center for International Development and Conflict Management, 2008). Narang, Vipin, and Rebecca M. Nelson, ‘Who Are These Belligerent Democratizers? Reassessing the Impact of Democratization on War’, International Organization, Vol. 63, No. 2 (2009): 357–79. Oneal, John R., and Bruce Russett, ‘Clear and Clean: The Fixed Effects of the Liberal Peace’, International Organization, Vol. 55, No. 2 (2001): 469– 85.

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Oneal, John R., and Bruce Russett, ‘The Kantian Peace: The Pacific Benefits of Democracy, Interdependence, and International Organizations, 1885– 1992’, World Politics, Vol. 52, No. 1 (1999): 1 – 37. Owen, John M., Liberal Peace, Liberal War: American Politics and International Security, Cornell Studies in Security Affairs (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1997). Rapoport, David C., and Leonard Weinberg, eds, The Democratic Experience and Political Violence, Cass Series on Political Violence (London; Portland, OR: F. Cass, 2001). Rasler, Karen A., and William R. Thompson, Puzzles of the Democratic Peace: Theory, Geopolitics, and the Transformation of World Politics (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005). Ray, James Lee, Democracy and International Conflict: An Evaluation of the Democratic Peace Proposition, Studies in International Relations (Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press, 1995). Rummel, R. J., ‘Democracies Are Less Warlike Than Other Regimes’, European Journal of International Relations, Vol. 1, No. 4 (1995): 457–79. ——— ‘Libertarian Propositions on Violence within and between Nations’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, Vol. 29, No. 3 (1985): 419– 55. ——— ‘Libertarianism, Violence within States, and the Polarity Principle’, Comparative Politics, Vol. 16, No. 4 (1984): 443– 62. Russett, Bruce M., Grasping the Democratic Peace: Principles for a Post-Cold War World (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993). Rustow, Dankwart A., ‘Democracy: A Global Revolution?’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 69, No. 4 (1990): 75 – 91. ——— ‘Transitions to Democracy: Toward a Dynamic Model’, Comparative Politics, Vol. 2, No. 3 (1970): 337– 63. Saikal, Amin, and Albrecht Schnabel, eds, Democratization in the Middle East: Experiences, Struggles, Challenges, The Changing Nature of Democracy (Tokyo: United Nations University Press, 2003). Sandeep, Baliga, Lucca David, and Sjostrom Tomas, ‘Domestic Political Survival and International Conflict: Is Democracy Good for Peace?’ (Illinois: Kellogg School of Management, Northwestern University, 2009). Savun, Burcu, and Daniel C. Tirone, ‘Foreign Aid, Democratization, and Civil Conflict: How Does Democracy Aid Affect Civil Conflict?’, American Journal of Political Science (2011). Schlumberger, Oliver, ed., Debating Arab Authoritarianism: Dynamics and Durability in Nondemocratic Regimes (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2007). Snyder, Jack L., From Voting to Violence: Democratization and Nationalist Conflict, 1st edn (New York: Norton, 2000). Solingen, Etel, ‘Toward a Democratic Peace in the Middle East’, in Democratization in the Middle East: Experiences, Struggles, Challenges, ed. Amin Saikal and Albrecht Schnabel (Tokyo: United Nations University Press, 2003), pp. 42– 62. Springborg, Robert, ‘The Middle East’s Democracy Gap: Causes and Consequences’, Brown Journal of World Affairs, Vol. 13, No. 2 (2007): 233–45. Stockemer, Daniel, ‘Regime Type and Civil War – a Re-Evaluation of the Inverted U-Relationship’, Global Change, Peace & Security, Vol. 22, No. 3 (2010): 261– 74. Tessler, Mark, and Marilyn Grobschmith, ‘Democracy in the Arab World and the Arab – Israeli Conflict’, in Democracy, War, and Peace in the Middle East, ed. David

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Garnham and Mark A. Tessler (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1995), pp. 135– 69. The Economist Intelligence Unit, Index of Democracy 2012 (London: The Economist, 2013). Themne´r, Lotta, and Peter Wallensteen, ‘Armed Conflict, 1946 –2010’, Journal of Peace Research, Vol. 48, No. 4 (2011): 525– 36. Treier, Shawn, and Simon Jackman, ‘Democracy as a Latent Variable’, American Journal of Political Science, Vol. 52, No. 1 (2008): 201– 17. Vreeland, James Raymond, ‘The Effect of Political Regime on Civil War: Unpacking Anocracy’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, Vol. 52, No. 3 (2008): 401 – 25. Weart, Spencer R., Never at War: Why Democracies Will Not Fight One Another (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998). Wittes, Tamara Cofman, Freedom’s Unsteady March: America’s Role in Building Arab Democracy (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press, 2008). Yack, Bernard, Nationalism and the Moral Psychology of Community (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012).

CHAPTER 2 THE END OF MILITARY TUTELAGE IN TURKEY AND THE RE-MAKING OF TURKISH FOREIGN POLICY UNDER THE AKP Og˘uzhan Go¨ksel

An apt way of describing this role is by appropriating what has been famously pronounced about the Prussian army in the eighteenth century: where some states have an army, the Turkish army has a state. The army, as the founder of the state, and guardian of its official ideology, Kemalism, has created what is often termed by commentators a ‘system of tutelage’ comparable to the mullah trusteeship order in the neighbouring Iran, velayet-e faqih.1 Foreign policy-making of states has been argued to display broad patterns that shape the approach of successive governments regardless of their party ideology.2 Until the last decade, Turkey was an archetype of such states. Different governments had weaved their signature into the tapestry of foreign affairs, but the ‘grand vision’ of being part of the Western civilization had long been a consistency of Turkish political life since the time of Kemal Atatu¨rk, the founder of the Republic. Starting from the 1920s, the secularist approach of Kemalist ideology had turned Turkey’s face towards the West, largely ignoring the Middle East as a

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‘backward’ region, its barren landscape symbolic of a history the new Turkey was content to leave behind. The Kemalist ideals, followed by the bureaucratic and military elites, continued to influence Turkish foreign policy long after Atatu¨rk’s death. The army took on the role of chaperone, seizing parliament in coup d’e´tats whenever it appeared that politicians were veering away from the Kemalist direction, while the bureaucratic elite kept a strict control over the Foreign Ministry, effectively constraining the decision-making of democratically elected governments. A key deficit of Turkish democracy had traditionally been the extraordinary influence of the military in politics unseen in consolidated liberal democracies. Throughout the Cold War, Turkey followed a mainly noninterventionist foreign policy towards the Middle East, but collaborated with its NATO allies during periods of a crisis; a stance that inevitably pitted Turkey against anti-Western Arab republics such as Nasserite Egypt and Iraq. The precepts of the Kemalist foreign policy had until then not been challenged by mainstream parties, but rather by radical groups such as Islamists and ultra-nationalists, far removed from centres of political power. Conventional foreign policy was deeply shaken by the tremors of the Cold War ending, yet its roots had run deep within the state institutions and it managed to survive. Turkish society, however, soon entered a period of seismic transformation as pluralism was sprouting at an unprecedented level through the political and economic liberalization process initiated in the late 1980s. The victory of the social conservative (or Muslim democrat) Justice and Development Party (abbreviated JDP or AKP in Turkish) in the 2002 parliamentary elections signalled the beginning of a new era for Turkish politics. The AKP rule has resulted in a dramatic decline for the role of the military in politics. The democratic reforms, increasing legitimacy of the AKP in the country, and the ongoing, heavily publicized investigations of alleged coup attempts against the government have been the main factors that eliminated the military tutelage in Turkey. Turkey’s traditional foreign policy was completely changed over the last decade as the AKP adopted an increasingly interventionist foreign policy in the Middle East. It emerged victorious in one election after another and stamped its own authority on the foreign policy direction. This new foreign policy was evident in Turkey’s increasing interest in regional affairs such as the Israeli– Palestinian

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conflict and vocal support for the 2011 Arab uprisings that triggered a civil war in Syria and resulted in regime changes in Tunisia, Egypt and Libya. Heated debates began to be initiated concerning Turkey’s search for a new role in the Middle East. Turkey’s new pro-Arab stance and interventionism has attracted much interest from the media and academia, and this has been widely interpreted as a sign of Turkey shifting allegiances. As a result of the new foreign policy, Turkey’s military alliance with Israel has been severely affected, with Tel-Aviv beginning to perceive its former ally as part of an anti-Israeli league led by Iran. The military elite of the Turkish armed forces was traditionally the key Kemalist force that had been influential in the making of Turkish foreign policy. Due to military tutelage, the ability of democratically elected governments had been severely constrained by the Kemalists. As defined by its 1982 constitution, Turkey is a parliamentary democracy governed in accordance with the principle of a separation of powers. As such, the constitution envisages the democratically elected parliament to form the legislative branch, with the Constitutional Court forming the judicial branch. The executive branch consists of the council of ministers and its leader, the prime minister. The head of the state is thus the president who is de jure part of the executive branch, yet in practice, the position is of symbolic value rather than actual effect in foreign policy-making. As Turkey has been a parliamentary democracy for several decades now, the main authority in foreign policy-making should have been the government, yet due to the deficiency in the practice of democracy in the country, the Kemalists were able to act as the key determinant of foreign policy-making. Nevertheless, the AKP has been successful in eliminating the extra-judicial influence of Kemalist military in the last decade; the power of foreign policy-making passing to the AKP which has dominated both the parliament and the government since 2002. This chapter focuses on how and why the Turkish foreign policy has changed since the Muslim democrat AKP came to power. The shift in Turkish foreign policy has had its most dramatic impact on Turkish – Israeli relations as the military alliance of the 1990s was replaced with increasing hostility between the two countries. As a result, Turkish – Israeli relations will be used as the primary case study for demonstrating the change in Turkish foreign policy.

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The first section discusses the reasons behind the change as the transformation of Turkish foreign policy has been a complex process that can only be comprehended through a multidimensional analysis. The second section focuses on how the new foreign policy has affected Turkish – Israeli relations. The study of the change in Turkish foreign policy and the approach of the AKP will shed light on how the democratization process in predominantly Muslim societies can impact policy-making and shape the international relations of a country. The applicability of the democratic peace theory (DPT) for Turkish foreign policy under the Muslim democrats will be a key issue that will be discussed throughout the work.

The Transformation of Turkish Foreign Policy This section tracks the process leading up to the radical change in Turkish foreign policy and argues that the policy shift emerged as a result of the victory of Muslim democrat AKP against the Kemalist elite. The grasp of power in the Turkish political scene has been a subtle process as the hegemony of the new AKP elite in domestic and foreign policy-making has increased over the years, while the influence of the Kemalists in bureaucracy, military and media has waned. The analysis of the radical change is followed by an evaluation of the new foreign policy based on the so-called ‘Davutog˘lu Doctrine’; namely the worldview of the AKP’s foreign minister Ahmet Davutog˘lu.

The Democratization Process and the Struggle for Power: Kemalists versus Muslim Democrats In Turkey, the president conventionally does not possess influence on foreign policy-making, yet the 1990s was a major exception in this regard. In the early 1990s, Turkish foreign policy was dominated by the ¨ zal who was able to exercise indirect popular president Turgut O influence on policy-making due to the hegemony of his party, the ANAP (Motherland Party) in the parliament and government. ANAP chairman ¨ zal to and prime minister Yıldırım Akbulut was personally selected by O ¨ zal in replace him once he became president. Following the death of O 1993, however, a power vacuum emerged in Turkish foreign policymaking due to the weakness of unstable and short-lived coalition governments. The Kemalist military gradually filled this gap and soon

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began to completely shape foreign policy in the late 1990s; however the country was undergoing radical transformations, with new actors in political life rapidly rising in influence. Domestic problems such as the increasingly mobilized Kurdish minority, rising economic inequality, expanding slums in large cities, and the alienation of the economically disenfranchised masses from mainstream political parties paved the way for the rise of a new political party, the Islamist RP (Welfare Party) in the 1990s. The inequality in wealth distribution contributed to the victory of Islamists as in the immediate post-Cold War years, as the social democratic centre-left parties were losing touch with the large masses of ‘have-nots’ in the country. The RP began to fill the political gap left by the absence of centre-left parties with a well-organized grassroots campaign, reflecting the widespread opposition to mainstream political parties in the country. An influential young member of the RP, Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an was elected mayor of Istanbul in the 1994 municipal elections, marking the first major electoral victory of political Islam in Turkey. This was shortly followed by the 1995 parliamentary elections in which the RP won more than 20% of the total votes and emerged as the first party, forming a coalition government with the liberal DYP (True Path Party). As the democratization process continued to intensify due to political reforms required to start Turkey’s EU (European Union) accession process in the 1990s, the once banned and ostracized political Islam began to assert itself in Turkish politics. A struggle to determine foreign policy-making between Kemalists and Islamists soon became apparent.3 There were profound ideological differences between the two groups in terms of their perception of key foreign policy issues such as relations with Europe, the US, Israel, and the Muslim world. Initially, it seemed as if the Kemalists were going to prevail as the RP-led coalition government was forced to resign in 1997 by a coalition of the military elite, Constitutional Court, and secularist media, but the popularity of political Islam could not be stopped for too long. In the early 2000s, a more moderate albeit more popular form of Islamism emerged with the formation of the AKP, founded by a reformist faction of the RP and led by Erdog˘an, the ex-mayor of Istanbul. Beginning from their first election campaign in 2001, the AKP leadership has refused to use the label ‘Islamist’ due to its potentially negative connotations, instead using ‘conservative democrats’ to denote the ideology of the party.

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Influential party leaders such as Erdog˘an and Abdullah Gu¨l have continuously stated the dedication of the party to democratic values and secularism, downplaying the Islamist ideology, and managing to build a hybrid identity for the AKP often referred to by observers as ‘Muslim democrats’. The AKP has dominated Turkish politics since their victory in 2002 when the party was able to win three successive elections with increasing percentages of votes over time, reaching approximately 50% in the most recent parliamentary elections held in June 2011. As Turkey continued to pursue ties with the EU in the 1990s and 2000s, substantial political reforms were required by Brussels to start negotiations for full membership. The EU reform process initiated a profound political transformation in Turkish politics. A key turning point for the role of the military was the democratization reforms required as part of Turkey’s accession process. After the EU confirmed the candidacy of Turkey for full membership into the organization in 1999, it presented the Turkish parliament with a list of reforms called the ‘accession partnership document’. The implementation of these political reforms was the precondition for Turkey’s EU membership, with the most critical reform expected from Turkey being in regards to the role of the military. Even though their political influence would be steadily decreased, the Kemalist elite in the military supported the EU membership process. It was envisaged that reforms in the Turkish legal and political system would increase the authority of elected governments over the military. A distinguished scholar of Turkish foreign policy, Philip Robins argues that the pro-European foreign policy had been pursued ‘desperately’ because of the secular Kemalist elite’s reluctance to admit defeat as they faced a rising resurgence of Islam in the 1990s.4 Other scholars explain the rationale behind the military’s voluntary relinquishment of power as their will to finalize the modernization of the country by gaining full membership to the EU and formally joining the Western civilization, a goal that was set by Kemal Atatu¨rk.5 Until the last decade, the military has had a strong base of control in Turkey’s civilian affairs which was gained through military interventions in 1960, 1971, 1980 and 1997. The main source of military tutelage was the ‘National Security Council’ (NSC) which was initially created to serve as an advisory body to elected governments, but evolved into an ‘instructing’ institution after the 1980 coup. Article 118 of the 1982

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constitution had established the NSC as a highly influential institution that could shape policy-making. The NSC was comprised of six topranking officers from the military and five ministers from the elected government, thereby enabling the military to have the majority vote in meetings. Although its official role was to advise the government on issues concerning national security, it went much further in practice as civilian politicians often merely signed programmes prepared by the military elite even on issues unrelated to military affairs such as national education and economy. In effect, the military had become ‘a state within the state’, able to act above the elected institutions. The authority of the military elite was so absolute that the memorandum given to the Islamist prime minister Necmettin Erbakan during an NSC meeting in 1997 eventually led to the downfall of the government. Shortly after it came to power, the AKP built on the democratization packages initiated by the preceding coalition government of Prime Minister Bu¨lent Ecevit in order to harmonize Turkey’s legal system with EU standards. The party rapidly accelerated the pace of the democratization drive in order to gain the support of Western European countries, legitimizing the Turkish regime in their eyes.6 The early willingness of the AKP to undertake all the required reforms for the EU membership led observers to associate the party with ‘Europhilia’.7 The AKP’s initial enthusiasm for democratization should be sought in the party’s expected outcome of the process; namely, the elimination of military influence over civilian policy-making.8 The EU harmonization packages entailed a number of democratic reforms such as limiting the influence of the NSC on policy-making, and recognizing the ‘supremacy of the European Court of Human Rights over domestic jurisdiction’.9 The reforms of 2003 (implemented right after the AKP’s victory in the 2002 elections) increased the ratio of civilian membership in the NSC and brought its secretariat under civilian control, altogether removing the military’s role from Turkey’s political affairs. The military could thus not object to any of these changes due to concerns regarding Turkey’s EU membership process. If the military were to be seen as directly influencing the policy-making process, the EU membership process could have been negatively affected. As a result, this led to a dilemma for the Turkish military as membership was seen as necessary to become part of the European civilization – an old objective of Kemalism – yet it was also known that the reforms would necessitate the military taking a backseat in

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Turkish politics. The military remained sceptical about the willingness of the EU to grant Turkey full membership, yet EU membership was seen as the ultimate stage of Atatu¨rk’s Westernization programme, preventing most elements of the military from overtly questioning the democratization reforms. Paradoxically, the key goal of its own Kemalist ideology ‘entrapped’ the military in a dilemma of either abiding by the reforms process for the EU membership process and losing its influence over decision-making, or alternatively, maintaining its influence and risking membership in the EU. It is also important to note that the popularity of the Kemalist military dramatically dropped in the last decade as free debates within Turkish media and academia led to a re-questioning of the legitimacy of the 1980 and 1997 military interventions, resulting in widespread criticism of the military’s continuing role in Turkish politics.10 Especially after the emergence of the Ergenekon and Balyoz cases, alleged coup attempts by senior military officers, an anti-military wave shook the country, best reflected in one prominent columnist’s article published in the most popular newspaper of the country, Zaman.11 In his controversial article, Mu¨mtaz’er Tu¨rko¨ne argued that the army should be disbanded and formed into a new ‘people’s army’, claiming that the Kemalist military elite had become a ‘troublemaker’, preventing the transition to an advanced democracy.12 After the successive victories of the AKP in the 2007 and 2011 parliamentary elections, the military lost its early zeal for confrontation with the government, and has adopted a compromising and passive stance, particularly since the non¨ zel was appointed by Prime interventionist Chief of Staff Necdet O Minister Erdog˘an to this once-influential position. Since 2002, the role of the parliament in checking the AKP administration has remained very limited as more than half the seats have consistently been dominated by the AKP while the opposition is still highly fragmented, consisting of three parties with radically different ideologies that experience great difficulty in forming a united bloc against the AKP; namely the secularist CHP (Republican People’s Party), the Turkish ultra-nationalist MHP (Nationalist Action Party), and the Kurdish nationalist BDP (Peace and Democracy Party). By 2007, there existed only three institutions that could potentially check and balance the executive power of the AKP administration: the presidency, the military and the judiciary. Until that year, all three were

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controlled by the political rivals of the AKP as a well-known Kemalist ex-judge, Ahmet Necdet Sezer, was the president. As a result, the military was able to impact policy-making and the judiciary which have also acted in unison with the military via utilizing the authority of the Constitutional Court. As analysed earlier, the military tutelage came to an end in 2007 as a result of the democratization reforms and the deterioration of the military’s reputation itary. In 2007, Kemalist president Sezer’s term ended, leaving the election of the next president in the hands of a parliament dominated by the AKP. Due to the perception of the presidency as part of the checks and balances system of containing the power of the AKP, the Kemalists had strongly protested against the election of an AKP member to the position, viewing this as a move to monopolize the state.13 The opposition to the presidency of former foreign minister from the AKP, Abdullah Gu¨l, was the rationale behind the ‘Republican Demonstrations’ against the AKP administration (Cumhuriyet Mitingleri) of 2007. In spite of this, the AKP proved successful in electing Abdullah Gu¨l to the presidency in the second round of votes in the parliament. The office of presidency is largely one of symbolic value rather than actual authority, yet it is important to note that the president has a limited veto power over the law-making of the parliament. If the president vetoes a law, however, the implementation of the law is merely delayed as opposed to cancelled. The Kemalist president Sezer used this limited veto power several times between 2002 and 2007 in order to delay the implementation of various policies by the AKP. With the election of Abdullah Gu¨l to the position, the AKP was finally able to eliminate this limited extra-judicial check on its policy-making. Subsequent to this, the military imposed on the AKP government and newly elected President Abdullah Gu¨l a Constitutional Court which assumed the role of balancing the AKP government. In liberal democratic countries, the main role of Constitutional Courts is to protect citizens against the actions of the executive branch, and to supervise the actions of the government in terms of their compatibility with the constitution. In the Turkish case, the Constitutional Court played a different role. The Kemalist military’s closest ally within the state had long been the Constitutional Court which had adopted a similar state-centred stance and dedicated itself to protecting the official Kemalist ideology of containing the Islamists.14

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The Constitutional Court and the military had established close informal links with one another due to ideological affinity, and cooperated against the AKP government in an attempt to contain its executive powers. Both institutions possessed considerable autonomy from the control of elected governments, resulting in them being able to act against elected governments as seen with the coup of 1997. In 2008, the Constitutional Court accused the AKP administration of being a centre of anti-secular activities; the party barely managed to escape closure due to the absence of majority vote in the court. The failed attempt of the Constitutional Court to ban the party convinced the AKP of the need to change the structure and role of this institution through a constitutional amendment referendum in order to eliminate the influence of this ‘last bastion’ of Kemalism in the country. In 2010, the constitutional referendum prepared by the AKP for the purpose of increasing the authority of the government over the Constitutional Court was approved by the voters, bringing a final end to the tutelage of Kemalists over elected governments. It is important to note that the referendum had actually violated the principle of separation of powers in Turkey by resulting in the government acquiring an extraordinary amount of influence over the selection of judges to the main agent of judiciary, the Constitutional Court. Today, it is clear that the hegemony of the old Kemalist elite has finally come to an end and they have been replaced by a new political elite with a different worldview. The Turkish case of democratization highlights how the influence of the military can be curbed and minimized through the impact of an external factor – the membership process to the EU – in authoritarian regimes or illiberal democracies. As analysed above, a study of the Turkish foreign policy-making experience reveals that the Turkish case does not effectively reflect the tenets of democratic peace theory (DPT). Before the military tutelage was eliminated in accordance with the requirements of the EU accession process, foreign policy-making in Turkey was entirely controlled by the military, and its authority could not be checked by democratically elected institutions such as the parliament or the government. As such, Turkish democracy suffered from a major deficiency in the practice of policy-making by democratic institutions. Thus, in the pre-2007 era prior to the implementation of EU reform packages, the DPT could not be applicable to the Turkish case as

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institutions that were accountable to citizens could not actually shape the foreign policy direction of the country. The reforms that were implemented by the AKP have removed the extraordinary influence possessed by the military, but rather than resulting positively on democratization though the policy-making power being diffused between the parliament, the government and the Constitutional Court that respectively form the legislative, executive and judicial branches of the state, the authority effectively passed to the AKP chairman and prime minister Erdog˘an. The ‘Political Parties Law’ of Turkey provides excessive powers to party leaders as they are capable of selecting all the members of parliament from their parties as well as being able to install supporters in all the influential positions of the party such as the executive committees and party congresses. As a result, party leaders are able to completely monopolize power within the party without having to face any noteworthy opposition to their actions. As Prime Minister Erdog˘an possesses complete hegemony over the AKP as its chairman in addition to the government and the parliament dominated by his party, there are no checks and balances to contain his authority in policy-making. Once a fellow party member, Abdullah Gu¨l, was elected to presidency in 2007, the limited check of the presidency was also removed. The 2010 referendum effectively subjugated the Constitutional Court to the government, neutralizing the final check on Erdog˘an’s authority. As such, the DPT is also not applicable to the post2007 period of Turkish politics as the country merely shifted from military tutelage to the unlimited hegemony of the prime minister while the essential basis for the consolidation of liberal democracy – the separation of powers – has not been established. In this context, the main insight that can be drawn from the Turkish case for the scholarly literature on DPT is that in order for democratic peace to be effectively established between democratic states in the international political system, the successful implementation of the separation of powers is a key prerequisite. An aspiring democracy that incessantly violates the principle of the separation of powers cannot possibly be considered as a consolidated liberal democratic regime and the DPT cannot be realized under such circumstances. In the following section, the dramatic change in the direction of Turkish foreign policy under the AKP rule will be analysed.

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The ‘Davutog˘lu Doctrine’ and the New Foreign Policy in Action Particularly after the AKP acquired full control over policy-making after 2007, Turkish foreign policy experienced a radical change as the AKP’s stance on issues such as the Arab–Israeli conflict and relations with Western countries and neighbours such as Syria and Iran indicated a clear divergence from conventional Kemalist thinking. The emphasis put on relations with the EU and the US significantly decreased while Turkey began to develop strong ties with many other countries and regions, especially the Middle East. The departure from Kemalist approach is so evident that one scholar defined the new Turkish foreign policy as ‘counter-revolutionary’.15 Ahmet Davutog˘lu, an influential member of the AKP, has been steering Turkey’s direction according to his ‘strategic depth doctrine’ since 2002, initially as the chief foreign policy advisor to Prime Minister Erdog˘an and since 2009 as the foreign minister. Davutog˘lu’s doctrine, described in his work Stratejik Derinlik (Strategic Depth), is based on a multi-dimensional foreign policy that has its ideological roots in the Ottoman Islamic legacy of Turkey.16 According to Davutog˘lu, Turkey is not merely a ‘bridge’ between Western and Eastern civilizations, but rather a ‘central country’ in Eurasia, geographically and culturally located at the ‘heart’ of the world.17 Davutog˘lu argues that Turkey should follow a pro-active foreign policy in its surrounding areas, in order to ensure its own security, and preserve regional stability.18 In his works, Davutog˘lu strongly criticizes the conventional foreign policy of Kemalists, a view that has been reflected in the radical change under his leadership. He argues that any foreign policy centred on only one dimension such as the pro-Western foreign policy prevents Turkey from becoming a major power and leads to dependency on other states such as the US.19 Despite the growing hostility between Turkey and the Assad regime of Syria following the Syrian uprisings of 2011, the most radical change seen in Turkish foreign policy under the AKP administration was the development of good relations with Iran and Syria which were traditionally viewed as regional rivals and historic enemies by the Kemalists. The main reason behind Turkey’s tension with Iran in the 1990s was the constructed image of the country as a regime dedicated to spreading its own brand of Islamic revolution to Turkey.20 This perception can be attributed to the ideological convictions of the

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Kemalist elite who perceived Tehran as the arch-enemy in a conflict that pitted secular Turkey against Islamist Iran. The problems with Syria in the 1990s were territorial as disputes concerned the possession of the Hatay province, currently under the sovereignty of Turkey, and the control over the Euphrates river basin. Nevertheless, the scale of problems was over-estimated due to the security-oriented perception of the Kemalist elite. In the last decade, this foreign policy had drastically changed after the AKP came to power. Turkey started to pursue rapprochement with Syria in 2005, culminating in a series of official visits between leaders, and the establishment of good relations, in addition to intensifying trade and economic ties.21 Turkey’s relations with Syria, however, rapidly deteriorated with the outbreak of the civil war between the Assad regime and the rebels as the Turkish government decided to support the latter against Damascus. In spite of this, the AKP’s interest in the affairs of its southern neighbour continues, an approach that distinguishes the new foreign policy vis-a`-vis the old Kemalist policy of regional isolationism. All these divergences from the Kemalist foreign policy may lead some to conclude that the new Turkish foreign policy is purely pragmatic, as argued by scholars such as Danforth.22 This argument, however, overlooks elements of the new policy which demonstrate that it is, to some extent, still shaped by an ideologically charged worldview. Davutog˘lu’s ‘zero problems with neighbors policy’ has been rather selective in practice as the foreign policy change seems to be primarily focused on building strong ties with Middle Eastern Muslim nations over aiming to resolve ongoing problems in relations with nonMuslim neighbours such as Greece or Armenia.23 Moreover, the AKP displays a tendency to support Islamist political groups such as Hamas rather than secular Muslim organizations such as the official Palestinian Authority.24 The ideological roots of the new foreign policy can be traced to the writings of its architect Davutog˘lu as he argued that the role of the Muslim world within the international system is increasing in spite of the fact that most Muslim countries have been suffering from widespread poverty and acute instability.25 Much like the Western-minded Kemalist elite who believed that being part of the Western civilization was Turkey’s ‘manifest destiny’, the new elite perceives Turkey as the leader of the Islamic world and a ‘reincarnation’ of the old Ottoman Empire.26 Modern Turkey’s role is

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perceived as assuming leadership of Islamic nations, and leading them toward a new ‘golden age’ of development and prosperity. In the early years of its rule from 2002 to 2007, the authority of the AKP over foreign policy-making was constrained by the military, reducing the party’s ability to put its vision into practice. As a result, the AKP appeared as a strong supporter of the EU accession process in this period which can be attributed to the envisaged outcome of the process: the elimination of the military tutelage through political reforms required for Turkey’s accession into the EU. Once the reforms were implemented and the influence of the military had weakened, however, the early pro-EU foreign policy of the AKP changed. Indeed, the party shifted the focus of its international relations toward building ties across the Middle East and increased Turkey’s role with active involvement into major regional political disputes such as the Israeli – Palestinian conflict, the nuclear programme of Iran and the 2011 uprisings in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya and Syria. In light of this radical change seen in the foreign policy outlook of the AKP over the years which has accompanied its increasing hegemony over policy-making, it can be argued that the party had long aspired to pursue a pro-active policy in the Middle East but supported the EU accession process in its early years in order to free itself from military tutelage. The analysis of relations with Israel in the next section will further reveal the characteristics of the new foreign policy directed by Muslim democrats in Turkey.

The Impact of the New Turkish Foreign Policy on Turkish –Israeli Relations Among the changes that have occurred in Turkey’s foreign relations, arguably the most dramatic shift has been witnessed in Turkish –Israeli relations. In the late 1990s, the Turkish –Israeli entente had become an important component of the regional political system in the Middle East after the two countries signed a series of military and economic cooperation agreements. However, the entente was short-lived as the bilateral relations had begun to deteriorate after the AKP came to power. Especially in the last few years, the relationship has completely collapsed and the former allies have become increasingly hostile to each other.

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In this section, the relationship in the 1990s will be compared with the approach of the AKP towards Israel.

The 1990s: The Golden Age of Turkish– Israeli Relations Turkey’s non-interventionist stance towards the Arab–Israeli conflict had begun to gradually change in the 1980s due to intensive Israeli efforts to build an alliance with Turkey.27 Levels of diplomatic representations were mutually increased in this period. Due to its regional isolation and constant struggle with surrounding Arab countries, the existence of the state of Israel in the Middle East has long been seen as under threat by Tel-Aviv.28 In this context, Israel perceived Turkey as a state which could be helpful to break its isolation within the region. Another reason behind Israel’s desire to have good relations with Turkey was its aim to downplay the Islamic aspect of the Arab–Israeli conflict by allying with a predominantly Muslim country and keep the conflict strictly as a problem with Arabs, and not with the broader Muslim world.29 In the late 1980s, trade relations began to intensify, yet the effect of economic factors on the formation of the Turkish–Israeli entente in the 1990s should not be overestimated as Turkey’s trade and financial relations with Arab countries have been much more significant due to Turkey’s need to import oil and attract foreign direct investments. In the 1990s, Turkey started to be increasingly involved in Middle Eastern affairs due to the armed conflict with the PKK (Kurdistan Workers Party) which was rapidly becoming an international problem. Starting from the early 1990s, the PKK had intensified its attacks against Turkish military personnel and the conflict began to dominate Turkish politics, strengthening the military’s influence over civilian affairs. The military elite tended to perceive foreign policy as an extension of national security policy and put heavy emphasis on Turkey’s need for a reliable ally to counter-balance internal and external threats.30 Turkey was in need of advanced military equipment but its traditional suppliers, Germany and the US, were not willing to sell arms which would then be used in an internal struggle. In this context, Israel’s willingness to provide Turkey with advanced military equipment was instrumental in facilitating the Turkish –Israeli entente.31 In the 1990s, Turkey also began to have serious problems with its neighbours, Iran and Syria. Relations between secular Turkey and Islamic Iran had been uneasy since the overthrow of the Shah in 1979.

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Ideological differences between the two regimes revived memories of long centuries of rivalry, and each suspected the other was harbouring their respective domestic opposition groups. The main problem with Syria was Turkey’s newly built vast dam network which was causing water shortages across Syria. In addition, tensions arose due to Syria claiming sovereignty over the Turkish province of Hatay which had been ceded to Turkey by French authorities who had been in control of Syria in 1939. Syria subsequently used these two issues as a bargaining chip with which to exploit Turkey’s problem with the Kurdish minority, allowing it to actively support the PKK as well as harbouring its leader ¨ calan.32 Abdullah O Syria and Iran were also enemies of Israel as they were supporting anti-Israeli organizations such as Hezbollah and Hamas. Turkey and Israel signed a military agreement in February 1996 to counter-balance the Syrian – Iranian alliance. The agreement included intensive cooperation in military training and intelligence, in addition to joint military research and development. Turkey benefited from the agreement in non-military fields as well by gaining the support of the influential Jewish lobby in the US33and was able to use the alliance with Israel to weaken Syria’s geopolitical position. In 1998, the Turkish army overtly threatened Damascus with a Turkish invasion unless the PKK leader was not expelled. Syria could not resist military pressure from Turkey and Israel simultaneously on two fronts and was compelled to cease its support of the PKK, proving the worth of the entente with Israel for Turkey.34 For a short period in the late 1990s, the Turkish–Israeli entente was the main force in Middle Eastern politics; however, the alliance carried the roots of its own demise from its inception. It lacked public support as the predominantly Muslim Turkish society was divided and there was no national consensus on the Kurdish issue.35 Paradoxically, the main factor that made the formation of the Turkish – Israeli alliance possible also led to its collapse after the AKP took power in 2002. The Turkish –Israeli alliance was mainly engineered by the Kemalist military elite and imposed on the Islamist-led coalition government. From the moment the entente was signed, the relationship had become a ‘symbol’ of the struggle for political power in Turkey.36 In 1996, the Islamists managed to form a coalition government and the leader of the RP, Necmettin Erbakan, became the prime minister. The conflict between the Kemalist military elite and the Islamist

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government had rapidly intensified due to the new government’s reluctance to sign agreements with Israel. Even though Erbakan resisted, the military’s influence was overwhelming and the prime minister was forced to sign a series of agreements with Israel as his refusal could have caused the downfall of the government.37 The year 1997 was one of immense conflict between the military and the government. The military alliance with Israel became embroiled in this power struggle as supporters of the Islamist-led government continuously organized public demonstrations to denounce the ties. The military and its supporters in the secular media were accused of betrayal and portrayed as ‘servants of Zionism’ by the Islamist media and government.38 Facing these accusations, the Kemalist elite reacted by blaming foreign enemies and their ‘conspirator agents’ within the society for causing domestic problems such as the rise of Islamism and Kurdish nationalism.39 As Turkey’s relations with its former allies in the West were deteriorating, an entente with Israel was seen as the best solution to counter all these problems. It must be noted that despite advocacy by most political parties, mainstream media and the Foreign Ministry, there were two important societal elements that opposed the alliance with Israel. The Islamist RP was accusing Israel of aiming to partition Turkey and portrayed the military elite as ‘puppets of Zionism’.40 The other opposition group was the conservative entrepreneurs, the so-called ‘Anatolian Tigers’ who had large investments in Arab countries and were concerned about the Arab reaction to the Turkish alliance with Israel. These two opposition groups on the fringes of the society later united and came to power in the next decade, starting with the 2002 electoral victory of the AKP, a party formed by former members of the banned RP.

Downfall of the Turkish– Israeli Entente The first signs of the crisis with Israel emerged due to Turkey’s increasingly divergent attitude towards the Palestine problem. The AKP began to see Hamas as an integral part of peace negotiations despite it being viewed as a terrorist organization by Israel.41 Traditionally, the Turkish public opinion has long been sympathetic towards the Palestinian people as a survey demonstrates that Palestinians are the second nation to which they feel the most warmth, right after the Turkic Azerbaijanis.42 Certainly the difference of public opinion over the fate of Palestine has affected Turkish– Israeli relations to some extent, but the

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actual influence of this issue on the recent crisis in relations should not be overstated. Even when the Turkish –Israeli entente was signed in 1996, different attitudes of Ankara and Tel-Aviv on this issue were widely known, yet the pro-Western ideology of the ruling Kemalist elite enabled these differences to be played down. The Kemalist elite was convinced that the Islamist regime in Tehran was the existential threat to the secular democracy in Ankara.43 A natural extension of this mentality was their perception of Israel as a ‘natural’ ally due to its proWestern orientation. The change that occurred in the last decade which has driven the Turkish – Israeli relations toward a serious crisis is not, however, mainly caused by the effects of differences on Palestine or the changes in Israel’s perception of Turkey. During the last decade, Israel has been ruled by the liberal centrist Kadima party and the right-wing Likud party; the country’s pre-eminent groups that have traditionally favoured close ties with Turkey.44 It must be noted that within Israeli politics, there is a broad consensus about the importance of the partnership with Turkey.45 As a result, Turkey’s alienation from Israel should be attributed to the reorientation of Turkey’s policy-making elite rather than developments in Israeli politics. Israel’s ongoing regional isolation and inability to resolve the Arab– Israeli conflict compelled Israeli policy-makers to search for a non-Arab ally in the region, thus Israel’s strong need to sustain the entente with Turkey has not decreased during the last decade. The current crisis in Turkish–Israeli relations is the result of a series of confrontations between the Turkish and Israeli governments. The first step on the road to the current predicament and one of the most serious diplomatic crises between Turkey and Israel was the visit of Hamas leader Khaled Meshaal to Ankara in 2006. Even though no official meeting took place, there was contact between Meshaal and a number of AKP leaders. In the wake of the visit, a spokesperson of the Israeli Foreign Ministry indicated that bilateral relations were seriously damaged.46 Turkish officials’ vocal critique of Israel during its military intervention in Lebanon in 2006, further strained the relations. Starting from that year, economic relations began to be affected as mutual construction and research projects were cancelled and the planned modernization of Turkish military equipment by Israeli firms was halted. Any chance of saving the partnership was thwarted by Israel’s invasion of Gaza in 2008 and Turkey’s subsequent reaction. Even though

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relations had been severely strained and decreased to low-level diplomatic representations after the visit of Meshaal, this incident was an irreversible turning point. The Gaza invasion occurred while negotiations over an Israeli –Palestinian ceasefire agreement were still ongoing, a diplomatic engagement in which Turkey had assumed the role of third-party mediator. The Turkish side must have felt betrayed as an unprecedented wave of criticisms was voiced, with Prime Minister Erdog˘an accusing Israel of committing ‘crimes against humanity’.47 In the aftermath of the Gaza invasion, the Turkish government even suggested expelling Israel from the United Nations under allegations of committing ‘state terrorism’.48 This was followed by an even more dramatic display at the 2009 Global Economic Forum in Davos which led to the complete breakup of the Turkish–Israeli relationship. While discussing the issue of Palestine, Erdog˘an responded to the uncompromising stance of Israeli president Shimon Peres by accusing Israel of ‘knowing how to kill children well’ and walked out of the panel.49 Tensions continued to rise as the anti-Israeli approach of Ankara found its echo in Tel-Aviv with the anti-Turkish stance taken by the ultranationalist foreign minister Avigdor Lieberman. Another serious crisis occurred in January 2010 when deputy foreign minister Daniel Ayalon publicly insulted the Turkish ambassador in Israel during an official meeting in front of journalists by pointing to the lower seat deliberately given to the ambassador, allegedly done on the advice of Lieberman.50 Soon after, the most serious crisis to date occurred in May 2010. The Gaza Strip had been under Israeli blockade since Hamas took control of the territory in 2007. Several humanitarian aid groups had sent ships carrying supplies and activists, but Israel did not allow them to dock in Gaza before inspecting the ships at Ashdod. In May 2010, two organizations, the Free Gaza Movement and the pro-Hamas Turkish Humanitarian Relief Fund (IHH), sent a flotilla of six ships to Gaza. In contrast with the cooperation of previous flotillas, the Turkish flotilla led by the IHH flagship Mavi Marmara refused to change course for Israeli inspection and attempted to breach the blockade by sailing directly into Gaza. This led the Israeli military to launch an operation to forcefully take control of the ships.51 Unlike the other ships in the flotilla which surrendered to Israeli forces, the activists on Mavi Marmara resisted the Israeli operation and during the ensuing violent confrontation, nine Turkish citizens were killed, resulting in a full-blown

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crisis in Turkish–Israeli relations as the AKP administration reacted by threatening to work for the isolation of Israel in every platform and sending a number of warships to regular patrol duty in the eastern Mediterranean.52 Today, Turkey still demands a public apology and reparations from Israel before it is prepared to establish ‘normal’ relations. During US president Barack Obama’s visit to Israel in March 2013, the president was able to convince Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu to privately call his Turkish counterpart Tayyip Erdog˘an and officially apologize for the Mavi Marmara incident, yet there has not been a visible improvement in relations since then.53 How can we account for the rapid deterioration of Turkish –Israeli relations since the AKP came to power? As analysed above, Turkey and Israel have long held different views regarding the Palestinian–Israeli conflict as surveys show that a considerable portion of the predominantly Muslim public in Turkey has been sympathetic toward Palestinians based on a sense of solidarity emanating from the shared Sunni Muslim identity of both nations.54 Apart from the Kemalist military elite, Israel does not possess close ties with any influential group or political actor within Turkish society. Moreover, it is important to note that all of Turkey’s popular newspapers such as Zaman, Sabah, Hu¨rriyet, and many of its major television channels have long been critical of Israel’s policies toward the Palestinians and it is quite common to find condemnation of Israel’s human rights violations committed in the West Bank and Gaza in the Turkish media.55 Nevertheless, the public opinion did not bear much tangible influence on Turkish foreign policy-making prior to 2007 due to the influence of the military over the country’s politics. As such, the military was able to engineer an alliance with Israel in the late 1990s in spite of the partnership being viewed as highly unpopular among Islamists and conservative citizens. The deterioration of Turkish –Israeli relations witnessed since 2007 can be partly attributed to the rise of the influence of public opinion on foreign policy-making as political reforms eliminated the military tutelage and consolidated the rule of the AKP which derives its legitimacy from democratic elections. The political reforms did not produce the expected outcome by contributing to the consolidation of democracy in Turkey, however, as it eliminated the checks on the authority of the AKP while the party established its monopoly over policy-making. As a result, democratic peace theory is more applicable

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to the post-2007 era than the preceding period of military tutelage but there are still limits to the influence of public opinion over the policy-making of the AKP administration. Due to the absence of intra-party democracy and the subjugation of the legislative and judiciary branches to the rule of the executive government, Prime Minister Erdog˘an possesses unchecked control over policy-making. Modern Turkey is thus hardly a liberal democracy that can be expected to reflect the tenets of democratic peace theory. In this context, the key factor behind the deterioration of Turkish –Israeli relations is the ideologically charged worldview of the influential leaders of the AKP administration such as Prime Minister Erdog˘an and Foreign Minister Ahmet Davutog˘lu. As the ideology of the AKP leadership is primarily based on the worldview of the Turkish Islamic political movement, the driver behind the uncompromising stance adopted towards Israel is a sense of Sunni Muslim solidarity with the Palestinian people who are perceived as victims of Israeli Zionism occupying a key holy city of Islam; namely, Jerusalem.56

Conclusion If one has to identify one factor as the key determinant for the making of Turkish foreign policy in the last decade, it would undoubtedly be the democratization process initially started in the late 1990s as part of Turkey’s EU accession process. After more than a decade of arduous negotiations, Turkey’s full membership for the EU appears to be a remote possibility, yet the early 2000s were still marked by a highly reformative period. The outcome of the reforms may not be full membership for the EU; however, the process dramatically impacted the balance of powers within Turkish politics. Before the democratization process, the ability of elected governments in Turkey to direct foreign policy-making had been severely undermined by the extra-judicial influence possessed by the Kemalist military and its ideological allies in bureaucratic institutions such as the Foreign Ministry and the Constitutional Court. No civilian government could overtly challenge the tenets of the Kemalist foreign policy such as the pro-Western foreign policy, strong ties with the US, and non-interventionism in the affairs of the Middle East. The RP– DYP coalition government between the Welfare Party

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(RP) and the True Path Party (DYP), for instance, was forced by the military to resign in 1997 largely as a result of its refusal to abide by the conditions of the alliance with Israel. While the Kemalist military engineered a military alliance with Israel, the supporters of the government took to the streets to protest this action. Nevertheless, during the 1990s and early 2000s, the institutional structure of the Turkish state enabled the Kemalist military to preserve its hegemony and maintain a foreign policy that was highly unpopular among conservative citizens. The democratic reforms undertaken by the Muslim democrat AKP after 2002 began to curb the influence of the military over the years as the rise of the party occurred in parallel to the fall of the Kemalist elite. The prestige of the military has been damaged as a result of leaked alleged coup plans to overthrow the AKP administration, leading to widespread criticisms about the role of the military in the Turkish media and academia. While the AKP has managed to win three parliamentary elections in a row, Kemalists have also lost their influence within the presidency and the Constitutional Court. The democratization process has thus allowed the AKP to develop its original foreign policy based on the ideas of Foreign Minister Ahmet Davutog˘lu. The new foreign policy is characterized by its interventionism in the Middle East reflected in increased Turkish interest to regional issues such as the Arab–Israeli conflict, the Lebanon War in 2006, the Arab uprisings of 2011, and the ongoing Syrian civil war. The key product of the new foreign policy has been the deterioration of Turkish – Israeli relations as the AKP administration has appeared to be willing to overtly criticize Israeli stances on Palestine and Lebanon, unlike its Kemalist predecessors who were far less interested in confronting Israel and developing strong ties with non-Western powers such as Iran. In conclusion, the radical change in the making of Turkish foreign policy demonstrates that once launched, the process of democratization can substantially change the international relations of a society as well as its state structure.

Acknowledgements I am indebted and deeply grateful to Professor Yakub Halabi for his continued patience and support during the arduous writing stage.

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I would also like to thank Dr Yukiko Miyagi, Simon Coulthard and ¨ zlem Tu¨r for their helpful comments and suggestions on various Dr O stages of the development of this work.

Notes 1. N. Polat, ‘The Anti-Coup Trials in Turkey: What Exactly is Going On?’, Mediterranean Politics, Vol. 16, No. 1 (2011), p. 217. 2. K. Goldman, Change and Stability in Foreign Policy: The Problems and Possibilities of Detente (New York: Harvester and Wheatsheaf, 1988), p. 3. 3. P. Robins, Suits and Uniforms: Turkish Foreign Policy since the Cold War (London: Hurst and Company Publishers, 2003), p. 160. 4. P. Robins, ‘The Foreign Policy of Turkey’, in R. Hinnebusch and A. Ehteshami, eds, The Foreign Policies of Middle East States (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2002), p. 319. 5. E. Aydinli, N. A. Ozcan and D. Akyaz, ‘The Turkish Military’s March toward Europe’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 85, No. 1 (2006), p. 78. 6. Z. Aydın, The Political Economy of Turkey (London and Ann Arbor: Pluto Press, 2005); Freedom House, Turkey in Transit: Democratization in Turkey (Budapest: Freedom House Europe, 2008), p. 6; U. B. Yıldız, ‘The European Union and Democratic Consolidation in Turkey: The Impacts and Limits’, in M. Aknur, ed., Democratic Consolidation in Turkey: State, Political Parties, Civil Society, Civil-Military Relations, Socio-Economic Development, EU, Rise of Political Islam and Separatist Kurdish Nationalism (Boca Raton: Universal Publishers, 2012), p. 281. 7. A. R. Usul, ‘The Justice and Development Party and the European Union: From Euro-scepticism to Euro-enthusiasm and Euro-fatigue’, in U¨. Cizre, ed., Secular and Islamic Politics in Turkey: The Making of the Justice and Development Party (London and New York: Routledge, 2008), p. 179. 8. Aydın, The Political Economy of Turkey, p. 243; S. O¨zel and G. O¨zcan, ‘Turkey’s Dilemmas’, Journal of Democracy, Vol. 22, No. 4 (2011), p. 127. 9. S. Gumuscu and D. Sert, ‘The March 2009 Local Elections and the Inconsistent Transformation of the AKP Party in Turkey’, Middle East Critique, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2010), p. 59. 10. Aydınli et al., ‘The Turkish Military’s March’, p. 79. 11. Ergenekon trials started in 2008, Balyoz in 2010; both are ongoing. 12. M. Turkone, ‘Bize Nizam-ı Cedit Ordusu laˆzım...’ [We need a New Army], Zaman, 29 October (2009), http://www.zaman.com.tr/yazar.do?yazi no¼ 908977. 13. M. H. Yavuz and N. A. O¨zcan, ‘Crisis in Turkey: The Conflict of Political Languages’, Middle East Policy, Vol. 14, No. 3 (2007), p. 122. 14. E. O¨zbudun, ‘The Turkish Constitutional Court and the Political Crisis’, in Ahmet T. Kuru and Alfred Stepan, eds, Democracy, Islam, and Secularism in

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18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28.

29. 30. 31. 32.

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Turkey (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010), p. 156; U¨. Cizre, ‘A New Politics of Engagement: The Turkish Military, Society, and the AKP’, in Ahmet T. Kuru and Alfred Stepan, eds, Democracy, Islam, and Secularism in Turkey (New York: Columbia University Press, 2012), p. 122. S. Cagaptay, ‘Secularism and Foreign Policy in Turkey – New Elections, Troubling Trends’, Policy Focus, No. 67 (Washington: The Washington Institute for Near East Policy, 2007). S. Ulgen, ‘A Place in the Sun or Fifteen Minutes of Fame?’, Carnegie Papers, No. 1 (2010), p. 5. See A. Davutog˘lu, ‘Turkey’s Foreign Policy Vision: An Assessment of 2007’, Insight Turkey, Vol. 10, No. 1 (2008), p. 78; W. Hale, ‘Turkish Foreign Policy and the Middle East: Explanations, Assessments and Questions’, Conference 2009: Turkey and the Middle East, Damascus, 10 November (2009), http://www. damaskus.dk/fileadmin/PDFer/Turkish_Foreign_Policy_and_the_Middle_East__ Explanations__Assessments_and_Questions_2.pdf. Davutog˘lu, ‘Turkey’s Foreign Policy Vision’, p. 79. H. T. Oguzlu, ‘Tu¨rk Dıs¸ Politikasında Davutog˘lu Do¨nemi’ [The Davutog˘lu Period in Turkish Foreign Policy], Ortadog˘u Analiz, Vol. 1, No. 9 (2009), p. 44. B. Aras and R. K. Polat, ‘From Conflict to Cooperation: Desecuritization of Turkey’s Relations with Syria and Iran’, Security Dialogue, Vol. 39, No. 5 (2008), pp. 504– 5. Ulgen, ‘A Place in the Sun’, p. 8. N. Danforth, ‘Ideology and Pragmatism in Turkish Foreign Policy: From Ataturk to the AKP’, Turkish Political Quarterly, Vol. 7, No. 3 (2008). C. Migdalowitz, ‘AKP’s Domestically-Driven Foreign Policy’, Turkish Policy Quarterly, Vol. 9, No. 4 (2010/11), p. 42. Ibid., p. 39. A. Davutog˘lu, ‘The Clash of Interests: An Explanation of the World (Dis)Order’, Perceptions Journal of International Affairs, Vol. 2, No. 4 (1997–8). Ulgen, ‘A Place in the Sun’, p. 6. P. Robins, Turkish –Israeli Relations: From the Periphery to the Center (Abu Dhabi: Emirates Center for Strategic Studies and Research, 2000), p. 5. M. Barnett, ‘The Israeli Identity and the Peace Process: Re/creating the Un/thinkable’, in S. Telhami and M. Barnett, eds, Identity and Foreign Policy in the Middle East (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2002), p. 64. E. Inbar, The Israeli – Turkish Entente (London: King’s College London, 2001), p. 3. O. Bengio, The Turkish – Israeli Relationship: Changing Ties of Middle Eastern Outsiders (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), pp. 81– 2. Inbar, The Israeli – Turkish Entente. See N. El-Shazly and R. Hinnebusch, ‘The Challenge of Security in the PostGulf War Middle East System’, in R. Hinnebusch and A. Ehteshami, eds,

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The Foreign Policies of Middle East States (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2002), p. 78; J. Karakoc, ‘The Impact of the Kurdish Identity on Turkey’s Foreign Policy from the 1980s to 2008’, Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. 46, No. 6 (2010), p. 921. U. Uzer, ‘Tu¨rkiye – I˙srail I˙lis¸kilerinde Bunalım’ [Crisis in Turkish – Israeli Relations], Ortadog˘u Etu¨tleri, Vol. 2, No. 2 (2011), p. 150. C. Bir, ‘Reflections on Turkish – Israeli Relations and Turkish Security’, Policywatch, No. 422 (1999), p. 1. El Shazly and Hinnebusch, ‘The Challenge of Security’, p. 80. G. Bacik, ‘The Limits of an Alliance: Turkish – Israeli Relations Revisited’, Arab Studies Quarterly, Vol. 23, No. 3 (2001), p. 53. Robins, Turkish – Israeli Relations, p. 21. M. H. Yavuz, ‘Turkish – Israeli Relations Through the Lens of the Turkish Identity Debate’, Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 27, No. 1 (1997), p. 23. Ibid., p. 36. Bengio, The Turkish – Israeli Relationship, p. 84. T. Oguzlu, ‘The Changing Dynamics of Turkey– Israel Relations: A Structural Realist Account’, Mediterranean Politics, Vol. 15, No. 2 (2010), p. 276. M. B. Altunisik and E. Cuhadar, ‘Turkey’s Search for a Third Party Role in Arab – Israeli Conflicts: A Neutral Facilitator or a Principal Power Mediator’, Mediterranean Politics, Vol. 15, No. 3 (2010), p. 375. Bacik, ‘The Limits of an Alliance’, p. 56. Inbar, The Israeli – Turkish Entente, p. 73. E. Inbar, ‘The Resilience of Israeli – Turkish Relations’, Israel Affairs, Vol. 11, No. 4 (2005), p. 597. O¨. Tu¨r, ‘Tu¨rkiye – I˙srail I˙lis¸kileri: Yakın I˙s¸birlig˘inden Gerilime?’ [Turkey – Israel Relations: From Close Cooperation to Tension?] Ortadog˘u Analiz, Vol. 1, No. 4 (2009), p. 27. Bengio, The Turkish – Israeli Relationship, p. 183. Tu¨r, ‘Tu¨rkiye– I˙srail I˙lis¸kileri’, p. 28. E. Inbar, The Deterioration in Israeli–Turkish Relations and its International Ramifications (Ramat Gan: The Begin-Sadat Center for Strategic Studies, 2011), p. 1. I. Turan, ‘Background to Tragedy: The Decline of Turkish – Israeli Relations’, The German Marshall Fund of the US (2011), http://www.gmfus.org/galleries/ ct_publication_attachments/Turan_Israel_Jan11.pdf;jsessionid¼ aKvOs ynwtpnbCb2eZh. C. Migdalowitz, ‘Israel’s Blockade of Gaza, Mavi Marmara Incident, and Its Aftermath’, Congressional Research Service Report for Congress (2010), http://www. fas.org/sgp/crs/mideast/R41275.pdf. Gazete Haberturk, ‘Ankara’nın B Planı Hazır’ [Ankara’s B Plan Is Ready], 20 August (2011), http://www.haberturk.com/dunya/haber/660923-ankaraninb-plani-hazir. H. Sherwood, and E. MacAskill, ‘Netanyahu Apologises to Turkish PM for Israeli role in Gaza flotilla raid’, Guardian, 22 March (2013), http://

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www.theguardian.com/world/2013/mar/22/israel-apologises-turkey-gazaflotilla-deaths. 54. Altunisik and Cuhadar, ‘Turkey’s Search for a Third Party Role’, p. 375. 55. See U. Uzer, ‘Tu¨rkiye-I˙srail I˙lis¸kilerinde Bunalım’. 56. Migdalowitz, ‘AKP’s Domestically-Driven Foreign Policy’, p. 38.

References Akgun, M., G. Percinoglu and S. S. Gundogar, ‘The Perception of Turkey in the Middle East’, TESEV Foreign Policy Analysis Series, No. 10 (2010): 1 – 31. Altunisik, M. B. and E. Cuhadar, ‘Turkey’s Search for a Third Party Role in Arab – Israeli Conflicts: A Neutral Facilitator or a Principal Power Mediator’, Mediterranean Politics, Vol. 15, No. 3 (2010): 371– 92. Aras, B. and R. K. Polat, ‘From Conflict to Cooperation: Desecuritization of Turkey’s Relations with Syria and Iran’, Security Dialogue, Vol. 39, No. 5 (2008): 495–515. Aydın, Z., The Political Economy of Turkey (London and Ann Arbor: Pluto Press, 2005). Aydinli, E., N. A. Ozcan and D. Akyaz, ‘The Turkish Military’s March toward Europe’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 85, No. 1 (2006): 77 – 90. Bacik, G., ‘The Limits of an Alliance: Turkish – Israeli Relations Revisited’, Arab Studies Quarterly, Vol. 23, No. 3 (2001): 49– 63. Barnett, M., ‘The Israeli Identity and the Peace Process: Re/creating the Un/thinkable’, in S. Telhami and M. Barnett, eds, Identity and Foreign Policy in the Middle East (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2002), pp. 58–87. Bengio, O., The Turkish – Israeli Relationship: Changing Ties of Middle Eastern Outsiders (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010). Bir, C., ‘Reflections on Turkish – Israeli Relations and Turkish Security’, Policywatch, No. 422 (1999). Bolukbasi, S., ‘Behind the Turkish –Israeli Alliance: A Turkish View’, Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 29, No. 1 (1999): 21 – 35. Cagaptay, S., ‘Secularism and Foreign Policy in Turkey – New Elections, Troubling Trends’, Policy Focus, No. 67 (Washington: The Washington Institute for Near East Policy, 2007). Cizre, U¨., ‘A New Politics of Engagement: The Turkish Military, Society, and the AKP’, in Ahmet T. Kuru and Alfred Stepan, eds, Democracy, Islam, and Secularism in Turkey (New York: Columbia University Press, 2012): 122–48. Danforth, N., ‘Ideology and Pragmatism in Turkish Foreign Policy: From Ataturk to the AKP’, Turkish Political Quarterly, Vol. 7, No. 3 (2008): 83 – 95. Davutog˘lu, A., ‘The Clash of Interests: An Explanation of the World (Dis)Order’, Perceptions Journal of International Affairs, Vol. 2, No. 4 (1997 – 8): 1 – 17. ——— ‘Turkey’s Foreign Policy Vision: An Assessment of 2007’, Insight Turkey, Vol. 10, No. 1 (2008): 77 – 96. El-Shazly, N., and R. Hinnebusch, ‘The Challenge of Security in the Post-Gulf War Middle East System’, in R. Hinnebusch and A. Ehteshami, eds, The Foreign Policies of Middle East States (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2002), pp. 71 – 90.

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Freedman, R. O., ‘The Deterioration of Israeli – Turkish Relations: Before and After the Flotilla Incident’, Midstream, Vol. 56, No. 4 (2010). Freedom House, Turkey in Transit: Democratization in Turkey (Budapest: Freedom House Europe, 2008). Gazete Haberturk, ‘Ankara’nın B Planı Hazır’ [Ankara’s B Plan Is Ready], 20 August (2011), http://www.haberturk.com/dunya/haber/660923-ankaranin-b-plani-hazir. Goldman, K., Change and Stability in Foreign Policy: The Problems and Possibilities of Detente (New York: Harvester and Wheatsheaf, 1988). Gumuscu, S., and D. Sert, ‘The March 2009 Local Elections and the Inconsistent Transformation of the AKP Party in Turkey’, Middle East Critique, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2010): 55 – 70. Hale, W., ‘Turkish Foreign Policy and the Middle East: Explanations, Assessments and Questions’, Conference 2009: Turkey and the Middle East, Damascus, 10 November (2009), http://www.damaskus.dk/fileadmin/PDFer/Turkish_Foreign_ Policy_and_the_Middle_East__Explanations__Assessments_and_Questions_2. pdf. Inbar, E., The Deterioration in Israeli–Turkish Relations and its International Ramifications (Ramat Gan: The Begin-Sadat Center for Strategic Studies, 2011). ——— ‘The Resilience of Israeli – Turkish Relations’, Israel Affairs, Vol. 11, No. 4 (2005): 591– 607. ——— The Israeli – Turkish Entente (London: King’s College London, 2001). Karakoc, J., ‘The Impact of the Kurdish Identity on Turkey’s Foreign Policy from the 1980s to 2008’, Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. 46, No. 6 (2010): 919– 42. Kosebalaban, H., ‘The Crisis in Turkish – Israeli Relations: What Is Its Strategic Significance?’, Middle East Policy, Vol. 17, No. 3 (2010): 36 –50. Migdalowitz, C., ‘Israel’s Blockade of Gaza, Mavi Marmara Incident, and Its Aftermath’, Congressional Research Service Report for Congress (2010), http://www. fas.org/sgp/crs/mideast/R41275.pdf. ——— ‘AKP’s Domestically-Driven Foreign Policy’, Turkish Policy Quarterly, Vol. 9, No. 4 (2010/11): 37 – 45. Oguzlu, H. T., ‘The Changing Dynamics of Turkey– Israel Relations: A Structural Realist Account’, Mediterranean Politics, Vol. 15, No. 2 (2010): 273– 88. ——— ‘Tu¨rk Dıs¸ Politikasında Davutog˘lu Do¨nemi’ [The Davutog˘lu Period in Turkish Foreign Policy], Ortadog˘u Analiz, Vol. 1, No. 9 (2009): 43 – 50. ¨ zbudun, E., ‘The Turkish Constitutional Court and the Political Crisis’, in Ahmet O T. Kuru and Alfred Stepan, eds, Democracy, Islam, and Secularism in Turkey (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010), pp. 149– 65. ¨ zel, S., and O ¨ zcan, G., ‘Turkey’s Dilemmas’, Journal of Democracy, Vol. 22, No. 4 O (2011): 124– 38. Pew Research Center, ‘Most Muslim Publics Not So Easily Moved: Confidence in Obama Lifts U.S. Image Around the World’ (2011), http://pewglobal. org/2009/07/23/confidence-in-obama-lifts-us-image-around-the-world/. Polat, N., ‘The Anti-Coup Trials in Turkey: What Exactly is Going On?’, Mediterranean Politics, Vol. 16, No. 1 (2011): 213– 19. Pollack, R., ‘The Sick Man of Europe – Again?’, Wall Street Journal, 16 February (2011), http://online.wsj.com/article/0,SB110851241259955899,00.html?mod¼ opinion%5Fmain%5Fcommentaries. Robins, P., Turkish – Israeli Relations: From the Periphery to the Center (Abu Dhabi: Emirates Center for Strategic Studies and Research, 2011).

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——— Suits and Uniforms: Turkish Foreign Policy since the Cold War (London: Hurst and Company Publishers, 2003). ——— ‘The Foreign Policy of Turkey’, in Hinnebusch, R., and Ehteshami, A., eds, The Foreign Policies of Middle East States (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2002), pp. 311– 33. Sherwood, H. and MacAskill, E., ‘Netanyahu Apologises to Turkish PM for Israeli role in Gaza flotilla raid’, Guardian, 22 March (2013), http://www.theguardian.com/ world/2013/mar/22/israel-apologises-turkey-gaza-flotilla-deaths. The World Bank, World Development Indicators Database: Gross Domestic Product 2010, 1 July (2011), http://siteresources.worldbank.org/DATASTATISTICS/ Resources/GDP.pdf. Tu¨r, O¨., ‘Tu¨rkiye –I˙srail I˙lis¸kileri: Yakın I˙s¸birlig˘inden Gerilime?’ [Turkey– Israel Relations: From Close Cooperation to Tension?], Ortadog˘u Analiz, Vol. 1, No. 4 (2009): 22 – 9. Turan, I., ‘Background to Tragedy: The Decline of Turkish – Israeli Relations’, The German Marshall Fund of the US (2011), http://www.gmfus.org/galleries/ ct_publication_attachments/Turan_Israel_Jan11.pdf;jsessionid¼aKvOs ynwtpnbCb2eZh. Turkone, M., ‘Bize Nizam-ı Cedit Ordusu laˆzım’ [We need a New Army], Zaman, 29 October (2009), http://www.zaman.com.tr/yazar.do?yazino¼908977. Ulgen, S., ‘A Place in the Sun or Fifteen Minutes of Fame?’, Carnegie Papers, No. 1 (2010): 1 – 32. Usul, A. R., ‘The Justice and Development Party and the European Union: From Euro-scepticism to Euro-enthusiasm and Euro-fatigue’, in U¨. Cizre, ed., Secular and Islamic Politics in Turkey: The Making of the Justice and Development Party (London and New York: Routledge, 2008), pp. 175– 98. Uzer, U., ‘Tu¨rkiye – I˙srail I˙lis¸kilerinde Bunalım’ [Crisis in Turkish – Israeli Relations], Ortadog˘u Etu¨tleri, Vol. 2, No. 2 (2011): 137– 68. Yavuz, M. H., ‘Turkish – Israeli Relations Through the Lens of the Turkish Identity Debate’, Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 27, No. 1 (1997): 22 – 37. ¨ zcan, ‘Crisis in Turkey: The Conflict of Political Yavuz, M. H., and N. A. O Languages’, Middle East Policy, Vol. 14, No. 3 (2007): 118– 35. Yıldız, U. B., ‘The European Union and Democratic Consolidation in Turkey: The Impacts and Limits’, in M. Aknur, ed., Democratic Consolidation in Turkey: State, Political Parties, Civil Society, Civil-Military Relations, Socio-Economic Development, EU, Rise of Political Islam and Separatist Kurdish Nationalism (Boca Raton: Universal Publishers, 2012), pp. 281– 306.

CHAPTER 3 LEBANON:THE LACK OF A UNIFIED AND INDEPENDENT FOREIGN POLICY Faten Ghosn-Halawi

Lebanon is like a Rolls Royce with square wheels . . . it has a lot that’s worthy of praise but it doesn’t run so well.1 In 2010, 92% of Lebanese polled maintained that a democratic political system ensuring ‘public freedoms, equality in political and civil rights, devolution of authority and accountability, and transparency of the executive authority’2 was a good system to have. More importantly, 85% believed that under no circumstances should human rights be sacrificed for security.3 Nevertheless, in 2012, Freedom House declared Lebanon as a partly free country,4 and the Polity data set had Lebanon on the cutoff of being a democracy but not a fully fledged consolidated one.5 Many scholars would also claim that Lebanon has been a dysfunctional democracy at best,6 even after the withdrawal of the Syrian troops in 2005.7 In fact, both the executive and legislative branches of government recently violated the Lebanese constitution when the prime minister, and by extension, the cabinet, resigned on 22 March 2013 without forming a new cabinet, leaving the country in the hands of a ‘caretaker government’. This non-cabinet situation in turn led to the postponement of parliamentary elections intended to take place at the end of spring 2013, to an unspecified date. From the time of the

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resignation until 18 February 2014 when a new government was formed, headlines in the dominant newspapers signalled the impossibility of creating a new government due to Saudi– Iranian tensions, as the Saudis refused any government in Lebanon that included representatives of the dominant Shi‘ite party, Hezbollah, an ally of Iran.8 This tension has been compounded by the dramatic challenges in neighbouring Syria as both sides have become militarily involved, with Saudi Arabia and its Sunni allies in Lebanon siding with the rebels, and Iran and its Shi‘ite allies backing the government. In spite of Lebanon being one of the few democratic countries in the Middle East, and definitely more democratic than either Iran or Saudi Arabia, a cabinet was not formed until there was a convergence among external actors, with the slight shift within Saudi Arabia toward Iran and Syria being of particular relevance. This scenario is one of many in the history of Lebanon whereby third parties 2 both state as well as nonstate actors 2 have dominated the domestic and foreign policies of the country. This chapter focuses on shedding light on the democratic institutions in Lebanon, and analysing the interactions between the social forces and the political system as well as their impact on Lebanon’s foreign policy. The first section introduces the democratic institutions in Lebanon, their historical origins, and their functions, and the second section highlights the impact of third parties on Lebanon’s domestic and foreign policies. The final portion proposes possible ways Lebanon can move forward.

Democratic Features and Institutions Since Lebanon’s independence from France in 1943, it has been a parliamentary democratic republic with a division of power among the executive, legislative, and judicial branches. The president, elected by parliament for a non-renewable six-year term, is the head of state as well as the commander-in-chief of the armed forces. His main duty consists of safeguarding the constitution and conveying the laws passed by the parliament, issuing supplementary regulations, ensuring the execution of the laws, and negotiating treaties. The president shares power with the prime minister and council of ministers to which the executive power is mainly entrusted. The prime minister and the cabinet are in charge of proposing and executing laws, supervising the activities of all government

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branches, as well as making decisions on war and peace. Lebanon’s national legislature is the Chamber of Deputies (Majlis al-Nuwab), also known as the National Assembly or parliament, and consists of 128 members directly elected by universal adult suffrage every four years. The main duties of the parliament consist of legislating and voting on laws commonly issued by the council of ministers, levying taxes, voting on the budget, voting for a new president, as well as approving a new government lineup and other key appointments.9 Last is the judicial branch whose power rests with the judicial courts, exceptional and specialized courts, and the administrative specialized councils. It derives its jurisprudence from both civil and religious laws. While civil codes apply to all Lebanese in matters of criminal or civil affairs, religious codes are limited to personal affairs, such as marriage, death and inheritance with each sect having its own courts. While there is separation of power between the three branches, a major threat to judicial independence stems from the constant political interference in judicial decision-making, particularly in criminal cases.10 In addition, since the Ministry of Justice controls all the finances and appointments of certain councils 2 including the Supreme Judicial Council 2 this has further limited the independence of the judiciary system as well as restricted the public access to justice.11 Even though Lebanon is commonly perceived to be a parliamentary democracy, it is also one of the few countries in the world considered a consociational, or in the case of Lebanon where religion plays an important role at the political level, a confessional democracy. According to Lijphart, ‘consociational democracy means government by elite cartel designed to turn a democracy with a fragmented political culture into a stable democracy.’12 Such a democracy tends to exist in relatively small states where the population is divided among communal groups differentiated by their unique identity, whether along linguistic, racial, religious, or sectarian lines. In such countries, national identity is usually contested as political allegiances are divided along communal lines rather than being entrenched in a single centralized national authority.13 Such a form of power-sharing governance is thus often recommended for managing conflict in deeply divided societies. Its main goals are government stability, the avoidance of violence, and most important, the endurance of democracy. Lebanon houses a wide spectrum of Christian (38%) and Muslim sects (62%), including Maronite Catholics (22%), Greek Orthodox (8%),

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Greek Catholics (5%), Armenian Catholic and Armenian Orthodox (4%), Sunni Muslim (28%), Shi‘a Muslim (28%) and Druze (6%).14 In fact, 18 official sects prevail in a population of little more than four million,15 all playing an essential role in the political and social mobilization of groups. As a result, a power-sharing arrangement was seen as vital for the establishment and maintenance of a democratic, pluralistic state in Lebanon. However, while Lebanon ‘is the only functioning democracy in the Arab world, and has had the longest standing constitution, dating back to 1926, its political system is one of the most archaic in the world, characterized by confessionalism, clientalism, oligarchy and corruption.’16 In order to understand the nexus between domestic and foreign policies in Lebanon, one needs to consider the historical origins of the political institutions, focusing on two important events that helped the diverse religious sects reach common terms of agreement regarding the role and representation each one would have in government17 and which would ultimately shape the foreign policy of the country; namely, the National Pact of 1943 and the Ta’if Accord of 1989.

The National Pact of 1943 In the summer of 1943, a series of meetings between a prominent Maronite leader and Lebanon’s first president after independence, Bechara al-Khoury, as well as a notable Sunni leader and Lebanon’s first prime minister, Riad el-Solih, led to the infamous 1943 National Pact (al-Mithaq al-Watani): an unwritten agreement that became Lebanon’s first power-sharing formula following independence. This pact has had lasting influence on the Lebanese political system and has come to ‘symbolize post-independence confessional politics’.18 It provided a framework not only to reconcile the interests and fears of the Christian and Muslim communities but also those of the dominant two sects at that time, the Maronites and the Sunnis. Equally as important, it revealed the fear of third-party influence on the foreign policy of the country. Several main principles emerged from this understanding.19 First, such an agreement asserted that Lebanon was a neutral, independent, and sovereign entity with Arab roots. Secondly, it noted that Lebanon would not seek to unite with Syria and the Arab world, nor seek special ties with France or the West. Thirdly, it established a confessional quota

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throughout the government and in public posts with the representation of the communities being proportional to their population. Furthermore, the office of the president was reserved for a Maronite, the prime minister for a Sunni, and the speaker of parliament for a Shi‘a; a clear display of a division of power and representation . . . or was it? From 1943 until the eruption of the civil war in 1975, ‘Lebanon’s political institutions sought to preserve the autonomy of the country’s [eighteen] religious groups while guaranteeing their proportional representation in the central government’.20 However, many challenges strained the relationship among the different communal groups, tensions which would directly impact the policies of the country. The pact reinforced the sectarian system of governance begun under the French Mandate, by formalizing the confessional distribution of the highest public offices as well as top administrative positions according to the proportional distribution of the dominant sects21 based on the 1932 census that put the Christians at a slight advantage, with a ratio of six-tofive. More importantly, most of the political power went into the hands of the Maronites, the largest dominant sect at that time. To illustrate, the president, who was legally required to be Maronite, held all the major legislative and executive powers and was also the commander-in-chief of the Lebanese armed forces. More importantly, the general of the Lebanese army also had to be Maronite as was the head of the Central Bank. As a result, post-independence political life was characterized by ‘rotation and co-optation of other political elites through frequent changes of government, co-optation also through managing parliamentary elections to favor allies and clients, and managing elite politics through the patronage of jobs and services offered by the state’.22 During the postindependence era, Lebanon witnessed a shift in demographics whereby the Muslim population began to increase and soon surpassed the number of Christians, a change which would trigger major political grievances and challenge the power-sharing formula as Muslims began to request a larger share of political power. In addition to the major domestic shifts, regional events also influenced the dynamics within the country. The 1948 and 1967 wars between Israel and its Arab neighbours had massive ramifications for Lebanon as it ended up initially hosting more than 180,000 predominantly Sunni Muslim refugees in camps spread throughout the country. The ‘so-called “Palestinian question” became a highly

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politicized and sensitive issue, which further complicated Lebanon’s delicate inter-confessional balance and struggle for power’.23 Fear arose mainly from the Christian camp, concerned about the possibility of naturalizing and settling the Sunni refugees in Lebanon and therefore altering the delicate sectarian balances in favour of the Muslims in general, and the Sunnis, in particular. While this agreement seemed to create an equitable power-sharing consensus that protected all the sects from one another, ‘the dictum of sectarian balance led to the emergence of a weak state, and as a consequence, the inability to implement substantive administrative reforms. [Moreover,] the prevailing political system tended to foster corruption, nepotism, clientism, and a lax upholding of the public interest when it conflicted with private interests.’24 As a result, internal domestic friction over the political system, issues of power-sharing, exploitation of sectarian differences and economic disparities, in conjunction with external/regional conflicts pertaining to the Israeli–Palestinian struggle, led to the outbreak of civil war on 13 April 1975, with the already weak Lebanese government being unable to avert it.25

The Ta’if Accord of 1989 The civil war raged on for 15 years, but ended on 22 October 1989 when the 62 surviving members of the 1972 parliament met in Saudi Arabia under the auspices of the King of Saudi Arabia and signed the Ta’if Accord, also known as the Document of National Reconciliation. While the Ta’if negotiated an end to the conflict, it also contained several political and administrative reforms. With respect to political reforms, the Accord provided a new powersharing arrangement that allowed Muslims a greater role in the political process. Those reforms included shifting some major executive powers from the president to the prime minister and cabinet, with portfolios divided equally between Christians and Muslims. This shift bolstered the role of the prime minister as s/he could no longer be dismissed by the president. More importantly, the agenda-setting of the government now rested in the hands of the prime minister, though the president could add items to the agenda.26 Another important reform included the expansion of parliament members from 99 to 128 to allow the shift from a ratio of six-to-five in favour of the Christians to a 50 –50 distribution between Christians and Muslims. The Accord also strengthened the

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position of the speaker of parliament by increasing his tenure from one to four years.27 The Accord ushered in a new republic in which power was equally divided between Christians and Muslims. While it called for the abolishment of political confessionalism, however, it both directly and indirectly helped to institutionalize the sectarian divisions within the country, for it did not fundamentally alter the political structure. Although it shifted most of the executive power into the hands of the Council of Ministers in an attempt to decrease the power of the Maronite president and redistribute it into a political body equally divided between the different groups, the process by which governments were to be formed influenced the political realities of the Council of Ministers,28 whether through its formation or its agenda. In other words, for a government to be formed, the president in consultation with the parliament would first have to designate a prime minister, who in turn would put together a cabinet line-up agreeable to both the president and the members of parliament. As a result, the Ta’if in reality ushered in an era of the ‘Troikas’ whereby nothing could be done without the approval of the president, prime minister, and speaker of the house, thus making the actual change not in fact as dramatic or substantial as it might have appeared to be on the outset. While the Ta’if was supposed to pave the way for the gradual abolishment of political confessionalism and enhance the establishment of universal social and economic justice, Lebanon is in fact no closer to achieving this goal than it was in the 1970s. In a recent study by Ghosn and Khoury, more than 600 students in major universities throughout Lebanon were surveyed and it was discovered that 85% of those interviewed believed that the Lebanese have not reconciled since the end of the civil war.29 The survey also found that the majority (75%) believed that the Sunni community had made major political gains after the Ta’if while the Maronite community (81%) incurred the most political losses. This belief is a major reflection of the way the shift in executive power from the Maronite president to the cabinet was seen as an increase in power for the Sunni prime minister.30 Negotiators resorted to power-sharing agreements, as presented in the Ta’if, in order ‘to mitigate societal tensions that perhaps underpinned internal armed conflict or to promote stable democratic systems in countries that are deeply divided along the lines of segmental

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cleavages of an ethnic, linguistic, regional, religious, or other nature’.31 However, a major criticism of such an approach suggests it institutionalized and reinforced identity fragmentation,32 which in turn opened up the possibility of third parties exploiting the weaknesses and needs of these groups, thereby influencing the domestic and foreign policies of a nation, particularly on issues of security. While no major violence erupted after the Ta’if in part due to the heavy presence of Syrian intelligence and military forces in Lebanon, the country was held together by a thin thread that finally snapped with the assassination of ex-prime minister Hariri in 2005.

Lack of a Unified and Independent Foreign Policy: The Role of Third Parties Despite the democratic features of the political system in Lebanon, the system is much more divisive than one would think, resulting in the following description being somewhat inaccurate of the state’s veritable (dis)functionings: The confessional predetermination of state power among multiple sects, each having veto power over public decisions, undermined the realization of a functional and strong government system. Instead, a deeply divided and weak confessional state was established. The immediate result was a spread of social and political insecurity among the citizens, forcing sectarian groups to rely on their own social and security networks, and to look for support beyond Lebanon’s borders. The state, acting as a trustee, became notorious for its immobility and its inability to implement policies that promoted progress and prevented deterioration. In order to understand the obstacles and challenges facing the democratic peace in Lebanon, one must begin by examining the role of third parties, state as well as non-state actors, on Lebanon’s decisionmaking. To do so, one must start with the most important role of any state and that is security, whether against internal or external threats. The monopoly on the use of force is often believed to lie at the heart of a modern state as first construed by Max Weber in his oft-quoted description of state characteristics.33 Providing security to citizens

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against internal and external threats as well as preserving sovereignty over territory are essential for a strong and stable state as non-state actors as well as other states may otherwise take advantage of the ‘security gap’.34 Since the outbreak of the first Arab– Israeli war in 1948, Lebanon’s sovereignty, as well as its monopoly on using force within its territory, has been challenged by both state and non-state actors. Both of Lebanon’s neighbours, Israel and Syria, have occupied parts of Lebanon for a total of 29 years, and foreign non-state actors, such as the Palestinian guerillas, have been armed and present in Lebanon outside of state control since 1969. A complete history of such activities is beyond the scope of this chapter, thus in order to have a better understanding of the reason Lebanon has not had a unified and independent foreign policy, the sections below will highlight some of the major events since independence. A special focus will be on the dynamics after the 11 September attacks in 2001, after the reality following the assassination of Rafic Hariri, and the 2006 war with Israel. The first challenge to Lebanon’s independence in decision-making arose in 1948 with the decision to participate in the first Arab–Israeli war. When the Arab League decided to intervene on behalf of the Palestinian population in the mandate of Palestine following Israel’s declaration of independence, Lebanon was reluctant to join. In fact, many of the Christians, Shi‘ites, and Druze had serious reservations about taking part in the conflict.35 President al-Khoury was forced to send troops to the borders, however, due to Lebanon being a member of the Arab League and given the prime minister’s pan-Arab policy. By ‘18 May, the Lebanese Ministry of Defense issued a communique´ stating that it had deployed the army defensively to stop attacks by a superior enemy all along the border’.36 This deployment was an attempt to limit the involvement of Lebanon in the conflict without escalating tensions within the state between those who wished to intervene and those who did not. After the 1967 war between Israel, Egypt, Jordan, and Syria, and following Israel’s occupation of the Sinai Peninsula from Egypt, the West Bank from Jordan, and the Golan Heights from Syria, Lebanon was the remaining neighbour from whom the Palestinians could launch their attacks against Israel. Given that many of the Palestinians were fighting guerilla-style warfare, Israel retaliated indiscriminately in the south of Lebanon, with Lebanese citizens caught in the cross-fire. Many of the

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inhabitants of south Lebanon, predominantly Shi‘ite, requested their government step in and protect them. When the army intervened and clashed with the Palestinian militias, the Lebanese government was pressured by its more powerful Arab allies, Egypt and Syria, to withdraw and sign the 1969 Cairo agreement. This in essence allowed the Palestinians not only to retain their weapons in the refugee camps but also to use southern Lebanon for continuing their attacks against Israel. Unfortunately, with the government being unable to protect the inhabitants of the south, the latter were compelled to try to protect themselves. The breakout of the civil war and Israel’s invasion of Lebanon in 1982, in addition to the rise of the newly established Islamic regime in Iran, provided Shi‘ite groups with the opportunity to be trained and armed, with Hezbollah standing out. While the Ta’if requested all militants to disarm, it granted an exception to the groups in the occupied territories in southern Lebanon. Because the Lebanese government had been absent in the south, especially after 1978 when Israel invaded and occupied parts of southern Lebanon, by the 1990s, Hezbollah began to service many of the southern inhabitants’ needs through its political and administrative apparatus that helped to fund schools, orphanages, and hospitals while the military apparatus maintained security and defended the inhabitants against the occupation. While the civil war ended in 1990, the occupation and lack of a defence strategy continued to plague the country as a result of the hostility and mistrust among the different sects, and because the Syrian government wielded complete control over Lebanon’s domestic and foreign policies. Tensions began to intensify, however, with the war in Iraq in 2003, quickly escalating after the assassination of Rafic Hariri and the 2006 war with Israel, culminating in the May 2008 clashes. Rather than surfacing overnight the crisis had been building up since the signing of the Ta’if Accord in 1989. In a nutshell, the lack of social and economic equality and a political system that heavily relied on a patron–client relationship led to major economic disparities across the country. Moreover, Lebanon, with the blessing of the United States and Saudi Arabia, had been placed under Syrian tutelage, which meant the Lebanese were not truly in control of the country. More importantly, political elites realized the best way to hold onto power consisted of having a strong relationship with the Syrian leadership in Lebanon, which meant they at times competed against one another to prove their

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allegiance to the Syrian guardianship.37 Things began to change when the United States and Syria parted ways over the war in Iraq. While Syria cooperated extensively with the United States after the 11 September attacks, it worried about having American troops on its borders.38 The Bush administration thereby considered Syria an enemy, meaning the United States no longer approved of Syria’s control over Lebanon. Consequently, the United States, in cooperation with France, introduced a resolution to the United National Security Council (UNSCR 1559) that called for the withdrawal of all remaining troops from Lebanon and the disarming of all remaining militias (mainly, Hezbollah and the Palestinians).39 The rift between the United States and Syria did not go unnoticed in Lebanon; political leaders who had once sworn allegiance to Syria soon realized that Syrian influence in Lebanon was declining and, as a result, jumped ship and joined the more powerful player; in this case, the United States. This change translated into an increase in tension between those who were wary of the United States’ policies in the Middle East; particularly concerning the redrawing of a new Middle East map, and those who believed the only way for them to stay in power meant shifting their allegiance. The situation exploded when the ex-prime minister Hariri of Lebanon was assassinated, leading to a massive outrage by many of Hariri’s supporters and allies as well as those opposed to Syria’s presence in Lebanon, many demanding Syria’s immediate withdrawal as they believed the Syrians were responsible for the assassination, either directly or indirectly. However, many groups, particularly the Shi‘ites, were concerned with the new American foreign policy in the region and thus decided to demonstrate in support of the Syrian presence in Lebanon. Hundreds of thousands appeared in the streets on 8 March 2005 in a show of solidarity in an act which would become known as the March 8 camp. Within a week, hundreds of thousands (with some sources claiming the number reached a million) came out to counter the 8 March demonstration demanding the withdrawal of Syrian forces from Lebanon (something that would become known as the March 14 camp). A month later, the last Syrian soldier left Lebanon, ending Syria’s presence after first arriving in the country 29 years earlier to help curb the violence during the civil war. This show of solidarity ushered Lebanon into a new phase; not one but two Lebanons contested, each side having roughly an equal number

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of supporters,40 although they each tried to present themselves as the true representative of Lebanon. Internal tensions between the two sides continued as each accused the other of trying to eliminate it. While the two camps split the Christian vote, with 8 March having a slightly more Christian presence due to the Free Patriotic Movement headed by General Michel Aoun who joined the alliance in February 2006, the majority of the Shi‘ite leadership lay in the 8 March camp, particularly Hezbollah and Amal (headed by Speaker of the Parliament Nabih Berri), while the majority of the Sunni (particularly the Future Movement) and Druze leadership, was to be found in the 14 March camp. The division within the country mimicked the regional schisms. In fact, all Arab conflicts from Iraq to Lebanon should be arguably ‘viewed increasingly in both power politics and sectarian terms, namely, as proxy battles between Saudi- and Iranian-led blocs in the regional balance of power and also as struggles between Sunni and Shi‘i alliances in the greater Middle East’.41 Hence, Lebanon was caught in the middle of the ‘new Arab Cold War’,42 the first transparent signs arising during the 2006 war between Israel and Hezbollah.43 Even following the unilateral withdrawal of Israeli troops in 2000 from the majority of southern Lebanon (with the exception of Sheba farms and the Ghajjar village) tensions along the border continued as the conflict had not ended with Israel’s withdrawal. Israeli warplanes and troops violated Lebanese territory almost on a daily basis, provoking Lebanon to file a complaint with the United Nations. Because the Lebanese Armed Forces were no match for the Israeli Defense Forces, defending southern Lebanon was left in the hands of Hezbollah. With the help of Iran and Syria, Hezbollah was able to continue building up its armaments and confronted Israel in southern Lebanon. In 2006, the situation between the two escalated into a full-scale war when Hezbollah captured two Israeli soldiers and killed eight in a cross-border raid to free Lebanese captured and imprisoned by Israel. Many Lebanese had initially assumed that this capture would lead to another prisoner swap, similar to the exchange that occurred ‘in 2004 when Israel swapped about 430 Lebanese, Palestinian and Arab prisoners for the three Israeli soldiers who went missing during a cross-border raid by Hezbollah in 2000, as well as an Israeli citizen, Elchanan Tenenbaum’.44 However, the level of aerial, naval, and artillery bombardment took the Lebanese and Hezbollah by surprise.

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The 14 March leadership, which included Prime Minister Fouad Saniora, quickly maintained that the decision of war and peace should remain in the hands of the cabinet and not be a unilateral decision by one group. Hezbollah, however, claimed they had informed the Lebanese political leaders they were planning to detain Israeli soldiers in order to exchange them for Lebanese captured by Israel, akin to the trade in 2004. Hezbollah found itself not only facing an external enemy but also domestic opposition from the Sunni leadership in Lebanon, Egypt, Jordan, and Saudi Arabia. ‘Then-Egyptian President Husni Mubarak and Jordanian King Abdallah II accused Hezbollah of “dragging the region in adventures and Saudi officials spoke of Hezbollah’s ‘irresponsible adventurism”’.45 This conflict revealed the way that leading Sunni ‘Arab states chose to view this Arab–Israeli war [in sectarian terms], unlike all previous ones. While Arab states did not support Israel in the conflict, few rose to the defence, even verbally [of Hezbollah as they only saw it as] the Iranian-backed Shi‘i organization in Lebanon.’46 This was quite a contrast to the support that Hezbollah received in the Arab streets whether in Lebanon or the rest of the Arab countries. In fact, in a study conducted during the conflict, the Beirut Center for Research and Information found that 70% of those polled supported Hezbollah’s move to capture Israeli soldiers in exchange for Lebanese prisoners, and more importantly, 87% approved of Hezbollah’s response to Israeli aggression.47 Pressure by Saudi Arabia and the United States to enforce UN Resolution 1559 (to disarm Hezbollah) continued after the war ended and led to constant confrontation between the Sunni leadership in Lebanon, primarily Prime Minister Saniora, and the Shi‘ite leadership, particularly Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah, leader of Hezbollah. This conflict contradicted the cabinet’s official position of May 2005 in which ‘the government considered the resistance a natural and honest expression of the Lebanese people’s national rights to liberate their land and defend their honor against Israeli aggression and threats’.48 The tensions between the two groups continued to escalate with the Shi‘ite ministers resigning on 13 November 2006 as a protest against the Special Tribunal for Lebanon to investigate Rafic Hariri’s assassination. The resignation left the government without one of the three major sects; that is, the Shi‘ites, which in turn led to a contentious debate between the two camps on whether or not the cabinet was deemed constitutional for Lebanon, and whether it was governed by consensus rule and not simply by the majority.

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The situation exploded in May 2008 when the government, still not including any of the major Shi‘ite representatives, issued two decrees: first, the removal of the head of security at Beirut International Airport, a Shi‘ite believed to be close to Hezbollah, and secondly to conduct an investigation of Hezbollah’s private communication network. The Shi‘ite community, in general, and the Shi‘ite political leadership, in particular, saw this investigation as an attempt to conspire against the resistance as if their network was exposed, they would be vulnerable to Israel. Many believed Israel was unable to defeat Hezbollah in the 2006 war due to its private communication network with its own private frequency that Israel could not penetrate. On 8 May, fighters from the March 8 camp clashed with the less experienced fighters of the March 14 camp, and within hours, the former had taken over Beirut but quickly turned it over to the Lebanese army to prevent any foreign military interference. Clashes also occurred in northern Lebanon and in the mountains. The military prowess of the March 8 camp and the humiliating defeat of the March 14 camp, especially the Sunni fighters in Beirut, added an additional grievance to the two warring factions. Various mediation attempts led to a series of meetings in Doha, Qatar, culminating in the Doha Agreement on 22 May 2008, ending an 18-month stalemate. Since that time, the main goal of the 14 March group has been disarming Hezbollah at any cost without providing any strategy for the southern inhabitants of the way the government will help defend the country, with some members even insisting that the defence of Lebanon should be left to the United Nations. As for the 8 March group, particularly Hezbollah and the Free Patriotic Movement, they believe there is a conspiracy to eliminate the Shi‘ite and Christians from the region using as evidence the situation in Iraq following the invasion, and Syria since 2011. In order to counter Shi‘ite strength, some political leaders within the Sunni community have turned to supporting and arming Sunni movements in Lebanon and Syria after the civil war erupted in 2011. However, the presence and threat of Sunni militancy in Lebanon is not new. The surfacing of such groups can also ‘be attributed to the historical deficiencies of the Lebanese sociopolitical order’.49 Similar to the Shi‘ite militant groups, the Sunni militants initially arose in areas politically and economically ignored by the Lebanese government and attempted to fill the void left by the Lebanese state. However, unlike

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Hezbollah that has renounced creating an Islamic state in Lebanon,50 these groups worked outside the state in an attempt to create a shari‘abased Islamic rule in Lebanon.51 More importantly, many of these groups have attacked the Lebanese army as well as Western targets within Lebanon, even after the civil war ended. This has all been severely complicated by the spill-over effects from the war in Iraq, the tensions within Lebanon after the assassination of Rafic Hariri, the withdrawal of Syrian troops in Lebanon, and the 2006 war; and the Sunni perception of the Shi‘ites’ rising power in the region, especially the Iranian power, has given new life and meaning to these groups in Lebanon.52 They have been accused of and taken responsibility for several assassinations, car bombings, and suicide attacks leaving more than a hundred civilians dead and injuring more than a thousand in 2013 alone. The problem facing the Lebanese government in dealing with these groups is that many of them have been able to find safe havens within the Palestinian camps and a few Sunni-dominated towns and have been able to recruit Lebanese and Palestinians as well as individuals from other Arab and Muslim countries. The presence of these groups has become the main security threat facing the Lebanese government, especially with the spill-over of violence from the Syrian conflict. While the Lebanese government and the president officially declared that Lebanon would remain neutral and out of the civil war in Syria, many Sunni political and religious leaders believed it was their duty to help protect their Syrian brethren against the ‘Alawite’ regime in Syria. Within a year, accusations were being hurled at the Future Movement for moving weapons across the Lebanese border to aid the rebels, with one parliament member of the movement being referred to as the ‘gun runner-in-chief’.53 On 25 May 2013, Sayid Hassan Nasrallah declared his fighters were also in Syria to protect border towns from assaults by the Sunni takifir groups.54 The Syrian conflict like the Lebanese one has turned into regional warfare, and once again, Lebanon was unable to retain a unified position with regional and domestic players each pursuing their own policies to advance their respective agendas.

Moving Forward Lebanon ‘is a precarious republic limping along with a myriad of ailments, weaknesses, and stresses’.55 As mentioned, there exists today

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two political Lebanons. This division was evident in the 2009 parliamentary elections whereby the opposition won the majority of the popular vote (53.4%) while the 14 March alliance gained the majority of seats in the National Assembly (55%). The elections were a result of the new electoral law passed in 2008 centred around the 1960 electoral law, which focused on smaller voting constituencies rather than the larger districts adopted in the 2005 elections. As a result, Lebanon was divided into 26 electoral districts based on the administrative district of the qada, with two main exceptions; the qada districts of Marjeyoun and Hasbia were merged into one district and a single qada was divided into two districts (Saida and Zahrany). The electoral districts varied widely in the size of their electorates where the largest district (Baalbeck-Hermel) had over 250,000 voters while the smallest district (Bcharreh) had less than 45,000 voters.56 While this law liberated some of the Christian votes from their Muslim brethren, and allowed them to have more of a say in their representatives, in reality, this law encouraged the Lebanese more than ever to engage in sectarian voting.57 The discrepancy between the popular vote and the distribution of seats in parliament as a result of the electoral law has intensified the gridlock between the two groups, and with the current security situation growing out of control, it has become imperative that politicians find a way out of this stalemate as a power vacuum is the last thing the country needs. The defective democracy in Lebanon must ‘be addressed through a gradual program of transcending political confessionalism and the adoption of reforms toward a secular state system’,58 one that treats all of its citizens equally. The need for reform was recognized by the Ta’if as it stipulated the necessity of moving away from political confessionalism as a national goal and called for the establishment of a commission to accomplish it. Two solutions have been put forward; namely, a reformed electoral law, or the establishment of a senate, or both. In 2006, the government appointed the Boutros Committee to analyse the electoral system and recommend electoral reforms. The committee proposed several electoral amendments, including the adoption of a proportional representation system. The Shi‘ite leadership and many of the Christian groups were content with the new proposed system as it allowed each vote to have a value; however, it was vehemently opposed by the Sunni and Druze leadership.59 This new law would weaken the March 14 group as they would lose 16 of the seats they currently held.

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The second solution of establishing a senate was initially suggested in the Ta’if with the hope being to preserve the confessional quotas in the senate and abolish the quotas in the National Assembly. The senate would have limited authority and focus on major issues, such as war and peace and constitutional amendments;60 however, to date, no progress has been made on this front and recently some have opposed this solution as they believe that far from solving the confessional problems, it will merely pass the buck to the new political institution.61 A major obstacle to the reforms remains the lack of trust between the communities.62 That said, a great deal is at stake here as Lebanese citizens are caught in the regional and international power struggles. Lebanese citizens and young people in particular need to become engaged in political life outside the confines of their political sects as the majority of Lebanese are neither members of professional associations nor members of youth/cultural/sporting organizations.63 Recent breakthroughs were the registration of the first civil marriage in Lebanon and the first child born without a legal religious sect since 1936, both of which are seen as initial steps toward a secular society.64 Since independence, no Lebanese has been able to have a civil ceremony in Lebanon as marriages fall under the jurisprudence of the religious courts. As a result, individuals usually convert or the couple travels to Cyprus or Turkey to be married.65 In addition to deconfessionalizing the country, the government also needs to regain its ability to defend itself from both internal and external threats. A major obstacle facing the Lebanese security institutions (army, police, and intelligence) is the influence of the political leadership on the structure and duties of these institutions. For instance, following the assassination of Hariri in 2006, a new intelligence branch (Far’ al-Ma’lumat) was created and staffed with Sunnis to ensure the security of the prime minister.66 For a while the only group seen as non-confessional was the Lebanese army; however, given the fight against Sunni extremists in the country, many of the Sunni religious and political leadership have begun to publicly challenge the Lebanese army, with some extremist groups referring to it as the ‘Lebanese Crusader Army’. Another major problem facing the Lebanese army is its military budget and equipment. Most of the weapons are used, transferred at low or no cost from other states, and all new equipment of a defensive nature pales in comparison to the weapons of the insurgency groups.67

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Sandwiched between Syria and Israel, Lebanon has been both a battleground, and a pawn, for these regional players and other regional conflicts. The ‘new Arab Cold War’ and the Palestinian– Israeli conflict have hindered Lebanon’s independence in its foreign policy. More importantly, the political and economic paralysis has allowed third parties to influence, and in many cases, dictate the foreign policy of the country. Unfortunately, until a final settlement is negotiated for the Israeli– Palestinian conflict, no durable peace treaty can be achieved between Israel, Lebanon, and Syria, for this is not only an issue of disputed territories and water claims, but there are also the Palestinian refugees – an issue that often appears pervasively elusive of a solution. The challenges facing Lebanon are enormous and threaten to engulf the already weak democratic political institutions. While power-sharing is important and may be necessary for divided countries post-conflict, if the political institutions do not develop and adapt to the changes and challenges, the democratic features will simply be stifled. In the case of Lebanon, this might lead to a total collapse of the state akin to the outbreak of the civil war in 1975. Until the Lebanese government is able to gain a total monopoly over the use of force and regain sovereignty over all of its territory, it will be difficult for the state to have any meaningful foreign policy. A defective democracy with no unified or independent foreign policy will be incapable of living in peace as third parties will continue meddling in its affairs for their own interests.

Notes 1. Robert Fisk, ‘Lebanon is like a Rolls Royce with square wheels . . . it has a lot that’s worthy of praise but it doesn’t run so well’, Independent, 24 March 2013. 2. Sami Atallah, ‘Arab Barometer Country Report: Lebanon’ (Arab Barometer, 2012), p. 8, http://www.arabbarometer.org/sites/default/files/countyreport lebanon2.pdf. 3. Atallah, ‘Arab Barometer Country Report: Lebanon’, p. 7. 4. Freedom House, Freedom in the World 2012: Lebanon (Washington, DC: Freedom House, 2012), www.freedomhouse.org/report/freedomworld/2012/Lebanon (accessed 1 November 2013). 5. Monte Marshall, Tedd Gurr and Keith Jaggers, Polity IV Project: Political Regime Characteristics and Transitions, 1800– 2012 (VA: Center for Systemic Peace, 2012), http://www.cidcm.umd.edu/inscr/polity/index.htm. 6. Michael Hudson, ‘The Lebanese Crisis: The Limits of Consociational Democracy’, Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 5, Nos 3/4 (1976): 109– 22.

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7. Eliass Muhanna, ‘Establishing a Lebanese Senate: Bicameralism and the Third Republic’, CDDRL Working Papers (CA: CDDRL, 2012), http://cddrl. stanford.edu/publications/establishing_a_lebanese_senate_bicameralism_and_ the_third_republic/. 8. ‘Feltman: Saudi Arabia Impudent and Does Not Government in Lebanon’, Al Akbar, 12 October 2013, http://www.al-akhbar.com/node/193154; Maher al Khatib, ‘No Government at the Moment, Waiting for the Results of Geneva 2’, Elnashra, 9 January 2014, http://www.elnashra.com/news/show/701552. 9. Imad Salamey, The Government and Politics of Lebanon (New York: Routledge, 2014). 10. Ibid., p. 163. 11. Ibid., p. 168. 12. Arendt Lijphart, ‘Consociational Democracy’, World Politics, Vol. 21, No. 2 (1969), p. 216. 13. Imad Salamey, The Government and Politics of Lebanon, p. 7. 14. World Directory of Minorities and Indigenous Populations. ‘Lebanon, 2008’, http://www.minorityrights.org/5058/lebanon/lebanon-overview.html. 15. UN Data, 2012, http://data.un.org/CountryProfile.aspx?crName¼LEBANON. 16. Paul Salem, ‘Lebanon’, in E. Lust, ed., The Middle East, 12th edn (Washington, DC: CQ Press, 2011), p. 530. 17. Faten Ghosn, ‘A Guide to Lebanon’s Armed Forces and Security Policy’, in K. DeRouen and U. Heo, eds, Defense and Security: A Guide to National Armed Forces and Security Policies of the World (Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2005), p. 402. 18. Farid El-Khazen, ‘The Communal Pact of National Identities: The Making and Politics of the 1943 National Pact’, papers on Lebanon, no. 12 (Oxford: Centre for Lebanese Studies, 1991). 19. Hassan Krayem, ‘Lebanon: Confessionalism and the Crisis of Democracy’, in B. Kosmin and A. Keysar, eds, Secularism, Women & the State: The Mediterranean World in the 21st Century (Hartford, CT: Institute for the Study of Secularism in Society and Culture, 2009), p. 68. 20. Marie-Joelle Zahar, ‘Power Sharing in Lebanon: Foreign Protectors, Domestic Peace, and Democratic Failure’, in D. Rothchild and P. Roeder, eds, Sustainable Peace: Power and Democracy after Civil Wars (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2005), p. 228. 21. Salamey, The Government and Politics of Lebanon, p. 30. 22. Salem, ‘Lebanon’, in The Middle East, 12th edn, p. 533. 23. Salamey, The Government and Politics of Lebanon, p. 32. 24. Marie-Joelle Zahar, ‘Peace by Unconventional Means’, in S. Stedman, D. Rothchild, and E. Cousens, eds, Ending Civil Wars: The Implementation of Peace Agreements (UK: Lynne Rienner, 2002), pp. 572– 3. 25. Faten Ghosn and Amal Khoury, ‘Lebanon after the Civil War: Peace or the Illusion of Peace?’ The Middle East Journal, Vol. 65, No. 3 (Summer 2011), p. 383. 26. Salem, ‘Lebanon’, in The Middle East, 12th edn, p. 538. 27. Ghosn and Khoury, ‘Lebanon after the Civil War: Peace or the Illusion of Peace?’, p. 384.

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28. Salem, ‘Lebanon’, in The Middle East, 12th edn, p. 537. 29. Ghosn and Khoury, ‘Lebanon after the Civil War: Peace or the Illusion of Peace?’, p. 387. 30. Ibid. 31. Stef Vandeginste and Chandra Lekha Sriram, ‘Power Sharing and Transitional Justice: A Clash of Paradigms?’, Global Governance: A Review of Multilateralism and International Organizations, Vol. 17, No. 4 (October–December 2011), p. 492. 32. Ibid. 33. Markus Jachtenfuchs, ‘The modern territorial state: limits to internationalization of the state’s resources’, European Review, Vol. 13 (2005): 37 – 52. 34. Eizenstat, Edward and Weinstein, ‘Rebuilding Weak States’, p. 136. 35. Dani Asher, ‘The Arab Armies’ Invasion of Israel – May 1948: Interests and Implementation’, http://www.eceme.ensino.eb.br/cihm/Arquivos/PDF%20Files/ 46.pdf; Mathew Hughes, ‘Lebanon’s Armed Forces and the Arab–Israeli War, 1948–49’, Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 34, No. 2 (Winter 2005), p. 26. 36. Hughes, ‘Lebanon’s Armed Forces and the Arab–Israeli War, 1948–49’, p. 30. 37. Salamey, The Government and Politics of Lebanon, p. 60. 38. Salem, ‘Lebanon’, in The Middle East, 12th edn, p. 541. 39. Ibid. 40. This was evident in the 2009 parliamentary elections where the opposition (i.e., March 8 alliance and the Free Patriotic Movement) won 53.4% of the vote while the March 14 alliance won 43.4%. http://qifanabki.files.wordpress.com/2009/ 06/feghali-report.pdf (accessed on December 1, 2013). 41. Curtis Ryan, ‘The New Arab Cold War and the Struggle for Syria’, Middle East Report, Vol. 42 (Spring 2012), http://www.merip.org/mer/mer262/new-arabcold-war-struggle-syria. 42. Morten Valbjorn and Andre Bank, ‘The New Arab Cold War: rediscovering the Arab dimension of Middle East regional politics’, Review of International Studies, Vol. 38, No. 1 (2012): 3 – 24. 43. Curtis Ryan, ‘The New Arab Cold War and the Struggle for Syria’, Middle East Research, Vol. 42 (Spring 2012), pp 28 – 31. 44. Faten Ghosn and Amal Khoury, ‘Lebanon after the Civil War: Peace or the Illusion of Peace?’ 45. Valbjorn and Bank, p. 4. 46. Ryan, p. 29. 47. Program on International Policy Attitudes (PIPA), http://drum. lib.umd.edu/bitstream/1903/10165/1/Poll%20Finds%20Overwhelming% 20Majorities%20in%20Lebanon%20Support%20Hezbollah,%20Distrust% 20U.S..pdf. 48. Michael N. Schmitt, ‘“Change Direction” 2006: Israeli Operations in Lebanon and the International Law of Self-Defense’, International Law Studies, Vol. 84, p. 269. 49. Bilal Saab and Magnus Ranstorp, ‘Securing Lebanon from the Threat of Salafist Jihadism’, Studies in Conflict and Terrorism, Vol. 30, No. 10 (2007), p. 827.

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50. Carole H. Dagher, Bring Down the Walls: Lebanon’s Post-War Challenge (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2000), p. 145. 51. Saab and Ranstorp, ‘Securing Lebanon from the Threat of Salafist Jihadism’, p. 830. 52. Ibid., p. 842. 53. Martrin Chulav and Ian Black, ‘Arms Supplies to Syrian Rebels Dry up Amid Rivalries and Divisions’, Guardian, 10 October 2012. 54. Dexter Filkins, ‘Hizbollah Widens the Syrian War’, New Yorker, 26 May 2013. 55. Salem, ‘Lebanon’, in The Middle East, 12th edn, p. 530. 56. IFES Lebanon Briefing Paper, http://www.ifes.org/sites/default/files/ifes_ lebanon_esb_paper030209_0.pdf. 57. Salamey, The Government and Politics of Lebanon, p. 76. 58. Krayem, ‘Lebanon: Confessionalism and the Crisis of Democracy’, p. 75. 59. Hussein Dakroub, ‘Election Law Gives Majority to March 8: Experts’, Daily Star: Lebanon News, 10 August 2012. 60. Salem, ‘Lebanon’, in The Middle East, 12th edn, p. 545. 61. Muhanna, ‘Establishing a Lebanese Senate: Bicameralism and the Third Republic’. 62. Simon Haddad, ‘The Relevance of Political Trust in Postwar Lebanon’, Citizenship Studies, Vol. 16, No. 2 (2002): 201– 18. 63. Atallah, ‘Arab Barometer Country Report: Lebanon’, p. 12. 64. Tracey Shelton, ‘Civil marriage and SuShi babies in Lebanon: Little 2-monthold Ghaddi represents a significant push toward secular society’, Global Post, 7 December 2013. 65. Ibid. 66. Elizabeth Picard, ‘Lebanon in Search of Sovereignty: Post 2005 Security Dilemma’, in Are Knudsen and Michael Kerr, eds, Lebanon: After the Cedar Revolution (Norway: CMI, 2012), pp. 156– 83. 67. Ibid.

CHAPTER 4 THE CHALLENGE OF DEMOCRATIZATION IN POST-REVOLUTIONARY IRAN: BEYOND THE DEMOCRATIC PEACE THEORY Mojtaba Mahdavi1

Does democracy at home bring peace abroad? Conventional wisdom suggests that democracy and peace go hand in hand, with the democratic peace theory sparking the idea that democracies do not fight one another. Using the example of post-revolutionary Iran, this chapter problematizes the democratic peace theory, examining the challenges of democratization and offering an alternative vision on peace and democracy to demonstrate how a country can live at peace both at home and internationally. The first section problematizes the narrow conceptualization of war and peace in democratic peace theory as the theory conventionally discounts proxy wars, neo-colonial interventions, and policies that exacerbate conflict. This section also proposes that neither cultural nor institutional (dis)similarity among states captures the complex causes of war and peace. Rather, geopolitics and national security concerns – real or perceived – better illuminate origins of war and peace in global politics.

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Next, I examine the complex nature of the state in post-revolutionary Iran, the effects of global structure on state behaviour, and the way Iran’s foreign policy is shaped in relation to domestic and global politics. In other words, it is not just domestic politics that shape an individual state’s regional and global policy-making; rather state behaviours are informed and constrained by the combination of state structures, civil society forces, and global politics. The global factor is for the most part overlooked by democratic peace theory. This section sheds light on Iran’s regional policy – Iran’s policies regarding Syria and Iraq, and its relations with Hezbollah and with conservative Arab states – Iran’s relations with the West including with the US and the European Union, and Iran’s nuclear policy and the current nuclear talks between Iran and the P5 þ 1 (the five permanent members of the United Nations Security Council – the United States, the United Kingdom, France, China, and Russia – plus Germany). I argue that the Islamic Republic of Iran is one regime with five distinct and interrelated republics; that Iranian politics is a mishmash of ideology and pragmatism; that ideology is frequently in the service of politics; and that geopolitics most often defines Iran’s regional policies and its relations with the West. More importantly, there has been a pattern of continuity and change, and a reciprocal relationship between domestic developments and foreign policy strategies. The last portion offers an alternative approach to the conventional wisdom about peace and democracy in Iran. It explores the internal dynamics of civil society in post-revolutionary Iran, its genuine quest for democracy, and how Iran might live at peace both at home and in the world. The conclusion suggests that peace and democracy in Iran are contingent on diplomacy, dialogue and de´tente with the world and proposes that Iran’s regional and global politics need to be examined in light of its geopolitical concerns and constraints.

The Limits of Democratic Peace Theory Immanuel Kant’s ‘Toward Perpetual Peace’ sparked the idea that democracies do not fight each other,2 making democratic peace theory a conventional wisdom among many Western policy-makers. Several explanations have been proposed stemming from Kant’s cosmopolitan democratic peace theory. They include normative-liberal,3 institutional,4

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and ideational or normative approaches.5 The democratic peace theory, however, has been criticized from numerous perspectives with scholars such as Peceny, Beer, and Sanchez-Terry exploring the concept of ‘dictatorial peace’. Werner and Bennett both explain peace and war based on ‘political system similarity’, and Souva refers to ‘institutional similarity’.6 Moreover, Robert Kelly argues that cultural similarity in a non-democratic ‘pre-Western East Asia’ created a zone of peace. According to Kelly, from 1644 to 1839, there was no war between China and its Confucian neighbours due to the peaceful Confucian ethic and Confucian common identity and cultural similarity generating ‘Confucian Long Peace’.7 Koschut echoes that cultural similarities among autocracies/ oligarchies might cause peace and stability.8 However, the culturalist argument has its own limits: there are numerous cases of war and conflict among countries with a similar culture. The Iran –Iraq war (1980–8) is a case in point. Both countries share an Islamic and Shi‘i culture and yet post-revolutionary Iran under the leadership of Ayatollah Khomeini and Iraq under Saddam Hussein fought one of the longest and bloodiest wars in the Middle East. Although the ruling elite under Saddam Hussein was mainly comprised of Sunni Muslims, Shi‘i Muslims constitute the majority of the Iraqi population. Iran’s policy of exporting the revolution to neighbouring Islamic countries provoked paranoia among the Arab regimes and was one of the many factors that led to the Iran– Iraq war. This real or perceived security threat mobilized Western democracies, Israel and most of the Arab regimes against revolutionary Iran. A coalition of the conservative Arab regimes, the US and Israel encouraged Saddam Hussein to invade Iran in order to prevent Iran from exporting its revolutionary discourse into the region. Remarkably, the Iran –Contra scandal revealed a secret arms sale among the US under the Reagan administration, Israel and Iran in the mid-1980s. It can thus be argued that the Iran – Contra Affair, or Irangate, was a clear manifestation of the triumph of realpolitik over norms and ideology in international politics. US officials facilitated the sale of Israeli arms to Iran during the Iran –Iraq war in return for Iran’s assistance in the release of Americans held hostage in Lebanon. Iran agreed to purchase Israeli arms and used them in a war between two Muslim countries. The funds from arms sales to Iran was then diverted to Contra militants based in Honduras who waged a guerrilla war to topple

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the Socialist Sandinista and revolutionary government of Nicaragua.9 It is interesting to note that the new revolutionary elites in both Nicaragua and Iran came to power in 1979 and shared a discourse of anti-imperialism. With such insights, it is clear that cultural and/or institutional similarity cannot alone explain war and peace in global politics. Instead, geopolitics, realpolitik, and real or perceived security threats better explain international conflict and cooperation. More importantly, international relations scholar Thomas RisseKappen argues, ‘the “democratic peace” only forms one part of the empirical findings [as] democracies are Janus-faced. While they do not fight each other, they are frequently involved in militarized disputes and wars with authoritarian regimes. Democratic peace despite warlike democracies?’10 He challenges the proposition that ‘the war involvement of democracies mostly results from the need to defend themselves against aggressive dictatorship.’ Instead, he claims ‘democracies to a large degree create their enemies and their friends – “them” and “us”’.11 Moreover, in contrast to the ‘democratic peace’ argument, there is not much ‘empirical data’ that conflicts between democracies and autocracies are ‘caused and initiated’ by autocracies.12 Indeed, liberal democracies are not inherently peaceful, as peacefulness and enmity are socially constructed. In fact, democracies are frequently involved in war and also make alliances with autocracies; something which would appear to drastically counter what the democratic peace theory would predict. Two examples of such a partnership include ‘the US–UK alliance with the Soviet Union in 1941 or the American–Chinese relationship after 1972’.13 One could also mention the US alliance with autocratic states such as Saudi Arabia, Egypt and Tunisia before the Arab Spring, and pre-revolutionary Iran under the Shah regime. Furthermore, liberal democracies are occasionally involved in proxy wars. They create and construct phantom enemies, exaggerate perceived threats, demonize their opponents, and use fear tactics to pursue imperial and/or political agendas. The American-led invasion of Iraq in 2003 can be seen as an example of this, where liberal democracies do not necessarily hold transparency in their military/war politics; and are in fact warlike democracies. The idea of democratic peace is ontologically rooted in Immanuel Kant’s concept of ‘perpetual peace’;14 however, the Kantian cosmopolitanism

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in practice implies the Western superior right and ‘universal’ moral responsibility to save and civilize the other. This view implies that the civilized, liberal and peace-loving world is obliged to introduce peace and democracy to the ‘uncivilized’ and non-liberal world plagued by wars and conflicts. In other words, ‘liberal and neoliberal institutionalist discourses often appears as rationalization of hegemony disguised as universal humanism’.15 Due to being deeply embedded in the current hegemonic power relations, the democratic peace theory is therefore unable to unmask the neo-colonial intension of leading neoliberal democracies: a critical flaw.16 Democratic peace theory thus offers a very narrow, mechanical, and static definition of war and peace. It tends to not denounce proxy wars, neo-colonial interventions, and policies that exacerbate conflict and war, overlooks the effects of realpolitik and geostrategic concerns in foreign policy-making, and ignores that democracies work with autocrats, assist extremists, and facilitate civil and sectarian wars if these actions serve their immediate interests. During the Cold War, the US policy of supporting ‘friendly tyrants’ – such as Saudi kings, Egyptian presidents, the Shah of Iran and even Saddam Hussein of Iraq – and assisting antiCommunist extremist forces such as the Afghan Mujahedin often contributed to regional and global conflicts. As Chalmers Johnson argues, ‘it should by now be generally accepted that the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan on Christmas Eve 1979 was deliberately provoked by the United States’. Former CIA Director Robert Gates, and President Carter’s national security adviser Zbigniew Brzezinski revealed: ‘CIA aid to the Mujahidin began during 1980, that’s to say, after the Soviet army invaded Afghanistan.’ Asked whether he regret[ted] this decision, Brzezinski replied: ‘Regret what? The secret operation was an excellent idea. It drew the Russians into the Afghan trap and you want me to regret it? On the day that the Soviets officially crossed the border, I wrote to President Carter, saying, in essence: “We now have the opportunity of giving to the USSR its Vietnam War.”’ Asked whether he regret[ted] having supported extremist Islamists, he replied: ‘What is more important in world history? The Taliban or the collapse of the Soviet empire? Some agitated Muslims or the liberation of Central Europe and the end of the Cold War?’17

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Former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton likewise told Congress that the Taliban and Al-Qaeda are in part the result of policy during the Cold War: ‘The people we are fighting today we funded 20 years ago. And we did it because we were locked in this struggle with the Soviet Union.’18 Similarly, in the post-Cold War and post-9/11 era, the US policy of a ‘Global War on Terror’ and foreign interventions in Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, the funding of fundamentalists, and assisting Syrian extremist rebels, introduced the region to a new phase of civil/sectarian/ proxy war. For decades, President Roosevelt’s well-known statement about Somoza, dictator of Nicaragua, set the agenda for the US foreign policy towards Third World dictators during the Cold War: ‘they may be sons of bitches but at least they are our sons of bitches’. When neo-conservatives came to the White House, then US Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice, argued in 2005 that ‘now, we are taking a different course; we are supporting the democratic aspirations of all people’.19 But under the sanctions in Iraq, the country’s infant mortality rate exceeded 5,000 children a month and yet the response from the world’s leading advocate of democratic and liberal cosmopolitan peace was hardly a resounding one: in 1996, US Secretary of State Madeleine Albright responded: ‘we think the price is worth it’.20 Thus, we can see in this instance that the (neo) liberal discourse of democratic peace served ‘as pretext for widening the global democratic deficit and, in the case of the Middle East, re-inscribing the term of past imperial relations under new guises’.21 The foreign policies of democracies are, for the most part, derived from geopolitics and perceived security interests, not from the inherently peaceful democratic nature of these regimes. Democracies and autocracies work together if they share security concerns and common adversaries. The concerns of realpolitik, geopolitics and security might even push a democracy to act against another democracy if the former is a world hegemon and the latter, a subaltern state. Iran under Mohammad Mosaddeq is a case in point. In 1953, two leading liberal democracies – the UK and the US – overthrew Iran’s liberal democratic government. Mosaddeq sought to nationalize Iran’s oil industry; however, the MI6/ CIA joint military coup put an end to this policy and to his term in government. The CIA, MI6, and Mossad furthermore all helped the post-coup regime to eradicate democratic opposition. The US immediately offered a $45 million loan to strengthen the coup

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government, and in 1956 the new regime created a new national security organization known by its acronym SAVAK, which was involved in the brutal suppression of any opposition to the regime. According to Abrahamian, the 1953 coup produced ‘four substantial legacies: (1) the denationalization of the oil industry; (2) the destruction of the secular opposition; (3) the fatal delegitimization of the monarchy; and (4) the further intensification of the already intense paranoid style prevalent throughout Iranian politics’.22 The legacy of the 1953 coup is still very much alive. The spectre of US involvement in internal Iranian politics was prevalent in November 1979, when the 444-day American hostage crisis was created ‘on the pretext that the CIA was plotting a repeat performance of 1953 from the same ground’.23 This argument is also used frequently as part of the rhetoric surrounding the current negotiations over nuclear power. The post-revolutionary regime drew: parallels between a country’s sovereign right to enrich uranium and to nationalize its own natural resources. It also drew parallels between earlier Western claims that Iranians lacked the technical knowledge to run the oil industry and now the moral credibility to be entrusted with nuclear know-how. It equated the U.S.-led sanctions with the economic embargo organized by the British. It also equated the two sets of drawn-out negotiations, arguing that in both cases the Western powers in public presented to be willing to accept a ‘fair compromise’ but in reality and in private persistently insisted on tough demands unacceptable to Iran. In 1951–53, the real intention had been the overthrow of Mossadeq. The intension now, claimed the regime, was the overthrow of the Islamic Republic.24 More importantly, argues Abrahamian, the paranoid style reached a new peak in 2009. When more than two million took to the streets to protest the rigging of the presidential election, the regime’s automatic reaction was to hold show trails and accuse opposition leaders of plotting a ‘velvet revolution’ in the style of the ‘colored’ ones that had recently swept through Eastern Europe. They were accused of working in cahoots

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not only with the CIA and MI6 but also with an elaborate international web. . . . They were also accused of being led astray from Islam by the pernicious ideas Max Weber, Talcott Parsons, Richard Rorty, and, most dangerous of all, Ju¨rgen Habermas. Regimes that tremble before Weber and Habermas have much to fear.25 Policies of the world’s leading democracies thus have massively impacted, even jeopardized, Iran’s quest for democracy. After six decades Iran still faces immense challenges as a result of the 1953 coup that marginalized moderate secular and progressive Muslim democrats and, instead, energized radical religious extremism. Moreover, the West’s policies towards Iran have further limited the scope of democratic trends in post-revolutionary Iran. The policies of hardliners in the United States and Israel towards Iran have done much to undermine democratic reform and facilitate the rise and consolidation of the Iranian hardliners. As will be shown, global politics contributed to the crisis of Iran’s third republic under the reformist president Mohammad Khatami (1997– 2005). It remains to be seen whether international politics help or hinder peace and democratization in Iran’s fifth republic under the moderate president Hassan Rouhani (2013– ).

Iran’s Foreign Policy-Making: Ideology, Geopolitics and Pragmatism Who rules post-revolutionary Iran? What are the guiding principles of Iran’s domestic and foreign policies? To what extent do religion and ideology play a role in Iran’s policy-making? Are Iran’s ruling elites ‘mad mullahs’? Are they apocalyptic fanatics? Or, are they pragmatists? Do geopolitics, realpolitik and national security shape Iran’s foreign policymaking? There is no quick and simple answer to these questions as there is no uniform, cohesive or stagnant ruling elite in post-revolutionary Iran. Contrary to conventional wisdom, the post-revolutionary Iranian state is not a traditional theocratic/Islamic state. In fact, this particular Islamic state, as it is claimed to be, is a modern phenomenon invented by contemporary Islamists, and not congruent with historical Islam. Ayatollah Khomeini’s doctrine of the Islamic state proved to be ‘Islamic in its personnel’ at best since the institutional forms of the Iranian state have no ‘particularly Islamic features’.26 This is perhaps best exemplified

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in the fact that the survival of the state and its interests and those of its statesmen have always held more importance than the rulings of the Islamic shari‘a. In 1989, Ayatollah Khomeini explicitly argued that the state ruled by the vali-ye faqih (the Guardian Jurist), could if necessary stop the implementation of the shari‘a and dismiss the founding pillars of Islam in order to protect the general interests of the state. As such, the state founded by Ayatollah Khomeini is by no means a revival of Islamic tradition. Rather, the Islamic Republic combines Ayatollah’s Khomeini’s theory of the velayat-e faqih (the Guardianship of the Jurist) with the republican institutions, which drew inspiration from European constitutions. Given its republican institutions, the Islamic Republic ostensibly shares more features with contemporary modern Western states than with an Islamic theocracy. In substance, however, the republican institutions are subordinated to the rule of the vali-ye faqih. Unlike parliamentary democracies, the Iranian parliament (the Majlis) must share its legislative authority with the Guardian Council whose jurist members are appointed by the vali-ye faqih. Constitutionally, in the absence of the Guardian Council, the Majlis is devoid of authority. The Majlis must also share its legislative authority with the Expediency Council whose chair and the majority of its members are appointed by the vali-ye faqih. Unlike in presidential democracies, the president in the Islamic Republic is subordinate to the vali-ye faqih, with Article 113 of the constitution indicating, ‘after the leader, the president is the highest official in the country’.27 In spite of its initial attempts, the Iranian state failed to establish a totalitarian state because it failed to maintain a single, official ideology and a single, modern, mass-centralized political party. Pragmatic politics, the decentralization of Islamic faith, and the relative diversity of opinion together with elite factional politics contributed to the development of limited pluralism in the Iranian state and stymied the success of totalitarian tendencies.28 A strict totalitarian outcome was ‘prevented by the organizational and ideological peculiarities’ of the post revolutionary state,29 making Iran’s totalitarianism ‘stillborn’.30 Thus, while the Islamic Republic of Iran is not a democracy, it is also not an absolute totalitarian state either. Rather, it is a complicated amalgam of authoritarian and semi-democratic trends. Such a complex composition of the state has produced a regime with what I call five

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consecutive ‘republics’. These republics are an amalgamation of the theory of the velayat-e faqih with republican/democratic institutions, with some room for the public to cast its vote and for the elected presidents to pursue their policies. Elections, as deficient as they are, and elite factional politics have provided some space for limited pluralism and for multiple voices to pronounce on domestic and foreign policies. What I call the ‘first republic’ (which lasted roughly from 1979 until 1989), was mainly a ‘one-man show’ dictated by Khomeini’s populist and semi-totalitarian politics. The post-Khomeini era can be divided into four ‘republics’ under the leadership of the Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei (who assumed this position upon the death of Khomeini in June 1989); however, each republic has been under a distinct president and presented a different aspect of the post revolutionary regime. With the charismatic figure of Khomeini absent during the second ‘republic’, Hashemi Rafsanjani (1989– 97) undermined the semi-totalitarian character of the state, and was able to push the regime towards a limited degree of pluralism. Reformist Khatami (1997–2005) aimed at refreshing the spirit of Iran’s quest for democracy in the third republic, with the fourth one under Mahmoud Ahmadinejad (2005–13) being a product of the state-security apparatus and the extremist faction of Iran’s conservatives. This republic was also a direct backlash against the democratic reform movement seen under the third republic. The fifth republic under the moderate Rouhani (2013– ) can be seen to be another attempt to revive and refresh Iran’s quest for democracy.31 In sum, Iran’s post-revolutionary state is a combination of authoritarian and democratic trends which has taken both ideological and pragmatic approaches towards domestic and foreign policy-making during all of the five republics. An unchanging aspect that unites the republics, however, is that in the Islamic Republic of Iran, neither the president nor the Majlis has ultimate power. What does matter is who the president is, and what political faction holds the office. Postrevolutionary Iran is thus not a totalitarian state and the Supreme Leader, despite many efforts, does not hold absolute power. Presidents are in fact capable of changing some policies and perceptions, and of pursuing distinct strategies in domestic and foreign policies. In addition to this, the state is constrained by the dynamics and changes in its domestic and international situation. As will be shown below Iran’s policy towards the West and its nuclear policy and regional policies, all illuminate the

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complex process of policy-making and implementation in the five republics of the post-revolutionary regime.

Iran and the West The ideological discourse that informed Iran’s foreign policy under the leadership of Ayatollah Khomeini was represented by popular slogans of the time, such as the desire to ‘export the revolution’ and ‘Neither East, Nor West.’ In a 1989 letter to the last Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev, Khomeini denounced the bankruptcy of Western and Eastern ideologies and called upon the Communist leader to adhere to Islamic principles for ‘the well-being and salvation’ of his nation.32 During the first republic, Iran’s radical policy was evident during the American hostage crisis. Khomeini openly supported the occupation of the American embassy and used it to solidify his internal position as the undisputed leader of post-revolutionary Iran. In so doing, he encouraged ‘a period of radicalization’, in which he opposed the leftist and liberal factions of the revolution, specifically the liberal prime minister Mehdi Bazargan.33 Khomeini died in June 1989, but not before he had left a lasting legacy on the country and wider region, with the most renowned example being the fatwa he issued against Salman Rushdie for his controversial novel The Satanic Verses. The fatwa created tension between Iran and the West which lasted well into the post-Khomeini era. In the second republic, Iran condemned the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in August 1990; Iran’s policy of neutrality during the war signalled pragmatism and signified its willingness to forge closer ties with the West and Arab states. The EU in general welcomed President Rafsanjani’s pragmatist policy, and. in 1992, initiated a ‘critical dialogue’ with Iran over a host of issues, such as Khomeini’s fatwa against Salman Rushdie, Iran’s human rights record, and its policy vis-a`-vis Israel, terrorism and nuclear proliferation. In 1997, EU–Iran relations deteriorated when a German court issued a verdict against Iranian officials for their involvement in the assassination of Iranian opposition leaders in Germany. This was a turning point in EU–Iran relations: the verdict put an end to the policy of ‘critical dialogue’, and all European countries withdrew their ambassadors from Tehran. In the last year of President Rafsanjani’s tenure, Iran’s foreign relations were in a deep crisis, one striking indication being that no European ambassador remained in Iran. The Islamic Republic needed a new face and a new policy towards de´tente.34

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In the aftermath of his landslide victory, the president of the third republic Khatami maintained Rafsanjani’s pragmatic approach but shifted its emphasis to what came to be called a ‘reformist agenda’. This approach was based on two central pillars: political reforms in domestic politics, and dialogue and de´tente in foreign policy. To this end, Khatami put forth two key initiatives to normalize Iran’s relations with the world and enhance Iran’s stance in global politics: the principle of a ‘Reduction of Tensions’ and a ‘Dialogue of Civilizations’.35 The Europeans reopened their embassies in Tehran when Khatami’s foreign minister assured the EU that Iran would not uphold the 1989 fatwa regarding Salman Rushdie. The EU continued its policy of ‘critical dialogue’ with Iran, demanding greater respect for human rights and for the most part, Iran’s response was positive. As a result, for the first time since 1979 the UN Human Rights Commission – in opposition to the United States – declined to put Iran among the countries that violated human rights.36 In an interview with CNN shortly after his election, Khatami expressed his appreciation for American democracy, condemned all forms of terrorism, and even expressed his regret for the 1979 American hostage crisis.37 Nonetheless, Khatami criticized American foreign policy for the ‘mode of relationship’ it pursues with nations such as Iran and also condemned American foreign policy for its dependence on Israel and vice versa. ‘A bulky wall of mistrust’, Khatami argued, exists ‘between us and the American administration, a mistrust rooted in improper behavior by the American governments’, using the US’s suspected involvement in the 1953 coup against Iran’s prime minister as an example. Khatami’s idea of ‘Dialogue between Civilizations’ gained recognition by the United Nations, with the year 2001 being declared the official year of this policy. Khatami’s UN speech ‘raised hopes for a de´tente’ with the US and38 a series of exchange activities in sports, academe, and the arts became possible. For the first time in a half century, US representative and Secretary of State Madeleine Albright admitted that the United States had ‘orchestrated the overthrow of Iran’s popular prime minister, Mohammad Mosaddeq’39 in the 1953 coup. Zbigniew Brzezinski, Brent Scowcroft, and Richard Murphy then followed with a call for an end to the ‘dual containment’ of Iraq and Iran.40 With the support of the US, Iran received over $500 million in

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loans from the World Bank. The US met with Iranian officials at the UN to discuss the Afghanistan issue, added the Iranian opposition group People’s Mojahedin Organization (MKO) to the list of terrorist organizations, and removed Iran’s name from the list of major drugproducing states.41 In the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, Iran was instrumental in removing the Taliban government and establishing a proAmerican regime in Afghanistan. Not only did Iran continue its support for the anti-Taliban Northern Alliance, but, as Americans admitted, it was ‘extremely helpful in getting Karzai in as the president’.42 But President George W. Bush’s ‘axis of evil’ speech in 2002, which placed Iran amongst other ‘rogue states’ of Iraq and North Korea, raised much speculation about a US plan for regime change in Iran. The speech shocked the reformists and ‘created a mood of the past, especially of the 1953 coup’, forced the Iranian hardliners to raise the flag of national security, and persuaded some reformers ‘to put their hopes on the back burner waiting for better days’.43 Furthermore, the Bush administration rejected Khatami’s proposal in May 2003 for a comprehensive compromise with the US, with the State Department even reprimanding the Swiss ambassador for delivering the Iranian proposal. Nonetheless, Iran under Khatami continued to talk to the UK, France, and Germany (the EU-3) and suspended its nuclear enrichment for two years from 2003 to 2005. But the effort never met Iran’s expectation that the US would abandon its regime-change policy and lift economic sanctions. Only in December 2007 did the US National Intelligence Estimate (NIE) suggest that Iran suspended its nuclear weapons programme in 2003, but Iran’s conservative hardliners had already seized the moment to radicalize nuclear policy and a new president, Ahmadinejad, came to power in 2005.44 It was thus not surprising that Khatami’s ‘Dialogue among Civilizations’ progressively lost its momentum. It became obvious that, contrary to the hopes raised by the reformists, Khatami’s discourse and foreign policies could not provide the Islamic Republic with security and stability. The strategy of regime change implemented in neighbouring Afghanistan and Iraq, together with escalating tensions over Iran’s nuclear programme, created a renewed concern with national security, and helped Iran’s hardliners exploit Bush’s aggressive foreign policy and consolidate their power by dividing the reformists and curtailing movements towards democratization. In 2004, Iran was

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geographically surrounded by American troops occupying Afghanistan and Iraq, with a US military presence in the Arab monarchies to the south and the former Soviet republics to the north. What followed then in Iran was the rise of a security state with a strong anti-American stance at the expense of undermining people’s freedom and civil rights.45 The foreign policy of the US severely challenged peace and democracy in Iran, and contributed to the triumph of extremism in the fourth republic. Iran’s fifth republic under President Rouhani is a return to moderation and pragmatism. The West once lost an opportunity to make a deal with the moderate and reformist President Khatami as the foreign policy of the leading democracies in the West undermined Khatami’s democratic reforms and contributed to the ascendency of Ahmadinejad. The combination of pressure from civil society (Iran’s pro-democracy Green Movement in 2009) and the failure of domestic and foreign policies under Ahmadinejad led Hassan Rouhani to win the presidential election in 2013. Rouhani’s commitment to implement pragmatic policies that address Iran’s domestic turbulence and contentious foreign relations is not a matter of debate. However, it is unclear whether he can fulfil his vision, especially in light of Iran’s complex power structure and tremendous pressures from the hardliners in Iran, the US, Israel, Saudi Arabia and other conservative Arab regimes.46 The West should welcome the opportunity to make a comprehensive deal with Iran, which would resolve Iran’s nuclear issue and set the stage for regional cooperation in Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan and beyond.

A Nuclear Dilemma? US foreign policy in the Middle East rests on three pillars: containment – the priority of stability over democracy; security, survival and the superiority of Israel in the region; and the free flow of oil. Iran is not an exception to this policy. These pillars have been repeatedly prioritized over democracy in Iran. The current policy of the West including the US towards nuclear issues is a case in point.47 A nuclear Iran would change the nuclear status quo and shift the balance of power in the region. It would challenge Israel’s singular and superior position as the only nuclear state in the Middle East and could even initiate a nuclear arms race and/or an international nuclear regime set by the five permanent members of the UN Security Council. Despite

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all the virulent rhetoric such as Ahmadinejad’s statement of wiping Israel out of the map, the Islamic Republic knows that a nuclear attack against Israel or the US would be suicidal. The ruling elites are not ‘mad mullahs’; they do cost – benefit analysis and calculate their survival. Mossad chief Tamir Pardo reportedly argued that a nuclear-armed Iran would not necessarily constitute an existential threat to Israel48 or to the West. Instead, it could be a counterbalance against the dominant nuclear powers. Hence, putting aside the rhetoric, it seems that stability/ status quo remains the driving force for US and Israel policies towards Iran. The rationale for Iran’s nuclear policy is threefold: first, Iran is a major regional power and seeks to be on the cutting edge of science, which crucially includes nuclear technology. For Iran, nuclear energy/ technology is about national prestige. Secondly, Iran is home to the world’s third largest oil reserve and the second largest gas reserve. Yet, thanks to the targeted economic sanctions by the West, the oil and gas industry has not developed and Iran is currently importing a great deal of refined oil. Iran sees nuclear power as an alternative source of energy. Thirdly, according to Abrahamian, like Japan, Iran is interested in a ‘full nuclear cycle’, not for making bombs but for the ‘option of having it’. Iran is not the only country to pursue this right; there are about 30 countries in the world that hold to the ‘Japanese option’. The goal is to protect national security with the rationale being deterrence.49 Three major factors contribute to Iran’s national-security concern: first, there is the eight-year Iran– Iraq war (1980–8) started by Iraq and orchestrated by a number of Western and neighbouring countries. Since war and peace were imposed on the Iranian state, the authorities planned to ensure the very survival of the state by pushing for the revival of the nuclear programme. Secondly, Iran is surrounded by a number of nuclear powers including Russia, Pakistan, India, China, and Israel, not to mention the United States itself, given the existence of American bases in many neighbouring countries. Third, Bush’s ‘axis of evil’ speech in 2002, the American-led invasion of non-nuclear Iraq, the hesitancy to invade a nuclear North Korea, and the continued policy and/or discourse of regime change have contributed to the radicalization of Iran’s nuclear position.50 An ideal security solution would be a nuclear-free zone for the Middle East, but only a complete optimist would think of that as a real

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alternative at the moment. According to Kenneth Waltz, a renowned scholar of neorealism, a nuclear Iran would challenge Israel’s nuclear monopoly in the Middle East, bringing a nuclear balance of power that would stabilize the region.51 For Waltz, ‘nuclear balancing means stability’.52 Waltz argues that ‘despite a widespread belief to the contrary, Iranian policy is made not by “mad mullahs” but by perfectly sane ayatollahs who want to survive just like any other leaders’.53 Moreover, Waltz adds, The United States and its allies need not take such pains to prevent the Iranians from developing a nuclear weapon. Diplomacy between Iran and the major powers should continue, because open lines of communication will make the Western countries feel better able to live with a nuclear Iran. But the current sanctions on Iran can be dropped: they primarily harm ordinary Iranians, with little purpose.54 The nuclear talks between Iran and the 5 þ 1 (the five permanent members of the UN Security Council and Germany) aim to reach a solution in the interest of peace and security in the region and must continue.

Regional Policy Iran’s regional policy in the first few years of the first republic was focused on altering the ‘balance of power in favor of Islamist and radical forces’.55 For Khomeini, the conservative Arab countries, Zionism and Western imperialism constituted ‘a triangle of evil’.56 The Arab monarchies of the Persian Gulf reacted to Iran’s perceived threat by financially supporting Iraq during the Iran –Iraq war and in 1981, created the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) as ‘a protective mechanism’ against the spread of Iran’s influence in the region.57 Iran, on the other hand, enjoyed Syria’s blessing. Syria – with its secular Arab nationalist Ba’athist ideology and a leadership dominated by members of a heterodox Shi‘i sect, the Alawites – was ‘the first state in the region’ to support Iran during its war with Iraq.58 Syria calculated that Iraq’s defeat and the replacement of its government with a pro-Syrian Ba’athist regime would boost Syria’s strategic advantage in the region and thereby assisted Iran.59

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Both ideology and geostrategic calculation informed Iran’s regional policy on the Israeli borders in Syria and Lebanon. This reaffirmed the Islamic Republic’s initial promise to give the Shi‘i-Alawite Syrians and the Lebanese Shi‘a political, military, and economic support. Iran and its Revolutionary Guard were thus influential forces in the creation of Hezbollah in 1985. As the former Iranian minister of the interior, Ali Akbar Mohtashemi remarks, ‘the ties between Iran and Hezbollah are far greater than those between a revolutionary regime with a revolutionary party outside its borders’.60 Nonetheless, Iran’s involvement with Hezbollah did not make it ‘merely an instrument of the Iranian leadership’s desire to spread the revolution’.61 The argument that Hezbollah was simply an extension of Iran’s power in Lebanon ‘would be just as absurd as to conclude that the Maronite militias, which received $150 million from Israel during Yitzhak Rabin’s government in 1974–7, were nothing other than instruments of Israeli policy’.62 Hezbollah enjoyed a deep social base in the Shi‘i community in Lebanon and welcomed support from, and strategic alliance with, postrevolutionary Iran.63 In the summer of 1988, a year before his death, Khomeini made a difficult decision to save the Islamic Republic. He reluctantly accepted the ceasefire in the eight-year Iran– Iraq war, as it no longer served the interests of the state. Despite his fiery talk against imperialism and the disbelieving enemy, as the founding father of the regime Khomeini had no choice but, to use his own phrase, to drink from ‘the poisonous chalice’. ‘The poisonous chalice’ of the peace with Saddam Hussein with no clear victory, however, enabled the regime to survive, although his death brought some shifts in Iran’s regional policies.64 Rafsanjani’s presidency coincided with the end of the Iran –Iraq war. This exhaustive eight-year war forced the regime to acknowledge the limits of its power and pursue a pragmatic approach to foreign policy. Rafsanjani’s statement that ‘we cannot build dams with slogans’ expressed his intent to preserve and maximize the country’s national interests.65 This involved softening the once cherished slogan of ‘neither East nor West’ and adopting a regional ‘good neighbour policy’ with ‘respect for territorial integrity as well as social and religious values of other peoples’.66 As he wanted the Persian Gulf to ‘become like an area around a home, like a common farmland’, his regional policies were non-confrontational and invited the cooperation of Arab countries.67

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Rafsanjani was particularly concerned about mending Iran’s relationship with Saudi Arabia, which had been characterized by hostility during Khomeini’s era, with Iranian pilgrims staging frequent political demonstrations on Saudi soil during the annual pilgrimage or hajj. The Iranian regime under Khomeini had utilized the hajj as a vehicle to export the Islamic revolution, to wage an attack against ‘so-called American Islam, and to propagate its anti-US and anti-Israeli views by staging political rallies and protests’.68 When Rafsanjani ascended to the presidency, he put an end to these demonstrations.69 Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait in August of 1990 further presented Iran with an opportunity to improve its relationship with Persian Gulf states since Iraq replaced Iran as the ‘threat to the security and integrity’ of the region.70 Both Iran’s decision to condemn the Iraqi invasion and its subsequent policy of neutrality during the war signified its willingness to forge closer ties with moderate Arab states and the West. During this period, Iran’s relationship with Shi‘i groups in the region, especially Hezbollah, was influenced by Rafsanjani’s pragmatic foreign policy. The political landscape of post-Khomeini Iran, the new thinking in its foreign policy, and Rafsanjani’s pragmatism led, in turn, to a shift in Hezbollah’s political outlook. Shaykh Subhi al-Tufayli, Sayyid Abbas al-Musawi, and Sayyid Husayn al-Musawi were at the centre of a major debate on the future of the party in Lebanon. They asserted that it was not in Hezbollah’s interest to wage jihad against the West, given that Iran was calling for a truce. Instead, they advocated rapprochement and favoured integration into mainstream Lebanese politics; a position Rafsanjani supported.71 Moreover, ‘Hezbollah did not abandon the ideal of an Islamic state, [but] it was now argued that, given Lebanon’s demographics, the establishment of an Iranian-style system of government was unfeasible’.72 Like its relations with the West, Iran’s regional policy in the third republic was moderate. Khatami’s policy towards Lebanon and Hezbollah was consistent with his policy of de´tente and dialogue. ‘As Hezbollah became a major player in Lebanese politics and achieved electoral successes, politics in Iran also became more animated’ under President Khatami.73 In 1996, he visited Lebanon and met with representatives of all communities, including political rivals of Hezbollah among the Maronite Christians and the Sunni Muslims, as well as the Shi‘i Amal Party.74

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Further, the Iranian – Syrian relationship was strengthened during this period due to the Turkish –Israeli strategic partnership in the mid1990s and the 1991 Madrid Conference and the 1993 Oslo Accords. As these developments had undermined Syria’s position in the region and added to its insecurity, Damascus saw Iran as a strategic partner that could reinforce its position in the Middle East. Hafez al-Assad’s visit to Tehran in 1997 and Khatami’s visit to Syria in 1999 signified the heightened level of cooperation between the two states.75 Khatami believed that good relations with the Persian Gulf States would lead the US to leave the region because this would remove the threat to its interests. Khatami’s policy in the Persian Gulf therefore aimed ‘to consolidate a system of regional security through bilateral confidence-building measures that might, eventually, lead to institutionalize regional security arrangement and make the presence of US forces superfluous’.76 He realized, however, that Iran could not normalize relations with the Persian Gulf sheikdoms as long as it did not harmonize its relations with Saudi Arabia. As a result, Khatami successfully established amicable relations with Saudi Arabia, nullifying the quarrel between Iran and the United Arab Emirates over Abu Musa and the disputed Greater and Lesser Tunb islands. Only a few months after the 1997 election, in December of that year, the eighth Summit of the Islamic Conference Organization convened in Tehran, a success for Khatami’s policy of ending an era of Iran’s isolation. However, as discussed before, by the early years of the twenty-first century, the US occupation of Iraq and Bush’s 2002 speech against Iran once again changed Iran’s regional policy.77 Therefore, as a result of the policies which became central to Iran’s foreign policy under the fourth republic and in the aftermath of the US occupation of Iraq, the Shi‘i groups in Iraq received Iran’s moral, military, and economic aid. Iran’s regional influence reached the point that ‘the entire fate of the U.S. efforts to stabilize Iraq and a peaceful transition of power rested on Iranian intentions’.78 Consequently, the Arab states of the Persian Gulf grew increasingly concerned. As Hunter points out, the relationship between Iran and the Arab states has ‘historically been characterized by competition, deep-rooted mutual suspicions and misgivings’.79 The Arab states interpreted Iran’s involvement in regional developments and its sympathy with liberation movements and/or Shi‘i groups as part of its persistent drive to achieve supremacy in the region.

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Iran also sought to reinforce its partnership with Syria in order to advance their shared effort to undermine the US presence in Iraq. Iran gave its full support to Syria in the aftermath of US political pressure on Syria to assume accountability for its alleged involvement in the assassination of Lebanese prime minister Rafic Hariri. The result was a joint effort by Iran and Hezbollah ‘to rebuff pressure against the Syrian regime’.80 Iran supported Syria, and in return, Syria gave Hezbollah arms and economic support, demonstrating the existence of a triangular alliance to resist the activities of the US and its Arab allies. As a result of this, Iran’s partnership with Syria and Hezbollah grew stronger. For example, Al Ahram Weekly reports that Iran’s investment in Syria reached an estimated $3 billion by the end of 2008.81 Iran’s generous financial and military support of Hezbollah also increased significantly in the aftermath of 9/11 and the 2003 invasion of Iraq. This helped Hezbollah to successfully resist the Israelis in the 2006 war, and also made it apparent that Ahmadinejad’s government had the backing of the supreme leader Khamenei.82 Iraq and Syria constitute two major cases of Iran’s regional policy in the fifth republic. It should be noted that like other Middle East regional powers, Iran competes for greater regional influence akin to how ‘Egypt worked to spread Arab nationalism and socialism, as Iraq did with Baathism, and Saudi Arabia with its particular version of Wahhabi Islam’.83 In a similar manner, Israel and Turkey work hard to enhance their regional influence. In the post-Khomeini era and after a devastating eight-year war with Iraq, Iran’s Iraq policy was informed by one principle: the desire for ‘non-hostile governments’ in the latter state. Iraq’s stability became Iran’s national security concern. Contrary to conventional wisdom, as Hunter argues, neither the 1991 Gulf War, nor Saddam’s fall in 2003 immediately improved Iran’s regional security. After 1991, both Iran and Iraq were contained by the US policy of ‘dual containment’ and the American invasion of Iraq of 2003 brought the US troops on Iran’s borders. In ‘What Iran Wants in Iraq and Why’, Shireen T. Hunter argues, ‘a weakened Saddam would have been much better for Iran than living with US troops’ on its western and eastern borders (Iraq and Afghanistan, respectively).84 Many in policy-making circles in Iran would like to see a united and non-hostile Iraq on its western borders. Likewise, although Iraqi Shi‘a view Iran as a counter balance to the Sunni Arab world, they do not

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‘accept subservience to Iran; they are Arab and Iraqi and nationalistic’.85 Like Iraqi Shi‘a, Iran is concerned about the Shi‘i holy shrines in Iraq. Notwithstanding these concerns, Iran– Iraq relations are primarily shaped by geopolitics. ‘Any independent and united Iraqi state w[ould] be in competition with Iran’ as they currently compete over oil markets. However, it is critical to note that ‘hostility and competition’ are not the same.86 One should not forget that post-Saddam governments in Iraq have not yet abandoned their Iraqi nationalist policies. Reparations in compensation for the Iran–Iraq war have also not been contemplated, nor did they accept the 1975 Algeria Accord – an accord that acknowledges Iran’s sovereignty over the Shatt al-Arab/Arvand River. Iraqi Shi‘a cannot therefore be described as proxies of the Iranian regime. Furthermore, neither Shi‘i nor Sunni Iraqis are homogeneous; there are divisions among each community. The former Shi‘i prime minister – Nouri al-Maleki – and the Shi‘i cleric Muqtada al-Sadr have very little in common either politically or socially. The former President Jalal Talibani, a Kurdish Sunni Muslim, is a friend of Iran, while Ayad Allawi, one of the opposition leaders and the opponent of Iran’s role in Iraq, is a Shi‘i Muslim who has the backing of Saudi Arabia. Besides, despite Iran’s advice, Muqtada al-Sadr joined a supra-sectarian coalition with Ayad Allawi to defend Iraq’s national interests.87 As Hunter argues, ‘Iran has not played a purely Shia card in Iraq. Iranian statements always pin blame on the “Takfiris” (Muslims who accuse other Muslims not agreeing with them of being unbelievers) and not the Sunnis for sectarian problems’.88 Iran’s leadership was for a while split over whether to continue its support for then prime minister Nouri al-Maliki. While Iran’s hardliners support for Maliki contributed to the current crisis in Iraq, the reformist/pragmatist faction was willing to neutralize Iran’s support for him. When a group then known as ‘The Islamic State of Iraq and Syria/Levant’ (ISIS/ISIL), or now ‘The Islamic State’ (IS) – in coalition with other opposition forces such as the former members of the Iraqi Ba’ath party, Sunni tribal leaders, etc. – began conquering parts of Iraq and Syria, moderate forces in Iran such as President Rouhani and the former president and current chair of the Expediency Council Rafsanjani hinted at a possible cooperation with the US in Iraq to defeat ISIS.89 Likewise, US Secretary of State John Kerry declared ‘the US is willing to consider forms of cooperation with Iran in Iraq, though not joint military action’ to accomplish this desired goal.90

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Nonetheless, hardliners in the US, Iran, Israel, and the Arab conservative regimes oppose any cooperation between Iran and the US to secure regional security. Ayatollah Khamenei has not welcomed the US –Iran cooperation in Iraq, given his scepticism and distrust due to the fact that he sees Iran’s cooperation with the US after the 9/11 attacks to have yielded very little. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, however, holds the belief that the West should not cooperate with Iran to defeat ISIS in an attempt to secure peace and stability in Iraq. ‘When your enemies are fighting each other’, Netanyahu argued, ‘don’t strengthen either one of them. Weaken both.’91 Any regional cooperation between the West and Iran in Iraq, argued Netanyahu, would be a ‘terrible mistake’ as it would ease political and economic pressures on Iran’s nuclear programme. For the Israeli hardliners, ISIS has diminished Iran’s capability to resupply Hezbollah in Lebanon and blocked Iran’s logistic support to the Assad regime in Syria. Containing Iran’s regional hegemony, it is argued, is far more important than stopping a bloody sectarian war in Iraq. The American neoconservatives and, more surprisingly, Saudi Arabia and other conservative Arab regimes echo the Likud Party of Israel. However, as Juan Cole argues, ‘ISIS is a more potent threat both to Israel and to Iran than the latter two are to each other. If these two obstructionists have their way, an effective international response to ISIS will be forestalled, with grave implications for the Middle East and the world.’92 The West and other regional powers should accept and acknowledge Iran’s security concern and welcome Iran’s potential role for improving regional security. Demonizing Iran and delegitimizing its role will not improve peace and security in the region. While the conservative Arab regimes ‘portray Iran as a non-Arab, Shia threat to the Sunni Arab world’, Iran’s foreign policy enjoyed relative support in the Arab streets of Palestine, Lebanon, and Egypt because it openly opposes Zionism and client conservative Arab regimes.93 However, Iran’s popularity has declined due to its role in Iraq and more importantly in Syria. Iraq under its Shi‘i leadership is seen as a ‘battleground for the US and Iran to settle their differences’.94 Iran’s unconditional support to the Assad regime has also tremendously damaged its popularity in the Arab street.95 Iran’s policy in Syria has contributed to sectarianism in the region. The conservative Arab regimes of Saudi Arabia and Qatar, together with

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Turkey, financed and armed extremist Salafis to fight the perceived threat of ‘Shi‘i domination’. They have utilized the scepter of Iranian involvement to construct a discourse of intractable Shi‘a– Sunni conflict. However, the fact is that Iran’s policy in Syria is mainly guided by realpolitik and geopolitics rather than ideological concerns. Iran’s backing of the Assad regime and its support of Hezbollah can be seen to be mainly derived from Iran’s security concern and its regional competition with Israel. This is not to say that ideas and norms do not contribute to policy-making in post-revolutionary Iran; however, Iranian politics has always been a combination of the Khomeinist ideology and pragmatism. Over the past three decades, politics have most often triumphed over ideology. The Iranian authorities share common concerns on national security, yet differ in approaches. Traditional conservatives, radical/neoconservatives, pragmatists, and reformists are divided on how to deal with the world in order to maximize the security of the state. The radical conservatives on the other hand, and the Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei to some degree, are advocates of tougher regional and global policies. Such a radical approach is informed by certain ideological assumptions but is mainly shaped by political calculation and national security concerns. For reformists and, to some degree, pragmatists, security and democracy are interconnected, and democratization at home will ensure the security and survival of the state. They argue that American policy towards Iran can only be challenged with moves towards democracy at home and diplomacy abroad. They have worked with Europe, Russia and Japan to undermine US efforts to isolate Iran, and slowed down military programmes in return for good relations with Europe, allowing more inspections and signing an additional protocol to assure the United Nations that Iran’s nuclear programme is peaceful. Further, they support regional de´tente and welcome better relations and more cooperation with Saudi Arabia in Iraq and Syria. Syria has become a battleground for the multiple forces in the region. On the one hand, the West, the conservative Arab states (particularly Saudi Arabia and Qatar), Turkey under the AKP, Hamas, and Egypt under former president Morsi side with the Syrian opposition. On the other, Russia, China, Iraq under Nuri al-Maliki, Hezbollah and Iran support the Assad regime.96 Needless to say that the Syrian opposition is divided and each group has received support from a different country.

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For example, Saudi Arabia supports the Salafis while Qatar provides more assistant to other Islamist groups. In spite of the fact that Iran remains a significant player in the Syrian crisis, Vali Nasr argues, ‘Washington has seen the developments in Syria as a humiliating strategic defeat for Iran.’ The US fears that Iran’s involvement ‘would throw Tehran a lifeline and set back talks on Iran’s nuclear program’. However, Iranian leaders are divided on whether to terminate their ‘unwavering support’ for the Assad regime. President Rouhani would certainly like to participate in diplomatic discussions in order to look after the interests of Syrian Alawites, especially in order to rebuild its ‘damaged prestige in the Arab world’ for the post-Assad era.97 As discussed before, political calculations and geopolitics, rather than merely a cultural/religious affinity, drive Iran’s support for the Assad regime. Iranian politics is a mixture of ideology and pragmatism, and in most of the cases analysed here, ideology is most often used in the service of politics/geopolitics. Iranian authorities share the same security concern on the very survival of the state and of the revolution; however, they are divided on how to pursue this goal. Several factors make the ‘religious/sectarian’ explanation of the Iranian – Syrian relationship problematic: the Ba’athist ideology of the Syrian regime represents an authoritarian secular and pan-Arabist ideology. What can loosely be denoted as ‘Assadism’ is not a religious ideology. The Assad regime relies on the support of a network of Alawite families – and some members of the Christian community, among others – that fear a future radical Sunni regime that might be motivated by both religious intolerance and retribution against them for supporting the current rulers. Further, the Alawites represent such an unorthodox form of Shi‘i Islam that it only recently has been accepted by mainline Shi‘i scholars as a part of their own branch of Islam. Finally, there is much reason to believe that Damascus would have dropped its alliance with Tehran and attempted to come to an understanding with Israel long ago had it been able to recover the Golan Heights peacefully.98 The current Syria – Iran alliance is mostly political and is not based on the contested, constructed and fabricated idea of the ‘Shi‘i Crescent as some may believe.’99 The idea of a ‘Shi‘i Crescent’ and surrounding narratives implies that the religious motivations of politicians and policy-makers alike provide a satisfactory explanation for events in the Middle East. It overemphasizes sectarianism and religious fault lines (the

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Sunni–Shi‘a divide), undermines the complex network of economic and political factors in international relations, reduces the political into some constructed religious fault lines, and reinforces Orientalist discourses concerning the region. In fact, religious and cultural values are often politicized to serve the interests of global and regional powers. In many cases, geopolitical interests overshadow religious values. Realpolitik often bypasses and trumps cultural fault lines. The concept of a ‘Shi‘i Crescent’ serves as an ideological tool to suppress the Shi‘i communities under the rule of Arab conservative regimes and to mask the political rivalry among regional powers.100 Regional and global politics, in sum, continue to play a significant role in the future success or failure of Iran’s democratization processes. Peace and democracy will not be achieved by waging war through foreign interventions in the name of ‘democracy promotion’, by imposing crippling economic sanctions against a nation, or by supporting proxy wars. The main casualty in the American and/or Israeli collision with Iran would be Iran’s democratic movement and it would ironically be only the United States and Israel, that would shore up the regime’s popular support inside Iran. Iranian youth are disenchanted with socio-cultural policies and dissatisfied with the economic situation, yet they are looking for an Iranian solution to such Iranian problems. The reform movement in the 1990s and the pro-democracy Green Movement (2009–present) exemplify the most recent waves of Iran’s quest for democracy.101 A sustainable peace and genuine democracy can only be achieved from within.

Beyond Democratic Peace Theory: Democracy and Peace from Within An alternative vision on peace and democracy in the Muslim world in general, and Iran in particular, emphasizes the role of civil society and social movements. The reform movement of 1990s and the current Green Movement in Iran is a strong case for democracy and peace from within. This movement is an epistemic shift towards the formation of a civic nonviolent political culture, transcending constructed dichotomies – such as tradition and modernity, faith and freedom, revelation and reason, particular and universal, and sacred and secular – in Iran’s politico-intellectual discourse. Today’s Iran is on the brink of a ‘postIslamist’ shift underneath the Islamic Republic.102

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Post-Islamism in post-revolutionary Iran is more than just an intellectual discourse; it is deeply rooted in civil society. The reform movement in the late 1990s and the pro-democracy Green Movement symbolize the socio-political features of Iran’s post-Islamist movement. Post-Islamism in Iran is not monolithic; it can be divided into three main intellectual trends with each trend subdivided into various views: quasi/semi-post-Islamism;103 liberal post-Islamism;104 and neo-Shariati post-Islamist discourse.105 Post-Islamism in post-revolutionary Iran resulted, in part, from the paradox of the Islamic/Islamist state. The unintended consequences of the Islamist state empowered and enlightened the public, transformed the people from subjects to citizens, and eventually undermined the intellectual, political and social foundations of the Islamic Republic. The 1979 revolution, the mobilization of people for a greater participation in the Islamic Republic, and the Iraq –Iran war – the first modern war fought by the Iranian state in 150 years – were instrumental in such a social transformation. The end of the Iraq –Iran war with no clear victory on either side, the decline of revolutionary fever, and Ayatollah Khomeini’s death brought a new chapter to the life and legacy of ruling Islamists in Iran. The main challenge after Khomeini was to institutionalize, or using Max Weber’s phrase, ‘routinize’ Khomeini’s charisma. But Khomeini’s charisma was not transferable to a successor and the state ideology was no longer able to reach the youth, even though they had been raised and educated under the Islamic Republic. They were socio-culturally disenchanted, politically disappointed, and economically dissatisfied. The state had failed to create the individual and the society Khomeini had envisioned. Instead, Iran in the 1990s was experiencing a growing social and ideological disenchantment. By the early 1990s, Iran was grappling with the consequences of demographic changes which resulted in 70% of the population being under the age of 30. Two other structural factors pushing for greater social change were rapid urbanization and the expansion of higher education. Civil society managed to challenge the repressive intentions of the state. Youth and women brought the public sphere into their private lives by watching forbidden shows and foreign satellites, by meeting and communicating with each other, and by openly discussing socio-political taboos. They even managed to create a relatively open space in the public

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sphere by successfully resisting the clerical cultural code and insisting on their social, if not political, rights. Women continued to challenge the state’s gender politics by consistently resisting the clerical indoctrination and re-socialization. By the mid-1980s, female employment was at 30%, exceeding the pre-revolutionary level. Women constituted 40% of all graduates. The regime’s Cultural Revolution was far from successful.106 The ‘hejab’ or veil soon became ‘a haunting concern for the Islamic Republic’ and thus ‘the symbol of women’s defiance and resistance’.107 The independent intellectuals managed to continue publishing journals such as Iran-e Farda, Goftego, and Kiyan. Moreover, in spite of all the censorship, the film industry and the arts in general managed to implicitly expose ideas fundamentally opposed to the clerical cultural codes. The social institutions were far from mere instruments of the state, given the existence of a limited and restricted public space, creating a relatively active and energetic civil society.108 At the same time, Iran’s growing middle class remained economically dissatisfied. Middle-class families were using their savings, selling off their assets, and engaging in an underground economy. A sharp decline in oil prices, a rapid rise in population, ineffective economic plans, and systemic corruption ‘generated a host of economic problems: unemployment, inflation, foreign-exchange crises, lack of investments, shortages of schools and housing, flight of capital and professionals, and continued influx of peasants into urban slums’.109 Unlike his conservative counterpart, reformist presidential candidate Mohammad Khatami addressed and acknowledged the crisis. With some two-thirds of the population under the age of 25, 50% below the age of 20 and 70% below the age of 30, and no personal memory of monarchy or revolution, youth and students voted for Khatami and for greater socio-cultural opening and economic opportunities. Interestingly, another group that casted their vote for Khatami was made up of independent religious people because the clerical oligarchy had equally disappointed them. For the first time in modern Iran, the ulama (religious/learned scholars) had lost their independence as a result of the rule of the Islamic Republic. Contrary to conventional arguments, under this form of government, politics has triumphed over religion; religion as served politics and not the other way around. Thus, Ayatollah Khomeini’s theory and practice of the absolute velayat-e faqih and Islamization from above disappointed both independent religious and

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secular forces. Khatami’s discourse of the rule of law, civil society promotion, pluralism and democracy appealed to various sections of society, making him what some have called an ‘accidental president’110 of the Islamic Republic. Khatami’s reformist republic provided a relatively free space for the development of civil society that included women, students and intellectuals. They ‘inspired a mass reform movement linking three generations; prominent “fathers of the revolution”, most critically Ayatollah Montazeri; “children of the revolution”, many of whom came from the Islamic Left as well as from liberal-nationalist circles; and finally “grandchildren of the revolution”, the new generation of high school and university students who constituted the movement’s mass base.’111 The same fathers, children and grandchildren of the revolution currently participated in the 2009 post-Islamist and pro-democratic Green Movement in Iran. In fact, much of the active civil society organizations involved in the Green Movement were developed during Khatami’s presidency.112 We will now turn to the tenets of three post-Islamist trends in Iran. The first trend of post-Islamism in post-revolutionary Iran can be called ‘quasi-’ or ‘semi post-Islamism’. Some of these followers remain committed to the doctrine of the velayat-e faqih; however, they are disenchanted with the absolutist interpretation of Khomeini’s doctrine. The rule of the vali-ye faqih, it is argued, is not divine and must be subject to democratic procedures. Others, such as Mohsen Kadivar, Ayatollah Montazeri’s prominent disciple, reject Khomeini’s theory but remain committed to the concept of an Islamic Republic. For Mohsen Kadivar, Khomeini’s political version of the velayat-e faqih existed neither in the Qur’an, nor in the Prophet’s nor the Shi‘i Imams’ traditions.113 His mentor, Ayatollah Montazeri, challenged Khamenei’s religious and political credentials and remained a fearless voice of the reformist opposition in the Green Movement until he passed away in December 2009. In his last public speech in support of the Green Movement, Ayatollah Montazeri boldly argued that one is not obliged to defend the Islamic Republic at any cost; the survival of the Islamic state in itself is not religiously sanctioned. The Islamic state exists to implement and materialize Islamic values. If it violates such values, it has lost its legitimacy. He argued that the current regime is neither Islamic nor a republic; instead, that it is a mere dictatorship.114 Mehdi Karoubi, a symbolic figure of the Green Movement, similarly, questioned the authority of the vali-ye faqih

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Khamenei: ‘The extent and power of the velayat-e faqih has expanded so much that I doubt in some cases, such great power was even given to the prophets and the infallibles by God and even I do not think that God Himself has bestowed upon Himself the right to have such conduct toward His creations.’115 Likewise, Mir-Hossein Mousavi, the leading public figure of Iran’s Green Movement (and presidential candidate in the 2009 elections), clearly advocated the separation of ‘religious institutions and clergymen from the state’, although he acknowledged the ‘presence’ of religion in the future of Iran. He ‘opposes the use of religion as an instrument and coercing people into an ideology, set or clique’, realizing that people want nothing short of ‘popular sovereignty’.116 Liberal post-Islamists – such as Abdolkarim Soroush, an influential religious reformist, Mohammad Mojtahed-Shabestari, a leading liberal cleric, and Mustapha Malekian, among others – argue that religious knowledge is a branch of human knowledge; it is culturally and historically contingent; and it corresponds to other secular human knowledge. According to these arguments, religion and the shari‘a are silent; it is specific social agents and social contexts that give voice to religious texts. One’s commitment to religion should be measured by their commitment to the intrinsic, core, and transcendent of religion, not to the contingent and historical aspects of religion. Therefore, Islam cannot be an ideology, and neither does it promote a particular form of political system. Religion is a spiritual experience and mostly, if not fully, belongs to the private sphere.117 Liberal post-Islamists have successfully challenged Khomeini’s theory of an Islamic state and criticized the epistemological foundations of the clerical Islam. A new reading of Ali Shariati’s revolutionary ideology, neo-Shariati discourse, has immensely contributed to the depth of lively and rich intellectual debates in post-revolutionary Iran. Neo-Shariatists make a clear distinction between different periods of Shariati’s intellectual life, seeing a difference between the young and revolutionary Shariati and the more mature Shariati in his post-prison period. Moreover, a clear distinction is made between Shariati core and more relevant ideas, with the more marginal and slightly outdated ones.118 In their post-revolutionary and post-Islamist readings of Shariati’s thought, the trinity of emancipation, namely ‘freedom, equality and spirituality’, remains the most relevant and intrinsic. The trinity challenges structures of domination, which rest on a triangle of economic power/material injustice, political oppression,

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and inner ideological justification/religious alienation. More importantly, while Shariati never clearly supported a secular democracy, neo-Shariatis explicitly reject the concept of an Islamic state and instead advocate a secular or urfi democracy. For Ehsan Shariati, the state is a neutral secular entity and must remain so with respect to all religions and ideologies. Thus, the state’s legitimacy derives from public reason and the free collective will of the people. As such, Shariati and neo-Shariati discourse stress the importance of political secularism. Hasan Yusefi-Eshkevari, another important figure within neo-Shariati discourse, argues that from a purely Islamic perspective it may be claimed that political power is an urfi and worldly question. He explicitly challenges the two pillars of the Islamic state, namely ‘divine legitimacy of power’ and the ‘full implementation of Shari‘a’. It is believed that ‘Mohammad’s political rule in Median was not divine; it was the result of a social contract between him and people’. And that if the state is not divine ‘then Shari‘a, too, cannot be divine’. According to this strain of thought, the laws implemented by the Prophet were not eternal but rather reflected the particular time and space. Hence, the full implementation of shari‘a has no religious or rational relevance.119 It can thus be argued that the Islamic state is an Islamist human construction. The critical stance of the neo-Shariatists towards tradition and modernity, clericalism and neo-liberalism, shallow reformism and militant revolutionary approach, together with the admiration of ‘radical reform’ both in religious thought and socio-political structure, appeal to the new generation in Iran. The discourse is particularly appealing to its supporters due to its social, not theological, approach to democratization, and its egalitarian leanings towards socio-political change. NeoShariatists’ emphasis on societal empowerment, self and social awareness, and the people’s political agency aims to bring sustainable change from within. Therefore, they have organized and worked with civil society including women, youth, students and labour organizations.120 In this approach, modernity, secularity, and democracy are ‘neither a universal faith doing violence to outmoded traditions, nor limited to an inherently Eurocentric project’.121 One needs to move beyond a teleological understanding of modernity, democracy, peace, and Islam; instead, there should be a critical ‘emergent cosmopolitanism’ and a need for ‘space for localisms’.122 In other words, we must put abstract concepts into their socio-political settings, move away from cultural

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essentialism, and create space for dialogue, grassroots democracy at home, and sustainable peace in the world. Iran’s quest for peace and democracy dates back to the late nineteenth century, with the first protests against the 1890 tobacco concession granted by the then Shah to Great Britain. Iran’s Constitutional Revolution (1906) and the anti-despotic Islamic Revolution (1979) were first and foremost grassroots democratic movements. Between these two revolutions, Iran’s experience of democracy under Prime Minister Mohammad Mossadeq was short-lived. A joint military coup orchestrated by two leading world democracies changed the course of history for Iran – and possibly for the whole Middle East. But Iran’s desire for democracy continued after the 1979 Revolution. The reform movement in the 1990s, the 2009 pro-democracy movement, numerous civil rights movements – youth, student, and women movements – and a discursive turn towards post-Islamism hint at the depth and richness of Iran’s quest for democracy. Iran’s civil society is ready for democracy but it is caught between authoritarianism from within and economic sanctions and a threat of war from without. Peace and democracy in Iran are at risk because the hardliners in Iran, the US, Israel and the Arab countries are determined to stymie compromise and confidence building between Iran and the world. Peace and diplomacy with the international community will have a profound impact on democratization from within. De´tente and dialogue with regional and global powers will empower the Iranian reformists to push back the hardliners and speed up the process of democratization.

Conclusion The challenges of democratization in post-revolutionary Iran can be detected from both within and without the country. The ascendency of the Islamist hardliners is the first domestic challenge for peace and democracy in Iran, though equally problematic is the hegemony of the regional and global hardliners. The hardliners in Iran, the US, Israel, and the Arab conservative countries have reinforced their positions and continue to diminish the process and possibility of peace and democracy at home and abroad. At the same time, both domestic and international forces/factors could foster and facilitate peace and democracy in Iran. The elite factional politics, pragmatism and the reformist trends within the political

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establishment have created opportunities for peace and democracy in Iran. Likewise, the engagement of the international community with Iran, and diplomacy, de´tente and dialogue contribute to Iran’s democratization. Democracy and peace in Iran and abroad are contingent upon the cooperation of moderate forces inside Iran, in the region and in the US. Mutual understanding and pragmatism are critical for such cooperation and confidence building. More specifically, one should acknowledge the three following points in the study of peace and democracy at home and abroad. First, state policies are constrained, informed and enforced by the complex dynamics of domestic political structure, pressures from civil society, and the structure of global politics. They are formed by interactions from within and without, or domestic and global factors.123 State policies are mostly shaped by an amalgamation of ideology and pragmatism, continuity and change. But at the same time, geopolitics most often triumphs ideology and cultural/religious traditions/norms. Middle Eastern countries including post-revolutionary Iran are not exceptions to this rule. We need to challenge the myth of ‘Middle East exceptionalism’, or ‘regional narcissism’,124 meaning the exaggeration of the unique Islamic essence of Middle East politics. Secondly, democracy at home may or may not bring peace abroad. Democracies are not inherently/culturally peaceful. Geopolitics and real or perceived security concerns most often shape state behaviours. Democracies might get involved in war – proxy war, foreign intervention, military coup and security concerns might drive democracies to cooperate with dictators and even overthrew democratic governments. Likewise, geopolitics could introduce a zone of peace for autocracies – an autocratic peace. The lesson is that neither cultural nor institutional (dis)similarity among states captures the complex causes of war and peace in global politics. Hence, we need to examine Iran’s foreign policy in light of its geopolitical concerns/constraints, and in relation to the regional rivalry and global politics. More specifically, much of ‘Iran’s so-called regional gains, which are highly exaggerated’, Hunter argues, ‘have not been the result of its own actions but of the policies of other states and their mistakes’. Putting the rhetoric aside, post-revolutionary Iran, especially in the post-Khomeini era, has been ‘a status quo regional power’, given ‘its own vulnerabilities, fault lines and enormous domestic needs’.125 Thirdly, the alternative approach to the conventional wisdom about peace and

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democracy stresses a gradual, indigenous, and authentic process of democratization from within. War, economic sanctions, and regional conflicts jeopardise such a grassroots process of democratization. Iran’s quest for a post-Islamist democracy is a genuine and bottom-up sociointellectual movement. A grassroots process of democratization at home will likely contribute to sustainable and endurable peace in the region. But a genuine process of democratization at home desperately needs peace and stability in the region. As a result, there will only be meaningful peace and democracy fostered if there is a careful balancing of diplomacy, dialogue and de´tente; ideas that may not be as foreign to Iran as one might have otherwise assumed.

Acknowledgements Earlier versions of some sections of this chapter have been published in the following works: Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, in Tareq Y. Ismael and Glenn E. Perry, eds, The International Relations of the Contemporary Middle East: Subordination and after (London and New York: Routledge, 2014), pp. 141 – 73; Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Post-Islamist Trends in PostRevolutionary Iran’, Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa, and the MiddleEast, Vol. 31, No. 1 (2011), pp. 94 – 109, and Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Iran? It’s the geopolitics, Stupid!’, Caribbean Journal of International Relations & Diplomacy, Vol. 1, No. 4 (December 2013), pp. 23–37.

Notes 1. Associate Professor of Political Science, University of Alberta, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada: , [email protected] .. 2. Immanuel Kant, ‘Toward Perpetual Peace’, in Practical Philosophy, ed. M. J. Gregor, trans. M. J. Gregor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), pp. 311 –52. 3. Lars-Erik Cederman, ‘Back to Kant: Reinterpreting the Democratic Peace as a Macrohistorical Learning Process’, The American Political Science Review, Vol. 95, No. 1 (2001): 15 – 31; Michael W. Doyle, ‘Three Pillars of the Liberal Peace’, The American Political Science Review, Vol. 99, No. 3 (2005): 463– 6. 4. Bruce Bueno de Mesquita, James D. Morrow, Randolph M. Siverson, and Alastair Smith, ‘An Institutional Explanation of the Democratic Peace’, The American Political Science Review, Vol. 93, No. 4 (1999): 791– 807; T. Clifton Morgan and Sally Howard Campbell, ‘Domestic Structure, Decisional

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5.

6.

7.

8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

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Constraints, and War So Why Kant Democracies Fight?’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, Vol. 35, No. 2 (1991): 187–211. Zeev Maoz and Bruce Russett, ‘Normative and Structural Causes of Democratic Peace, 1946– 1986’, The American Political Science Review, Vol. 87, No. 3 (1993): 624– 38; J. W. Moses, ‘The Umma of Democracy’, Security Dialogue, Vol. 37, No. 4 (2006): 489–508; Colin H. Kahl, ‘Constructing a Separate Peace: Constructivism, Collective Liberal Identity, and Democratic Peace’, Security Studies, Vol. 8, Nos 2 – 3 (1998): 94 – 144. Arvid Raknerud and Havard Hegre, ‘The Hazard of War: Reassessing the Evidence for the Democratic Peace’, Journal of Peace Research, Vol. 34, No. 4 (1997): 385–404; Suzanne Werner, ‘The Effects of Political Similarity on the Onset of Militarized Disputes, 1816–1985’, Political Research Quarterly, Vol. 53, No. 2 (2000): 343–74; Mark Peceny, Caroline Beer, and Shannon Sanchez-Terry, ‘Dictatorial Peace?’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 96, No. 1 (2002): 15– 26; Mark Souva, ‘Institutional Similarity and Interstate Conflict’, International Interactions, Vol. 30, No. 3 (2004): 263–80; D. Scott. Bennett, ‘Toward a Continuous Specification of the Democracy–Autocracy Connection’, International Studies Quarterly, Vol. 50, No. 2 (2006): 313–38. Robert E. Kelly, ‘A “Confucian Long Peace” in Pre-Western East Asia?’, European Journal of International Relations, Vol. 18, No. 3 (2012): 407– 30. Also see Brian Lai and Dan Reiter, ‘Democracy, Political Similarity, and International Alliances, 1816– 1992’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, Vol. 44, No. 2 (2000): 203– 27. Ludger Kuehnhardt, ‘The Arab Spring Revisited: How the Arab Monarchies Can Survive’, January 24, 2012, http://www.worldsecuritynetwork.com/ showArticle3.cfm?article_id¼ 18594. For more information on the Iran –Contra Affair, see Trita Parsi, Treacherous Alliance: The Secret Dealings of Israel, Iran, and the United States (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007). Thomas Risse-Kappen, ‘Democratic Peace – Warlike Democracies: A Social Constructivist Interpretation of the Liberal Argument’, European Journal of International Relations, Vol 1, No. 4 (1995): 491– 517, p. 492. Italics added. Ibid., p. 492. Ibid., p. 501. Ibid., p. 507. Immanuel Kant, ‘Toward Perpetual Peace’. Siba N. Grovogui, ‘Postcolonialism’, in Tim Dunne, Milja Kurki and Steve Smith, eds, International Relations Theories: Disciplines and Diversity, 3rd edn (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 247– 65, p. 252. Democratic peace theory might reinforce a fabricated and false dichotomy of ‘total European virtue versus total Oriental barbarism’, negating that ‘Nazism and fascism were manifestations of modern European ideologies and practices’. The fact is that the ‘photographs taken of Abu Ghraib provide sufficient evidence that techniques of torture and “barbarism” are not the sole province

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17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31.

32.

33. 34.

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of Middle East states.’ In other words, ‘echoes of Orientalism’ can be detected from such discourses as they ‘reiterate today yesterdays images of “Oriental despotism” (Mill 1806– 73) and of the everyday of Bedouins and others as cave-dwelling (Montesquieu 1689– 1755).’ See Siba N. Grovogui, ‘Postcolonialism’, pp. 254– 5. Chalmers Johnson, ‘Are we to Blame for Afghanistan?’, History News Network, 21 November 2014, http://hnn.us/article/8438 (accessed 20 June 2014). Hillary Clinton speaks out about US links with Taliban, Video clip, 28 April 2009, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v¼X2CE0fyz4ys (accessed 20 June 2014). Rice calls for Mid-East democracy, BBC News, 20 June 2005, http://news.bbc. co.uk/2/hi/4109902.stm. D. L. O’Huallachain and J. Forrest Sharpe, eds, Neo-Conned! Again: Hypocrisy, Lawlessness and the Rape of Iraq (Norfolk: HIS Press, 2007), p. 6. Siba N. Grovogui, ‘Postcolonialism’, p. 256. Ervand Abrahamian, The Coup: 1953, The CIA, and the Roots of Modern U.S. Iranian Relations (New York: The New Press, 2013), pp. 206– 7. Ibid., p. 225. Ibid., p. 226. Ibid., p. 226. Italics are added. Sami Zubaida, ‘Is Iran an Islamic State?’, in Political Islam: Essays From Middle East Report, ed. Joel Beinin and Joe Stork (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), p. 118. Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘ Rethinking Structure and Agency in Democratization: Iranian Lessons’, International Journal of Criminology and Sociological Theory, Vol. 1, No. 2 (December 2008): 142– 60, p. 145. H. E. Chehabi, ‘The Political Regime of the Islamic Republic of Iran in Comparative Perspective’, Government and Opposition, Vol. 36, No. 1 (2000): 48 – 70, pp. 56 – 9. Ibid., p. 69. Ibid., p. 54. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘ Rethinking Structure and Agency in Democratization’, p. 145. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, in Tareq Y. Ismael, Glenn E. Perry, eds, The International Relations of the Contemporary Middle East: Subordination and after (London and New York: Routledge, 2014), pp. 141– 73, 143. R. K. Ramazani, ‘Reflection on Iran’s foreign policy: Spiritual pragmatism’, Iranian Review, Vol. 1, No. 1 (2010), p. 56. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, in Tareq Y. Ismael, Glenn E. Perry, eds, The International Relations of the Contemporary Middle East: Subordination and after (London and New York: Routledge, 2014), 141 – 73, p. 144. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, p. 145. Ibid., p. 148.

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35. Ibid., p. 149. 36. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, p. 150. 37. CNN, ‘Interview with President Khatami’, 8 January 1998, http://www.cnn. com/WORLD/9801/08/iran.whats.next (accessed 26 October 2012). In this interview, Khatami called the 1979 American hostage crisis a ‘tragedy’ and ‘excessive’. 38. Ervand Abrahamian, ‘Empire Strikes Back: Iran in U.S. Sights’, in Inventing the Axis of Evil, ed. Bruce Cumings, Ervand Abrahamian, and Moshe Ma’oz (New York: The New Press, 2004), p. 93. 39. ‘CNN Insight: U.S. Comes Clean About The Coup In Iran’, CNN.com Transcripts, aired 19 April 2000, http://transcripts.cnn.com/TRANSCRIPTS/0004/19/i_ins.00.html (accessed 26 October 2012). 40. Abrahamian, ‘Empire Strikes Back’, p. 95. 41. Gary Sick, ‘The Clouded Mirror: The United States and Iran, 1979– 1999’, in Esposito and Ramazani, eds, Iran at the Crossroads (New York: Palgrave, 2001), pp. 191 –210, 201. 42. G. Sick, ‘The Axis of Evil: Origins and Policy Implications’, Middle East Economic Survey, Vol. 45, No. 14 (8 April 2002), quoted in Ervand Abrahamian, ‘Empire Strikes Back: Iran in U.S. Sights’, p. 96. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, p. 151. 43. Ervand Abrahamian, ‘Empire Strikes Back: Iran in U.S. Sights’, p. 94. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, 152– 3, p. 168. 44. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, p. 153. 45. Ibid., pp. 154– 5. 46. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Iran? It’s the geopolitics, Stupid!’, Caribbean Journal of International Relations & Diplomacy, Vol. 1, No. 4 (December 2013): 23–37, p. 33. 47. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, p. 156. 48. ‘Mossad chief: Nuclear Iran not necessarily existential threat to Israel’, Haaretz, 29 December 2011, http://www.haaretz.com/print-edition/news/mossad-chi ef-nuclear-iran-not-necessarily-existential-threat-to-israel-1.404227 (accessed 20 June 2014). 49. David Barsamian, Noam Chomsky, Ervand Abrahamian and Nahid Mozaffari, Targeting Iran (San Francisco: City Light Bookstore, 2007). 50. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, pp. 156– 8. 51. K. Waltz, ‘Why Iran Should Get the Bomb: Nuclear Balancing Would Mean Stability’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 91, No. 4 (July/August 2012), pp. 1 – 5. 52. Ibid. 53. Ibid., p. 4.

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54. Ibid. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, pp. 158– 9. 55. A. Ehteshami and R. A. Hinnebusch, Syria and Iran: Middle Powers in a Penetrated Regional System (London and New York: Routledge, 1997), p. 42. 56. S. Hunter, Iran’s Foreign Policy in the post-Soviet Era (Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger, 2010), pp. 191– 2. 57. R. K. Ramazani, ‘Iran’s foreign policy: Contending orientations’, Middle East Journal, Vol. 43, No. 2 (1989), p. 210. 58. I. Salamey and Z. Othman, ‘Shia revival and welayat al-faqih in the making of Iranian foreign policy’, Politics, Religion, and Ideology, Vol. 12, No. 2 (2011), p. 208. 59. S. Hunter, Iran’s Foreign Policy, p. 207. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, p. 144. 60. Cited in Salamey and Othman, ‘Shia revival and welayat al-faqih in the making of Iranian foreign policy’, p. 209. 61. H. E. Chehabi, ‘Iran and Lebanon in the Revolutionary Decade’, in H. E. Chehabi, ed., Distant Relations: Iran and Lebanon in the Last 500 Years (London: I.B.Tauris, 2006), p. 229. 62. Ibid. 63. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, p. 145. 64. Ibid., p. 146. 65. Ramazani, ‘Reflection’, p. 59. 66. See R. K. Ramazani, ‘Iran’s foreign policy: Both north and south’, Middle East Journal, Vol. 46, No. 3 (1992), p. 394. 67. Ibid. 68. S. Hunter, Iran’s Foreign Policy, p. 192. 69. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, pp. 146– 7. 70. E. P. Rakel, ‘Iranian foreign policy since the Islamic revolution: 1979– 2006’, Perspectives on Global Development and Technology, Vol. 6, No. 1 (2007), p. 172. 71. N. A. Hamzeh, ‘Lebanon’s Hezbollah: From Islamic revolution to parliamentary accommodation’, Third World Quarterly, Vol. 14, No. 2 (1993): 321–37. 72. H. E. Chehabi, ‘Iran and Lebanon after Khomeini’, in H. E. Chehabi, ed., Distant Relations: Iran and Lebanon in the Last 500 Years (London: I.B.Tauris, 2006), p. 297. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, p. 147. 73. H. E. Chehabi, ‘Iran and Lebanon after Khomeini’, p. 301. 74. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, p. 149. 75. Hunter, Iran’s Foreign Policy. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, p. 149. 76. S. Chubin, Iran’s Nuclear Ambitions (Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 2006), p. 30.

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77. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, pp. 149– 50. 78. Salamey and Othman, ‘Shia revival’, p. 203. 79. Hunter, Iran’s Foreign Policy, p. 185. 80. Salamey and Othman, ‘Shia revival’, p. 209. 81. See Hunter, Iran’s Foreign Policy. See Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, pp. 155– 6. 82. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, pp. 155– 6. 83. Shireen T. Hunter, ‘What Iran Wants in Iraq and Why’, Lobelog Foreign Policy, 20 June 2014, http://www.lobelog.com/what-iran-wants-in-iraq-and-why (accessed 20 June 2014). 84. Ibid. 85. Ibid. 86. Ibid. 87. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, pp. 161– 2. 88. Shireen T. Hunter, ‘What Iran Wants in Iraq and Why.’ 89. Hashemi Rafsanjani, ‘Interview with The Japanese newspaper’, Etemad Daily, Tuesday 9 July 2014, http://www.etemaad.ir/Released/93-04-19/204.htm (accessed 9 July 2014). 90. Juan Cole, ‘Hardliners in Israel & Iran Resist US Pivot to Iran over ISIS’, 23 June 2014, http://www.juancole.com/2014/06/hardliners-israel-resist.html (accessed 23 June 2014). 91. ‘Netanyahu warns U.S. Against Working With Iran To Halt ISIS Advance In Iraq’, International Business Times, 22 June 2014, http://www.ibtimes.com/ netanyahu-warns-us-against-working-iran-halt-isis-advance-iraq-1608454 (accessed 22 June 2014). 92. Juan Cole, ‘Hardliners in Israel & Iran Resist US Pivot to Iran over ISIS’, 23 June 2014. 93. E. Rostami-Povey, ‘Iran’s regional influence’, in E. Hooglund and L. Stenberg, eds, Navigating Contemporary Iran: Challenging Economic, Social and Political Perceptions (London: Routledge, 2012), p. 190. 94. Ibid. 95. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, p. 164. 96. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Iran? It’s the geopolitics, Stupid!’, Caribbean Journal of International Relations & Diplomacy, Vol. 1, No. 4 (December 2013): 23 – 37, pp. 29 – 30. 97. Vali Nasr, ‘Syria After the Fall’, New York Times, 28 July 2012, http://www. nytimes.com/2012/07/29/opinion/sunday/after-syrias-assad-falls-the-usmust-work-with-iran.html?_r¼ 1 (accessed 20 January 2014). 98. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, p. 161.

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99. The ‘Shi‘a Crescent’ is a politically motivated concept coined by King Abdullah II of Jordan in December 2004. King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia reinforced this notion, and then-president Mubarak of Egypt even claimed that Shi‘ite communities in the Arab world are more loyal to Iran than to their own countries. The alleged Shi‘a Crescent comprises Iran, Iraq, Syria, Hezbollah in Lebanon, and Hamas in the Gaza Strip – all of whom challenged the interest of the status quo axis made up of the US, Israel, and conservative Arab regimes. This implies that Iran plays a central role in the Shi‘ite Crescent mobilizing Shi‘a communities and exploiting their sociopolitical grievances along sectarian fault lines to secure its own regional dominance. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, p. 161. 100. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, pp. 161– 4. 101. Ibid., pp. 160, 173. 102. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Post-Islamist Trends in Post-Revolutionary Iran’, Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa, and the Middle East, Vol. 31, No. 1 (2011): 94 –109, p. 94. 103. Reformists such as Mir-Hossein Mousavi, Mehdi Karrubi, Mohammad Khatami, Ayatollah Montazeri, Ayatollah Saanei, Ahmad Qabel, and Mohsen Kadivar represent this trend. 104. Abdolkarim Soroush, Mojtahed-Shabestari, Mostafa Malekian, Mohsen Saidzadeh, Saeed Hajarian, Akbar Ganji, and Alireza Alavitabar are major scholars and activists of the second trend. 105. Major intellectual figures of this trend include Ehsan Shariati, Susan Shariati, Sara Shariati, Reza Alijani, Hassan Yusefi-Eshkevari, Taqi Rahmani, Ahmad Zeidabadi, and members of Research Bureau of Ali Shariati in Tehran. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Post-Islamist Trends in Post-Revolutionary Iran’, p. 95. 106. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Post-Islamist Trends in Post-Revolutionary Iran’, pp. 95 – 6. 107. Haideh Moghissi, ‘Troubled Relationships: Women, nationalism, and the Left movement in Iran’, in Reformers and Revolutionaries in Modern Iran: New Perspectives on the Iranian Left, ed. Stephanie Cronin (London and New York: Routledge Curzon, 2004), p. 225. 108. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Post-Islamist Trends in Post-Revolutionary Iran’, p. 96. 109. Ervand Abrahamian, ‘Empire Strikes Back: Iran in U.S. Sights’, in Inventing the Axis of Evil, ed. Bruce Cumings, E. Abrahamian, and Moshe Ma’oz (New York: The New Press, 2004), pp. 116–17. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Post-Islamist Trends in Post-Revolutionary Iran’, p. 97. 110. Shaul Bakhash, ‘Iran’s Remarkable Election’, in Larry Diamond, Marc F. Plattner, and Daniel Brumberg, eds, Islam and Democracy in the Middle East (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003), p. 119. 111. Daniel Brumberg, Reinventing Khomeini: The Struggle for Reform in Iran (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2001), p. 234. 112. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Post-Islamist Trends in Post-Revolutionary Iran’, p. 97.

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113. Mohsen Kadivar, Andisheh-ye Siyasi dar Islam [Political Thought in Islam ], Vols 1 – 2 (Tehran: Nay Publications, 1998). 114. ‘Montazeri’s last public statement’, Jaras (Rahesabz online), February 2010, www.rahesabz.net/story/8775 (accessed 20 June 2014). 115. Mehdi Karoubi, http://khordaad88.com/?p¼ 1696#more-1696 (accessed 20 June 2014). 116. Mir-Hossein Mousavi, 15 June 2010, http://khordaad88.com/?p¼ 1691#m ore-1691. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Post-Islamist Trends in Post-Revolutionary Iran’, pp. 98 – 9. 117. For more information, see Serat, ed., Sunna and Secularism: Works of Soroush, Mojtahed-Shabestari, Malekian and Kadivar [Sunnat va Secularism: Goftarhaei as A. Soroush, M. Mojtahed-Shabestari, M. Malekian, and M. Kadivar ] (Tehran: Serat, 1381/2002). See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Post-Islamist Trends in PostRevolutionary Iran’, p. 101. 118. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Post-Islamist Trends in Post-Revolutionary Iran’, p. 102. 119. Hassan Yusef-Eshkevari, ‘Faithful Life in an Urfi State’, Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa, and the Middle East, Vol. 31, No. 1 (2011), pp. 23 – 6. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Post-Islamist Trends in Post-Revolutionary Iran’, pp. 105 – 6. 120. See Mojtaba Mahdavi, ‘Post-Islamist Trends in Post-Revolutionary Iran’, p. 108. 121. Ali Mirsepassi and Tadd Graham Fernee, Islam, Democracy, and Cosmopolitanism: At Home and in the World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), p. 199. 122. Ibid., p. 204. 123. Fred Halliday, The Middle East in International Relations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), p. 303ff. 124. Ibid., p. 319. 125. Shireen T. Hunter, ‘What Iran Wants in Iraq and Why’, Lobelog Foreign Policy, 20 June 2014.

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Kadivar, Mohsen, Andisheh-ye Siyasi dar Islam [Political Thought in Islam ], Vols 1 –2 (Tehran: Nay Publications, 1998). Kahl, Colin H., ‘Constructing a Separate Peace: Constructivism, Collective Liberal Identity, and Democratic Peace’, Security Studies, Vol. 8, Nos 2–3 (1998): 94–144. Kant, Immanuel, ‘Toward Perpetual Peace’, in Practical Philosophy, ed. M. J. Gregor, trans. M. J. Gregor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), pp. 311–52. Karoubi, M., http://khordaad88.com/?p=1696#more-1696 (accessed 20 June 2014). Kelly, Robert E., ‘A “Confucian Long Peace” in Pre-Western East Asia?’, European Journal of International Relations, Vol. 18, No. 3 (2012): 407– 30. Kuehnhardt, Ludger, ‘The Arab Spring Revisited: How the Arab Monarchies Can Survive’, 24 January 2012, http://www.worldsecuritynetwork.com/showArticle3. cfm?article_id=18594. Lai, Brian and Dan Reiter, ‘Democracy, Political Similarity, and International Alliances, 1816–1992’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, Vol. 44, No. 2 (2000): 203–27. Mahdavi, Mojtaba, ‘Postrevolutionary Iran: Resisting global and regional hegemony’, in Tareq Y. Ismael and Glenn E. Perry, eds, The International Relations of the Contemporary Middle East: Subordination and after (London: Routledge, 2014), pp. 141– 73. ——— ‘Iran? It’s the geopolitics, Stupid!’, Caribbean Journal of International Relations & Diplomacy, Vol. 1, No. 4 (December 2013): 23 – 37. ——— ‘Post-Islamist Trends in Post-Revolutionary Iran’, Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa, and the Middle East, Vol. 31, No. 1 (2011): 94 – 109. ——— ‘Rethinking Structure and Agency in Democratization: Iranian Lessons’, International Journal of Criminology and Sociological Theory, Vol. 1, No. 2 (December 2008): 142– 60. Maoz, Zeev and Bruce Russett, ‘Normative and Structural Causes of Democratic Peace 1946–1986’, The American Political Science Review, Vol. 87, No. 3 (1993): 624–38. Mirsepassi, Ali, and Tadd Graham Fernee, Islam, Democracy, and Cosmopolitanism: At Home and in the World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014). Moghissi, Haideh, ‘Troubled Relationships: Women, nationalism, and the Left movement in Iran’, in Reformers and Revolutionaries in Modern Iran: New Perspectives on the Iranian Left, ed. Stephanie Cronin (London and New York: Routledge Curzon, 2004). ‘Montazeri’s last public statement’, Jaras (Rahesabz online), February 2010, www. rahesabz.net/story/8775/ (accessed 20 June 2014). Morgan, T. Clifton and Sally Howard Campbell, ‘Domestic Structure, Decisional Constraints, and War So Why Kant Democracies Fight?’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, Vol. 35, No. 2 (1991): 187– 211. Moses, J. W., ‘The Umma of Democracy’, Security Dialogue, Vol. 37, No. 4 (2006): 489– 508. ‘Mossad chief: Nuclear Iran not necessarily existential threat to Israel’, Haaretz, 29 December 2011, http://www.haaretz.com/print-edition/news/mossad-chiefnuclear-iran-not-necessarily-existential-threat-to-israel-1.404227 (accessed 20 June 2014). Mousavi, Mir-Hossein, 15 June 2010, http://khordaad88.com/?p=1691#more-1691 (accessed 20 June 2014). Nasr, Vali, ‘Syria After the Fall’, New York Times, 28 July 2012, http://www.nytimes. com/2012/07/29/opinion/sunday/after-syrias-assad-falls-the-us-must-work-wi th-iran.html?_r=1 (accessed 20 January 2014).

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‘Netanyahu warns U.S. Against Working With Iran To Halt ISIS Advance In Iraq’, International Business Time, 22 June 2014, http://www.ibtimes.com/netanyahuwarns-us-against-working-iran-halt-isis-advance-iraq-1608454 (accessed 22 June 2014). O’Huallachain, D. L. and J. Forrest Sharpe, eds, Neo-Conned! Again: Hypocrisy, Lawlessness and the Rape of Iraq (Norfolk: HIS Press, 2007). Parsi, Trita, Treacherous Alliance: The Secret Dealings of Israel, Iran, and the United States (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007). Peceny, Mark, Caroline Beer, and Shannon Sanchez-Terry, ‘Dictatorial Peace?’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 96, No. 1 (2002): 15 – 26. Rakel, E.P., ‘Iranian foreign policy since the Islamic revolution: 1979– 2006’, Perspectives on Global Development and Technology, Vol. 6, No. 1 (2007). Raknerud, Arvid and Havard Hegre, ‘The Hazard of War: Reassessing the Evidence for the Democratic Peace’, Journal of Peace Research, Vol. 34, No. 4 (1997): 385– 404. Ramazani, R.K., ‘Reflection on Iran’s foreign policy: Spiritual pragmatism’, Iranian Review, Vol. 1, No. 1 (2010). ———. ‘Iran’s foreign policy: Contending orientations’, Middle East Journal, Vol. 43, No. 2 (1989). Rice calls for Mid-East democracy, BBC News, 20 June 2005, http://news.bbc.co. uk/2/hi/4109902.stm (accessed 20 June 2014). Risse-Kappen, Thomas, ‘Democratic Peace – Warlike Democracies: A Social Constructivist Interpretation of the Liberal Argument’, European Journal of International Relations, Vol. 1, No. 4 (1995): 491– 517. Rostami-Povey, E., ‘Iran’s regional influence’, in E. Hooglund and L. Stenberg, eds, Navigating Contemporary Iran: Challenging Economic, Social and Political Perceptions (London: Routledge, 2012). Salamey, I., and Z. Othman, ‘Shia revival and welayat al-faqih in the making of Iranian foreign policy’, Politics, Religion, and Ideology, Vol. 12, No. 2 (2011). Serat, ed., Sunna and Secularism: Works of Soroush, Mojtahed-Shabestari, Malekian and Kadivar [Sunnat va Secularism: Goftarhaei as A. Soroush, M. Mojtahed-Shabestari, M. Malekian, and M. Kadivar] (Tehran: Serat, 1381/2002). Sick, Gary, ‘The Axis of Evil: Origins and Policy Implications’, Middle East Economic Survey, Vol. 45, No. 14 (8 April 2002). ——— ‘The Clouded Mirror: The United States and Iran, 1979 – 1999’, in Esposito and Ramazani, eds, Iran at the Crossroads (New York: Palgrave, 2001), pp. 191 – 210. Souva, Mark, ‘Institutional Similarity and Interstate Conflict’, International Interactions, Vol. 30, No. 3 (2004): 263– 80. Waltz, K., ‘Why Iran Should Get the Bomb: Nuclear Balancing Would Mean Stability’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 91, No. 4 (July/August 2012): 1 – 5. Werner, Suzanne, ‘The Effects of Political Similarity on the Onset of Militarized Disputes, 1816 – 1985’, Political Research Quarterly, Vol. 53, No. 2 (2000): 343 – 74. Yusef-Eshkevari, Hassan, ‘Faithful Life in an Urfi State’, Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa, and the Middle East, Vol. 31, No. 1 (2011): 23 – 6. Zubaida, Sami, ‘Is Iran an Islamic State?’, in Political Islam: Essays From Middle East Report, ed. Joel Beinin and Joe Stork (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997).

CHAPTER 5 BUILDING A FEDERAL STATE: DEFINING DEMOCRACY AND THE ESSENCE OF THE STATE IN POST-2003 IRAQ Gareth Stansfield

Until the sudden taking of most of Sunni-dominated Iraq by the Islamic State of Iraq and al-Sham (ISIS) in June 2014, the trajectory of political developments in Iraq since 2003 had been characterized as relatively positive though punctuated with significant moments of violence and instability.1 The rise of ISIS and the subsequent de facto partition of Iraq into the Kurdistan Region, the Islamic State, and the Shi‘a-dominated Baghdad– Basra axis, however, did not occur in isolation from earlier developments. Rather, the conditions that gave rise to ISIS could be said to be more derived from the failure of Iraq’s post-2003 democratic processes rather than its success. This chapter thus attempts to provide an analysis that challenges the notion of ‘democratic success’ in Iraq. Iraq’s democratic development is more than a linear procession from invasion and occupation to constitution writing and government formation and several national and provincial elections. Indeed, this chapter challenges such an ostensibly positive trajectory as being the product not of Iraqis of different political aspirations finding common cause and thus compromising willingly, but rather as a response to pressures brought to bear on Iraqi political life by

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the overwhelming presence of the US-led coalition which resulted in short-term solutions being implemented in the interests of the US and its allies. These solutions would generate longer-term consequences by forcing compromises on key issues in order to push the need to ‘resolve’ these foreboding disputes to a later date, when Iraq was no longer the responsibility of the US and its allies. Following the withdrawal of US forces in December 2011, these short-term solutions have proven to lack durability. One of the most telling examples of this sort has been the constitution being constructed in a federal manner but not being fully implemented along with the practice of limiting parliamentary oversight over government actions. As a result, there now exists a range of disputes in Iraq that have various causative factors, but all of which share a similar structure of power and ‘shape’ of the state.2

The Failure of Federalism and the Rise of the Islamic State Iraq’s politics have progressed from a period of great crisis under the premiership of Nouri al-Maliki, to one which has seen the most significant threat not only to Iraq’s integrity, but to the broader Middle East region – in the form of the Islamic State – to emerge.3 From its founding in 2006 to its end in 2014, Maliki’s government generated immense tensions in Iraq due to its overt exercising of the power garnered by the majoritarian position of the Shi‘a vis-a`-vis the minority position of Sunnis and Kurds. Frictions flared in particular over what were perceived to be attempts by Maliki to centralize power, and by efforts of his opponents to ‘regionalize’ power through the tenets of the federal constitution. This federalist outlook was not only held and attempted by the Kurds. Since 2011, leaders of the Sunni-dominated provinces to the north-west, north, and north-east of Baghdad have indicated their desire to implement constitutional articles that would facilitate their conversion into federal regions of Iraq with associated autonomous competences such as Shi‘a-dominated provinces to the south of Baghdad, most notably Basra, rather than remain as governorates of a centralized Iraqi state. Rather than managing this process, however, Maliki blocked it, promulgating confrontation with the Sunni elites of northern governorates and Shi‘i elites of southern ones, and bringing the informal tripartite system of power-sharing between Maliki’s State of Law coalition (dawlat

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al-qanun), the Sunni-dominated Iraqiyya coalition led principally by Ayad Allawi and Usama al-Nujaifi, and the Kurdistan Bloc dominated by Massoud Barzani to a dangerous stand-off. This quickly pushed the governance of Iraq to a standstill. In this tense environment, the Iraqi parliament – the Council of Representatives – was rarely heard. Indeed, during the period of Maliki’s premiership, if not before, parliament remained an impotent gathering of political figures largely separated from where real power lay and from how real power was exercised. Other issues were also destabilizing Iraq in 2013, the last full year of Maliki’s tenure. Of critical concern was the Kurds’ policy of developing their hydrocarbons sector independently of Baghdad, the dispute over the size of the Kurdistan Region of Iraq, and the lack of implementation of Article 140 of the constitution which specifies a basic process for the resolution of the ‘disputed territories’ claimed by the Kurds as part of their federal region, but governed centrally from Baghdad. This would all be complicated by the increasingly ominous sectarian-fuelled animosity that developed between the Iraqi government of Maliki and the non-Shi‘a population to the north of Baghdad, in the area that would later become the realm of the Islamic State. By the spring of 2014, these problems had combined to create a crisis of governance in the Sunni Arab-dominated areas north of Baghdad, south of the Kurdistan Region. This area, which included the governorates of Nineveh, Salahadin, Diyala and parts of Kirkuk, had increasingly fallen out of the control of the state, and had become prone to the predations of a variety of insurgent groups of Islamist, nationalist, and tribal hues. By the beginning of 2014, one group – ISIS – stood out as being particularly capable and determined. In spite of this, their swift and decisive capturing of Mosul on 6 June and their spreading across the other Sunni Arab-dominated provinces took many by surprise. By the end of 2014, the Islamic State, as proclaimed by its leader Caliph Ibrahim in the Grand Mosque of Mosul on 29 June, held sway in a vast swathe of land stretching from Mosul to the outskirts of Kirkuk, to Fallujah in Anbar governorate. By whatever measure, Iraq had been divided, by force, into three distinct regions – a Kurdistan Region in the north, an Islamic State in the centre, and the Baghdad–Basra axis in the south. While Western politicians clung to the notion of an integrated and unified Iraqi state that simply needed to be reorganized in order to remove the threat posed by Caliph Ibrahim and the Islamic State, realities in Iraq

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had changed considerably. Far from there being one Iraqi voice, there were now two legitimate voices heralding from the government of Iraq in Baghdad and the Kurdistan Regional Government in Erbil. Each one had their own executive and legislature, and each one exercised power in their areas, with the Kurds enjoying as much domestic sovereignty as any recognized independent state could. While it was less clear what was happening in the area now called the Islamic State, few could deny the emergence of an insurgent state; one that was rapidly institutionalizing itself into an entity of some durability.

Iraq’s Democracy and Constitution: The Federal Blueprint While it would be too simplistic to single out any one cause for the rise of the Islamic State and the calamitous situation of Iraqi politics in 2014, there is reason to consider how the exercise of majoritarian democracy and the exclusion of significant minority views, alongside the contentious issue of federalism, has played into these developments. Not even the successful devolving of power earlier in Iraq’s period of democratic transition in 2006, nor what followed Iraq’s terrible sectarian civil war in 2007, could have nullified the conditions that would go on to provide fertile ground for the Islamic State to mature. From the outset, post-2003 Iraq has struggled with the successful accommodation of a new, democratic system of selecting parliament and then government that would represent the interests of all Iraqis irrespective of ethnicity or sect. While early power-sharing arrangements were originally utilized in the transitional period, allowing for the formation of an advisory and multi-ethnic Iraqi Governing Council (IGC) possessing the usual requisite veto powers so beloved in consociational systems of governance, the return of full sovereignty to the Government of Iraq saw these complex power-sharing arrangements diluted. Power was increasingly moved in a majoritarian direction – in effect, giving the Shi‘a an absolute say in how the state would run, if they so wished. The reality, though, proved to be somewhat more complex. With each community – Shi‘as, Sunnis, and Kurds – being less than unified within themselves, and with there being strong internal contestation within each grouping, politicians tended to use the argument of majoritarianism to justify their own aggrandizing of power, and then ignore their parliamentary parties and blocs as they exercised this power

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on their behalf. Nouri al-Maliki is very much a case in point in this regard. While his party – Da’wa – was indeed popular and powerful, his use of parliament remained as limited as it was dismissive, beyond the mere ‘rubber-stamping’ of laws. For other Kurds, though, the Iraqi parliament was only meant to be one theatre in which power would be organized and managed. For them, the most significant plan to implement was building a federal state; however, this was a plan that would never be implemented in Iraq, beyond acknowledging the already existing Kurdistan Region. Ratified by a popular referendum in 2005, the constitution is federal in design, yet remains ambiguous to such a degree as to allow disputes to take place between politicians who hold divergent opinions and aims.4 It now seems clear that there exist at least two ‘ideas’ of what the political and administrative ‘shape’ of Iraq should be, with these perceptions being held by different groups of Iraqi political elites. These ideas are mutually antipathetic as they occupy extremes of the centralized– federal spectrum, and they also seem to exist as normative views in the collective subconscious of the contesting interest groups. The Kurds, for example, view Iraq as a decentralized entity – and perhaps even more confederal than federal – and there is no room in their normative view for the shape of Iraq being structured in any other way. The subconscious outlook of the core of successive post-2003 governments (particularly that of Nouri al-Maliki), and a significant proportion of Iraq’s non-Kurdish (i.e. Arab and Turkmen) population, however, has viewed the shape of Iraq as being focused upon Baghdad with a centralized state structure. It is worth investigating the issue of federalism somewhat further, as its implementation as planned, with regional legislatures and significant devolved powers, could have, perhaps, stymied the rise of the Islamic State by moderating the worst excesses of majoritarian rule of the Shi‘a in a state that remained (apart from the Kurdistan Region) unitary in nature and practice.

The Kurds and the Origins of the Federal Discourse Discourses around federalism did not suddenly appear in Iraq in the heady days following the removal of Saddam’s regime in 2003. Indeed, the roots of Iraq’s modern federalism debate stem as far back as the 1970s and can be traced to the demands made by the leaders of the Kurdish national movement at this time.5 Having made the transition from tribal

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insurrections to a more coherent Kurdish nationalist platform in the midtwentieth century, the ‘Kurdish Revolution’ began in earnest in 1961 under the leadership of the late Mullah Mustafa Barzani – the father of the current president of the Kurdistan Region, Massoud.6 The Kurdish Revolution presented a serious challenge not to the integrity of Iraq – indeed, an argument can and will be made that the Kurds have rarely shown secessionist tendencies – but rather to the stability of the governing regime in Baghdad, in a way that revealingly presages events today.7 The 1960s were a turbulent time in Iraqi politics, with the military regime of Abdul-Karim Qassem succumbing to a coup composed of Ba’athists and the military in 1963. This was followed by a further Ba’athist-dominated coup in 1968, which ultimately saw Saddam Hussein assume a position of prominence as vice-president under Ahmed Hassan al-Bakr, and then unrivalled power as the president himself.8 Yet the governments of this decade were fragile and had to contend with challenges from within the military, from the populist Iraqi Communist Party (ICP), or from the increasingly prominent political groupings emerging from within the Shi‘i religious community.9 What they could not manage was challenges on two fronts – from within the political milieu of Arab Iraq, and from the mountains of the Kurdish-dominated north.10 But the Kurdish leadership in Iraq rarely espoused secession from the state – it is simply a gross misrepresentation to suggest otherwise, although such a perception is quite common given that the situation appears to fit a particular stereotype of the trajectory minority aspirations must take. From early on, the Kurds embraced the notion of autonomy and ethno-federalism, almost certainly as a compromise brought about by an understanding of their wider geopolitical environment. Recognizing that there was absolutely no opportunity for landlocked and ambiguously constructed Kurdistan to emerge as an independent state by carving out a mountainous entity in the borderlands of Turkey, Iran, Iraq, and Syria (states constructed around highly dominant ethnic notions of nationhood themselves),11 the Kurdish leadership formulated a discourse dominated by notions of autonomy within a federated Iraq. Indeed, one can go further and state that, far from being secessionist as many observers continue to claim, the Kurds’ policy in Iraq should be seen as highly integrationist, albeit through federal structures. Following several significant military successes against the new Ba’ath regime which took power following a coup d’e´tat on 17 July 1968,

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Mustafa Barzani entered into negotiations with the Government of Iraq in December 1969, with talks focused upon the demarcation of a Kurdistan Region.12 However, the status of Kirkuk and its environs proved to be a key sticking point, with Barzani demanding their inclusion in the Kurdistan Region, and the Ba’ath regime instead ostensibly offering a census to determine majority areas. In reality, however, they were playing for time as they had no intention of letting the oil-rich region and centre of the northern oil industry fall outside the orbit of Baghdad’s control. It was Saddam Hussein, as vice-president of Iraq, who travelled north to negotiate with the doughty Kurdish leader, presenting him with a blank sheet of paper on which to write his demands – a sheet of paper that led to the March Agreement of 1970. The agreement saw de facto autonomy throughout Kurdistan, which did not include Kirkuk which was held over for discussions at a later date, and Kurdish governors also being appointed in Suleimaniyah, Erbil, and Dohuk, and five Kurds to the Government of Iraq’s cabinet. The agreement, however, was doomed to fall apart as neither Saddam nor Barzani were fully satisfied with what had only ever been seen by both as a temporary compromise. Stresses and strains were readily apparent only two years into the implementation of the agreement, with Barzani demanding the withdrawal of the Iraqi army from Kurdistan, and the Government of Iraq in consternation at the Kurds’ unwillingness to seal the border with Iran. By 1974, Baghdad was both sufficiently confident and annoyed to challenge the Kurdish leadership again and move ahead with a formal Autonomy Law. As ever, the negotiations foundered over the perennially difficult issue of Kirkuk, with neither side being prepared to budge. The subsequent Autonomy Law of 1974 identified a Kurdistan Region without Kirkuk, but with considerably watered-down selfgovernance arrangements when compared with the March Agreement of four years prior. Governors, for example, were placed under the authority of Baghdad ministries, and Baghdad institutions had pre-eminence over those of the north. Barzani rejected the law, but this time proved unable to force the Government of Iraq to back down. With a reformed and vastly superior Iraqi army, Saddam managed to inflict a devastating beating on the Kurds, forcing them into political disarray for the next 15 years. However, though they were defeated and destroyed, the early 1970s gave the Kurds a small taste of autonomy and gave some of their leaders experience in managing administrative affairs.13 It also made the population as a whole even more

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wary of the dangers of living in a centralized Iraqi state as the next decade witnessed widespread subjugation of the Kurds at the hands of the Ba’ath regime and its military and security forces.14

Kurdish Autonomy and the ‘Federal’ Iraqi Opposition to Saddam The next significant moment in the emergence of an Iraqi federal discourse took place in the early 1990s. Following Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait in 1990 and the subsequent routing of Saddam’s forces by the US-led coalition in 1991, two uprisings took place against the Ba’ath regime. In the south, disaffected military units rebelled and soon after the uprising took on a sectarian colour, subsequently being viewed as a Shi‘a-dominated intifada against Saddam’s Sunni-dominated government. In the north, local uprisings in Raniyah quickly spread and encouraged the return of the Kurdistan Democratic Party (KDP) and the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (PUK) peshmerga from their mountain retreats across the border in Iran to lead the Kurdish rapareen (uprising). Both uprisings were defeated by hastily reorganized and rejuvenated Iraqi Republican Guard units – aided by the US refusing to ban Iraq from using helicopters. However, following international condemnation at the plight of Kurdish civilians fleeing into the mountains, and also because Saddam desperately needed to consolidate his regime in Baghdad, Iraqi government forces withdrew from the three northern provinces in October 1991, essentially creating an administrative vacuum that was filled by the leading political forces among the Kurds. In the subsequent highly chaotic situation, a government emerged – the Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG) – which was dominated by the KDP and PUK and which would go on to form the institutional basis of the future federal Kurdistan Region. The establishment of the KRG was sudden and unexpected, but allowed for the Kurdish leadership to once again push the strategy for Iraq to be a federal state, or at least have a Kurdish autonomous state within its boundaries. This time, it was making its demand from a position of relative strength. With the Government of Iraq now internationally isolated and the wider international community’s relations with Iraq being reformulated, the Kurdish leadership had more opportunity to push its federalist agenda. Their leverage also came from being the only component of the opposition to the Ba’ath regime that controlled a part of Iraq, making their inclusion in the new movements emerging under US

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tutelage a political and military necessity. This leverage became apparent in the convening meeting of the Iraqi National Congress – a US-sponsored umbrella of opposition groupings – held in Vienna in the summer of 1992.15 To the consternation of Iraqi nationalists, the Kurdish leadership made their involvement in the INC, or any other movement for that matter, conditional upon the unified political platform envisioning postBa’ath Iraq as a federal state. This decision was subsequently ratified at the General Assembly of the Iraqi National Congress (INC) held in Salahadin, in Kurdish-controlled Iraq, in October 1992. Divisions were already apparent among the ranks of the opposition leadership, however, with some nationalists boycotting the Assembly because of the inclusion of the Kurds’ federal plan, and the Da’wa party expressing its reservations – a position which continues to the present, with the current prime minister of Iraq, Haider al-Abadi, being a leader of Da’wa.16 The issue of federalism for Iraq was not of great importance in the 1990s, however. The Kurds continued to consolidate their region, but were far more focused on internal power struggles between the KDP and PUK than they were on removing the Ba’ath regime and federalizing Iraq. Moreover, the other opposition forces were more often than not in disarray due to their inability to operate in an environment still totally dominated by the regime’s security services. It would take nothing less than the removal of Saddam Hussein himself to turn the federal debate from one of an abstract nature, to one very real and transformative.

Regime Change and the Constitution of 2005 The removal of Saddam Hussein’s regime in 2003 heralded a new beginning for a ‘new’ Iraq – an Iraq which liberators and occupiers, and those Iraqis empowered with running the affairs of the new country almost uniformly described as being democratic and pluralistic. Disagreements over what was meant by the term ‘democracy’ among different configurations of Iraqis combined with the US view as to how the state should be reorganized, however, set in place a series of compromises which resulted in the constitution of 2005, as well as many of the ambiguities which would then be exploited later on – including with regards to the federal prescriptions. The origins of the constitution can be traced to the negotiation of the Transitional Administrative Law (TAL) of 2004, negotiated under the

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authority of the administrator of the international occupation, Ambassador L. Paul Bremer III.17 The TAL was itself a compromise and was the first showing of how strong the Kurds had become in the post-Saddam setting. On the one hand were those groups – namely Sunnis, many Shi‘i groups, and the US – who wanted a centralized state ordered on majoritarian principles. On the other were the Kurds and, to a degree, the Islamic Supreme Council of Iraq (ISCI) who advocated a pluralist and decentralized Iraq. As the Kurds could not be forced into any arrangement they did not wish to see come to pass due to their inherent strength, a compromise solution therefore had to be found. This compromise in effect witnessed an asymmetric federal constitution being drafted, if not fully implemented. The arrangements allowed for Arab Iraq to be federated into 14 provinces, with the Kurdistan Region being a stand-alone province – or federacy – recognizing its irregular status and legalizing its position within the state.18 The KRG then sought and secured the full attributes of domestic statehood – building on the powers it had gained since 1991 – and responsibility for its own security, thereby negating the need to have Iraqi Security Forces stationed in the region. Kurdistan therefore became a singular recognized region in Iraq, with the laws passed by the Kurdistan National Assembly since 1991 being recognized as legal by the Iraqi government and judiciary, with agreements in place for the proportionate sharing of revenue. What was a proto-constitution heavily stacked in the Kurds’ favour was then given further Kurdish colour by the mistiming of the Sunni Arabs in the elections of 2005. Indeed, following widespread dissatisfaction, Sunni Arab politicians organized a boycott of the elections, effectively handing control of Iraq’s institutions to a coalition of Shi‘i and Kurdish parties. The subsequent negotiations over the formal constitution were then dominated by these parties, with Sunni Arabs having only a secondary role in proceedings. The constitution would be ratified by a popular referendum in October 2005.

Federalism in Theory, Federalism in Practice Using David Cameron’s phrase of 2007, Iraq had its ‘foundational document’; however, there remained much work to do, and the devil proved to be very much in the details.19 It is these issues of details and implementation that led theorists to ask the pertinent question as to

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whether Iraq’s federal constitution would placate the ethno-sectarian tensions in society, or alternatively, inflame them further. For some observers, the approach taken by Iraq’s federalists may be viewed as having short-term gains (in terms of finding a politically acceptable compromise), but long-term problems. Roeder, for example, identified five weaknesses of arguments promoting ethno-federalism and autonomy.20 The first weakness is that the argument focuses upon the short-term problem of finding a compromise, presumably in unstable situations, giving little thought to what might occur ‘the day after’, particularly with regard to the practical workability of structures agreed in theory. Roeder notes, ‘[t]his may be a smart approach for politicians seeking to muddle through a crisis and pass the problem to their successors, but [it] may leave the[ir] successors with a still worse problem’.21 Secondly, and with particular relevance to Iraq and Kurdistan, Roeder identifies a dangerous disconnect within a focus on finding an institutional compromise that would satisfy the greed and grievances on both sides of the dispute, but which gives little consideration to the origins of the grievances themselves, noting that they are often ‘endogenous to the institutional arrangement’.22 With regard to the status of Kirkuk in particular – the highly disputed oil-rich city lying in the disputed territories between Baghdad-controlled Iraq and the Kurdistan Regional Government-administered territory – this seems to be a particularly pertinent criticism, with both the Government of Iraq and KRG officials engaging in a discourse that has little or no linkage with opinions, conditions, or aspirations evident at the local level. The third of Roeder’s weaknesses develops upon the problem of myopically focusing on institutional structures, and suggests that the institutions themselves structure grievances, nurture identities, and enhance capabilities and opportunities for escalating conflict in ‘the next round’. For opponents of Iraq’s federal system, Roeder’s words ring strong and true indeed. This then leads to a fourth problem, of replicating the problems of the initial centralized state (i.e. the allencompassing Government of Iraq), with concerns about its coerciveness and threat to recentralize power, within the newly established regional entity. This in itself begins to mimic the common-state government in terms of its aggressiveness towards threats within its own borders, and particularly from minorities.

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Lastly, Roeder identifies the ‘trap’ in the debate – how autonomy arrangements limit political actions between two perils: centralization and dissolution. Indeed, he claims, ‘Once ethnofederalism or autonomy is institutionalized, typically the only reforms on the bargaining table entail steering directly toward one peril in order to avoid the other’.23 Roeder is but one figure writing on ethnofederal arrangements, and there is a range of opposing views that would suggest that ‘the success rate of ethnofederations . . . is far higher than acknowledged by critics, higher even than many defenders of ethnofederalism seem prepared to concede’.24 Spirited defences aside, Roeder’s ‘five weaknesses’ correlate closely to how Iraq’s federalism has unfolded. The question then to consider is how these essentially abstract debates are now being played out in practice – in an environment that is once again truly ‘Iraqi’, without having the overwhelming influence of the US in place, ensuring that disputes over political sensitive subjects are either diluted away or postponed for future discussion.

Federalism, Democracy, and the Crisis of Iraqi Politics Democratic order and federalism moved to the centre stage of Iraqi political debate in the months leading up to the final withdrawal of US forces, in December 2011. Of course, there was a constant stream of federalism-related speeches, interviews, and positions emanating from the Kurdish leadership which remained energetic in their attempts to ensure that no one forgot on what basis the Kurds had voted for the constitution of Iraq, and what it would take for the Kurds to remain active and positive participants in the Iraqi state. Similarly, the Iraqiyya leadership – strongly representative of the Sunnis – was vociferous in its demands to see the government of Maliki relinquish control of key state competences in recognition of the significant non-Shi‘i communities that felt, for good reason, excluded by the centralizing actions of the prime minister. Following inconclusive parliamentary elections in March 2010, Iraq entered a period of uncertainty and political inaction. In a highly surprising turn of events, the Iraqiyya bloc of former prime minister Ayad Allawi achieved a marginal victory over the State of Law Coalition of incumbent prime minister Nouri al-Maliki, giving the former 91 seats compared to 89 for the latter – but with neither anywhere near

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securing a majority in the 325-seat Council of Representatives. The result gave significant weight to the two pro-federal lists – the Kurdistani List (an amalgam of the leading Kurdish parties, which won 43 seats) and the National Iraqi Alliance (dominated by the federalistleaning Shi‘a Islamic Supreme Council of Iraq led by Amr al-Hakim, which won 70 seats). With no one bloc capable of forming a majority, Iraq entered a period of political brinkmanship, as Maliki and Allawi both sought to outmanoeuvre the other to secure the prime minister’s position. For the Kurds, the dispute was viewed with a combination of trepidation and opportunism. While they were fearful of Maliki’s growing power and what seemed to be a rapidly developing penchant for authoritarian approaches to exercising it, they still viewed him as being a figure they could control and manage, whereas they retained very real concerns about the rise of a Sunni-dominated party that was clearly very popular in disputed territories coveted by the Kurdish leadership – with it not going unnoticed that Iraqiyya had secured more parliamentary seats in the Kirkuk governorate than they had themselves. The president of the Kurdistan Region, Massoud Barzani, therefore set himself up to be the figure to facilitate a compromise which would then hopefully forward Kurdistan’s federalist ambitions while also seeking to resolve the interrelated problems of the ownership of the disputed territories and the management of the oil and gas sector. The resulting deal, agreed on 11 November and named the Erbil Agreement, saw Maliki accepting a 19- (later 22-) point plan which contained Kurdistan’s demands. This included the implementation of Article 140 (for the resolution of the disputed territories issue), the finalizing of a hydrocarbons law in keeping with the KRG’s expectations and, most importantly for Iraqiyya, the relinquishing of the prime minister’s control over the army, police, and counter-terrorism forces (all of which had been used to target leading Sunni figures) with the handing of power over to the Ministry of Defense.25 The breaking of Maliki’s hold on the coercive organs of state would then be made resolute by the formation of a National Council for Strategic Policy, chaired by the Iraqiyya head Ayad Allawi. However, Maliki proved to be a wily and determined politician. After accepting the Erbil Agreement, he did nothing at all to implement any of its points. There was no change in the control of the military or police, for example, and the NCSP was never formed. Instead, Maliki

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consolidated his hold on power to an ever greater degree, ignoring the consternation emanating from his political peers in the other blocs, and once again forcing them to focus on the federal prescriptions of the constitution as a means of tempering the prime minister’s centralizing, and increasingly authoritarian, tendencies. It is then at this moment that the theoretical discussion about federalism in Iraq encouraging or ameliorating secession and/or generating or reducing instability becomes of relevance. From 2011, federalism was seen by those opposed to Prime Minister Maliki’s centralizing tendencies as a mechanism to limit the power of Baghdad and the ability of a ‘central’ government of Iraq from ever subjugating the rest of Iraq by force. Initially, the idea provoked a backlash from virtually all non-Kurdish components of the Iraqi political spectrum, as it was seen as a Kurdish attempt to break the integrity of the country. While demands for federalism did at times appear in the south – put forth particularly by the Islamic Supreme Council of Iraq – these initiatives failed due to a popular suspicion of motives and the forceful opposition of the prime minister who, as a resolute centralist, was opposed to the further creation of regions beyond the existing Kurdistan Region itself. The situation changed from mid-2011 onwards, however. Following the arrest of some 600 notables in Salahadin province in October 2011 – a staunchly Sunni Arab area, which includes Tikrit within its boundaries – the provincial council voted to declare Salahadin an autonomous region. While the Salahadin council could not do this constitutionally speaking (it would have had to submit a request to the cabinet in Baghdad for a referendum to be organized), dissatisfaction with the performance of the central government and fear over Maliki’s ambitions caused provincial leaders to conclude that autonomy from Baghdad was now attractive. Other provinces – north and south – then seemed to be in the process of embracing Salahadin’s strategy, creating a nightmare for a prime minister who had done everything possible to centralize, rather than decentralize, power and the agency to act. By the end of 2011, there was some degree of trepidation among Iraq watchers that the scheduled withdrawal of US forces at the end of the year would set the scene for political confrontations between Iraq’s leaders – and principally Nouri al-Maliki, Massoud Barzani, and the leadership of Iraqiyya – that could, in the slightly longer term, lead to a resumption of the sort of violence that had devastated Iraq only a few

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years before. The alacrity with which Prime Minister al-Maliki moved against his opponents, and the speed with which political discourse within the three principal groupings became dominated by sectarianism, however, was astonishing. Barely one day after US forces had rather unceremoniously vacated their bases and left the country that had dominated US international relations for nearly a decade, Maliki ordered the arrest of one of Iraq’s vice-presidents – Tareq al-Hashimi. Hashemi was a leading member of Iraqiyya and formerly the leader of the (Sunni) Iraqi Islamic Party and Tajdeed, and his arrest warrant was issued on charges of supporting and organizing terrorist attacks against the government, and particularly targeting Maliki himself. The subsequent targeting of Sunni Arab politicians led to a wave of popular demonstrations against Maliki, which saw a robust response that led to many deaths in Sunni Arab areas, and most notably in Hawijah to the west of Kirkuk. It was in this dangerous and febrile atmosphere that the forces of ISIS, largely over the border in Syria but who had begun to re-infiltrate Iraq, were clearly plotting to take control of vast areas in which they would then establish their Caliphate.

Divided by Force, Not By Federalism The capturing of Mosul in June 2014 ushered in a new era for the politics of Iraq – one in which the state was now divided, irrespective of the shrill statements of unitary nationalists, and one in which it did in fact matter whether an individual was a Sunni, Shi‘a, Kurd, Turkmen, Christian, or Yezidi. With the Iraqi Security Forces of the Government of Iraq in chaos and the Kurds suffering a near-death experience at the hands of the Islamic State in August 2014, when their capital of Erbil very nearly fell to a determined attack, the international community – including Iran, the US, European powers, and states of the Arab Gulf – all mobilized to protect Baghdad and the Kurdistan Region from the air, while moving, slowly at first, to resupply and retrain their military forces on the ground. It was much needed – air attacks limited the abilities of Islamic State forces to press home their attacks, and the ISF and the peshmerga managed to reform themselves to at least defend the lines they had been pushed back to. It also gave Iraq’s politicians time to begin a new set of initiatives aimed at rebuilding cooperation between political/politicized communities.

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With the combined pressure of the US and Iran in effect forcing Nouri al-Maliki from office, his replacement, Haider al-Abadi, had little choice but to begin a process of building alliances with the Kurds and finding partners among the Sunnis, if only to ensure that foreign support for the fight against the Islamic State would continue. The Kurds, too, found that their friends in Western capitals would support them only up to a point – with that point being their staying within the territorial confines of Iraq. As a result, the Kurdish leadership also found itself making compromises with Abadi in the interests of finding a political way forward that may lead to the pushing back of the Islamic State in the future. At the beginning of 2016, it now seems that the only political game in town capable of protecting the integrity of the Iraqi state is the adoption of democratic principles, the building of democratic institutions, and the designing of a meaningful federal structure that has considerable autonomy built into what are now increasingly units defined by ethnic, sectarian, and communal identities. This is a long way from how Iraqi politics has traditionally been discussed by those more accustomed to notions of unitary Iraqi nationalism, but it is where Iraq is today. Indeed, the choice that now confronts Iraqis is this: be integrated as a federal state, with significant devolved powers to the regions, or see Iraq divided into three separate, and sovereign states; the Kurdistan Republic, the State of Iraq (Baghdad–Basra), and the pariah Islamic State reaching out from Iraq, into Syria, and maybe even further to the coast of the Mediterranean.

Notes 1. See Toby Dodge, Iraq’s Future: The Aftermath of Regime Change (London: Routledge and the International Institute for Strategic Studies, 2005); Ahmed Hashim, Insurgency and Counter-Insurgency in Iraq, Crises in World Politics (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2006); Gareth R. V. Stansfield, ‘Accepting Realities in Iraq’, Chatham House Briefing Paper, May 2007; Haider Ala Hamoudi, Negotiating in Civil Conflict: Constitutional Construction and Imperfect Bargaining in Iraq (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013). 2. See Larry Jay Diamond, Squandered Victory: The American Occupation and the Bungled Effort to Bring Democracy to Iraq, 1st edn (New York: Times Books, 2005); Don E. Eberly, Liberate and Leave: Fatal Flaws in the Early Strategy for Postwar Iraq (Minneapolis: Zenith Press, 2009). I am grateful to the participants of a Chatham House workshop on the subject of Iraq’s foreign policy for the debates that assisted

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4. 5.

6.

7. 8.

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10. 11. 12. 13.

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me to crystallize my own thinking on Iraq’s federal structure and the contestation within the state. As the workshop was held under the Chatham House rule, I am able to refer to these discussions but not to identify the participants. Toby Dodge, ‘The Resistible Rise of Nuri Al-Maliki’, Open Democracy (2012); International-Crisis-Group, ‘Failing Oversight: Iraq’s Unchecked Government’, Middle East Report, Vol. 113 (2011); Gareth Stansfield, The Kurds and Iraq (London: Routledge, 2011). See David Cameron, ‘Making Federalism Work’, in Iraq: Preventing a New Generation of Conflict, ed. M. E. Bouillon, D. Malone, and B. Rowswell (Boulder and London: Lynne Reinner, 2007). Sa’ad Jawad, Iraq & the Kurdish Question, 1958– 1970 (London: Ithaca Press, 1981); Edmund Ghareeb, The Kurdish Question in Iraq, 1st edn, Contemporary Issues in the Middle East Series (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1981). See David McDowall, A Modern History of the Kurds, 3rd rev. and updated edn (London: I.B.Tauris, 2004); Gareth R. V. Stansfield, Iraqi Kurdistan: Political Development and Emergent Democracy (Routledge, 2003); Wadie Jwaideh, The Kurdish National Movement: Its Origins and Development, Contemporary Issues in the Middle East (New York, NY: Syracuse University Press, 2006). For a fascinating and detailed exposition of this argument, see Sairan Ahmad, ‘The Role Played by the Kurdistan Regional Government in the Reconstruction of the Iraqi State’, PhD Dissertation, University of Exeter, 2012. For comprehensive accounts of Iraq’s politics in this period, see Majid Khadduri, Republican ‘Iraq: A Study in ‘Iraqi Politics since the Revolution of 1958 (London: Oxford University Press, 1969); Charles Tripp, A History of Iraq, 2nd edn (Cambridge; New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 2002). For an unparalleled description and analysis of the emergence of socialist and Shi‘i parties in Iraq see: Hanna Batatu, ‘The Old Social Classes and the Revolutionary Movements of Iraq a Study of Iraq’s Old Landed and Commercial Classes and of Its Communists, Ba’thists, and Free Officers’, in Princeton Studies on the Near East (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1978). Gareth Stansfield, ‘Conclusion’, in An Iraq of Its Regions: Cornerstones of a Federal Democracy?, ed. Reidar Visser and Gareth Stansfield (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008). For further discussions of the concepts of dominant nationhoods, see Andreas Wimmer, Nationalist Exclusion and Ethnic Conflict: Shadows of Modernity (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002). Stansfield, Iraqi Kurdistan: Political Development and Emergent Democracy. A particularly important figure in this regard is that of the late Sami Abdul Rahman. Serving as the KDP’s appointed Minister of Northern Affairs in the Government of Iraq, Sami would then go onto become a leading political figure in his own right and, in his later years, being the Deputy Prime Minister of the Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG) based in Erbil. He was assassinated by an Al-Qaeda suicide attack on the KDP’s Erbil Branch office during the Eid

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15. 16. 17.

18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

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celebrations of 2004, thus denying both Kurdistan and Iraq a politician and thinker of very great significance and impact. The literature on the Government of Iraq’s many crimes committed against the Kurds in the 1980s is extensive. Two books stand out in particular as being necessary to read on this subject: George Black, Human Rights Watch/ Helsinki, and Middle East Watch, Genocide in Iraq: The Anfal Campaign against the Kurds, Middle East Watch Report (New York: Human Rights Watch, 1993); Joost Hiltermann, A Poisonous Affair: America, Iraq, and the Gassing of Halabja (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). Robert Rabil, ‘The Iraqi Opposition’s Evolution: From Conflict to Unity?’, Middle East Review of Interantional Affairs, Vol. 6, No. 4 (2002). Iraqi National Congress, Crimes against Humanity and the Transition from Dictatorship to Democracy (Salahuldin and London: Iraqi National Congress, 1993). Brendan O’Leary, ‘Thinking About Asymmetry and Symmetry in the Remaking of Iraq’, in Asymmetric Autonomy and the Settlement of Ethnic Conflicts, ed. M. Weller and K. Nobbs (Philadelphia PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011). Ibid. Cameron, ‘Making Federalism Work’, p. 154. Philip Roeder, ‘Ethnofederalism and the Mismanagement of Conflicting Nationalisms’, Regional and Federal Studies, Vol. 19, No. 2 (2009), p. 208. Ibid. Ibid., p. 210. Ibid., p. 208. Liam Anderson, ‘Ethnofederalism: The Worst Form of Institutional Arrangement?’, International Security, Vol. 39, No. 1 (2014), p. 166. Dodge, ‘The Resistible Rise of Nuri Al-Maliki’, p. 2; Stansfield, The Kurds and Iraq.

References Ahmad, Sairan, ‘The Role Played by the Kurdistan Regional Government in the Reconstruction of the Iraqi State’, PhD Dissertation, University of Exeter, 2012. Anderson, Liam, ‘Ethnofederalism: The Worst Form of Institutional Arrangement?’, International Security, Vol. 39, No. 1 (2014): 165– 204. Batatu, Hanna, ‘The Old Social Classes and the Revolutionary Movements of Iraq a Study of Iraq’s Old Landed and Commercial Classes and of Its Communists, Ba’thists, and Free Officers’, in Princeton Studies on the Near East, online resource (xxiv, 1283 p.) (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1978). Black, George, Human Rights Watch/Helsinki, and Middle East Watch, Genocide in Iraq: The Anfal Campaign against the Kurds, Middle East Watch Report (New York: Human Rights Watch, 1993). Cameron, David, ‘Making Federalism Work’, in Iraq: Preventing a New Generation of Conflict, ed. M. E. Bouillon, D. Malone and B. Rowswell (Boulder and London: Lynne Reinner, 2007), pp. 153– 68.

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Diamond, Larry Jay, Squandered Victory: The American Occupation and the Bungled Effort to Bring Democracy to Iraq, 1st edn (New York: Times Books, 2005). Dodge, Toby, Iraq’s Future: The Aftermath of Regime Change (London: Routledge and the International Institute for Strategic Studies, 2005). Eberly, Don E., Liberate and Leave: Fatal Flaws in the Early Strategy for Postwar Iraq (Minneapolis: Zenith Press, 2009). Ghareeb, Edmund, The Kurdish Question in Iraq, 1st edn, Contemporary Issues in the Middle East Series (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1981). Hamoudi, Haider Ala, Negotiating in Civil Conflict: Constitutional Construction and Imperfect Bargaining in Iraq (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013). Hashim, Ahmed, Insurgency and Counter-Insurgency in Iraq, Crises in World Politics (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2006). Hiltermann, Joost, A Poisonous Affair: America, Iraq, and the Gassing of Halabja (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). International-Crisis-Group, ‘Failing Oversight: Iraq’s Unchecked Government’, Middle East Report, Vol. 113 (2011). Iraqi National Congress, Crimes against Humanity and the Transition from Dictatorship to Democracy (Salahuldin and London: Iraqi National Congress, 1993). Jawad, Sa’ad, Iraq & the Kurdish Question, 1958– 1970 (London: Ithaca Press, 1981). Jwaideh, Wadie, The Kurdish National Movement: Its Origins and Development, Contemporary Issues in the Middle East (New York, NY: Syracuse University Press, 2006). Khadduri, Majid, Republican ‘Iraq: A Study in ‘Iraqi Politics since the Revolution of 1958 (London: Oxford University Press, 1969). McDowall, David, A Modern History of the Kurds, 3rd rev. and updated edn (London: I.B.Tauris, 2004). O’Leary, Brendan, ‘Thinking About Asymmetry and Symmetry in the Remaking of Iraq’, in Asymmetric Autonomy and the Settlement of Ethnic Conflicts, ed. M. Weller and K. Nobbs (Philadelphi PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 183–210. Rabil, Robert, ‘The Iraqi Opposition’s Evolution: From Conflict to Unity?’, Middle East Review of Interantional Affairs, Vol. 6, No. 4 (2002): 1 – 17. Roeder, Philip, ‘Ethnofederalism and the Mismanagement of Conflicting Nationalisms’, Regional and Federal Studies, Vol. 19, No. 2 (2009): 203–19. Stansfield, Gareth, The Kurds and Iraq (London: Routledge, 2011). ——— ‘Conclusion’, in An Iraq of Its Regions: Cornerstones of a Federal Democracy?, ed. Reidar Visser and Gareth Stansfield (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008), pp. xxii, 274. Stansfield, Gareth R. V., ‘Accepting Realities in Iraq’, Chatham House Briefing Paper (May 2007). ——— Iraqi Kurdistan: Political Development and Emergent Democracy (Routledge, 2003). Tripp, Charles, A History of Iraq, 2nd edn (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002). Wimmer, Andreas, Nationalist Exclusion and Ethnic Conflict: Shadows of Modernity (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002).

CHAPTER 6 DEMOCRATIZATION AND EGYPTIAN REGIONAL POLICY: PLUS ÇA CHANGE, PLUS C'EST LA ME^ ME CHOSE Bassem Hassan

As one of the first states to undergo popular protests for democratic change in the recent Arab Spring, what has been the impact of the ongoing democratic transition in Egypt on its regional policy, particularly regarding its relations with Israel and Iran? The democratic transition in Egypt is a significant test case of the liberal democratic peace theory (LDPT) and of propositions concerning the interplay between incomplete democratic transitions and interstate war as it demonstrates the value though limited use of such a theory. While bearing much potential, LDPT simply cannot accurately be used to predict future developments in these relations for four interrelated reasons: first, the theory reduces states’ political identities to one feature; namely, regime type; secondly, it takes these identities as exogenously given; thirdly, it does not differentiate among various types of democracies, and lastly, it ignores theorizing recognition processes. Consequently, LDPT fails to capture ideational factors that can dampen the negative impact of democracy on the possibility of war and/or conflict in a democratic dyad, key among these aspects being nationalism. Additionally, LDPT overlooks the negative impact of

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representations of past interactions on the possibility of transforming the image of an old enemy to be recognized as part of the self. Representations of the past are an integral part of collective identities and contribute to the reproduction of states’ founding myths. Moreover, while Alexander Wendt convincingly demonstrated that ‘anarchy is what states make of it’,1 transforming long-standing cultures of anarchy nevertheless requires more than regime change, especially in regions where identity politics are salient. As Wendt postulates, the intentional transformation of identity and interests is a long process that hinges on the ‘presence of new social [and political] situations that cannot be managed in terms of preexisting self-conceptions [and conceptions of the Other ]’.2 In addition, Wendt continues, ‘the expected costs of intentional role change . . . cannot be greater than its rewards’. As of yet, the ongoing political developments in Egypt have not met either condition, and are unlikely to meet them anytime soon. For instance, as will be argued below, the costs of any positive change in Egyptian– Iranian relations are likely to exceed its short-term rewards. As for Egyptian – Israeli relations, the current democratic transition has yet to create a situation that requires overcoming the suspicious manner in which Egyptians and Israelis identify with each other. This negative identification is underpinned by a long ideological conflict and Israel’s continuous oppression of Palestinians and occupation of Arab territories. Differences in regime type have played little role to change this. I thus posit that the state identity3 in post-Mubarak Egypt, in addition to realist factors, will influence the future of Egyptian –Israeli and Egyptian– Iranian relations more than regime type. In the last three years, Egypt’s identity has been at the centre of violent political contestations between Islamist and secular elites, with the latter rallying around Egyptian nationalism, particularly of the Nasserite variant. Following the Muslim Brotherhood’s removal from power, this resurgent Nasserism appears to be better poised than its Islamist rival to constitute the ideological foundation of the Egyptian state’s identity. Such a situation can potentially lead to the construction of a notion of democracy intertwined with anti-colonialism and Arabism rather than one based on liberal individualism and material self-interest. An anticolonial democracy in Egypt can affect Egyptian – Israeli and Egyptian – Iranian relations in quite the opposite way to LDPT’s predictions of

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relations in democratic dyads as well as the relations between democracies and non-democracies. The rise of an anti-colonial democracy in Egypt, however, is far from inevitable. Egypt’s dependence on American and Saudi Arabian economic, political and military support constitutes a major impediment to such an occurrence developing. This, however, is a structural constraint that is more consistent with realism than with the liberal democratic peace theory. While Egyptian –Israeli relations are not likely to improve as a result of a democratic transition in Egypt, in itself, this will not necessarily refute the democratic peace theory per se; merely the liberal version. In fact, this outcome might contribute to a more nuanced understanding of the absence of war in liberal democratic dyads by emphasizing what these states have in common aside from regime type. As for Egyptian– Iranian relations, it is harder to predict what the future has in store for them. However, as will be argued below, it is unlikely that the illiberal character of the Iranian regime will determine their orientation. This chapter starts with an overview of the main premises of LDPT and the main critiques directed at it. The emphasis here is more on the critique informed by constructivist insights that refine the theory rather than the dismissive neorealist criticism. This is followed by a discussion of the conflict over the state’s identity in post-Mubarak Egypt and the resurgence of Nasserism. The anti-colonial orientation of Nasserism and its possible impact on future Egyptian regional policy is explored next. I conclude by highlighting a number of issues that need to be included in future discussions of relations in democratic dyads if one would hope to foster a more nuanced democratic peace theory, relevant for contemporary international relations.

Democracy and Anti-Zionism: Two Sides of the Same Coin In January 1972, Egyptian university students stormed Tahrir Square in the heart of Cairo and demanded democratic reforms and an offence against Israel. Nor were they alone in their actions, as their demands were supported by trade and professional unions, most notably the journalists’ syndicate.4 Almost 40 years later, Egyptians occupied the square again, this time calling for an end to Hosni Mubarak’s 30-year ‘reign’; or less diplomatically termed, dictatorship. Interestingly, the

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pro-democracy protestors drew the Star of David on Mubarak’s posters and depicted him as an Israeli agent, in so doing once again linking democratization and animosity towards Israel. Hence it is no surprise that the burning question that occupied many Western analysts during the 18-day sit-in during the winter of 2011 was the possible repercussions of a democratic transition on the Egyptian–Israeli and the Egyptian–Iranian relations. Predictions often expressed a deep concern about the negative prospects of the former, with worries about possible improvements in the latter. These concerns stemmed from the fact that Israel’s peace agreements with Arab states were made with authoritarian regimes against the backdrop of steady popular opposition. Unlike Israel, Iran has enjoyed considerable popularity in some sectors of Egyptian society, particularly after 2006, as a result of its support for Hezbollah. When examining the liberal democratic peace theory in the context of post-revolutionary Egypt, it appears that both the demonstrators’ slogans and the pundits’ predictions are at odds with the theory’s main premise. Indeed, according to the latter, democracies do not fight each other, yet they do not refrain from fighting non-democracies. It might seem that the easiest way to explain this apparent contradiction is to evoke Orientalist depictions of Islam as antonymous to democracy or of Arabs and Muslims being inherently anti-Semitic.5 The problematic nature of Orientalism aside, these claims are empirically inaccurate as evinced by democratic transitions in Indonesia, Senegal and Bangladesh in addition to the presence of prosperous Jewish communities in Dar Al Islam for centuries. Most importantly for our purposes here, Islam was evoked by Anwar Sadat to justify his peace agreement with Israel as well as by Mohamed Morsi’s Islamist allies to rationalize their abidance by it, yet, on other occasions, peace with Israel was opposed on Islamic grounds. This discrepancy indicates that Islam, especially in international relations, is what Muslim leaders make of it.6 Indeed, it is malleable enough as a concept to be appropriated for a variety of purposes. A better place to look for an explanation for this apparent puzzle is Egyptian nationalism(s), particularly the Nasserite variant which conflates Egyptian nationalism with Pan-Arabism. More specifically, one should focus on Nasserism’s anti-colonialist slant and how it relates to both Israel and Iran. In this regard, it is important to note that the Nasserist position on Israel is not based on religious beliefs. Rather, it stems from perceptions of Israel as a colonial entity. The colonial

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character of the Israeli polity has been recently scrutinized by an increasing number of historians and sociologists; nevertheless, it is something democratic peace theorists continue to overlook. It is also anti-colonialism, not religious affinity, which makes some Egyptians consider Iran as a potential ally. In fact, it was anti-colonialism that first facilitated Nasser’s cooperation with the Iranian opposition, including Khomeini, in the 1960s against the Shah whom both viewed as an ally of Western imperialism.7 Although Nasser died more than 40 years ago, his legacy continues to influence Egyptian political identity and imagination. As will be shown below, Nasser’s legacy was the flag around which the Muslim Brotherhood’s opponents rallied in the last two years. Nasserism’s potential impact on democratic transition in Egypt can thus neither be sufficiently explored by nor accounted for by liberal democratic peace theory. The latter is based mainly on quantitative analyses that arguably do not address issues of democratic transition per se. Rather, they focus on relations among established democracies. The democratic character of the regimes in question is assessed by comparing their institutional features and the mechanisms employed to resolve partisan disputes to the operational definitions of democracy employed. Discrepancies in operational definitions of democracy and their subjectivity have been much highlighted by critics of liberal democratic peace theory as some of its main weaknesses.8 Nevertheless, the strong evidence of the absence of war in democratic dyads furnished by these quantitative studies (regardless of differences over definitions of democracy and war) made a prominent scholar aver that the ‘absence of war between democracies comes as close as anything we have to an empirical law in international relations’.9 Another proffered that ‘most behavioral research on conditions for war and peace in the modern world can now be thrown on the scrap-heap of history, and researchers can start all over again on a new basis’.10 LDTP theorists advance two main unitlevel explanations for the democratic peace revealed by the quantitative studies. The first emphasizes the impact of political and institutional constraints on the executive’s ability in democratic regimes to declare unpopular wars; and the second attributes the democratic peace to democracies externalizing democratic norms when dealing with other democracies.11 LDPT is one of the most debated topics in IR, above-mentioned statements about its law-like quality notwithstanding. Neorealists,

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particularly, have been quite dismissive of it.12 Their critique ranges from considering the statistical evidence for the democratic peace as insignificant, to highlighting what they perceive as flaws in the explanations suggested by liberal peace theorists. Most importantly, neorealists have pointed out several cases of wars between democracies, including the Lebanese– Israeli wars, as well as ‘near miss’ cases to challenge the accuracy of such a theory. American covert operations to overthrow democratically elected leaders, most notably Salvador Allende in Chile on 11 September 1973, have also been presented as evidence of the faultiness of the democratic peace theory. Few liberal responses to the neorealist critique are convincing, however. For instance, Bruce Russett considers covert operations as an expression of the effectiveness of democratic norms in preventing wars among democracies rather than a sign of its inaccuracy. This logic, however, is more consistent with the realist position on norms than with its liberal counterpart. The former views norms as a means to mask states’ real intentions, dispensed with when clashing with states’ interests, rather than the motives behind state policies. Similarly, Russett’s call for taking the longevity of the democratic regime into question when analysing wars between democracies fails to defend the liberal democratic peace theory on its own grounds. His call is rather more consistent with Edward Mansfield and Jack Snyder’s distinction between consolidated democracies and polities going through democratic transition.13 The weakness of the liberal rebuttal stems mainly from the absence of analyses of identity formation and recognition processes in LDPT. Instead of investigating these processes, liberal theorists accept them as given. In contrast, analyses informed by social constructivism problematize them and place them at the centre of their accounts of the democratic peace. As international relations scholar Thomas RisseKappen succinctly put it, ‘enmity as well as friendship in the international system neither results from some inherent distribution of power . . . nor from the domestic structures of states . . . Rather, it is socially constructed.’14 Thus democracies actively create themselves and others through interactions with other states. In these interactions, democratic norms governing domestic politics in democracies act as communication devices and evidence of the (supposed) peacefulness of democracies. Conversely, the violent nature of domestic politics in nondemocracies serves as proof of their aggressiveness. This take on the

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democratic peace is a major improvement on the liberal explanations mentioned above. Recognizing the subjectivity of definitions of democracy and authoritarianism, constructivist analyses are better suited to explicate cases of wars between democracies and near-miss cases pointed out by neorealists. For instance, John Owen stresses that in 1812 the United States did not perceive Mexico as a fellow democracy. As a result, it did not hesitate to use force to settle their dispute.15 Similarly, Wesley Widmaier illustrates that differences between the Republicans’ understanding of democracy and the type of democracy adopted in India led to the American– Indian 1971 crisis.16 Nevertheless, as noted by Michael Williams, the first constructivist informed discussions such as Risse-Kappen’s and Owen’s did not adequately address identity formation processes and consequently failed to capture what liberal democracies actually recognize in both fellow liberal democracies, and authoritarian regimes.17 Building on Bonnie Honig’s account of the relation between recognition and respect in Kant’s political thought, Williams demonstrates that ‘Kantian recognition is a reflexive process centrally concerned with the production of legitimate forms of subjectivity, both within the self and within others.’18 Whereas liberal and constructivist theorists of the democratic peace focus primarily on institutional constraints and democratic norms, Williams, while not dismissing their significance, does not reduce recognition processes to identifying these signifiers. Instead he posits that ‘recognition is an ethical judgment in which a status of legitimate subjectivity is accorded to both the self and to others depending on how well each is judged to have met the requirements of a particular process of disciplined individual and collective identity-construction’.19 Put differently, both self and others deserve respect only when they observe a higher moral law. In international relations, this takes the form of self-discipline practised by states. Williams submits that it is this disciplined subjectivity that generates trust among states committed to the higher moral law. Conversely, the mere existence of undisciplined states constitutes a potential threat to disciplined states even if the former does not pose a direct threat to the latter. In the next two sections, I will draw on constructivist analyses of the democratic peace to elucidate the ostensible contradiction between Egyptians’ calls for democracy on the one hand and their animosity

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towards Israel and sympathy for (at least among some Egyptians) Iran on the other. Several issues highlighted in the aforementioned constructivist analyses are particularly relevant to our purposes here. To start, the following discussion is underlain by two main premises of constructivist understandings of international relations; namely that states’ identities matter, and furthermore, that states’ identities as well as their perceptions of other states and the ensuing cultures of anarchy are socially constructed, not exogenously given. Hence what a state recognizes in others that makes it consider them like itself or different becomes a crucial question. Democratic peace theorists – both liberals and constructivists – consider regime type the main signifier that democracies look for. This is not necessarily the case, however; even if it has been thus far (which is a contested claim), it does not mean that it will always be. In fact, as Owen argues, in a world comprised only of democracies, other aspects of state identities would constitute the boundaries that demarcate the self from the other.20 Consequently, what a self-disciplined subjectivity means will also change what would be considered a potential threat to it. In the aftermath of Mubarak’s demise, it seemed that Egyptian politics were bound to take an Islamist turn. The Muslim Brotherhood’s collapse two and a half years later put an end to this process for the time being. For the foreseeable future, it is therefore more likely that a ‘secular’ nationalism will constitute the foundation of the Egyptian state’s identity. In light of recent developments, it appears that a modified Nasserism is the leading candidate to form this base. It is therefore crucial to discuss the core principles of Nasserism and how they relate to relations with both Israel and Iran. Before doing so, however, I will trace the simultaneous process of the Muslim Brotherhood’s collapse and Nasserism’s resurgence following Morsi’s electoral victory in June 2012, with the discussion emphasizing the contribution of Morsi’s foreign policy and its critics to this process.

Incomplete Democratic Transition and Nasserism’s Resurgence Democratic transitions are conducive to the rise of nationalist ideologies. Being carried out in the name of the people and for the declared purpose of empowering them, democratic transitions ignite debates about the

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people’s and the state’s identity. This is particularly the case in multiethnic societies where democratic transitions are coupled with competing elites’ mobilization of different segments of the population in the name of conflicting nationalisms.21 As evinced by the tragedies of the Armenians in Turkey and the Bosnians in former Yugoslavia, to mention two examples, this type of political mobilization can lead to violence of genocidal proportions. Less violent democratic transitions, if coupled with the rise of nationalism, can still produce dramatic outcomes. For instance, the Velvet Revolution in Czechoslovakia ultimately led to the state’s disintegration. More homogenous societies are not immune to identity conflicts during democratic transitions, however. Polarization along ideological cleavages can serve as a catalyst for such conflicts in which each party claims to be the representative of the people’s ‘true identity’. For the last three years, Egypt has been gripped by such a conflict. Hopes for a smooth democratic transition in the largest Arab state in the region evaporated soon after Hosni Mubarak stepped down. Three years after this watershed event, Egypt was plunged into a deep political and economic crisis rather than being closer to becoming a stable democracy. Despite two elections and three referendums which were deemed to be more or less free and fair by international standards, by the time of writing this chapter Egypt still has neither an elected president nor a parliament. Egyptian political parties and protest groups have so far failed to garner the population’s support, the majority of which has pinned its hopes on the military.22 The incomplete democratic transition in Egypt has been frequently attributed to a power struggle between the Muslim Brotherhood and its Islamist allies on the one hand, and the ‘deep state’ represented by the army, the security apparatus and the judiciary on the other hand. This argument, however, fails to account for the newly formed alliance between the aforementioned institutions and the secular groups that had initiated the anti-Mubarak uprising and reluctantly supported the Islamist candidate in the second round of the 2012 presidential elections. These groups had also endorsed Morsi’s decision to remove the old military leadership associated with Mubarak, in spite of the unconstitutionality of his decision.23 The shift in the political alliances in post-Mubarak Egypt is thus better explained by the clash of identities between the Islamist and the secular elites that were united in their

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opposition to Mubarak. The main issue, however, is that each group holds a different vision of what they believe it means to be an Egyptian. In order to better understand this clash, I start by comparing the two identities constructed by the drafters of the constitutions of postMubarak Egypt. Then I discuss the manner in which the divergent views on Egypt’s identity were expressed in reaction to Morsi’s positions on Israel and Iran. The two constitutions24 that were promulgated in post-Mubarak Egypt – the first drafted by an Islamist-dominated assembly in 2012 and the second by a secular-majority assembly in 2014 – exhibit the principles on which the Islamist and secular elites concurred, at least theoretically, and the issues on which they differed. Both documents curtail the powers of the executive and stress respect for human rights, particularly civil and political rights. Most importantly for our purposes, Article 152 of the 2014 constitution requires the approval of two thirds of the members of parliament for the president to declare war or to send Egyptian troops on combat missions abroad.25 Alternatively, the 2012 constitution required the approval of only half of the members of the representative council.26 This difference reflects a desire among Egyptian political elites to progressively limit the executive’s ability to declare unpopular wars; however, it might not be sufficient to impede them from launching popular ones as is the case even in consolidated democracies. The primary difference between the two constitutions pertains to the manner in which they understand Egypt’s identity. The Islamist constitution saw it primarily through the lens of religion, being the first in Egypt’s history to describe Egyptians as members of both the Arab and Muslim nations. Starting with the 1956 constitution, Egyptian constitutions traditionally have defined Egyptians as part of the Arab nation. The 1971 constitution even stipulated comprehensive Arab unity as one of the objectives that Egyptians seek. Going further back, the 1958 and 1962 constitutions had not stated this goal explicitly since it was implied in the then state’s name: the United Arab Republic. The goal of Arab unity would be dropped from the Islamist constitution to further amplify what Islamists perceived as Egypt’s religious identity, Article 4 emphasizing that al-Azhar had to be consulted on matters pertaining to shari‘a. In practice, this was turned into a veto power when al-Azhar blocked the passing of a law that it deemed to be conflicting

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with shari‘a or religious law. In this respect, it is worth noting that the 2012 constitution understood Egypt’s Islamic identity to refer solely to Sunniism, with Article 219 limiting shari‘a principles to those accepted by Sunni doctrines. Prior to that constitution, the interpretation of shari‘a principles had been the Supreme Constitutional Court’s prerogative. Theoretically, the court, a secular body, could have based its decision on any Islamic doctrine. While the 2014 constitution does not separate the state from the mosque, it rolls back the religious/sectarian identity constructed by the Islamists, thereby cancelling Article 219 and al-Azhar’s ‘consultative’ role. The definition of Egyptians as part of the Muslim nation was scrapped as well, Egyptians now once again being Arabs working to achieve Arab unity. In tandem with restoring Egyptians’ pan-Arab identity, the constitution preamble describes Nasser as the leader, with an earlier draft even referring to him as the ‘eternal leader’.27 The special status awarded to Nasser is not driven so much by an old appreciation of his accomplishments; these have been the subject of intense debates since the mid 1970s, in which his supporters have often been on the defensive. The stifling of liberties and suppression of any form of organized opposition have been central themes in the accounts of the Nasserist era produced by Nasser’s critics. Nasser’s clash with the Muslim Brotherhood was at the heart of these reconstructions in which the brethren were portrayed as victims of Nasser’s authoritarianism. In the immediate aftermath of Mubarak’s removal from power, Nasser’s public image continued to deteriorate despite the active participation of Nasserists in the antiMubarak uprising. For instance, groups from across the political spectrum perceived the Supreme Council of Armed Forces that had taken over from Mubarak as an extension of the military dictatorship founded by Nasser 60 years earlier. Less than two years later, representatives of these very same groups (excluding the Muslim Brotherhood) drafted a constitution that denoted Nasser as Egypt’s leader! This paradox is understandable, however, in light of the positive transformation that Nasser’s image underwent during the Muslim Brotherhood’s year in power. In conjunction with the transformation of Nasser’s image, the Muslim Brotherhood’s public image underwent a similarly dramatic change, albeit in the opposite direction. Rather than being remembered as an authoritarian leader, Nasser regained his status as the symbol of Egyptian nationalism and as the hero that had saved

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Egypt from its enemies;28 enemies which now included the Muslim Brotherhood, who came to be seen as a threat to Egypt’s ‘true’ identity. The latter was characterized as open, pluralistic and tolerant of religious differences; qualities that the Muslim Brotherhood not only lacked but also abhorred. To reinforce this difference, pundits in Egyptian media29 drew comparisons between Nasser’s friendship with the Coptic Pope and the Muslim Brotherhood’s cold, if not hostile, attitude towards Egyptian Christians. A video of Nasser recalling his rejection of a Muslim Brotherhood demand to impose the veil on Egyptian women was played repeatedly on private television channels, the same video going viral on the internet. The flourishing of arts during Nasser’s era was contrasted to the Muslim Brotherhood’s depiction of Egyptian movies, drama and literature as immoral. Even the suppression of the Muslim Brotherhood by Nasser was now justified as a reaction to their violence. Buried for almost 40 years, the original narrative of the clash between the two, which depicts Nasser as the target of the Muslim Brotherhood’s plots, was now unearthed.30 In this narrative, the Muslim Brotherhood sought to impose an austere religious identity on Egyptians, but was stopped by Nasser. The fact that one of the most popular slogans in the anti-Muslim Brotherhood demonstrations was ‘Abdel Nasser said it long ago, the Brotherhood should not be trusted’31 suggests that this narrative has regained much of its power.

Relations with Israel and Iran Constitutional assemblies were not the only arena in which Egypt’s identity was contested, however. The other arena that is most relevant to our purposes here is Morsi’s foreign policy, particularly towards Israel and Iran. Contending parties evaluated these policies according to their consistency or inconsistency with what they perceived as Egypt’s identity. Interestingly enough, Muslim Brotherhood spokespersons evoked identity issues when discussing this topic less than their secular opponents and other Islamists. Rather, they often couched their arguments in the language of national interests.32 Egyptian – Israeli relations were the subject of intense debate during Morsi’s presidency on at least four major occasions: the attack on an Egyptian police post in Sinai in August 2012; the appointment of a new Egyptian ambassador to Tel Aviv two months later; the Israeli attack on Gaza in November of the same year; and on the occasion of a call made by

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the head of the Muslim Brotherhood’s bloc in the Shura Council – the upper chamber of the parliament – for Egyptian Jews who had migrated to Israel to return to Egypt. The attack on the Egyptian police post in Sinai shortly after Morsi was sworn in resulted in the death and injury of dozens of Egyptian policemen. After attacking the Egyptian post, the assailants, who are believed to be members of a jihadist group, tried to infiltrate the Egyptian –Israeli border and were killed by the Israeli army. The attack stirred up a public debate about the security arrangements in Sinai created by the Egyptian– Israeli peace agreement. Commentators from across the political spectrum stressed the need for amending these arrangements at the very minimum, in order to mitigate the threats to Egyptian security and sovereignty created by the treaty. Most notably, Morsi’s advisor on Arab affairs, a prominent Nasserist, led the call for reviewing these arrangements.33 In spite of this, the Muslim Brotherhood, who had for decades opposed the treaty, chose not to take advantage of this opportunity to accomplish its long-declared goal of annulling it. Rather, Morsi used the public outcry to eliminate the then military leadership that was perceived to be the main domestic threat to the Muslim Brotherhood. Accusing them of negligence, he replaced the old generals with younger officers in an attempt to consolidate his grip on the army. Following the removal of the former military leadership, the debate on Egyptian –Israeli relations receded; however, it was rekindled when Israel attacked Gaza in November. Before coming to power, the Muslim Brotherhood had used Israeli military operations on the Palestinians and/or Lebanon as a springboard for criticizing Mubarak, describing his reactions to these attacks as insufficient. In a clear example of outbidding strategies, Muslim Brotherhood supporters, especially on university campuses, would call upon Mubarak to open the borders to allow them to carry out jihad against Israel. During the 2006 war, a leader of the Brotherhood offered to send 10,000 volunteers to fight Israel.34 Morsi’s response to Israel’s attack on Gaza in November 2012 illuminated the gap between the Muslim Brotherhood’s rhetoric and their actual policies. Rather than opening the borders to Egyptians as the Brotherhood had always advocated, Morsi more or less followed in the footsteps of Mubarak by condemning the attack and recalling the Egyptian ambassador. While the solidarity visit made by some Egyptian

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officials to Gaza was unprecedented, it was still a far cry from what the Muslim Brotherhood had agitated for in the past. This divergence did not go unnoticed by the opposition. Reports in Western and Israeli media praising Morsi’s role in negotiating a ceasefire between Hamas and Israel elicited a strong reaction by Egyptian pundits who pointed out what they described as Muslim Brotherhood hypocrisy. A few days after the ceasefire had entered into effect, Morsi issued an unconstitutional decree, removing the attorney general and shielding his decisions from judicial scrutiny. Egyptian media considered his move an American/Israeli reward for him brokering that agreement. More importantly, reports in the Egyptian media claimed that Morsi met an American request to establish new security arrangements in Sinai to protect Israel’s borders that even Mubarak had rejected. A month earlier, the Egyptian media had followed the same approach in its coverage of the appointment of a new Egyptian ambassador to Tel Aviv. The coverage of this event by Egyptian media focused primarily on a letter that Morsi had sent his Israeli counterpart introducing the new ambassador. In that note, sarcastically described by some Egyptian pundits as a love letter, Morsi addressed Peres as his dear and great friend and wished him and his country a prosperous future.35 The Egyptian opposition capitalized on this opportunity to further reveal what they considered the Muslim Brotherhood’s propensity to speak with a forked tongue.36 Having made it a point until then to not refer to Israel by name in his speeches as an expression of his anti-Israeli sentiments, Morsi was particularly vulnerable on that occasion to accusations of hypocrisy and outbidding strategies. The initial denial of the existence of such a letter by members of the Muslim Brotherhood made their depiction of it as a diplomatic formality less convincing. The most ferocious debate concerning Egyptian – Israeli relations during the year the Muslim Brotherhood was in power, however, was the result of a call made by Essam al-Erian, the leader of the Muslim Brotherhood’s bloc in the Shura Council and one of Morsi’s advisors, to Egyptian Jews who had migrated to Israel. According to al-Erian, the Egyptian Jews were expelled by Nasser and were entitled to return to their homeland. Al-Erian’s call caused uproar in Egypt, with37 historians and pundits coming to the defence of Nasser’s legacy. They highlighted the attacks carried out by the Muslim Brotherhood’s military wing against Egyptian Jews, arguing that it had been those

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attacks and not Nasser that had caused their departure. Al-Erian’s call was described as just another attempt to gain American and Israeli support even at the expense of what was perceived as Egypt’s national interest. Realizing the severe damage al-Erian’s call had caused to their public image, the Muslim Brotherhood tried in vain to distance itself from it. For instance, the speaker of the Shura Council stressed that the call reflected al-Erian’s personal views and not those of the Muslim Brotherhood, and al-Erian was made to resign from his position on Morsi’s advisory council.38 Nevertheless, the Muslim Brotherhood’s attempts at damage control were unsuccessful. Most importantly, for our purposes here, the debate stirred by al-Erian’s call was another occasion in which the Muslim Brotherhood was accused of violating the perceived principles of Egyptian nationalism. On this occasion, just like on many others, Nasser was depicted as the embodiment of that nationalism.39 Unlike Egyptian –Israeli relationships that were the subject of frequent debates, Egyptian –Iranian relationships did not feature often in public discussion when the Muslim Brotherhood was in power. In fact, these relations received attention only on two occasions. The first was Morsi’s participation in a meeting of the leaders of the Non-Aligned Movement in Tehran and the second was upon the arrival of a group of Iranian tourists to Egypt. Morsi’s speech in Tehran won him praise from both Islamists and liberals, albeit for different reasons. The Islamists, particularly the Salafis, were euphoric about Morsi’s praising of the first three caliphs revered by Sunni Muslims and not recognized by Shi‘i Muslims as true heirs to the Prophet. Being ardent opponents of Shi‘ism, the Salafis considered this act a confirmation of Egypt’s Sunni identity made in the political centre of Shi‘ism. Liberals for their part were pleased with Morsi’s critique of Iran’s support for the Syrian president Bashar al-Assad, and in many respects, Morsi’s Tehran speech was the high point of his short career. Nevertheless, even then, just like when he participated in the meeting of the African Union, he could not evade Nasser’s spectre.40 Nasser being one of the founding fathers of the NonAligned Movement, the movement’s meeting was yet another occasion in which Nasser’s legacy received positive reviews in the Egyptian media. These reviews focused on the significant role played by Nasser on the regional and international stage, and lamented the decline in Egypt’s regional and international status following his death.41

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While Morsi’s speech in Tehran was highly praised by the Salafis, the arrival of Iranian tourists in Egypt a few months later incurred their criticism. Salafis accused him of opening the country to Shi‘i proselytizers, thus threatening what they perceived as Egypt’s Sunni identity.42 Arguments made by the government stressing the economic benefits of receiving Iranian tourists, especially amidst the deep economic crisis enveloping the country, failed to convince the Salafis to change their minds. Ultimately, Iranian tourist trips to Egypt were cancelled. Maintaining the peace treaty with Israel and not moving closer to Iran demonstrated that the concerns of Western analysts about the Muslim Brotherhood’s regional policy were unfounded. Nevertheless, this policy still does not support the democratic peace theory. Quite the contrary, the Muslim Brotherhood’s regional policy is better understood through a realist lens, though an inverted one that gives priority to countering domestic threats to regime security. The Muslim Brotherhood’s decision not to annul the Egyptian –Israeli treaty was not a result of it recognizing Israel as a democracy with whom they shared liberal norms. The Brotherhood’s depiction of Morsi’s removal from power as an Israeli coup endorsed by the United States is quite telling in this respect.43 Nor was honouring the treaty motivated by the pressure of public opinion support for the treaty. In fact, public opinion polls in the last three years have showed a constant increase in the number of Egyptians supporting the annulling of the treaty. According to the Pew Research’s Global Attitude Project, in 2011 only 54% of Egyptians had wanted to annul the treaty. Two years later the percentage of Egyptians in favour of annulling the treaty reached 63% while 92% of Egyptians held negative attitudes towards Israel. In contrast, only 3% felt that it was important for Egypt to have good relations with Israel.44 As a result, annulling the treaty would have been a popular decision that could have improved the Muslim Brotherhood’s position vis-a`-vis its domestic political opponents. Nevertheless, the Muslim Brotherhood eschewed both its longstanding position on the treaty and the wishes of the majority of the Egyptians. In a dramatic change of heart, they stressed that Egypt had to respect its international obligations. Their then Salafi allies went as far as positing that honouring the treaty was a religious duty as long as Israel did not violate it,45 reminiscent of Sadat’s reference to Islam to justify making the treaty with Israel in the first place. The Islamists’ explanations for the shift

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in their positions, however, are spurious, especially as they had not accepted them prior to coming to power. It is more likely that the Muslim Brotherhood changed its position for pure instrumental reasons as annulling the peace treaty would have cost the Muslim Brotherhood the United States’ economic and political support against its domestic and regional opponents. Fearing a military coup, the Muslim Brotherhood knew that American support was a crucial asset they could not afford to lose. The change in the Muslim Brotherhood’s rhetoric after 30 June 2013, mentioned above, thus leads credence to this argument. As for the relations with Iran, once again the need to counter the domestic challenges to their rule determined the Brotherhood’s policy. Being embroiled in a confrontation with secular groups, the Brotherhood was in no position to risk its alliance with other Islamists. Furthermore, a confrontation with the latter, especially popular Salafi preachers, could have undermined the Muslim Brotherhood’s most valuable asset; namely their image as the bearers of Islam’s banner in Egypt. This image had been vital in securing the sympathies of many Egyptians as well as their votes. Consequently, any damage to it would have made the brethrens quite vulnerable, especially for outbidding strategies employed by other Islamists. Additionally, improving Egyptian–Iranian relations could have impeded the Muslim Brotherhood’s main foreign policy objective; namely securing the United States’ support. This brief overview of the manner in which the Muslim Brotherhood and other Islamists have approached Egyptian–Israeli relations and Egyptian–Iranian relations since 2011 is quite instructive. For starters, it highlights the impact of structural constraints on decision-makers as demonstrated in the changed Islamist discourse on the Egyptian–Israeli peace treaty; the justifications offered by the Islamists notwithstanding. In this context, Islam served as a means to legitimize this transformation domestically rather than as a foundation for a foreign policy motivated by identity politics as feared by Western analysts. This does not imply that the Islamists were not concerned with identity issues. Quite the contrary, the primary arena in which these concerns were played out was domestic politics. The first priority for the Islamists was to restore what they perceived to be Egypt’s true identity, not alter Egyptian foreign policy. From their perspective, this goal required them to come to power and then secure their nascent regime. Foreign policy was considered a means for accomplishing these objectives rather than a channel through which

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Egypt’s identity would be expressed. Annulling the treaty with Israel could have jeopardized this goal by risking losing Western support. Conversely, maintaining the treaty and acting as a mediator between Hamas and Israel facilitated gaining Western support or at least Western neutrality in the clash with domestic opponents. The same applied to the Salafis who were keen to stress their plans to honour the treaty if they were to come to power in the future. The Salafis’ position on Egyptian– Iranian relations is also driven by a concern about identity issues in domestic as opposed to regional politics as part of their efforts to contain what they perceive as the Shi‘i threat to Egypt’s Sunni identity. These efforts included an orchestrated public campaign against Egyptian Shi‘a as well as Iran; an anti-Shi‘a campaign that culminated in a mob breaking into a home of a Shi‘i family near Cairo. The assailants dragged the men in the house into the streets where they were lynched and beaten to death amidst the jubilation of the mob. Launching a cultural war internally then, while simultaneously pursuing an instrumental foreign policy, terminated the alliance between the Muslim Brotherhood and the secular groups that had united against Mubarak. In this cultural war, the secular groups found themselves on the defensive since they lacked a popular alternative to the religious identity proposed by the Brotherhood. The imbalance in the power between the two camps was reflected in the results of the referendums and elections held after Mubarak’s fall, mostly carried by the Muslim Brotherhood and their Islamist allies due to their religious slogans. It was in the context of this cultural war and the crisis of the secular forces, as reflected in their repeated electoral defeats and lack of unity, that Nasserism made a comeback. Several factors made Nasserism a viable foundation for an alternative identity to the suggested Islamist identity. Firstly, for many Egyptians, Nasser has remained the main symbol of Egyptian nationalism in spite of the de-Nasserization of Egyptian politics since the 1970s. This became apparent by the great success, especially among Egyptian youth, of Nasser 56, a movie about Nasser’s nationalization of the Suez Canal that was released in the mid-1990s.46 In many respects, the nostalgia for Nasser’s years was a result of the deteriorating economic conditions of the majority of the population following Mubarak’s adoption of a structural adjustment programme in the early 1990s. The decline of Egypt’s role in regional politics further fuelled the nostalgia for the years when Egypt was a regional powerhouse.

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Secondly, Nasser’s clashes with the Muslim Brotherhood, the United States and Israel qualified him for the role of the Islamists’ radical other. Sadat, while assassinated by an Islamist organization, could have not fulfilled that role, primarily because of his alliance in the 1970s with the Muslim Brotherhood. Their policies towards the United States and Israel were also a continuation of Sadat’s. Finally, yet most importantly, the Muslim Brotherhood itself contributed to the rise of Nasser as their radical other. For instance, in a speech in Tahrir Square shortly after his electoral victory Morsi attacked Nasser with the Muslim Brotherhood’s spokespersons following suit. Directing critiques at Nasser became a permanent feature of their rhetoric, as was the case with al-Erian’s remarks mentioned above. What the Muslim Brotherhood did not anticipate was that its unceasing attack on Nasser’s legacy would be a boomerang that would provide their secular opponents with a symbol around which they would be able to mobilize the populace. The secular opposition anchored its vision of Egypt’s identity in Nasser’s legacy, although the latter still meant different things to different groups. Unlike the debates that had surrounded the topic since the mid-1970s, however, the meanings attributed to Nasser’s legacy now were almost all positive. Hence it was no surprise that on 30 June 2013 when Egyptians took to the streets en masse, they carried posters of Nasser and ones depicting General al-Sisi as the new Nasser. What could this entail for the future of Egypt’s relations with Israel and Iran?

The Return of Nasserism and Egypt’s Regional Relations In 1963, an astute student of Arab politics noted that ‘After 11 years [in power], Gamal Abdel Nasser and the Egyptian revolution continue to mean vastly different things to different people both in the Arab world and in the West.’47 This observation is probably as correct today as it was half a century ago. Despite scholars’ interest in Nasser’s belief system and policies, a consensus on what Nasserism is has yet to emerge. The purpose of this section is not to contribute to this debate. Rather, it serves to discuss the place of anti-colonialism in Nasser’s belief system and explore the possible impact a resurgent Nasserism can have on Egypt’s relations with both Israel and Iran in the event that Nasserism becomes the ideological foundation of Egypt’s political identity.

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Nasser’s The Philosophy of the Revolution (POR) is the first detailed expression of his political ideas. Readers cannot miss noting the deep influence of Abdel Rahman al-Rafi’s account of the Egyptian national movement.48 Nasser had read al-Rafi’s work while a student at the military academy and clearly subscribed to his construction of Egypt as the victim of foreign rulers. For Nasser, Egypt had suffered injustice at the hands of foreign invaders since the Crusades out of which ‘our people . . . emerged poor, destitute and exhausted’ which made them ‘submit to and to suffer further indignity under the hoofs of the Mongol and Caucasian tyrants’.49 The Mamelukes’ rule, which lasted ‘for many dark centuries’, transformed Egypt ‘into a jungle ruled by wild beasts . . . [fighting] ferociously among themselves about the sharing of the booty’; an idea referring to ‘our souls, our minds, our wealth and our land’.50 The Mohamed Ali dynasty and the British were a continuation of this pattern. Nasser’s pain caused by what he considered to be Egypt’s humiliation at the hands of foreign invaders is clear throughout the book, strongly insisting that ‘meet[ing] force with force’ was the only way to end this intolerable state of affairs.51 According to Nasser, other Arabs suffered the same humiliation. As he put it, ‘we have suffered together, we have gone through the same crises, and when we fell beneath the hooves of the invaders . . . they were with us under the same hooves.’52 As early as 1954, the publication date of POR, Nasser’s strong connection to Palestine and identification with the Palestinians and Arabs in general was apparent. He explained that his Arab sentiments had begun when protesting the Belfour Declaration. By the time the first Arab– Israeli war broke out, he ‘was utterly convinced that the fighting there was not taking place on foreign soil, nor was our part in it a matter of sentiment. It was a duty necessitated by self-defense.’53 In a moving passage, Nasser described his encounter while fighting in Palestine with a young girl who ‘had wandered into a zone of danger and whistling bullets, driven by the lash of hunger and cold to search for a bit of food or a piece of cloth’.54 In a clear expression of his identification with the Palestinians, Nasser feared that the same fate could befall his own daughter ‘for I was certain that what was happening in Palestine could happen to any one of the Arab states so long as it remained subject to the factors and forces that governed it at that time’.55 The most important of these forces ‘was imperialism. Even Israel . . . is but a result of imperialism. For if Palestine had not fallen

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under the British mandate, Zionism would never had been able to muster enough support to realize a national home in Palestine. The idea would have remained a mad hopeless dream.’56 It is evident that from the moment Nasser made his first appearance on the national and regional stages, he believed that Egypt and Palestine were victimized by the same force: imperialism. Israel, a product of imperialism, was considered a threat to both; thus the struggle for the liberation of Palestine was viewed as a form of self-defence. This antiimperialist orientation remained a hallmark of Nasser’s thought and policy until the end, reiterated more forcefully in the Mithaq (National Charter) in 1962. By then, combating all forms of colonialism in the entire Third World had become the leading principle of Egyptian foreign policy. Yet Palestine maintained its special place in this struggle. For instance, in his address to the National Conference of the Popular Forces in 1962, Nasser expressed the Egyptian people’s determination to eliminate the Israeli aggression on Palestine, describing Israel as ‘one of the most dangerous pockets of colonial resistance’57 to national liberation struggles. He proceeded to highlight Egypt’s efforts to ‘contain the spread of a destructive colonial cancer’,58 namely Israel, to Africa. The military defeat in 1967 did not alter Nasser’s position significantly, however. Although he expressed a willingness to explore the possibility of a political solution, in conversations with his aides and meetings with Egyptian officers, he stressed that force was the only viable option to liberate occupied Arab land.59 For Nasser, the Arab–Israeli conflict was an existential conflict, not a territorial dispute. Unlike Islam which is open for multiple interpretations, the Nasserite position on Israel is quite fixed. More than 30 years after the Egyptian – Israeli peace treaty and the deNasserization of Egyptian politics, Egyptians still perceive Israel negatively, as shown, for instance, in the Pew survey mentioned above. This is particularly true among Egyptian intellectuals who have been ardent opponents of normalizing relations with Israel. Following the signing of the treaty on the lawn of the White House, Egyptian professional unions, then controlled by Nasserists and Marxists, decided to penalize those of their members that interacted with Israelis.60 During the Israeli invasion of Lebanon in 1982, a delegation of Egyptian academics and intellectuals travelled to Beirut to express solidarity with the Palestinian resistance and its Lebanese allies. A newsletter issued by

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the faculty of Cairo University in July 1982 stressed that the peace treaty with Israel had not changed the ‘aggressive character of the Zionist entity’61 and that the Palestinians and their Lebanese allies were fighting on behalf of Egypt and all Arabs. The editors warned that the defeat of the Palestinians in Beirut would enable Israel to attack Egypt.62 This perception of Israel is still prevalent among the majority of Egyptian intellectuals, who act as the guardians of Nasser’s legacy. For instance, the Egyptian Journalists Syndicate – currently controlled by Nasserists and Marxists – recently referred some of its members to a disciplinary committee for allegedly visiting East Jerusalem. Additionally, Egyptian intellectuals protested the nomination of a prominent journalist for a ministerial position for his support of normalization with Israel, among others.63 His nomination was withdrawn and the incumbent, an opponent of normalization, was boosted in rank.64 Interestingly, the majority of Egyptian intellectuals have never seen a contradiction between advocating for democracy and freedom of expression on the one hand, and punishing their colleagues who contact Israelis on the other. Rather, for them, the two issues have always been complementary: the former a means to emancipate the people from authoritarianism, while the latter a means to preserve and protect the nation’s identity from Israel.65 The fierce opposition to normalizing relations with Israel has impeded the establishment of a stable Egyptian–Israeli peace.66 Even Mubarak’s regime, despite its interest in maintaining the peace treaty with Israel to secure Western support, shied away from entering a confrontation with intellectuals over normalization with Israel. The state-run TV actually contributed to perpetuating Israel’s image as an enemy and creating nostalgia for Nasser’s era through a number of popular series and movies about successful Egyptian covert and military operations against Israel during Nasser’s presidency. This perception was further emphasized by reports about Israel massacring Egyptian prisoners of war during 1956 and 1967. Even the Oslo Process between Israel and the Palestine Liberation Organization did not alter this image in any significant manner. In fact, relations on the official level deteriorated after the beginning of these talks, turning the cold peace between Egypt and Israel into a cold war.67 The failure of the Oslo Process and the outbreak of the second Palestinian Intifada reinforced Israel’s image as untrustworthy and as an enemy among the Egyptian public.

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In contrast, while many Egyptian intellectuals have reservations on the human rights record of the Iranian government, they have never called for boycotting Iran. In fact, restoring full diplomatic relations with Iran was a demand of many political forces in Egypt during Mubarak’s reign. Since the removal of Morsi from power, at least two delegations of Egyptian public intellectuals, academics and artists have visited Iran. For those who went on these trips, Iran’s support of the Palestinians’ struggle meant more than the illiberal character of the Iranian political regime. Similar delegations travelled to other nondemocratic countries, most notably Russia and China. These visits were described as expressions of gratitude for these states’ support of the Egyptian people against American and European conspiracies. In the same vein, Egyptian pundits have been calling for an alliance with Russia similar to the one that existed between Egypt and the Soviet Union during the Nasserite era. The resurgence of Nasserism in the last few years resulted in the reemergence of a number of political themes that had been marginalized since the mid-1970s. Chief among these are national liberation and Arab solidarity. For many Egyptians, ending the rule of the Muslim Brotherhood, now depicted as a Western tool to destabilize the entire Arab world, constitutes Egypt’s second independence.68 The Arab Spring celebrated after 2010 is now portrayed by many Egyptian pundits as an American conspiracy to dismantle Arab states and ensure Israel’s security. The United States’ threat to strike Syria was also considered part of this conspiracy by Egyptian pundits and politicians, especially retired army officers.69 Most importantly for our purposes here, this threat was another occasion in which Egyptians, recalling the unity between Egypt and Syria in 1958, reflected positively on Nasser’s legacy. As James Liu and Denis Hilton note, history ‘defines a trajectory which helps construct the essence of a group’s identity, how it relates to other groups, and ascertains what its options are for facing present challenges . . . A central part of a group’s representation of its history is thus its charter, an account of its origin, and historical mission.’70 At the moment, Nasser’s legacy seems poised to function as a charter for many Egyptians. Not only has Nasser’s popularity been restored among ordinary Egyptians, but officials have been keen to stress their admiration and loyalty to his legacy. For instance, shortly after assuming his position, Ibrahim Mehleb, then the Egyptian prime minister, assured

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striking public sectors workers that Nasser’s legacy was alive.71 The two candidates in the presidential election at the time, Abdel Fattah al-Sisi and Hamdeen Sabahi, are also known for their admiration of the late Egyptian leader. In his first televised interview since declaring his candidacy, al-Sisi, the favoured candidate to win the elections, was asked about whether he had hung pictures of Nasser in his house as a young man and how he felt about being compared to him. In themselves, these questions reflect the current significance of Nasser’s legacy in Egypt. Al-Sisi considered the comparison with Nasser, who ‘was in the hearts of the Egyptians not just on their walls’, as a status he did not deserve.72 In the same interview, he emphasized his plans to restore the state’s role in running the country’s economy: another main feature of Nasserism. He also stressed the Egyptian army’s role in protecting not only Egypt’s national security but also the broader Arab national security. Most importantly, al-Sisi urged the Egyptians to not allow Hamas’s support of the Muslim Brotherhood to affect what he described as their ‘historical position on the Palestinian question’. When asked whether he would visit Israel, al-Sisi declared his intention to respect Egypt’s international commitments including the peace treaty with Israel. Nevertheless, he stressed that he would not visit Israel until a Palestinian state with East Jerusalem as its capital was established. His interviewers interpreted his response as an answer in the negative; an interpretation he did not dispute. What is important for our purposes here is that al-Sisi linked improvements in Egyptian –Israeli relations to the Palestinian question and emphasized that the Egyptian public opinion’s preferences would influence Egypt’s future policies.73 The above notwithstanding, it is still not clear how the nostalgia for Nasserism74 will influence Egyptian regional policy. Theoretically, a democratically elected president with a clear mandate, unlike Mubarak and Morsi, will not have to depend on Western support to secure their regime and allow them to pursue regional policies that might conflict with American and Israeli strategies. As Errol Henderson demonstrated, democratic transitions in Sub-Saharan Africa had emboldened democratically elected leaders to pursue more aggressive foreign policies including going to war with neighbouring states.75 Such an outcome, however, is unlikely in the Egyptian case, despite Nasserism’s resurgence. In fact, aside from al-Sisi’s visit to Moscow and reports about future arms deals with Russia, it is hard to discern any tangible

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impact of Nasserism on Egyptian foreign policy so far. Indeed, the interim government’s closest ally has been Saudi Arabia, one of Nasser’s fervent opponents. Furthermore, the Egyptian army’s dependence on American-made weapons limits Egypt’s options vis-a`-vis Israel, regardless of how Egyptians perceive the latter. The combination of Egypt’s dependence on Saudi economic aid and American weapons, not democratization, will most likely mitigate the impact of the resurgent Nasserism on Egyptian – Israeli and Egyptian – Iranian relations, at least for the foreseeable future. The impact of Nasserism’s resurgence will probably be limited to increasing Egyptians’ negative views on Israel and maybe boosting the numbers of Iran’s sympathizers. This will not constitute a major change, however; it will be business as usual.

Conclusion It is too soon to issue a final verdict about the democratic transition in Egypt; however, it is safe to argue that this process, regardless of its ultimate outcome, is an important test for the democratic peace theory. The Muslim Brotherhood was in power only for one year, too short of a period to test the validity of the theory, yet one can still infer some insights that might contribute to the further development of a more nuanced understanding of the democratic peace. As the Egyptian case illustrates, democratic transitions spark debates about states’ identities. These debates are an integral part of the formation processes of the new political system. As such, they are likely to leave their mark on the type of democracy that emerges in any given state, possibly leading to a fusion between democracy and nationalism. This suggests that democratic peace theorists should pay more attention to the relationship between democracy and nationalism, a topic that is under-theorized in the democratic peace literature. The absence of discussions of this relationship is quite curious since it is nationalism not democracy that provides a substance to the notion of the people by demarcating the borders between a people and others, in the process constructing some as threats and others as allies or even part of the self. Democratic peace theorists assume that the people in democracies privilege democracy over other aspects of their identities; however, this is not necessarily true. Indeed, the aspect(s) a given people privilege in a given situation is an empirical question, not a theoretical one. In the

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Egyptian case, it is clear that while the majority of Egyptians have democratic aspirations, they presently view non-democratic Russia more positively than the United States, whom they perceive as a threat to their independence. In the case of Israel, Egyptian attitudes are not based on the type of the Israeli political regime, but rather on what they perceive as Israel’s illegitimacy and expansionism. For the majority of Egyptians, Israel is a colonial/illegitimate entity. In contrast, Saudi Arabia, despite its dictatorial regime, is not perceived as a threat, at least not by the majority. As for Iran, Salafis considering Iran a threat are driven by sectarianism, not by a concern for democracy. Pro-democracy forces, while not viewing the Iranian regime favourably, do not consider Iran a threat to Egypt. Some Egyptian strategic analysts, including former army generals, even consider Iran a potential source of strength for the Egyptian and Arab national security.76 This suggests that democratic peace theorists studying the Egyptian case have a lot to benefit from including insights from balance-ofthreats theory into their analysis. For now, it seems that Israel constitutes a bigger threat than non-democracies for what Egyptians seem to care about most, namely their identity and independence. The perception of Israel as a threat, however, will not necessarily lead to an outbreak of war or even to the termination of the Egyptian –Israeli peace treaty. The quality of the peace might further deteriorate, but a dramatic change in Egyptian –Israeli relations is unlikely in the near future. This is mainly due to the interests of both Egyptian and Israeli elites in avoiding a war and to the influence of the United States. The continuation of the peace between a democratic Egypt and Israel in itself thus should not be interpreted as evidence for the validity of the democratic peace theory. The real test for the democratic peace theory in the Egyptian– Israeli case would be an improvement in the quality of the peace; another under-theorized topic in the democratic peace literature. Taking these two issues (the democracy/nationalism nexus and the quality of the peace) into consideration does not undermine the democratic peace theory. In fact, it might contribute to a more nuanced understanding of it that is more consistent with the Kantian vision. Democratic peace theorists use Kant’s three definitive articles for a perpetual peace as their starting point; little attention has been paid to the preliminary articles. For Kant, however, the latter are not less important. The first preliminary article stresses that ‘a conclusion of peace nullifies all existing reasons for future war’.77

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This, however, does not apply to the Egyptian –Israeli treaty as for many Egyptians the treaty is an infringement on their national aspirations and those of the Palestinians with whom they identify. Additionally, both Egypt and Israel still perceive the other as a potential threat as manifested in the constant augmentation of their military arsenals. This contradicts Kant’s third preliminary article that stipulates that all ‘standing armies will gradually be abolished. For they constantly threaten other states with war by the very fact that they are always prepared for it.’78 What makes Israel especially dangerous from an Egyptian perspective is the former’s violation of the second and sixth of Kant’s preliminary articles. The second article stresses that ‘no independently existing state . . . may be acquired by another state by inheritance, exchange or purchase or gift.’79 While Palestine was not an independent state before 1948, Egyptians nevertheless regard Israel as an illegitimate entity that came into existence at the Palestinians’ expense as a result of a Zionist–Imperialist alliance. Atrocities committed by the Israeli army against Egyptian and other Arab civilians have precluded the emergence of trust between the two sides as warned by Kant’s sixth preliminary article, which stressed that ‘no state at war with another shall permit such acts of hostility as would make mutual confidence impossible during a future time of peace’.80 Applying Williams’ insights on the relationship between identity construction, mutual recognition and respect on the one hand, and peaceful relations among democracies on the other, one can argue that for Egyptians, particularly Egyptian intellectuals, Israel is not worthy of respect for its colonial character. Having suffered from centuries of colonial oppression, Egypt, according to this view that finds its strongest expression in Nasserism, cannot have normal relations with Israel. The fact that many Egyptians think of themselves not only as Egyptians, but also as members of transnational nations, be it the Arab nation or the Muslim nation that includes the Palestinians, makes them identify with the latter’s plight. When it comes to Iran, the situation is more complex. Aside from hard-line Sunnis, Egyptians do not perceive the religious orientation of Iran as a threat to their identity. Additionally, there is no history of conflict between the two states. Some Egyptians, as mentioned before, even consider Iran a potential ally. The main obstacle that would impede improvements in Egyptian– Iranian relations is each state’s relation to a

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third party, namely Saudi Arabia. Presently, Egypt is quite close to Saudi Arabia as a result of its dependence on Saudi financial support. Thus it is very unlikely that a dramatic enhancement in Egyptian – Iranian relations would take place before either Egypt becomes less dependent on Saudi Arabia or Saudi –Iranian relations improve.

Notes 1. Alexander Wendt, ‘Anarchy is what states make of it: the social construction of power politics’, International Organization, Vol. 46, No. 2 (1992): 391– 425. 2. Ibid., p. 419. 3. I follow the contributors to The Culture of National Security: Norms and Identity in World Politics in understanding a state’s identity as its basic character. 4. Ghali Shoukri, Egypt: Portrait of a President 1971– 1981: The Counter-Revolution in Egypt, Sadat’s Road to Jerusalem (London: 1981), pp. 101 – 11. 5. See for instance Bernard Lewis, What Went Wrong? The Clash between Islam and Modernity in the Middle East (New York: 2002). 6. See for instance Yitzhak Reiter, War, Peace and International Relations in Islam: Muslim Scholars on Peace Accords with Israel (Brighton: 2011). 7. Fathi al-Dieb, Abdul Nasser and the Iranian Revolution (Cairo: 2000). 8. See for instance Ido Oren, ‘The subjectivity of the “democratic” peace: changing U.S. perceptions of Imperial Germany’, International Security, Vol. 20, No. 2 (1995): 147–84. 9. Jack Levy, ‘Domestic politics and war’, Journal of Interdisciplinary History, Vol. 18 (1988): 653–73, p. 662. 10. Nils Gleditsch, ‘Democracy and peace’, Journal of Peace Research, Vol. 29 (1992): 369– 76, p. 372. 11. Bruce Russett, Grasping the Democratic Peace (Princeton: 1993). 12. See for instance Christopher Layne, ‘Kant or cant: the myth of the democratic peace’, International Security, Vol. 19, No. 2 (1994): 5 – 49; David Spiro, ‘The insignificance of the liberal peace’, International Security, Vol. 19, No. 2 (1994): 50 – 86 and Sebastian Rosato, ‘The flawed logic of democratic peace theory’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 97, No. 4 (2003): 585–602. 13. Edward Mansfield and Jack Snyder, ‘Democratization and the danger of war’, International Security, Vol. 20, No. 1 (1995): 5 – 38. 14. Thomas Risse-Kappen, ‘Democratic peace-warlike democracies? A social constructivist interpretation of the liberal argument’, European Journal of International Relations, Vol. 1, No. 4 (1995): 491– 517, p. 503. 15. John M. Owen, ‘How liberalism produces democratic peace’, International Security, Vol. 19, No. 2 (1994): 87 – 125. 16. Wesley W. Widmaier, ‘The democratic peace is what states make of it: a constructivist analysis of the US-Indian “Near Miss” in the 1971 South Asian crisis’, European Journal of International Relations, Vol. 11, No. 3 (2005): 431 – 55.

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17. Michael Williams, ‘The Discipline of the democratic peace: Kant, liberalism and the social construction of security communities’, European Journal of International Relations, Vol. 7, No. 4 (2001): 525– 53. 18. Ibid., p. 526 [emphasis in original]. 19. Ibid., p. 531 [emphasis in original]. 20. John M. Owen, ‘Pieces of maximal peace: common identities, common enemies’, in A. Kacowics et al., eds, Stable Peace among Nations (Lanham: 2000). 21. See for instance Leokadia Drobizheva et al., eds, Ethnic Conflict in the Post-Soviet World: Case Studies and Analysis (New York: 1996). 22. A poll conducted shortly before Morsi’s removal from office showed that the majority of Egyptians were disenchanted with the main contending political parties, groups and politicians. 23. One of the two constitutional declarations that Morsi had sworn to respect openly prohibited him from making any changes in the military without the approval of the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces, i.e. the military leadership. 24. Technically only one constitution was promulgated after Mubarak had stepped down, namely the 2012 constitution. A year after it was approved, Egyptians voted on amending it not on replacing it with a new constitution. Considering the amendments a new constitution is more an attempt by the secular groups to highlight their political victory than an accurate description of the situation. Nevertheless, I will be referring to two different constitutions in the current discussion in order to avoid confusion and to stress the significant differences between the two documents. 25. The Egyptian Constitution, http://www.sis.gov.eg/Newvr/consttt%202014.pdf (accessed 5 May 2014). 26. The 2012 Constitution, http://www.sis.gov.eg/newvr/cons2012/constituti on2012.pdf (accessed 12 February 2014). 27. Mahmoud Ramzy, ‘The final version of the 50s committee’s proposed constitution’, Almasry Alyoum, 30 November 2013, http://www.almas ryalyoum.com/news/details/350197 (accessed 11 May 2014). 28. The resurgence of Nasser’s popularity was that strong to the extent that Morsi on Labor Day, two months before he was removed from power, announced his intentions to complete the industrialization of Egypt that Nasser had started. See Safa Sorour, ‘Abdul Nasser established strategic industries and no worker will lose his job during my presidency’, Almasry Alyoum, 30 April 2013, http://www.almasryalyoum.com/news/details/310491 (accessed 8 May 2014). 29. Throughout the text Egyptian media will be used to refer to the privately owned, not state-run, media. 30. See for instance Mostafa Al-Aswani, ‘A Free Officer: Nasser understood the Brotherhood well and did not allow it to control the state’, Shorouk, 23 January 2014, http://www.shorouknews.com/news/view.aspx?cdate¼ 23012014& id ¼ f0977018 – 5fc8 – 445c-b2a0-c15e2b5fafe3 (accessed 7 May 2014);

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31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36.

37. 38. 39. 40. 41.

42. 43.

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Samir Karam, ‘Abdul Nasser and the Brotherhood’, Shorouk, 18 July 2012, http:// www.shorouknews.com/columns/view.aspx?cdate¼18072012&id ¼ 581dab7dd85a-42c1–9873-3a2293a95c55 (accessed 5 May 2014). Ibid. See for instance Jihad Hadad’s statements at Final Word: Kerry’s Visit, the Brotherhood, the Opposition and the Army, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v¼ 7VVyRUSkUCQ (accessed 7 May 2014). Elwatan, ‘Seif al-Dawla: Camp David has to be changed via a million-person march’, Elwatan, 17 October 2012, http://elwatannews.com/video/details? Id¼2304 (accessed 7 May 2014). The Muslim Brotherhood asks for Permission to send 10,000 Fighters to Lebanon to support Hizbullah, http://www.alarabiya.net/articles/2006/08/03/26287.html (accessed 7 May 2014). See for instance Bassem Yousef and Morsi’s Love Letter to Peres, http://www. youtube.com/watch?v¼LHDfiZeVPPI (accessed 7May 2014). Both Morsi’s role in negotiating a cease fire between Hamas and Israel, and his letter to Peres came up again during the first presidential election after Morsi was removed from power. See for instance Bassam Ramadan, ‘Adeeb to Qaradawi: did Sisi send a letter to the zionists?’, Almasry Alyoum, 12 May 2014, http://www.almasryalyoum.com/news/details/445029 (accessed 12 May 2014). Amany Maged ‘Back to Egypt?’, Al-Ahram Weekly, 3 January 2013, http:// weekly.ahram.org.eg/News/824/17/Back-to-Egypt-.aspx (accessed 28 January 2014). Amany Maged, ‘A final straw’, Al-Ahram Weekly, 10 January 2013, http:// weekly.ahram.org.eg/News/943/17/A-final-straw.aspx (accessed 28 January 2014). Other occasions include Morsi’s speech on Labor Day, Ethiopia’s decision to start building a dam on the Nile and Morsi’s decision to sever diplomatic ties with Syria. Ahmed Al-Tahiri, ‘Abdul Nasser receives Morsi in the new headquarters of the African Union’, Elwatan, 9 July 2012, http://elwatannews.com/news/details/ 25385 (accessed 30 April 2014). Such sentiments were also expressed by Egyptian officials. See for instance Akram Sami and Baha al-Din Mohammed, ‘Fahmi: Africans only remember Nasser because we did not focus on issues that concern them’, Elwatan, 15 March 2014, http://elwatannews.com/news/details/438152 (accessed 4 April 2014). Mohammed Hassaan to Morsi: Allah will not grant you Victory if you open Egypt’s Doors to the Shi‘a, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v¼ uTDlHC7lI_w (accessed 10 March 2014). Freedom and Justice Publishes a file that documents Israel’s Support for al-Sisi’s Coup, http://fj-p.com/Our_news_Details.aspx?News_ID¼ 21563 (accessed 8 May 2014); Al-Gawadi: the US did not expect that al-Sisi would reveal its ties to the Coup after 10 months, http://fj-p.com/Our_news_Details.aspx?News _ID¼33285 (accessed 8 May 2014).

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44. http://www.pewglobal.org/2013/05/16/chapter-5-views-of-u-s-and-israel/ (accessed 10 March 2014). 45. Sheikh Yossri Hamad and the Relation with Israel, http://www.youtube.com/ watch?v¼ LAENqAzHXIY (accessed 10 March 2014). 46. Meir Hatina, ‘History, politics and collective memory: the Nasserist legacy in Mubarak’s Egypt’, in Elie Podeh and Onn Winckler, eds, Rethinking Nasserism: Revolution and Historical Memory in Modern Egypt (Gainesville: 2004), p. 105. 47. Malcolm H. Kerr, Egypt under Nasser, Headline Series, Vol. 161 (New York: 1963), p. 3. 48. See for instance Abdul Rahman al-Rafi, History of the National Movement and the Development of the Political System in Egypt (Cairo: 1981). 49. Gamal Abdel Nasser, Egypt’s Liberation: The Philosophy of the Revolution (Washington, DC: 1955), pp. 58 – 60. 50. Ibid., pp. 62 – 3. 51. Ibid., p. 25. 52. Ibid., pp. 88 – 9. 53. Ibid., p. 90. 54. Ibid., p. 97. 55. Ibid., pp. 97 – 8. 56. Ibid., pp. 98 – 9. 57. http://nasser.org/Speeches/browser.aspx?SID¼ 1015&lang ¼ ar (accessed 10 March 2014). 58. Ibid. 59. Laura M. James, Nasser at War: Arab Images of the Enemy (Basingstoke: 2006), p. 134. 60. The Muslim Brotherhood did not take part in the early anti-normalization campaigns. 61. Samidun, Vol. 1 (July 1982), p. 7. 62. Ibid. 63. Ahmed Antar, ‘Al Ghazali Harb: my support for normalization does not mean I am not qualified to become Minister of Culture’, http://elwatannews.com/news/ details/428397 (accessed 10 March 2014). 64. Ala Abdullah, ‘Minister of Culture: I oppose normalization’, http://gate.ahram. org.eg/News/467605.aspx (accessed 14 March 2014). 65. The fact that the first anti-normalization group founded by Egyptian intellectuals carried the name Committee for the Defense of National [Quamia] Culture is very telling in this respect. Using quamia, a term that has a pan-Arab connotation, instead of watania suggests that Egyptian intellectuals generally tend to treat Egyptian and Arab cultures as interrelated if not one and the same. The committee’s organ name The Confrontation further reveals the significance Egyptian intellectuals attributed to protecting what they perceived as Egypt’s national character. Considering normal relations with Israel a threat to the latter illustrates the depth of the Egyptian intellectuals’ negative view on Israel and their identification with the Palestinians.

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66. Other expressions of the refusal for normalization were less peaceful. They include, among others, armed attacks on Israeli diplomats and tourists, and a cross-border attack by an Egyptian soldier on an Israeli patrol. More recently, following the killing of a number of Egyptian soldiers in an Israeli attack in August 2011, Egyptian protesters stormed the Israeli embassy in Cairo. 67. Yaacov Bar-Siman-Tov, ‘Israel– Egypt peace: stable peace?’, in Arie M. Kacowics et al., eds, Stable Peace among Nations (Lanham: 2000), p. 231. 68. See for instance Akram Sami, ‘Ann Paterson: the brotherhood’s ambassador’, Elwatan, 22 June 2013; Emad al-Din Hussain, ‘The collapse of Paterson’s dream’, Shorouk, 22 July 2013; Mohammed Ashour, ‘Al-Galad: Paterson and al-Shatir planned to exchange parts of Sinai for parts of the Negev’, Elwatan, 27 January 2014; Sherif Hussain, ‘Tamarud: Congratulations on defeating the USA’, 30 August 2013; Lamis Jaber, ‘Paterson get out of Egypt’s face’, Elwatan, 5 July 2013; Hassan Naf’a, ‘The ambassador and al-Shatir’, Almasry Alyoum, 25 June 2013; Bassam Ramadan, ‘Burhami: what happened on 3 July was against Israel and the Brotherhood serves American interests’, Almasry Alyoum, 4 May 2014. 69. General Sayed al-Gabri: How the Arab States can Face the American Project to Divide the Region, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v¼Ts9ipWh720Y (accessed 7 May 2014). 70. James H. Liu and Denis J. Hilton, ‘How the past weighs on the present: social representations of history and their role in identity politics’, British Journal of Social Psychology, Vol. 44 (2005): 537– 56, pp. 537– 8. 71. A Press Conference for Prime Minister Mehlb with Mhala’s Workers, http://www. youtube.com/watch?v¼ZI5b1Hijo8M (accessed 10 March 2014). 72. Al-Sisi with Lamis al-Haididi and Ibrahim Issa, http://www.youtube.com/watch? v¼DHrbI-6814U (accessed 10 May 2014). 73. Ibid. 74. See for instance Ahmed Yousef, ‘Nasser returned’, Shorouk, 3 October 2013, http://www.shorouknews.com/columns/view.aspx?cdate¼ 03102013&id ¼ 3f5f4d23– 961c-4956-b42a-c418f4db4480 (accessed 8 May 2014); Mahmoud Musalam, ‘Who doesn’t love Nasser?’, Elwatan, 11 March 2014, http:// elwatannews.com/news/details/435487 (accessed 4 May 2014); Mohammed Salmawi, ‘Nasser is the standard’, Almasry Alyoum, 15 February 2014, http:// www.almasryalyoum.com/news/details/394253 (accessed 5 May 2014). 75. Errol Henderson, ‘Disturbing the peace: African warfare, political inversion and the universality of the democratic peace thesis’, British Journal of Political Science, Vol. 39 (2008): 25– 58. 76. Mohammed Shanah, ‘Talat Musalam: forming a free army in Egypt like the one in Syria is impossible: Iran can be a shield that strengthens Arab national security’, Elwatan, 5 May 2014, http://elwatannews.com/news/details/ 475307 (accessed 5 May 2014). 77. Immanuel Kant, ‘Perpetual peace: a philosophical sketch’, in Hans Reiss, ed., Kant’s Political Writings (Cambridge: 1970), p. 93. 78. Ibid., p. 94.

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79. Ibid. 80. Ibid., p. 96. A clear example of this is a song critical of the peace treaty between Egypt and Israel that was shown recently several times on Egyptian TV stations stressed the Israeli atrocities committed against Egyptian and Palestinian civilians. Iskinderella: In formal Hebrew, http://www.youtube.com/watch? v¼UZB1Mso-HLs&list ¼ RDV9nyIMX-tAg (accessed 5 May 2014).

References Bar-Siman-Tov, Yaccov, ‘Israel – Egypt peace: stable peace?’, in A. M. Kacowics et. al., eds, Stable Peace among Nations (Lanham: 2000). al-Dieb, Fathi, Abdul Nasser and the Iranian Revolution (Cairo: 2000). Drobizheva, Leokadia et al., eds, Ethnic Conflict in the Post-Soviet World: Case Studies and Analysis (New York: 1996). Gleditsch, Nils, ‘Democracy and peace’, Journal of Peace Research, Vol. 29, No. 4 (1992): 369– 76. Hatina, Meir, ‘History, politics and collective memory: the Nasserist legacy in Mubarak’s Egypt’, in E. Podeh and O. Winckler, eds, Rethinking Nasserism: Revolution and Historical Memory in Modern Egypt (Gainesville: 2004). Henderson, Errol, ‘Disturbing the peace: African warfare, political inversion and the universality of the democratic peace thesis’, British Journal of Political Science, Vol. 39 (2008): 25 – 58. James, Laura M., Nasser at War: Arab Images of the Enemy (Basingstoke: 2006). Kacowics, A.M. et al., eds, Stable Peace among Nations (Lanham: 2000). Kant, Immanuel, ‘Perpetual peace: a philosophical sketch’, in Hans Reiss, ed., Kant’s Political Writings (Cambridge: 1970). Katzenstein, Peter et al., eds, The Culture of National Security: Norms and Identity in World Politics (New York: 1996). Kerr, Malcolm H., Egypt under Nasser (New York: 1963). Layne, Christopher, ‘Kant or cant: the myth of the democratic peace’, International Security, Vol. 19, No. 2 (1994): 5 – 49. Levy, Jack, ‘Domestic politics and war’, Journal of Interdisciplinary History, Vol. 18 (1988): 653– 73. Lewis, Bernard, What Went Wrong? The Clash between Islam and Modernity in the Middle East (New York: 2002). Liu, James H. and Denis J. Hilton, ‘How the past weighs on the present: social representations of history and their role in identity politics’, British Journal of Social Psychology, Vol. 44 (2005): 537– 56. Mansfield, Edward and Jack Snyder, ‘Democratization and the danger of war’, International Security, Vol. 20, No. 1 (1995): 5 – 38. Nasser, Gamal Abdel, Egypt’s Liberation: The Philosophy of the Revolution (Washington, DC: 1955). Oren, Ido, ‘The subjectivity of the “democratic” peace: changing U.S. perceptions of imperial Germany’, International Security, Vol. 20, No. 2 (1995): 147– 84. Owen, John M., ‘How liberalism produces democratic peace’, International Security, Vol. 19, No. 2 (1994): 87 – 125.

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‘Pieces of maximal peace: common identities, common enemies’, in A. M. Kacowics et al., eds, Stable Peace among Nations (Lanham: 2000). Podeh, Elie and Onn Winckler, eds, Rethinking Nasserism: Revolution and Historical Memory in Modern Egypt (Gainesville: 2004). Reiss, Hans, ed., Kant’s Political Writings (Cambridge: 1970). Reiter, Yitzhak, War, Peace and International Relations in Islam: Muslim Scholars on Peace Accords with Israel (Brighton: 2011). Risse-Kappen, Thomas, ‘Democratic peace-warlike democracies? A social constructivist interpretation of the liberal argument’, European Journal of International Relations, Vol. 1, No. 4 (1995): 491– 517. Rosato, Sebastian, ‘The flawed logic of democratic peace theory’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 97, No. 4 (2003): 585– 602. Russett, Bruce, Grasping the Democratic Peace (Princeton: 1993). Shoukri, Ghali, Egypt: Portrait of a President 1971– 1981: The Counter-Revolution in Egypt, Sadat’s Road to Jerusalem (London: 1981). Spiro, David, ‘The insignificance of the liberal peace’, International Security, Vol. 19, No. 2 (1994): 50 – 86. Wendt, Alexander, ‘Anarchy is what states make of it: the social construction of power politics’, International Organization, Vol. 46, No. 2 (1992): 391– 425. Widmaier, Wesley W., ‘The democratic peace is what states make of it: a constructivist analysis of the US-Indian “Near Miss” in the 1971 South Asian crisis’, European Journal of International Relations, Vol. 11, No. 3 (2005): 431–55. Williams, Michael, ‘The discipline of the democratic peace: Kant, liberalism and the social construction of security communities’, European Journal of International Relations, Vol. 7, No. 4 (2001): 525– 53.

CHAPTER 7 DEMOCRACY AND DEMOCRATIC PEACE:THE CASE OF THE PALESTINIAN AUTHORITY Yakub Halabi

For many decades, the Palestinian political movement consolidated its activities around the arms struggle against Israel for the sake of liberating Palestine and allowing the return of Palestinian refugees to their pre-1948 homes. After the creation of the state of Israel, 750,000 Palestinians were deported from their homes and almost 400 Palestinian villages were razed in what they call the Nakba, many being enticed to leave by Arab states promising their glorious return following a confrontation with Israel. Palestinian movements could not settle on anything less than the full return of all Palestinian refugees and the establishment of a Palestinian state on the whole territory of Mandatory Palestine; however, such goals would involve taking over territory owned by Israel. The goal of this chapter is to examine the transformation of the Palestinian political movements, especially Fatah and Hamas, from movements of freedom fighters for the liberation of Palestine, into political parties that first and foremost understood the constraints of the balance of power, and secondly, were required to operate based on the democratic rules of the game following the establishment of the Palestinian Authority (PA) under the Oslo Accord in 1993. These movements were required to

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respect the agreement signed by Yasser Arafat, head of the Fatah movement and the chairman of the PLO at the time, and renounce the use of force against Israel, especially after the PLO had acknowledged the agreement. Even thought Hamas is not a member of the PLO, Fatah demanded that the latter abide by agreements signed by the PLO – which saw itself as the sole legitimate organization representing all Palestinians. Questions to be explored include: has the creation of a democratic PA ushered in the democratization of these Palestinian movements, namely acceptance of majority rule? Can the principles of the democratic peace theory apply to the foreign policy of the PA towards Israel? Lastly, can a democratic PA and Israel resolve their disputes in a peaceful manner? In order to investigate the applicability of the democratic peace theory to the foreign policy of the PA, this chapter examines the separation of power within PA, the diffusion of authorities between the three branches – the executive, legislative and judiciary – and the adoption of universal values by the PA towards Israel in particular. In addition, the chapter examines the influence of the Palestinian Legislative Council (PLC) on the foreign policy of the PA, the compliance of the executive and the various political Palestinian parties and movements with the principle of democratic majority rule, and the ability of society as a whole to vote out an incumbent president.1 Based on the normative account of the democratic peace theory (DPT), democracies pay respect to universal democratic norms such as individual liberties, and what Dixon calls ‘the normative guidelines of bounded competition’,2 where democracies engaged in a dispute subscribe to universal values of peaceful settlement. By contrast, De Mosquita et al. point out the link between regime type and the ability to mobilize resources to war efforts. In their words, ‘democratic leaders, when faced with war, are more inclined to shift extra resources into the war effort than are autocrats . . . The extra effort made by the democrats provides a military advantage over autocrats. This makes democrats unattractive targets, since their institutional constraints cause them to mobilize resources for the war efforts.’3 In this sense, unless both entities, Israel and the PA, mutually perceive each other as unattractive targets, democratic peace may not prevail. In other words, the balance of power underpins democratic peace rather than the domestic democratic structure or universal, normative factors. Still, we cannot analyse the behaviour of these movements without understanding their background and the culture they brought with them

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into their new environment, particularly the sudden transformation of Fatah in 1993 from an autonomous movement within the PLO that operated mainly from the territories of some Arab states, into the ruling party of the PA and a party that operated under the persistent occupation of the Israeli government. As a result, it was less autonomous than before and more constrained by the limitations set in the Oslo Accord and by Israeli political and military pressure. The PLO movements insisted on projecting and de facto realizing unity among themselves within the Palestinian National Council (PNC) and the Executive Council by pursuing a unanimous decision-making process. These movements perceived disagreement and competition as pathological symptoms that manifested a divided and thus weak society, while unanimous decision-making reflects togetherness, unity, and thus strength. The Palestinian movements within the PLO followed the quota system, based on which each movement was allocated a fixed number of seats, where Fatah always enjoyed the largest quota and thus guaranteed an automatic majority with the support of independent members of the PNC.4 In order to exert more authority, Arafat consistently increased the number of seats in the PNC, from 100 members in 1968 to over 500 in 1990. In theory, unless all parties in the PNC agreed, a proposal could not turn into a resolution. The centre of power within the PLO however gravitated from the PNC to the Executive Committee and in particular, to Arafat himself as Chairman of the Executive Committee. In fact, the centrality of Arafat in Fatah and his control over the administrative, financial and political affairs of the movement created a network in which the cadres of Fatah were connected to Arafat himself rather than to the ideology of the movement.5 This concentration of power in the hands of one man hollowed out the democratic process within the PNC.6 In practice, the quota regime was a convenient substitute for democratic elections that were not practical and even impossible to uphold given the circumstances of the Palestinians, who were scattered in refugee camps in several Arab states. The latter were also interested in increasing the quota by adding members loyal to them and who would hence increase their influence inside the PLO. In other words, increasing the quota was not only a single decision by Arafat, but also a result of pressure by some Arab states. Oftentimes, increasing the quota created a deep fissure between the various Palestinian factions and resulted in a boycott and further rifts among these factions. This type of behaviour persisted under

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the PA, where disputes over political affairs led to schisms among the various political movements of this authority. Put simply, dissatisfied factions refused to accept the democratic rules of the game or abide by the majority rule and thus sought secession from the political formal institutions, whether of the PLO or the PA. As will be demonstrated in this chapter, the Palestinian factions not only disagreed over the outcome, which is trivial in politics, but also over the mechanisms of how to solve their disputes. It was not uncommon for consensus over certain issues to be fabricated in order to maintain unity within the ranks of the PLO and to prevent further division. Yet consensus and unity precluded the PLO from tackling controversial and acute problems in light of a changing reality – in essence, the peace process with Israel. In other words, a lack of unity and consensus led to political paralysis and a stalemate in the peace process, with disagreements leading to division and secession within and among the Palestinian factions. This was further complicated by each Palestinian movement creating its own headquarters, running its own newspaper, and having its own militia, military bases and even prisons. Competition between the various Palestinian movements resulted in the duplication of many facilities that could have saved the PLO much of its outlays. The first major split (inshiqaq) within the ranks of the PLO occurred in 1983 following Arafat’s visit to Cairo that marked not only reconciliation with Egypt following the controversial Camp David Peace Accord between Egypt and Israel in 1979, but also what many worried was Arafat’s desire to follow in the footsteps of Sadat.7 In 1983, the division within the PLO and the split within Fatah led to a clash between Fatah fighters and a group that seceded from Fatah and was led by Abu Musa, who justified the secession by claiming that the PLO was controlled by Arafat alone. In the words of Ghanem, ‘as chairman of the Executive Committee, supreme commander of the forces of the revolution, president of the State of Palestine, head of the PNA [Palestinian National Authority], and chairman of the Central Committee of Fatah, Arafat worked without a deputy’.8 When the PLO convened for its eighteenth annual convention in 1987, several factions declared their secession, which included the Popular Front General Command, Alsaeqa, and Fatah Intifada. These splinter groups seceded as an act of expressing their objection to Arafat’s policy and to compel him to change it, but not

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necessarily put pressure on him to initiate reforms within the PLO. As a result, the splinter groups were mainly interested in putting an end to Fatah’s monopoly in general, and Arafat’s in particular over the foreign policy of the PLO.9 This pattern of behaviour – namely infighting and secession by both the ruling party Fatah and the opposition groups to Fatah’s hegemony – continued under the PA. Hence, the political culture that has developed in the PA since 1994 has been an extension of the political culture of the PLO that Fatah had imported with it following the signing of the Oslo Accord. Similar to the PLO, the PA neither respected the principle of the separation of power between the three different branches of governance, nor projected transparency in the official institutions. Under Arafat, the PA marginalized the PLO and the Palestinian opposition movements that decided to boycott the PA elections. In addition, Arafat and to a lesser extent Abbas weakened the role of the legislative and judiciary entities within the PA. The ambiguity about the role of the PLO and the vagueness in the division of labour and separation of authority between the PLO and the PA slowed down the democratization process within the PA. Opposition groups including Hamas, the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP) and the Democratic Front (DFLP) insisted that the PLO should remain at the centre of Palestinian politics and even refused to accept the legitimacy of the PA. This absence of acquiescence among the various Palestinian factions over which institutions were believed to be legitimate undermined the democratization process within the PA and impinged on the peace process with Israel. Following the creation of the PA, the centre of power of Palestinian politics gravitated from the PLO to the PA. In theory, the PLO remained the supreme national institution within which the major Palestinian organizations were represented. In practice, however, the PA headed by Arafat and his successor Abu Mazen deliberately marginalized the PLO, especially after the 1996 elections in which Fatah gained absolute control over the PLC and the presidency.

Democratization and Democratic Reforms within the PA The PA was established in 1993 as a democratic entity, where members of the PNC and the president would be elected in free and fair democratic elections. The first parliamentary election was held in

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1996, with the second one taking place in 2006. The president of the PA is elected directly by the people and has the authority to appoint or dismiss ministers, head the meetings of the government, and serve as the commander in chief of the Palestinian forces. Further, the PNC passed a resolution that instituted the separation of power between the three main branches: the executive, legislative and judiciary. In spite of this, however, the PA had developed as a presidential entity more than as a parliamentary one, evidenced by the Emergency Law which bestowed on the president the authority to dismiss temporarily laws enacted by the PLC when necessary.10 In addition, the executive council – namely the government – encountered major difficulties in its ability to perform its tasks, given the concentration of authority in the hands of the president. The Palestinians in the West Bank, Gaza Strip and East Jerusalem elected their first PLC in 1996 with 88 members. The majority of these members were Fatah affiliates who faced no competition, as all major Palestinian factions boycotted these elections due to their opposition of the Oslo Accord with Israel. According to the Basic Law of the PA, each member has the right to question the government, its ministers, and their policies, and to follow up on the implementation of certain decisions. In spite of this, the PLC has had neither authority over the president nor has it been able to interfere in his operations, while the latter in return could not dismiss the former. Further, the multiplicity of security agencies, their overlapping authority and the absence of a clear demarcation between their tasks has led to competition among them which has greatly affected their performance. This multiplicity often begot insecurity.11 Despite this authoritarianism under the PA, the number of civil society organizations increased tremendously. Some of these organizations were local branches of international non-governmental organizations (INGOs) that worked closely with their international counterparts. They operated in areas such as social, political and economic developments and human rights, and endeavoured to limit violations of human rights by the PA or hold it accountable for its actions. According to a 2013 report by the World Bank, there were over 1,500 civil society organizations operating in the territories under the control of the PA, of which there were 200 NGOs established by INGOs. In addition, there were around 200 INGOs and IGOs operating

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in the West Bank and Gaza and 22 foreign banks. On the World Bank’s website, it is stated that: Being the first of its kind in the Arab world, the Palestinian NGO Code of Conduct sets out priorities and operational instructions for local NGOs to gain confidence and develop appropriate good governance practices. The code is made up of twelve principles and specifies the ground rules to be observed by NGO boards, administrations, and staff while fulfilling their tasks. This code also reflects international standards of good governance including transparency and accountability. Although adherence to the code is voluntary, more than 530 NGOs, constituting 30 percent of functional NGOs in Palestine, have signed the Code of Conduct as an operational standard that they will uphold.12 These civil society organizations were successful in compelling the PA official institutions and its security agencies to retreat from several practices and decisions that stood in violation of human rights and local laws. The absence of any real progress in the peace process since 1996, however, has raised questions regarding whether the PA should remain committed to the Oslo Accord, refrain from resorting to violence, and what should be the appropriate role of the PLO in resisting the occupation of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip by Israel. The quarrel between Israel and the PA is about what came first: whether violence and terrorist attacks impeded progress in the peace process, or whether the absence of progress and the persistence of the occupation and settlements expansionism begot violence. In the words of Khaled Meshaal, head of the Hamas movement since 2004: When we held discussions with our brothers in the PA in Cairo in December 1995, we asked them if they thought they could achieve their ambitions under Oslo without any pressure or instruments of leverage against the enemy . . . we pointed out that if things were difficult now, how much more difficult would they be when they reached the final status phase and had to deal with issues like Jerusalem, the right of return, borders, and so on? We told them that without the continuation of resistance they would be unable to compel Israel to respect the rights of our people . . . I told them

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that despite our opposition to Oslo, we would not object to anything they were able to achieve from it so long as they did not stand in the way of the resistance. But Oslo’s character as a security agreement imposed – under Israeli and American pressure – a role on the PA that involved confronting Hamas and the other resistance movements and their weapons.13 The question in this regard is whether Israel can be motivated by universal norms and will be willing to proceed with the peace process as an end in itself especially when the Palestinians renounce the use of force against it, or whether the slogan ‘no security for Israelis under the occupation’ is a necessary instrument to put pressure on Israel to sign a peace deal with the PA. This question is highly relevant in light of examining the applicability of the democratic peace theory to the foreign policy of the PA and whether the outbreak of the Second Intifada in October 2000 and Israel –Hamas wars (Cast Lead in 2009, Pillar of Defense in 2012 and Protective Edge in 2014) refutes this applicability given that Israel on the one side and the PA and Hamas on the other have failed to solve their differences in a peaceful manner. Several questions, however, should be raised concerning the foreign policy of Israel and whether Israel as an ethnic democracy meets the criteria of the Kantian institutional liberalism or democratic peace or not. The fact that Israel applies certain policies that privilege Jewish settlers over Palestinians, such as expanding Jewish settlements, while expropriating Palestinian land and depriving Palestinians of building on their land, raises questions about the applicability of the democratic peace theory to Israel’s foreign policy. The main question though of this chapter is whether the domestic institutions that were constructed by the PA set the foundations for a democratic peace. The gravitation of power from the PLO to the PA, combined with the controversy surrounding the peace negotiations with Israel, leads to a loss of control by Fatah over the Palestinian politics outside the PA. The PA was less able to restrain the policies and activities of the various Palestinian factions even inside the West Bank and Gaza, yet despite these developments, Arafat persisted with the same governing style of ignoring his rivals, controlling the PA, and inviting Fatah members of the PLO Executive Committee to participate in the governing bodies of the PA.14 Until 2006, the PLC was dominated by one party. This one-party system

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unwittingly prevented the consolidation of a strong opposition within the PLC during the first crucial decade of its life and thus the PLC lacked the culture of a normal democracy that usually comprises both a coalition majority and opposition minority parties. In April 1996, the PNC convened in Gaza in order to cancel the clause in the PLO Covenant that called for the destruction of Israel and the creation of a Palestinian state over the whole territory of Mandatory Palestine, thus rendering the Covenant more in congruence with the Oslo Accord. The objection of the Palestinian factions to the Oslo Accord led to an attempt to form a broad opposition front outside the PA to Fatah and its policy. During the 1990s and early 2000s, opposition factions refused to recognize the PA let alone integrate in its new institutions. These factions, such as PFLP, DFLP and Hamas, tried to form a unified front in 1994, but that attempt did not last long due to the ideological differences between them. These factions pledged to refrain from resorting to violence against the PA and demanded that the PA treat them in a similar manner. Moreover, they insisted that the PA pay more respect to human rights and the rule of law. Each of these factions even gave approval to its advocates to seek employment in PA institutions in order to influence its policies from within. Thus, these factions not only opposed the Oslo Accord, but also the hegemonic rule of Fatah, the centralized style of Arafat, and the absence of transparency in the PA institutions.15 In spite of this, the left secular opposition groups, especially the DFLP and PFLP, failed to pose a viable alternative opposition to Fatah, especially given their narrow institutional infrastructure and their incarceration in the old ideology that was crippled from coping with the new reality in the occupied territories. Their ideology found more sympathy among the Palestinian refugees scattered in Arab countries, whose interests were different from those of the Palestinians living in the occupied territories. In contrast to these factions, Hamas was able to expand its grassroots support through the network of mosques under its disposal in the Gaza Strip.16 Yet even when Fatah dominated the PLC, some of its members demanded transparency and accountability from the executive branch. In 1997, for instance, the PLC requested the creation of a committee to investigate officials accused of corruption in the PA following a report by the PA Audience Committee that pointed to $300 million being missing.17

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The circumstances under which the PA operated – i.e. the occupation, the ongoing process of state building and the desire to proceed with the peace process – impinged on the democratization process within the PA. Fatah under Arafat implicitly justified the concentration of authority in his hands for the sake of realizing the grand goal of Palestinian sovereignty in the occupied territories. The lack of progress in the peace process following the victory of the right-wing Likud Party in the 1996 Israeli elections highlighted the dilemma of the PA between a normative commitment to the Oslo Accord as a precondition for progress in the peace process and, on the other hand, the pledge of the PLO opposition factions to resist the persistence of the occupation. Given the power disparity between the PA and Israel, and Israeli influence over US foreign policy in the Middle East, Israel was able to set the pace of progress in the peace negotiations to a degree of even freezing it. The Likud-led government that has always been in favour of building new and expanding existing settlements and against any withdrawal from areas that in its view belong to the complete land of Israel (Eretz Yisrael Hashlema) tied progress in the peace process to several conditions that cannot be met by the PA, among them denouncing violence against Israel, fighting terrorism against Israeli targets, and recognizing Israel as a Jewish state. While the goal of Hamas terrorist attacks against Israel in 1996 aimed at affecting the Israeli elections in favour of the right-wing Likud Party in order to freeze the peace talks, the absence of progress incited violence as well and led to the eruption of the Second Intifada in October 2000. There was pressure on the PA, however, from domestic groups as well as international agencies, to reform the political system and transform it from a presidential system into a parliamentary one. In March 2003, the US exerted pressure on the PA to abide by the Road Map commitments. The PA in return agreed to establish a constitution for the future Palestinian state before negotiating a permanent solution on the contested issues. The domestic Palestinian groups and factions welcomed the call for reforming the PA, adopting a parliamentary system based on pluralism, separating the executive and legislative entities, and setting a date for presidential, legislative and municipal elections. Israel, however, was hoping that the PA would emerge as a strong authoritarian entity that would be able to fight terrorism and impose its will on all Palestinians inside the occupied territories. In the minds of Israeli political elites, the

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elections would remain a mere conduit through which Fatah would perpetuate its rule, similar to the elections in other Arab states, such as pre-Arab Spring Egypt, where the outcome of the elections was predetermined and contained no surprises. In the words of Mustafa Barghouti: The Palestinians have a far greater ability to influence democratization than the other conditions for a lasting peace. But here, too, Israel plays a heavy role. The terrible pressures being brought to bear on the PA to carry out acts that are totally contrary to respect for human rights and the law (including through threats regarding loss of international financial support and delaying implementation of aspects of the agreement) are, to say the least, unbecoming for a country that claims to be a democracy. They reflect Israel’s contempt for the Palestinian side, its deeply held belief that Arabs can be controlled only by force. Certainly, one does not expect Israel to encourage Palestinian democracy, but a democratic country should at least refrain from encouraging and indeed insisting on undemocratic acts.18 In May 2002, the PA president signed several laws that meant to institutionalize the principle of separation between the three entities including the law of the judiciary entity that aimed at setting it as independent from the other two entities.19 At the same time and as a direct result of external pressure by the US and Israel, the PA agreed to create the office of the prime minister in order to decentralize authority within the PA, given Israel’s refusal to negotiate directly with President Arafat. Several articles of this new law deserve mentioning. Based on Article 69, the prime minister possesses the authority to dismiss a minister, and Article 67 prescribes a consultation of the prime minister with the president over the formation of a new government though the former may choose to not abide by these consultations. Moreover, Article 63 states that the government is treated as the supreme executive entity responsible for setting plans to be confirmed by the PLC for implementation, with the president retaining the authority to dismiss the prime minister based on Article 83. All in all, the prime minister’s office was given extra authority and enjoyed a great amount of autonomy from the president, despite being subordinated to both the president and the PLC.

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These measures, however, sparked competition and struggle between the prime minister and the president offices over the control of the PA’s security agencies. In 2003, then prime minister Mahmoud Abbas asked President Arafat for a broader authority over the security agencies and for the subordination of some of these agencies to the office of the prime minister. Yet, despite intermediation by the Egyptian president and Fatah members of the PLC to find a compromise, such as the creation of a national security council that would include the president and the prime minister of the PA, these efforts came to naught following Arafat’s refusal. Abbas consequently submitted his resignation in September 2013 after six months in office. In short, the pressure to create the new office of the prime minister and to bolster the separation of the three entities was successful mainly due to pressure by Israel and the US on the PA president. Ironically, these measures were welcomed by the opposition groups to Fatah, who wanted to limit the preponderance of Fatah and Arafat in particular over the PLC and the judiciary branches. Arafat, however, did not perceive the creation of the new prime minister post as being an innovative step towards a more democratic and less centralized authority, but rather as part of a deal of a quid pro quo removing the blockade imposed by Israel on the presidential headquarters (al-Muqata’a). Abbas was replaced by Ahmad Qurei, who was initially appointed by an emergency decree in October 2003 and served in this post until January 2006 following the defeat of Fatah in the parliamentary elections. Arafat also agreed to delegate some authorities to the minister of interior affairs over the police forces; yet despite these reforms, he retained control over the Public Forces and the National Security agencies. In addition Arafat continued to hold several secret bank accounts that were beyond the supervision of the treasury ministry that he managed without any public scrutiny.20 The government of Ahmad Qurei, however, was subject to severe criticism by the opposition factions that called for the creation of a national unity government that would set the ground for new presidential, legislative and municipal elections. President Arafat on his part asked that the government of Qurei be established as an emergency government that would not require gaining a vote of confidence by the PLC; yet this proposal was rejected by the PLC as well as by the prospective prime minister himself. The government of Qurei continued to be under the scrutiny of the PLC, which threatened to pass a vote of non-confidence

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for the government’s inability to put an end to insecurity and the state of anarchy within the PA territories, and for its refusal to prosecute ministers accused of corruption. Finally, the Cairo Declaration of 2005 included several recommendations for reforming the political democratic regime in the PA that included upholding elections and restoring the status of the PLO as the legitimate representative organization in which all Palestinian factions would be represented, based on an agreed upon new formula/ quota. Following the Cairo Declaration, Hamas agreed to take part in the municipal and PLC elections. In addition, civil society organizations initiated a list of reforms that included forming an election committee whose role would be to supervise future elections, limiting the tasks and authorities of government institutions, inserting more transparency in the government institutions responsible for preparing the budget and outlays, separating power between the three branches of the government, and bestowing autonomy on the judiciary system.21

The Integration of Hamas in the Political System, 2006 The participation of Hamas in the PA democratic elections of 2006 constituted a watershed in the democratic history of the PA and intraPalestinian politics. Hamas entered these elections without officially modifying its ideology or policy towards rapprochement with Israel, and refused to explore new ways for solving the Palestinian– Israeli conflict. On the one hand, Hamas was willing to allow Fatah to negotiate a twostate solution based on the 1967 borders with East Jerusalem as the capital of the future Palestinian state and the return of Palestinian refugees; it also understood that the right of return of the refugees would be limited to returning to the PA territory only. Yet Hamas did not dispense with its ideology that called for establishing a Palestinian state over the whole territory of Mandatory Palestine. Hamas feared that remaining outside the democratic political game would leave Fatah as the only major movement in the elections and would bestow on it the legitimacy of negotiating a permanent solution for all contested issues with Israel. Hamas thought that after the death of Arafat, President Abbas would persist with the policy of empowering the PA at the expense of marginalizing the PLO, and would be more willing than

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Arafat to make concessions to Israel in order to reach a peace accord on the core issues of borders, East Jerusalem and the right of return. These fears came to be true following the publication by Al-Jazeera Channel in January 2011 of what came to be called ‘the Palestine Papers’. Al-Jazeera published thousands of confidential documents from the office of the Palestinian chief negotiator, Saeb Erekat, that revealed ‘the Palestinian Authority’s willingness to concede illegal Israeli settlements in East Jerusalem, and to be “creative” about the status of the Haram al-Sharif/Temple Mount; [and] the compromises the Palestinian Authority was prepared to make on refugees and the right of return’.22 Thus, while Hamas was willing to allow Fatah to negotiate a peace settlement, it was also hoping to strip Fatah of the legitimacy of having full control over these negotiations. Yet, unlike Arafat, Abbas could not rely on his charismatic leadership for gaining legitimacy. As a result, he endeavoured to create a democratic authority in which the various political factions of the Palestinian people (including Hamas) would be represented, believing that such a broad participation would bestow full legitimacy on the PA.23 Based on the draft of the constitution, the PA agreed to reform the election law and increase the number of PLC seats from 88 to 132. Further, the struggle within Fatah and the fear that some of its younger activists would be excluded from the party list in the national elections prompted them to press for enacting an election law in which half of the PLC members would be elected in a constituency system, and the other half in a proportional system. The primary elections within Fatah, however, were not able to preclude the dispute that led to a clash between the various armed Fatah groups following which the results of these primaries were cancelled in Gaza. Thus, the absence of a democratic mechanism that would otherwise facilitate the rise of the young Fatah activists, who led the First and Second Intifada, resulted in a power struggle and caused some prominent leaders of Fatah to lose their popularity.24 The death of Arafat in November 2004 begot a deep political vacuum and ushered in a power struggle between the various groups and centres of power within Fatah. This struggle was even manifested in clashes between the various security agencies of the PA that were controlled by different figures who aspired to succeed Arafat, such as Muhammad Dahlan and Jebriel Rajoub. The failure of the Palestinian left in consolidating a counterweight to the right-wing Islamic Hamas or to

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the centrist Fatah, furthermore, left Palestinian voters with no viable alternative to Hamas or Fatah.25 Some of these leftist cadres therefore chose to integrate into the PA institutions that obscured their ideological uniqueness.26 From Hamas’ point of view, the nature and role of the PLC would undergo major transformations that would be based on an internal Palestinian agreement, rather than the Oslo Accord. From such a standpoint, the PLC would be a self-standing parliament that could enact any law endorsed by the majority of its members. Inadvertently, Israel’s assassination of leading Hamas hardliners such as Ahmad Yassin and Abdul-Aziz Ghantissi paved the way for the rise of pragmatic figures, such as Musa Abu-Marzuq, Ismail Haniya and even Khaled Meshaal. These leaders did not abandon the long-term goals and ideology of Hamas, yet were willing to allow Fatah reach an agreement with Israel that would lead to the establishment of a Palestinian state within the 1967 borders. Hamas simply thought that it could take over Palestinian politics any time in the future where Fatah left off, or the leadership of the future Palestinian state once established and recognized by the international community. It believed that a sovereign Palestinian state would increase the power of Hamas and the Palestinians in general relative to Israel. Moreover, the fact that Hamas was listed as a terrorist organization made it difficult for its members to travel, raise funding, or transfer finances to its activists. By integrating in the PA democratic authority, Hamas leaders thought that they could turn Hamas into a legitimate movement without dispensing with its ideological platform. They also believed that the integration of Hamas into the democratic institutions of the PA would put an end to the assassination or even arrest of its leading elected members by Israel. Hamas lastly presupposed that by entering the PLC, it could influence the final agreement with Israel and deprive Fatah of having monopoly over these negotiations. Internally, Hamas thought that in order to preserve its popularity among the Palestinians, it should pursue both active resistance of the occupation, and participation in the democratic process.27 The PLC elections were finally upheld in January 2006 and their results went beyond the expectations of Hamas. The movement won 74 seats out of 132, while Fatah won only 45 seats. Following these results, it was natural that Hamas would form the new government. Yet the fact

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that the prime minister was from Hamas while the president of the PA was from Fatah intensified competition over the authority of each and the hierarchy between the president and the PLC. In addition, Hamas rejected the president’s demands that the new government should explicitly declare its commitment to the Oslo Accord and acceptance of the two-state solution along the 1967 borders. As Hamas refused to include these conditions in the platform of the new government, President Abbas sent a blunt letter to Prime Minister Haniya insisting that his government accept his demands or that he would employ his full authority to protect the interests of the Palestinian people, claiming that these clauses were also endorsed by the PLO’s PNC, as the legitimate organization that represented all Palestinians.28 In his efforts to limit the authority of the Hamas government, Abbas demanded that several important institutions be put under the tutelage of the president – such as the broadcast and TV agency, the Palestinian News Agency (WAFA), and the security agencies – and that authority should be bestowed upon the president to appoint senior officials in government institutions without the need for coordination with or endorsement by the government.29 These demands, as expected, were rejected by the Haniya government and intensified the rift between the two movements.

The Struggle Between Hamas and Fatah Following the 2006 Elections The PA security agencies were inextricably associated with Fatah and ruled by Fatah figures such as Muhammad Dahlan, Tawfik Tirawi and Jebriel Rajoub, among others. The Hamas minister of interior affairs found it extremely difficult to supervise these agencies, let alone pay the wages, given the fact that they suffered from over-employment and were unwilling to obey the orders of a Hamas minister. Under these circumstances, the Hamas government decided to establish its own security agency, ‘the Executive Supporting Forces’ or ‘Qewa al-Musanda al-Tanfithiyya’, designated to be subordinated to the Hamas minister of interior affairs.30 The creation of new security agencies associated with Hamas was a reflection of the deep mistrust and fissure between Hamas and Fatah. In response, President Abbas issued a decree in which he ordered the dissolution of this agency, which he described as a militia that was not established based on the rule of law,31 and also dismissed senior ‘political’ officers appointed by Arafat, such as Dahlan and Tirawi.

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Further, in close cooperation with the US Security Coordinator for Israel and the PA between 2005 to 2010, Keith Dayton, Abbas embarked on restructuring the PA security agencies by providing training to the forces and appointing professional security officers who passed adequate training in neighbouring countries, such as Turkey and Egypt, to lead the PA security agencies. Consequently, the amount of shooting and explosive incidences against Israeli targets carried out by Palestinians from the West Bank diminished from 427 and 231 respectively in 2007 to 14 and 35 in 2010 and 10 and 12 in 2011.32 Tension along the Israeli–Gaza Strip border continued unabated, however. The treatment of Hamas as a pariah movement and its listing as a terrorist organization nonetheless put it in a predicament where Hamas was forced to choose between mutually exclusive policies: either maintain its allegiance to its ideology, or accept the American conditions of denouncing the use of violence against Israel, recognizing the right of the latter to exist, and declaring its commitment to the two-state solution and the Roadmap. Hamas’ anticipated rejection of these conditions helped Fatah in isolating it. In response to Hamas’ victory, US Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice declared: ‘Clearly, [Hamas] cannot govern in a circumstance in which they cannot represent a responsible government before the international system.’ In her view ‘the economic boycott on the Hamas-led Palestinian government is effective and the international community will continue to maintain the boycott’.33 Further, Israel withheld funds belonging to the Palestinian Authority of some $700 million, while foreign countries cut off foreign aid and donations to the Hamas government, something that exacerbated the economic situation in the PA territories. The government was consequently unable to pay wages to public employees or provide basic welfare services. This combination of external pressure and domestic unrest gave leverage to Fatah to overthrow the Haniya government.34 The quarrel between Fatah and Hamas over domestic and foreign affairs, and especially the peace process, led to a clash in 2006. By the end of this ‘civil war’, Hamas had seized control over the Gaza Strip, executed some Fatah activists and forced others to flee to the West Bank that literally became under the full control of Fatah. In June 2006, a group of Hamas and Fatah Palestinian prisoners in Israeli captivity negotiated an agreement between the two movements and came out with the so-called ‘Prisoners’ Letter’ that aimed at paving the way for reconciliation between

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them and forming a national unity government.35 The Letter called for setting a comprehensive Palestinian blueprint on how to proceed with the peace process, respecting the rule of law and majority rule, reinforcing the PA institutions – the political infrastructure of the future Palestinian state – and improving cooperation and coordination between the president and the government.36 The prisoners called for the creation of a unity government and an agreed-upon plan that could address the future challenges encountering the PA, as well as the reforming of the PLO as the legitimate organization that represented all Palestinian movements including Hamas and the Islamic jihad movement. Hamas, however, rejected the clause calling for the acceptance of UN resolutions and other international mediation efforts, such as the Arab Initiative of 2002, as the basis for resolving the Arab–Israeli conflict, and objected to other clauses regarding the role and status of the PLO. The PA president offered putting the Prisoners’ Letter to a referendum, yet this proposal was also rebuffed by Hamas, claiming that such a referendum would ignore the rights and role of Palestinians outside Palestine. This objection, combined with the persistent political and economic boycott of the PA by the foreign donors, reignited infighting between Fatah and Hamas. In February 2007 President Abbas and the head of Hamas, Khaled Meshaal, agreed in Mecca to adhere to a dialogue as the basis for resolving the disputes between Hamas and Fatah and highlighted the importance of Palestinian unity for encountering the Israeli occupation. In the same month, President Abbas invited Ismail Haniya to form a unity government and to respect, rather than commit to, the agreements that the PLO signed and adhered to as international resolutions regarding the Palestinian problem. Israel and the US refused to cooperate with the new government, however, despite the resilience shown by Hamas regarding the agreements signed by the PLO with Israel. The latter continued to treat any Hamas-led government as a terrorist one and persisted in boycotting the PA as a whole, making it difficult for the government to pay wages or furnish civil services. Domestically, the competition between Hamas and Fatah continued unabated. The bureaucrats associated with Fatah refused to cooperate with Hamas ministers and vice versa. In addition, these ministers were extensively engaged in dismissing and removing workers associated with the rival party from office and appointing bureaucrats loyal to their own party. All of these processes weakened the PA as a whole and

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resulted in over-employment by the PA at a time when the PA was supposed to slash its expenditures and shrink its budget deficit in light of the Israeli siege and international boycott. The security forces lastly refused to comply with the instructions of the interior minister and each party hastened to deploy its forces on the ground, gradually escalating into an arms struggle, attacks on ministries, and intimidation of ministers and senior officials. The state of anarchy and absence of the rule of law was also manifested in the kidnapping of foreigners and the erecting of road barriers. The growing dominance of Hamas in the Gaza Strip led to the collapse of the unity government and ushered in the declaration of emergency conditions by President Abbas.37 The fall of the unity government in June 2007 manifested the inevitable split of the PA territory into two entities, one in the West Bank and another in the Gaza Strip, each ruled by Fatah and Hamas, respectively. Hamas forces then surrounded and invaded the PA security headquarters in Gaza and detained and executed Fatah activists. Following this split, the PA stopped paying the salaries of government employees in the Gaza Strip, while each movement embarked on a campaign of arbitrarily detaining political activists of the rival movement located in areas under its rule. Following these events, President Abbas approached Salam Fayad to form a new emergency government that of course could not get the blessing of the PLC. Following these developments, the Paris Donor Conference pledged in December 2007 $7.7 billion in support of the Palestinian Reform and Development Plan. Meanwhile, Israel declared that the Gaza Strip was ruled by a hostile entity and consequently boycotted the Hamas government and imposed a siege on the whole Gaza Strip that brought the whole process of importing and exporting from Gaza into a standstill, leading living standards to further dwindle, with 65% of Gazans living under the poverty line.38 The Egyptian government endeavoured to bring both Hamas and Fatah back to the negotiation table, coming out with a new initiative in October 2009, known as the Egyptian Paper. Based on it, the two parties would reactivate the PLO based on agreed-upon rules, while the PLO would include all Palestinian factions based on the Cairo Agreement from March 2005 and the Prisoners’ Letter.39 It was also proposed that a committee would be formed in order to examine the nature of the relationship between the PA and the PLO, where the status of the latter

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would be restored as the sole organization representing all Palestinians. The Paper also called for upholding a new free and fair election in June 2010 (something that, of course, would not be implemented). All of these attempts for rapprochement including the Yemeni Initiative were futile and did not lead to the establishment of a democratic PA entity in either the West Bank or in Gaza. From the signing of the Oslo Accord in 1993 and until 2010, the sum total of foreign aid flowing into the PA stood at around $15 billion, or around $250 on average annual foreign aid per capita. Yet foreign donors kept underlining the need for decentralization, building up a skilful working Palestinian class, and making the government policy more compatible with, and hospitable to, a market-oriented economy. The economic neoliberal model, however, disregarded society as a whole, marginalized the collective action of social segments in demanding accountability and transparency from the government, and shifted society’s attention from the political into the economic sphere. In other words, the neoliberal model, has also weakened the ability of society to put pressure on the foreign policy of the government. The second emphasis of the foreign donors was on the peace process even at the expense of democratization within the PA.40

The PA’s Dispute Settlement Mechanism In order for democratic peace to prevail between the PA and Israel, the sub-state actors within both entities should abide by the majority rule. Since this chapter is dealing with the PA, the focus will be on the behaviour of Hamas and Fatah. The failure of the PA to contain the crisis between the Hamas and Fatah movements and Israel emanates partially from the PA’s inability to impose its will on the sub-state actors within it. In a genuine democratic system, state laws and institutions stand above political parties, even the ruling party. In this sense, a governing party has to abide by state laws. The conflict between Hamas and Fatah and the infighting mainly concerns whether and under what conditions the PA should proceed with the peace process with Israel, and what the reaction of these movements to the persistent occupation and settlement policy of Israel should be. In this sense, the Israeli – Palestinian conflict and the intraPalestinian struggle are two sides of the same coin. The absence of domestic democratic peace impinges on international democratic peace

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and vice versa. The quest for peace divides society, while a divided society ruled by weak democratic institutions cannot consolidate a unified peaceful foreign policy. In a democratic system, the parties usually disagree over political ends but hold a consensus over the political processes of decision-making, while Hamas and Fatah quarrel over both. This clash is crucial for analysing the applicability of the democratic peace theory to Palestinian– Israeli relations. The failure of the democratic process in the PA is due to the fact that both Hamas and Fatah insist on having full control over the outcome, rather than negotiating the democratic mechanisms and rules of the game through which the outcome would be determined. For that end, both movements have endeavoured to control the PA institutions and refused to abide by the democratic rules of the game. The question, however, is whether the clash between Hamas and Fatah was inevitable, given the core issues that they encountered surrounding the peace process. Also, can it be attributable to the unwillingness of these parties to accept the democratic rules of the game, where the opposition party must comply with whatever outcome arises by the democratic mechanisms of majority rule? Some scholars attribute the conflict between Hamas and Fatah to the stalemate in the peace process and the Israeli–Palestinian conflict in general as the main reason for the failure of the democratization process. Given the Israeli attacks on Hamas figures and targets, the siege on the Gaza Strip, the collective punishments of Palestinians following an attack by Hamas against Israeli targets, and last but not least the expansion of settlements, a clash between Hamas and Fatah was inevitable. The PA demanded full compliance by Hamas with the cessation of violence against Israeli targets in and from the areas of PA’s self-rule, so-called Area A. Based on this claim, the Oslo Accord was signed between Israel and Fatah only, thus creating conditions where the differences between Hamas and Fatah were unbridgeable. While Hamas refuses to recognize Israel as a legitimate state and rejects the idea of a two-state solution, Fatah believes that these ideas of Hamas are unrealistic and that the PLO should embark on the process of state building in the occupied territories of 1967.41 In the words of one Palestinian writer, ‘The fractionalization of the PA institutions (the executive bodies and the PNC) was more specifically due to the effects of the growing polarization and Israeli colonial policies.’42 Although both parties held ceasefires following the Oslo Accord, their relations soured when the PA embarked on

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security crackdowns on Hamas.43 From the outset, Hamas rejected the Oslo Accord and denounced the PA as an illegitimate entity that compromised the basic rights of the Palestinian people. Hamas leaders such as Musa Abu-Marzuq and Ismail Haniya continued with the political line of their spiritual leader Ahmad Yassin who declared in 1999 that if Israel would withdraw from the occupied territories and dismantle its settlements, ‘there could be a truce to give the enemy government an opportunity to get out of the deadlock’ in which the peace process was stuck because of the ‘wrong basis’ on which it was launched.44 Thus, in Hamas’ view, as long as the occupation and siege over the Strip continues, it believes it has a duty and right to resist this Israeli policy by resorting to violence. Furthermore, since 2007, the rift between Hamas and Fatah has also been manifested in the governing bodies, where the former took full control of the Gaza Strip, while the latter seized authority in the West Bank. Hamas derives its authority from its victory in the PLC elections, while Fatah claims to derive its legitimacy from the presidential victory of Mahmoud Abbas. Fatah highlights its endeavours of serving the aspirations of the Palestinian people for statehood in parts of Palestine with the support of the international community, while Hamas relies on Islamic ideology, which justifies intermediate ceasefire with Israel but rejects any long-term, permanent agreement that entails the partition of Palestine into two states. Each of these two governments established its own ministries and security services and differ in their approach to the peace process. The PA president Abbas took the strategic decision of limiting Fatah’s resistance to peaceful means and advocating diplomacy as the main avenue for realizing the goal of an independent state. The Hamas government, while accepting the need to proceed with the peace process as a midterm goal, claims that without a military resistance, Israel will have no interest in making progress in the peace talks. Hamas on its part was willing to change its policies prior to its participation in the 2006 parliamentary elections, which included an interim ceasefire agreement (the so-called hudna) with Israel, participation in the local municipal elections held in 2005, and willingness to join the PLO as the sole organization that represents all Palestinians. Yet the goals of Hamas have remained fixed: it rejected direct peaceful negotiations with Israel that may lead to the partition of the Palestinian territories, and refuses to recognize Israel as an independent state. In this way, Hamas

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wanted political representation in all influential Palestinian institutions in order to be able to shape the outcome. In other words, Hamas could not solely rely on its military power or street support that in its view did not allow Hamas to participate in the decision-making process surrounding the peace process with Israel. The competition between Hamas and Fatah thus did not usher in a transparent and healthy democratic system; on the contrary, this competition has evolved into a struggle over controlling the outcome and resulted in the obstruction of and retreat from the democratic processes. In July 2011, the PA submitted a request to the UN asking for recognition of Palestine as an independent state. The expectations among the Palestinians were very high, realizing that the Palestinians could then exert more pressure on Israel through international governmental organizations (IGOs) and that this pressure could potentially lead to more effective results than through direct negotiation, terrorist attacks or another intifada. In this sense, the PA under both Abbas and Fayyad started to realize the significance and efficiency of universal norms and membership in IGOs such as UNESCO, the Rome Statute and the International Criminal Court. Israel on its part responded to these measures by imposing penalties on the PA, such as freezing its tariff revenues on imported goods into the PA.45 In recent years, it seems that Fatah and Hamas have created an unplanned division of labour between them. While PA-headed Fatah leads a liberal-institutionalist solution to the Palestinian problem through the integration of the PA in international organizations, Hamas pursues a power-politics approach of fighting the Israeli occupation of Palestinian land. In late April 2014 and following the stalemate in the peace talks mediated by US Secretary of State John Kerry, Hamas and Fatah embarked on a reconciliation agreement. The two parties agreed to establish a new government and prepare for new elections that would be upheld no later than the end of 2014. They also agreed (based on the Cairo Agreement between the two factions of April 2011) that 75% of the PLC members would be elected in a proportional system and 25% in a constituency system, where the West Bank and the Gaza Strip would be divided into 11 and 5 districts, respectively.46 The eruption of the crisis between Hamas and Israel, however, following the kidnapping and murdering of three Israeli teenagers in mid June 2014 and consequently the outbreak of Operation Protective

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Edge froze intra-Palestinian reconciliation efforts and highlighted the difficulty of reaching bilateral understanding between Israeli and Hamas, while the PA or Fatah has played only a marginal role in mediating between these two players. The conflict between Hamas and Israel has been perceived by each side as a zero-sum game, with no attempt by either side to change it into a non-zero-sum game, where both parties could win as a consequence of cooperation. Further, Israel thinks that in order to weaken Hamas and to limit its military power, the whole Gaza Strip should be kept underdeveloped. This means that Gaza should not be allowed to export any goods and the movement of foreign goods to the Strip should remain unidirectional. Finally, Israel believes that improvements in the relations between Hamas and Israel would be introduced by Hamas as a victory that was dictated by this organization against the will of Israel. Under these circumstances, any progress in the relations between the two actors appears unattainable – that is, unless both sides redefine their perception of the game. Israel also thinks that it should keep the West Bank and the Gaza Strip as two separate entities and preclude any attempt to rule them by one centre of power. Israel assumes that keeping them separate would always fuel competition and struggle between Hamas and Fatah, and block the consolidation of a unified front against Israel.

Conclusion Coping with democratic challenges and adjusting oneself to the democratic rules of the game is a difficult learning process. Both Fatah and Hamas found it difficult accepting the democratic rules of the game; mainly, obeying the will of the majority by the minority. Without acknowledging this tenet, democratic peace cannot prevail and will never be applicable to the foreign policy of the PA, yet the circumstances of the Palestinians are exceptional and extraordinary. First, the majority of the Palestinian people are scattered in various states in refugee camps. Upholding democratic elections in which all Palestinians would participate is out of the question. Therefore, the question becomes, which organization has the legitimacy to represent the Palestinians: the PLO or the PA? Secondly, the PA is not an independent state that is free of external intervention. This absence of sovereignty allows foreign actors such as Israel, the US and some Arab states to interfere in the political process to a

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degree of sacrificing democracy for the sake of political interests of these actors. Israel for example categorized Hamas as a terrorist organization, arrested PLC members and has explicitly encouraged the PA to suspend democratic elections. The democratic peace theory is based on the assumption that states are independent and free from any foreign intervention. Once we relax this assumption, foreign intervention by a more powerful state, including a democratic one, in the internal affairs of another democratic entity impinges on the democratic process within the latter and disturbs peace between the two states. The dispute between Hamas and Fatah after all is whether to accept the two-state solution and build a Palestinian state over 20% of Mandatory Palestine or to continue struggling and dreaming of building a Palestinian state over that whole territory. Fatah is under pressure from Israel and the US to freeze the reconciliation efforts with Hamas as a precondition for progress in the peace process. Under this pressure, AbuMazen became disillusioned, believing that peace with Israel and reconciliation with Hamas are mutually exclusive.47 It is highly difficult ruling over this crucial question in a simple majority rule, especially when the two parties, Hamas and Fatah, disagree over which organization has the legitimacy to make such a decision. As stated in this chapter, Hamas has passed through a learning process, especially after the assassination of its old-guard hardliners and the rise of a new generation of leaders who have become disillusioned about the balance of power and the slim prospects of regaining the whole territory of Mandatory Palestine. Administrative issues are also at the core of the dispute between the two parties, such as the hierarchy between the president and the PLC, the hierarchy and division of authorities between the president and the prime minister, etc. In short, the PA is facing tremendous challenges with little democratic traditions; unless both parties learn to how to operate and cooperate under the democratic rules of the game, they can neither establish a unified state, nor maintain peace with Israel.

Notes 1. Michael Doyle, ‘Liberalism and World-Politics’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 80, No. 4 (1986); Jamil Hilal, ‘Problematizing Democracy in Palestine’, Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East, Vol. 23, Nos 1 and 2 (2005).

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2. William Dixon, ‘Democracy and the Peaceful Settlement of International Conflict’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 88, No. 1 (1994), p. 17. 3. Bruce B. De Mesquita et al., ‘An Institutional Explanation of the Democratic Peace’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 93, No. 4 (1999), p. 791. 4. Hamas was established in December 1987 and so far it has not become a member of PLO and that is mainly due to the dispute between Hamas and Fatah over the allocation of seats between these two movements. 5. George Juqman, Qabla Waba’ada Arafat: Al-Tahawul Al-Siyasi Khilal AlIntifada Al-Thaneya [Before and after Arafat: The Political Transformation During the Second Intifada] (Ramallah: Muwatin, Palestinian Institute for the Study of Democracy, 2011), p. 52. 6. Khaled Aza’ar, ‘Alta’adodiyya Alsiyasiyya Alfalastiniyya [Palestinian Political Pluralism]’, Majallat Al-Derasat Al-Falisteniyya, Vol. 5, No. 20 (1994), p. 17. 7. Following Sadat’s famous visit to Jerusalem in 1977 that ensued by the Camp David Accord in 1978, the Arab world boycotted Egypt for its separatist policy of recognizing Israel and seeking reconciliation with it. 8. Asad Ghanem, Palestinian Politics after Arafat: A Failed National Movement (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2010), p. 78. 9. Muhammad Krishan, Munathamat Al-Tahrir Al-Falestiniyya: Tarikh, Wahayakel Wafassael [The Palestine Liberation Organization: History, Structures and Factions] (Tunis: Dar Al-Baraq, 1986), p. 100. 10. Jihan Abu-Diyeh, The Palestinian Public Sector: Tasks, and Authorities of the Palestinian Nationan Authority Institutions [Al-Qetaa Al-Aam Al-Felastini: Maham Wasalaheyyat Moassassat Alsolta Alwataniyya Alfelastiniyya] (Jerusalem: Maktabat Aman, 2006), p. 4. 11. There are six security agencies that include: civil police (11,000), public security (15,000), preventive security (4,000), general intelligence (5,000), presidential security (3,000), and civil defence. All in all, the total strength of the PA’s forces in 1999 was 41,000 security personal and this number rose to 76,000 in 2007. 12. World Bank, ‘West Bank and Gaza: Accountability and Reliability’, http:// web.worldbank.org/WBSITE/EXTERNAL/COUNTRIES/MENAEXT/ WESTBANKGAZAEXTN/0,,contentMDK:22641233, menuPK:294386 , pagePK:141137 , piPK:141127 , theSitePK:294365,00.html (accessed 15 November 2013). 13. Mouin Rabbani, ‘A Hamas Perspective on the Movement’s Evolving Role: An Interview with Khalid Mishal’, Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 37, No. 4 (2008), pp. 61 –2. 14. Jamil Hilal, ‘The Polarization of the Palestinian Political Field’, Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 39, No. 3 (2010), p. 27. 15. Khaled Hroub, Hamas: Thoughts and Political Practices [Hamas: Alfekr Walmumarasa Alseyaseyya] (Beirut: Institute of Palestinian Studies, 1996), p. 120; Khaled Hroub, ‘A “New Hamas” through Its New Documents’, Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 35, No. 4 (2006). 16. Hroub, ‘A “New Hamas” through Its New Documents’, p. 8.

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17. Walid Salem, Al-Masaala Al-Wataneya Al-Demoqratiya Fi Falastin [The Quesion of National Democracy in Palestine] (Ramallah: Muwatin, 2006), p. 92. 18. Mustafa Barghouti, ‘Posteuphoria in Palestine’, Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 25, No. 4 (1996), p. 91. 19. Ahmad Abu-Diyeh, Report on the Reform Operations in the Pa National Institutions [Taqrir Hawla Amaleyyat Aleslah Fi Muassassat Alsulta Alwataneyya Alfalestiniyya] (Ramallah: The Palestinian Centre for Political and Civil Research 2004), p. 35. 20. Jihad Harb, Al-Eslah El-Mali If Al-Sulta Al-Falestiniya [Financial Reforms in the Palestinian Authority] (Nablus: Palestinian Center for Political Research, 2004), p. 2. 21. Jihan Abu-Diyeh, Al-Qetaa Al-Aam Al-Felastini: Maham Wasalaheyyat Moassassat Alsolta Alwataniyya Alfelastiniyya [The Palestinian Public Sector: Tasks, and Authorities of the Palestinian Nationan Authority Institutions] (Jerusalem: Maktabat Aman, 2006), p. 5. 22. http://www.aljazeera.com/palestinepapers/2011/01/201112214310263628. html (accessed 2 July 2014). 23. Muhsen Abu-Ramadan, Al-Tahawul Al-Democratie Fi Felastin: Asbab Al-Taraju’ Wa-Muaweqat Al-Taqaddum (Ramallah: Markez Ramallah le-Hoquq al-Insan, 2008), p. 42. 24. Ibid., p. 55. 25. There were 11 parties that participated in the 2005 elections. In addition to Hamas and Fatah there were the list of the Shahid (Martyr) Abu Ali Mustafa or the Popular Front, Albadil (or Alternative) that included a coalition of the Democratic Front, the Palestinian People’s Party and the Palestinian Democratic Union in addition to other parties representing independent candidates. 26. Abu-Ramadan, Al-Tahawul Al-Democratie Fi Felastin: Asbab Al-Taraju’ Wa-Muaweqat Al-Taqaddum, p. 55. 27. In its election platform, Hamas indicated its desire to participate in the overall efforts to liberate Palestine and the return of Palestinians to their homeland and the establishment of Jerusalem (Alquds) as it capital. Yet Hamas was not specific about the borders of the future Palestinian state. 28. http://www.imra.org.il/story.php3?id¼28850 (accessed 5 May 2006). 29. Ahmad Abu-Diyeh and Jihad Harb, Alfasl Al-Mutawazen Bayna Al-Sultat Fi Al-Nitham Al-Seyasi Al-Filastini [Balanced Separation between the Authorities of the Palestinian Political Regime] (Ramallah: Muwatin, The Palestinian Institute for the Study of Democracy, 2006), p. 16. 30. Ghanem, Palestinian Politics after Arafat: A Failed National Movement, p. 140. 31. Ashraf Ajrami, ‘Al-Falatan Al-Amny: Harb Jadida A’la Al-Thaqafa [the Security Disorder: A New War on Culture]’, Majallat Al-Derasat Al-Falisteniyya 70, no. Rabea’ (2007), p. 60. 32. Tali Croituro, ‘Pesek Zman in Ayosh [Pause in Yehuda and Sameria]’, Maarachot, 2012, http://maarachot.idf.il/PDF/FILES/0/113140.pdf (accessed 20 September 2014).

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33. Haaretz, ‘Peretz: In Israel’s interests to ease conditions in PA’, 6 October 2006. 34. The US Congress enacted a law in February 2006 calling to stop direct support for the PA, unless Hamas agrees to recognize Israel and its right to exist. 35. These prisoners include: Marwan Barghouti of Fatah, Abd-elkhaleq Natsheh of Hamas, Abd-elrahim Mlouh of PFLP, Bassam el-Saadi of the Islamic Jihad and Mustapha Badarneh of the DFLP. See Ghanem, Palestinian Politics after Arafat: A Failed National Movement, p. 163. 36. Marwan Barghouthi, ‘Tafe’el Kafat Ashkal Al-Muqawama’, Majallat Al-Derasat Al-Falisteniyya, Vol. 25, No. 98 (2014), p. 80. 37. Ashraf Ajrami, ‘Al-Falatan Al-Amny: Harb Jadida A’la Al-Thaqafa’, Majallat Al-Derasat Al-Falisteniyya 70, no. Rabea’ (2007), p. 61. 38. Sara Roy, Failing Peace: Gaza and the Palestinian –Israeli Conflict (London and Ann Arbor, MI: Pluto, 2007), p. 42. 39. The Cairo Initiative also called for Tahdia’a (calmness) with Israel. Fatah declared its acceptance of this Initiative without any reservations, yet Hamas expressed some reservations, including objection to clause that deprives the Palestinian people the right to use violence in order to resist the occupation, and the unwillingness of Fatah to restructure the PLO. 40. Rex Brynen, A Very Political Economy: Peacebuilding and Foreign Aid in the West Bank and Gaza (Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace Press, 2000), pp. 25–8. 41. Wendy Kristianasen, ‘Challenge and Counterchallenge: Hamas’s Response to Oslo’, Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 28, No. 3 (1999); Mounir Rabbani, ‘A Hamas Perspective on the Movement’s Evolving Role: An Interview with Khalid Mishal’; Mounir Rabbani, The Pitfalls of Democratic Elections in Palestine (Arab Studies Institute, 2013 [cited 18/8/2013]), http://www.jadaliyya.com/ pages/index/11422/the-pitfalls-of-democratic-elections-in-palestine; Yezid Sayigh, ‘Armed Struggle and State Formation’, Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 26, No. 4 (1997) (accessed on 28 April 2014). 42. Hilal, ‘The Polarization of the Palestinian Political Field’, p. 27. 43. Kristianasen, ‘Challenge and Counterchallenge: Hamas’s Response to Oslo’, p. 20. 44. Ibid., p. 23. 45. Afaq, ‘What Comes after the Recognition of the State’, Muwatin, The Palestinian Institute for the Study of Democracy, Vol. 16, No. 3 (2011), p. 2. 46. Fatah initially wanted 80% proportional and 20% constituency elections, while Hamas offered 60% proportional and 40% constituency elections. Based on the results of the 2006 elections, Fatah is convinced that it can perform better in proportional elections that in constituency ones. 47. Easa Saadallah, ‘Tadaol Foras Tahqiq Almosalaha [The Contraction of Reconciliation Opportunities]’, Parliamentary Horizons, Vol. 17, No. 1 (2013).

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References Abu-Diyeh, Ahmad, Report on the Reform Operations in the Pa National Institutions [Taqrir Hawla Amaleyyat Aleslah Fi Muassassat Alsulta Alwataneyya Alfalestiniyya] (Ramallah: The Palestinian Centre for Political and Civil Research, 2004) (Arabic). Abu-Diyeh, Ahmad, and Jihad Harb, Alfasl Al-Mutawazen Bayna Al-Sultat Fi AlNitham Al-Seyasi Al-Filastini [Balanced Separation between the Authorities of the Palestinian Political Regime] (Ramallah: Muwatin, The Palestinian Institute for the Study of Democracy, 2006) (Arabic). Abu-Diyeh, Jihan, Al-Qetaa Al-Aam Al-Felastini: Maham Wasalaheyyat Moassassat Alsolta Alwataniyya Alfelastiniyya [The Palestinian Public Sector: Tasks, and Authorities of the Palestinian Nationan Authority Institutions] (Jerusalem: Maktabat Aman, 2006). ——— The Palestinian Public Sector: Tasks, and Authorities of the Palestinian Nationan Authority Institutions [Al-Qetaa Al-Aam Al-Felastini: Maham Wasalaheyyat Moassassat Alsolta Alwataniyya Alfelastiniyya] (Jerusalem: Maktabat Aman, 2006). Abu-Ramadan, Muhsen, Al-Tahawul Al-Democratie Fi Felastin: Asbab Al-Taraju’ Wa-Muaweqat Al-Taqaddum (Ramallah: Markez Ramallah le-Hoquq al-Insan, 2008). Afaq, ‘What Comes after the Recognition of the State’, Muwatin, The Palestinian Institute for the Study of Democracy, Vol. 16, No. 3 (2011), p. 1 (Arabic). Ajrami, Ashraf, ‘Al-Falatan Al-Amny: Harb Jadida A’la Al-Thaqafa’, Majallat AlDerasat Al-Falisteniyya 70, no. Rabea’ (2007). ——— ‘Al-Falatan Al-Amny: Harb Jadida A’la Al-Thaqafa [the Security Disorder: A New War on Culture]’, Majallat Al-Derasat Al-Falisteniyya 70, no. Rabea’ (2007) (Arabic). Aza’ar, Khaled, ‘Alta’adodiyya Alsiyasiyya Alfalastiniyya [Palestinian Political Pluralism]’, Majallat Al-Derasat Al-Falisteniyya, Vol. 5, No. 20 (1994): 15– 38 (Arabic). ——— ‘Palestinian Political Pluralism: Towards a Critical View of the Democratic Scale’, Majallat Al-Derasat Al-Falisteniyya, Vol. 5, No. 20 (1994): 15– 38 (Arabic). Barghouti, Marwan, ‘Tafe’el Kafat Ashkal Al-Muqawama’, Majallat Al-Derasat Al-Falisteniyya, Vol. 25, No. 98 (2014): 77 – 84 (Arabic). Barghouti, Mustafa, ‘Posteuphoria in Palestine’, Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 25, No. 4 (1996): 87 – 96. Brynen, Rex, A Very Political Economy: Peacebuilding and Foreign Aid in the West Bank and Gaza (Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace Press, 2000). Croituro, Tali, ‘Pesek Zman in Ayosh [Pause in Yehuda and Sameria]’, Maarachot (2012): 43–9, http://maarachot.idf.il/PDF/FILES/0/113140.pdf (Hebrew). De Mesquita, Bruce B., J. D. Morrow, R. M. Siverson, and A. Smith, ‘An Institutional Explanation of the Democratic Peace’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 93, No. 4 (1999): 791– 807 (English). Dixon, William, ‘Democracy and the Peaceful Settlement of International Conflict’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 88, No. 1 (1994): 14 – 32 (English). Doyle, Michael, ‘Liberalism and World-Politics’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 80, No. 4 (1986): 1151– 69 (English).

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Ghanem, Asad, Palestinian Politics after Arafat: A Failed National Movement (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2010). Harb, Jihad, Al-Eslah El-Mali If Al-Sulta Al-Falestiniya [Financial Reforms in the Palestinian Authority] (Nablus: Palestinian Center for Political Research, 2004) (Arabic). Hilal, Jamil, ‘The Polarization of the Palestinian Political Field’, Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 39, No. 3 (2010): 24 –39. ——— ‘Problematizing Democracy in Palestine’, Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East, Vol. 23, No. 1 (2005): 163–72. Hroub, Khaled, Hamas: Thoughts and Political Practices [Hamas: Alfekr Walmumarasa Alseyaseyya] (Beirut: Institute of Palestinian Studies, 1996) (Arabic). ——— ‘A “New Hamas” through Its New Documents’, Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 35, No. 4 (2006): 6 – 27. Juqman, George, Qabla Waba’ada Arafat: Al-Tahawul Al-Siyasi Khilal Al-Intifada Al-Thaneya [Before and after Arafat: The Political Transformation During the Second Intifada] (Ramallah: Muwatin, Palestinian Institute for the Study of Democracy, 2011). Krishan, Muhammad, Munathamat Al-Tahrir Al-Falestiniyya: Tarikh, Wahayakel Wafassael [The Palestine Liberation Organization: History, Structures and Factions] (Tunis: Dar Al-Baraq, 1986) (Arabic). Kristianasen, Wendy, ‘Challenge and Counterchallenge: Hamas’s Response to Oslo’, Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 28, No. 3 (1999): 19 – 36. Rabbani, Mouin, ‘A Hamas Perspective on the Movement’s Evolving Role: An Interview with Khalid Mishal’, Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 37, No. 4 (2008): 59 – 81. ——— The Pitfalls of Democratic Elections in Palestine Arab Studies Institute, 2013 [cited 18/8/2013], http://www.jadaliyya.com/pages/index/11422/the-pitfallsof-democratic-elections-in-palestine. Roy, Sara, Failing, Peace: Gaza and the Palestinian – Israeli Conflict (London and Ann Arbor, MI: Pluto, 2007). Saadallah, Easa, ‘Tadaol Foras Tahqiq Almosalaha [The Contraction of Reconciliation Opportunities]’, Parliamentary Horizons, Vol. 17, No. 1 (2013), p. 5 (Arabic). Salem, Walid, Al-Masaala Al-Wataneya Al-Demoqratiya Fi Falastin [The Question of National Democracy in Palestine] (Ramallah: Muwatin, 2006) (Arabic). Sayigh, Yezid, ‘Armed Struggle and State Formation’, Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 26, No. 4 (1997): 17 – 32.

CHAPTER 8 `

THE CONSONANCE OF THE ISLAMIST SHARI A-STATE WITH DEMOCRATIC PEACE IN THE CONTEXT OF THE ARAB SPRING Bassam Tibi

The conventional Orientalist debate is one in which outsiders deal indiscriminately and on merely general grounds with the compatibility of Islam and democracy. Instead, this chapter seeks to examine Islam from within. It considers the great diversity and change within Islamdom and thus dismisses essentialism. The foremost distinction within Islam pertinent for the following deliberation is between Islam as a religious faith that implies a political ethics, and Islamism as an ideology of government based on a constructed political shari‘a law.1 Through exploring both directions in contemporary Islamdom from the perspective of a democratic peace envisioned to underpin a postbipolar world order, I attempt to contest common assumptions and contribute to conventional understandings of such issues. To begin, the religious ethics of Islam can be interpreted in consonance with democratic peace. Does this also apply to Islamism? This statement is the underlying contention of the present inquiry and leads as its driver. Next, with reference to David Apter’s view that ‘norms of the sacred collectivity are the antithesis of political democracy’,2 one must consider the separation between religion/mosque and politics and query if

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democratic peace could prevail without such a separation. This chapter follows the enlightened Muslim thought approach to address this dilemma. In view of the rise of non-violent Islamist movements to state-power in the context of the Arab Spring, I have chosen to examine the compatibility of the Islamist ideology of a shari‘a-state with the postbipolar vision for world politics of a democratic peace to be established among democracies. The inquiry operates on three premises: first is the distinction between Islam and Islamism and the second is the diversity within Islam, as there is no one essential Islam, and thus, no one shari‘a. The third premise is based on the view that the democratic rule needed to underpin a democratic peace must rest on more than a mere outcome of the ballot-box but must also deal with democratic freedom in practice. The origin of the idea of a democratic peace presupposes a sharing of some cosmopolitan values for the world order in point – how does this apply to the Muslim world?

Islamism and Democratic Peace Professedly, the approach of democratic peace is normative. For an embracing of this approach, I place my thinking into the contemporary ‘enlightened Muslim thought’ that rests on the classical tradition of Islamic humanism. This normative direction distinguishes between the religious faith of Islam and its use in politics. Nonetheless, this normative commitment is kept in check as I consistently maintain the objectivity that religion is placed in varying historical contexts. The most important consequence of this thinking is, ‘The realization that Islam, properly understood, is not a system of social and political regulation.’3 The Muslim philosopher Abdou Filali-Ansary continues that this understanding creates: historically situated expressions of spiritual visions and ethical ideals [and creates] . . . a space for cultures and nations in the modern sense of those words to lay foundations of collective identity. This opens the way, in turn, to the acceptance of convergence with other religious traditions and universalistic moralities, beyond political and cultural boundaries . . . It also opens the way to a full respect for civic spheres in which Muslims can coexist as equal citizens with non-Muslims.4

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For the sake of straightforwardness, I must clarify that the Muslims who share the views of ‘enlightened Muslim thought’ do not have political parties that promote this reasoning in politics, and thus may be turned down by scholars obsessed with the relevance of issues to policy considerations. Nonetheless, the outlined thinking is an intellectual trend within Islamdom that stems from 1925. The reduction of political thought to its relevance for policies would be an impoverishment. The analysis provided in this chapter operates on distinctions, clarifications, and also on the basis of the normative acknowledgement listed above. There are four further deliberations that need to be unfolded in this way: 1. The origin of the theory of ‘democratic peace’ is the philosophy of Immanuel Kant. In his work ‘Zum Ewigen Frieden’, Kant argues that the acceptance of cosmopolitan law (‘Weltbu¨rgerliches Recht’) is the pre-requirement of any ‘democratic peace’. In contrast, the US adoption of this approach in the international relations theory of Bruce Russett not only strongly identifies democracy ‘“with voting”, but also engages in “lowering the standards”’ for instance in ‘not including civil rights’ such as those ‘to political organization and political expression’. From the outset, I clarify that I side with the reasoning of Kant against Russett in viewing ‘cosmopolitan law’ as the defining criterion for a democratic peace.5 2. This chapter abandons the Orientalist and fruitless debate on the ‘compatibility of Islam and democracy’, without moving to the other extreme of an Orientalism in reverse. In contrast, this chapter explores Islam as a religious faith that also includes political ethics. As a result, I am in agreement with Sohail Hashmi who believes that the argument for democratic governance ‘is to be found in Islamic ethics’,6 not in the political agenda of a shari‘a-state. 3. I also add an argument for a further distinction between Qur’anic and Islamist shari‘a.7 With Fazlur Rahman I argue that shari‘a in the Qur’an ‘is not strictly speaking a law . . . since much of it embodies moral and quasi moral precepts’.8 In contrast to these shari‘a-ethics, Islamist shari‘a claims to be the constitution of the state. As made clear in the outset, this chapter does not deal with Islam and democracy per se (see point 2), but rather with the compatibility of Islamist shari‘a-constitution with cosmopolitan law.

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4. The fourth and last deliberation to be elaborated upon relates to the contention made in the opening remarks; namely, whether political groups that adhere to the ‘enlightened Muslim thought’ would really limit the idea of Islamic governance to a political ethics that complies with the rules of a political culture of democracy, for instance, transferring power when losing elections, and accepting parliamentarian laws when these override religious rules. In essence, the present inquiry operates on the assumption that there is an unfolding Islamic ethics of government. It is a fact, however, contrary to popular assumptions, that there has never been a shari‘a-state in Islamic tradition and history. In contrast to this contemporary Islamist construction, Islamic political ethics is compatible with democratic peace. The constructed shari‘a-state is not. I therefore explore the compatibility of an Islamist shari‘a-state with democratic peace and inquire into the capacity of the ‘enlightened Muslim thought’ to convincingly embrace all requirements of a democratic peace. This school of thought adheres to a universal epistemology that admits cross-civilizational knowledge valid across cultures, along whose lines I draw on the medieval Islamic falsafa-humanist tradition. A closer look at this Islamic buried tradition reveals that it can in fact be viewed as a precedent for adopting a cross-cultural epistemology that approves a universal validity of democratic principles. Diversity is well taken in the meaning that there might be different ways of establishing knowledge on peace and democracy, and for practising these democratic ideals in politics. However, in order to establish democratic peace on global grounds, a cross-cultural validity for democratic ideals presupposes that peoples of different cultures do not question the substance of democracy. Diversity should not be used as a pretext for the refusal of a universal sharing of a basic consensual understanding of what the two notions of peace and democracy mean in substance. The coinage of ‘democratic peace’ presupposes that shared values across cultures are in place. Put in a nutshell: despite the acknowledgement of cultural differences, there is an insight based on a common wisdom – namely of one humanity – that needs to share some basics of world order, peace, democracy and the rule of law. Cultural diversity and consent to universal values can be combined for establishing a cross-cultural understanding of democratic ideals. In this

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context, a reference to a distinction in the established IR theory is also needed, serving to draw a distinction between the notions of a system and that of a society from the outset. An international system is merely based on the interaction between sovereign states, but an international society, which presupposes the existence of such a system, is much more. In the phrasing of Hedley Bull, an international society only ‘exists when a group of states . . . conscious of . . . common values form a society . . . bound by a common set of rules in their relations with one another.’9 In order to provide a solid understanding of this conception, more groundwork is needed, including an analysis that establishes some basic clarifications. One of these is how to combine diversity with a unity based on sharing some values related to democratic ideals. Is this venture caught in a contradiction? I believe it is not. In a pluralist understanding, an international society can be equally based on shared values, and a conditional recognition of diversity. If some basic values are not shared (e.g. democratic individual civil rights), then states cannot fulfil the tasks of a democratic peace. To be sure, the focus of the analysis on screening the Islamist ideology of a shari‘a-state that denies pluralism and power-sharing happens insistently on the grounds of the distinction between Islam and Islamism. The argument that there is no essentialized Islam needs to also apply to Islamism. As a result, one must admit the option that Islamist movements could potentially adjust to democracy when gaining a victory in democratic elections. Another question relates to whether ruling Islamists would ever transfer power to a secular party in a democratic procedure. Would they do so or would they rather keep the power with no further elections as does Hamas in Gaza? Abdou Filali-Ansary tells us from the point of view of a civil Islam that Islamists merely engage in ‘grudging tactical concession’ when they agree to a political participation in a pluralist game of politics. They engage in the political process without a rethinking of their ideology of the shari‘a-state; an ideology which does not admit power-sharing on the grounds of a pluralist democracy. Is this suspicion well-founded?

The Core Questions of the Inquiry This chapter is committed to the understanding that democracy rests on the admission of individual freedom, on the separation of power between

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the three branches of the state, and on the accountability of the elected leader. Several of the authoritarian regimes in the Middle East that lacked these three basics were shaken by the recent Arab Spring. While this was not of an Islamist making, Islamist movements have been on the rise. The legitimate engagement with Islamist movements resulted, however, in a questionable empowerment that led these movements to political rule in three countries. In Egypt, the Islamist rule was limited to one year (2012–13). The lingering impacts appear to have potentially been an introduction of a shari‘a-state, not the adjustment hoped for to achieve democratic pluralism. The seizure of power by Islamist movements was based on a formal process of democratization restricted to the mechanism of free voting. Democracy means, however, much more than simply the act of free choice. In spite of a lip service to democracy, these movements have been poised to establish a political order based on this rule to become a shari‘a-state. Clearly, this order does not fulfil the three basics listed above. This context provokes two pertinent questions: First, what is (if any) the usefulness of the ‘democratic peace theory’ for the study of Islamism in world affairs? In order to properly answer the question, the already mentioned difference within Islamdom between Islam as a religious faith and Islamism as a political ideology needs to be further elaborated upon. Islamism is based on a contention reflected in the phrasing of the founder of Islamism, Hasan al-Banna; namely, that ‘Governance (al-Hukuma) is part and parcel of the religious obligation of Islamic faith’.10 For most Islamists, Islamic governance can only be fulfilled in a shari‘a-state. Those who contest this allegation by claiming this is about politics, not faith, are rebuffed by the phrase ‘this is what Islam is’, reinforcing Islam as a political religion with the mindset to simply accept or leave. Al-Banna continues, ‘The Islam in which the Muslim Brothers believe, advances Governance to one of its basic corners.’ For determining this Islamist governance, al-Banna coined the notion of the ‘Nizam Islami/Islamic system’ that reflects a state order based on shari‘a. There are other authoritative Muslims who disagree with this Islamist political interpretation of shari‘a. What matters here is the fact that Banna’s political orientation has inspired the ideology of the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood and most Islamist movements that rule some Arab states in the aftermath of the Arab Spring. In no way is it an

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indication of essentialism to state that no significant change has taken place in this orientation. As a result, the process viewed as a moderation seems to be quite questionable. A pertinent question thus arises concerning the capability of the democratic peace theory to address the compatibility of the shari‘a-state with a genuine democracy and a democratic peace among states. From the point of view of universal standards of democracy, one can legitimately ask: Is the shari‘a-state a democratic order that can be embedded in a new pluralist world order based on democratic peace? Professedly, the question implies a normative orientation; however, it goes beyond the wishful thinking of the Western democratic peace theory. In short, the democratic peace theory is relevant for a proper understanding of the place of a shari‘a-state in world politics. The second question goes beyond the cited Western theory and pertains independently to the place of shari‘a in Islam. In the next section shari‘a is among the basic three notions under clarification. There one finds an answer to this question that also matters to the applicability of the democratic peace theory to Islamdom. The reference to the Western democratic peace theory needs to be free from obsessions and also from those projections guided by wishful thinking. To be sure, the Western origin of a theory should never be a reason that deters people from using it. Earlier acknowledgement of the existence of universal standards of knowledge also applies for the theory of democratic peace. When knowledge is based on rationalism, it can claim to be universal given the rationality of all humans across cultures; however, it is a theory that must be used with caution, due to its origins in European philosophy.

Understanding Shari‘a, Democratic Peace and Cosmopolitan Law The notions employed in this chapter are as the heading indicates – shari‘a, peace, democracy and law – and have different meanings in different cultural contexts. They are also not merely scholarly terms, as they are – at times – loaded with ideological and preconceived opinions. In dismissing any essentializations, one must add to this diversity the fact that their meanings are subject to change as they alter over time. a) Shari‘a: The foremost notion in any debate on Islam, democracy and world peace in the context of politics and governance is shari‘a. It must be

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used, however, without the definite article ‘the’ due to great varieties of meanings attributed to it, both in the past and, more importantly, in the present age. In an acknowledgement of this diversity, however, in combination with the view that it is possible to engage on the basis of facts and rational thinking in a distinction between what is right and what is wrong, I shall continue my leaning on the Islamic school of enlightened thought that seems to have the right take on this controversial issue. The normative reference to ‘enlightened Muslim thought’ begins with some established facts, the first of which is that there is no such thing as a coherent legal body that can be addressed in definite as ‘the’ shari‘a in Islam. Let it be repeated that there exist many different understandings of shari‘a and divergent traditions of it. As argued in the introductory section, this chapter adheres to the Qur’anic meaning of shari‘a as ethics. I acknowledge, however, that in medieval Islam a new meaning was added to this notion. At the time, there existed a separation between the fields of siyasa (‘full juridical power of the sovereign/state administration exercised by political authorities’) and the shari‘a (‘religious administration of justice exercised by the kadi’). Joseph Schacht, author of the cited phrases, also states ‘This double administration of justice . . . has prevailed in practically the whole of the Islamic world.’11 This historical fact reveals two realities: First, the rulers used religion as a device for political legitimation, but their action was siyasa, not shari‘a, as both were separated from one another. Therefore, in Islamic history, the caliphate was never addressed in terms of ‘shari‘a-state’ as occurs in present-day Islamist ideology. Secondly, shari‘a was never viewed in traditional Islam as a constitutional state-law. One is reminded of the Qur’anic meaning of shari‘a that embodies ‘moral and quasi-moral precepts’. These precepts are various and also open to different interpretations, to the extent that no one and no party has the authority to speak of one shari‘a that is of ‘the’ shari‘a. This line of reasoning adopted by Fazlur Rahman began many decades ago, with Muslim scholar Ali Abdelraziq acting at alAzhar in 1925, publishing his work which is considered to be ‘the founding moment in contemporary Muslim thought and politics’.12 Abdelraziq’s denial of ‘the claim that a particular form of state is prescribed by Islam’ is accepted by ‘enlightened Muslim thought’, as consolidated by Abdou Filali-Ansary, but it is vilified by both Islamists and by the leaders of the religious fiqh-orthodoxy.

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One has the right to disagree with the mindset of ‘enlightened Muslim thought’, but it is a scriptural fact that shari‘a exists in the Qur’an as an ethics also for governance, but not ‘strictly speaking [as] law’. On the grounds of facts, however, no one can deny the reality of the great inner-Islamic diversity concerning the different understandings of shari‘a. In the history of Islam, ‘there is no such thing as a unified Islamic legal system, enshrined in integrated codes, and accepted and acknowledged unquestionably by all Muslims’.13 Only ideologically blinkered persons could contest this well-founded judgement of the late Muslim Oxford scholar Hamid Enayat. b) Peace: The second notion, peace, is not an exclusively Islamic one, as it can be found in most cultures, though always with different meanings. The image of Islam as a religion of peace is related to the specific understanding that the ‘da’wa/call to Islam’ (in essence, proselytization) is a contribution to the spread of peace. In this spirit Islamic wars were waged in the name of peace.14 Underlying this belief is the definition of Islamic territoriality, namely dar al-Islam in terms of dar al-salam (house of peace), contending that that a permanent peace is restricted to the abode of Islam. In classical Islam non-Islamic territoriality was subdivided into two realms, either dar al-harb (house of war), or dar al-a’hd (house of contract). A contract of peace with nonMuslims was always hudna (temporary peace, or respite), never salam (permanent peace). These rules for peace are based on values that are no longer consonant with modern international law. Change is always due; however, a reference is made to a fact that those values have never been revised by an established Muslim authority. The underlying argument for rejecting change is that these values are based on revelation and thus are immutable, and therefore continue to prevail unchanged in Islamic doctrine. These legal concepts stand in contrast to modern universal law that prescribes the mutual recognition of sovereign states regardless of the religious commitment and follows the existence of a conflict stated by an authority of traditional Islamic international law. Muslim scholar Najib al-Armanazi underlines the Muslim need for the accommodation of Islamic legal thought to secular international law. Underlying this need is the fact that a global peace cannot be based on religious precepts,15 as humanity does not share one single religion but can share the drive to peace based on a cosmopolitan law acceptable to all religions. A pre-requirement for this need would be for peace to be based

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on non-religious grounds to make it acceptable to all humanity, and thus this is a topic that shall be discussed in more length. At this point, it can be argued that an international society arguably must be sustained by a shared understanding of what peace is supposed to mean and on what tenets it rests. Among these is a shared law based on a cosmopolitanism. A shared universal rational knowledge is also needed.16 Is it possible to request this commonality in our age in which a postmodern cultural relativism prevails? The postmodern narrative elevates the view of an unrestricted diversity to a universal standard. Is mutual recognition possible without reaching a consensus over the criteria of recognition? Medieval Muslim philosophers approved the universality of rational knowledge beyond religion. Although some contemporary Muslims of the ‘enlightened Muslim thought’ also agree to this need, one must ask: is this idea commonly shared?17 The understanding of peace of the Muslim scholar Abdou FilaliAnsary, who consolidated the contributions to ‘enlightened Muslim thought’, provides a better alternative to Islamic and Islamist supremacy. He is in agreement with Kant on this issue, stating, ‘It is time to call for a universal rule of law . . . respected for its own sake in a Kantian way.’18 This is an enlightened Muslim endorsement of peace based on a cosmopolitan law and compels a possible revision of the American reception of the democratic peace theory, as represented by Bruce Russett and brought back to its Kantian roots (to be discussed). c) Democracy and Democratic Peace: In view of the reference to the Kantian universal law as an undercurrent of democratic peace, one must examine two different concepts of law in Islam: the idea of a traditional inherited shari‘a, and a contemporary one constructed by Islamists which touches on the conflictual understanding of law. The inquiry into these conflicts is committed to the spirit of a cross-civilizational bridging, an effort undertaken in pursuit of a democratic world-peace which stands in opposition to the creation of fault-lines of a ‘Clash of Civilizations’, Huntingtonian-style. In this mindset I endorse the Kantian understanding of a democratic peace based on a genuine democracy which must rest on a ‘lawful constitution’. Bruce Russett discovered the origin of the idea of democratic peace in the work of Immanuel Kant and used it as a foundation upon which to base his own concept of a ‘post-cold war peace’ in 1993. The actors supposed to be involved in such a peace are ‘democratically organized

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political systems’.19 Russett concedes that ‘peace among democracies is importantly a result of some features of democracy’. With reference to Kant, he also acknowledges the elements of ‘freedom (with legal equality of subjects), representative government, and separation of powers. The other key elements . . . [include] cosmopolitan law’.20 In spite of his recognition of these elements as basic features of democracy, Russett stops short of listing as requirements the related basic values to be shared among democracies, something he explains as ‘The Kantian perspective had little practical import, and power politics reigned’. He nonetheless concedes that the perspective is correct as it has ‘profound implications’. Russett is, however, inconsistent when he arbitrarily singles out one condition: democracy ‘usually identified with voting’, bypassing values and institutions. The basic problem of the American reception of the European idea of a democratic peace is acknowledged by Russett himself in stating that he and others, while ‘defining qualities of democracy, are lowering the standards’. This is reflected for example ‘in not including civil rights’, such as the ‘rights to political organization and political expression’ and in their exercise that is ‘highly correlated with the existence of democratic institutions’.21 Most disturbing is Russett’s view that a ‘Muslim fundamentalist movement might achieve power in the name of democracy . . . conceivably such a regime could have been . . . somewhat democratic’. This view separates American democratic peace theory from Kantian cosmopolitanism, however. An Islamist shari‘a-state that emerges after free elections is not an indication of a democratic state. Russett’s ‘lowering the standards’ for a political rule for enhancing the list of democratic states is not in line with the origin and the spirit of the democratic peace theory, therefore putting the scale higher, not lower. Beyond the formal mechanisms of the ballot-box, humanity needs a consensus over cross-culturally shared or universally accepted values for living together in peace. These values not only pertain to civil rights, but also to the laws and institutions that guarantee their practice. The requirement of a ‘cosmopolitan law’ (Kant) is an essential part of the origin of the concept of democratic peace. d) Lawful Constitution as Cosmopolitanism: An international order of a democratic peace is supposed to be established between states that share the values of democracy, and thus Kant leaves no ambiguity about this issue. Democracy does not merely concern ballot-boxes but above all is

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about the ‘freedom of the will of the citizens’. This freedom can only be guaranteed by ‘universal laws’ that must be enshrined in a ‘lawful constitution’ determined by ‘cosmopolitanism’.22 If one bypasses these values in a pursuit of ‘lowering the standards’ then it would become doubtful what democratic peace we are talking about. Again, it is Kant, the originator of this concept, who is clear about this: ‘The problem of establishing a perfect civic constitution, is dependent upon the problem of lawful external relations among states . . . [and also] a lawful civic constitution among individuals’. The question is: Does a shari‘a-based Islamist constitution (such as the one pushed through in Egypt in December 2012) fulfil these needs? To respond in a moderate Cartesian phrasing one may say: this is to be doubted. In a classic on modernization, David Apter reminds us that ‘in addition to pluralism, democracy as a political condition is associated . . . with very powerful political checks on public power which . . . rest on norms that are expressed in the secular . . . polity’, continuing, ‘The norms of the sacredcollectivity are the antithesis of political democracy’.23 Pursuant to this quote, I add that a shari‘a-based constitution based on a ‘sacred collectivity’ violates civic and lawful standards. Can this be admitted as a cultural particularism, however? The epistemological dimension of the foregoing debate on democratic peace points at the pervasive dilemma of a universalism (cosmopolitan-law) versus cultural particularisms. To be faithful to the vowed role of mediation in a cross-civilizational bridging vs confrontation, I seek an Islamic not an external solution to this problem. Which standing could enlightened Muslims take with regards to the difference between Kant and Russett? This difference is only on the surface related to lowering the standards. The basic difference is between a moral philosophy that is based on values, in contrast to a thoughtbased one or the system approach which operates on functions without considering the place of values. When democracy is stripped of its values (e.g. ius cosmopoliticum as international law) being the normative underpinning, it can be reduced to the function of voting which then allows a lowering of standards. Underlying Kant’s vision of a democratic peace is the unity of the world in a global civil society in which peoples of different cultures share basic universal commonalities such as peace, cosmopolitan law and democracy beyond existing cultural particularisms. The lowering of the standards in the US reception of the Kantian

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philosophy of democratic peace thus ends up in a misconception of the concept. Along with Abdou Filali-Ansary of the ‘enlightened Muslim thought’, I maintain loyalty to universalism and thus to the original Kantian concept to be employed in the study of a shari‘a-state oriented democratization in the Middle East. The cosmopolitan values of democracy belong to the ‘universality and historicity of knowledge’ that the Muslim philosopher Mohammed Abed al-Jabri reads into Islamic heritage of falsafa rationalism. This approach ‘of our philosophical tradition contributes to our era because it agrees with it on more than one point: rationalism, realism . . . and critical approach’.24 In this mindset of the enlightened Muslim thought, contemporary Muslims could embrace cosmopolitan democratic peace. The Muslim scholar Sohail Hashmi is one representative of Islamic political ethics who asks the basic question: ‘Is there an Islamic conception of democracy?’ In a sincere answer to this query, he writes, ‘the choice facing Muslim people today is a bleak one: authoritarianism, either in the name of secular nationalism or in the name of Islam’. Hashmi’s alternative is an ‘argument for representative government to be found in Islamic ethics’.25 This reference makes clear that in any true democracy mechanisms of free voting are a function that is inseparable from the underpinning values. These are the substance of an ethics that may (or may not) promote a democracy that, on a global level, underpins a democratic peace.

Islamism, Democracy and the Purport for a Shari‘a-State No one, not even the Islamists themselves, contest the fact that the Arab Spring was not of an Islamist making.26 However, it did ensure in the name of democracy that Islamist movements were empowered and had as their model for governance the shari‘a-state. Some Western scholars seem to approve this model while appreciating the Islamist shift from jihadism to peaceful institutional participation in politics as an indication of moderation. Due to their secrecy and clandestine action, Islamist movements have constituted the most powerful part of political opposition to authoritarian regimes in the Arab-Muslim world. In democratic terms, it was legitimate to engage with institutional Islamism. The core question of this inquiry relates to the concept of democratic peace and to whether or not Islamists in power may contribute to this end.

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Islamists in power have used the Arab Spring to promote their agenda of a shari‘a-state. In order to understand the authenticity of this claim, one must establish a broader context. It is imperative to first look more closely at shari‘a in the history of Islam, but also to provide evidence that the Islamist shari‘a is an invention of tradition, not ‘the’ shari‘a with the definite article as Islamists contend. It is also important to explore the distinctions between the Qur’anic meaning of shari‘a as an ethics and its use in Islamic history as a legitimacy device. This inquiry needs to reveal that historical shari‘a (traditional shari‘a) existed in a diversity of various traditions, none of which reflects an agenda for a shari‘a-state. The accomplishment of such an analysis is a task which is essential for a proper understanding of the political claims of Islamists in the postArab Spring process of democratization. It is most pertinent to the present inquiry to establish the scriptural fact that the notion of shari‘a occurs only once in the text of the Qur’an, namely in Surah Al-Jathiya (Surah 45, Verse 18). This parallels two other derivations as the verb ‘shara’a’ and the variant ‘shar’a’ (in Surahs Al-Shura and Al-Ma’ida). Muslim scholars founded hereafter a system for ibadat/cult (the practice of the five pillars of prayer, fastening and alms/zakat etc.), a scriptural fact established in the work of former Egyptian supreme court judge Mohammed S. Ashmawi. On this basis, one can argue that there is no such tradition of shari‘a-state in Islamic history. Based on a literal reference to the text of the Qur’an, Ashmawi states that ‘the notion of Shari‘a does not mean legislation/tashri, nor law in terms of its language use’27 and elaborates further on the distinction between shari‘a and fiqh mentioned above. Again, fiqh relates in a historical context to thinking on shari‘a unfolded by humans (the faqihs). Many would argue that this is not, however, what is revealed by God. A particular authoritative reference is An Introduction to Islamic Law by the Oxford scholar Joseph Schacht who translates shari‘a as ‘sacred law’ and fiqh as ‘the science of Shari‘a’.28 In the more recent work by John Kelsay, fiqh is viewed as a discourse of ‘shari‘a reasoning’ conducted by humans.29 The core problem is that the understanding of a Muslim law unfolded by humans, that is by scribes, is falsely attributed to God’s revelation. As earlier stated, this thinking is based on conflating or confusing shari‘a with fiqh. The consequences were severe in that human shari‘a reasoning has been elevated to a divinity which implies the claim to be infallible. Those who raise doubts risk

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being accused of heresy/kufr. This procedure closes a debate on thinking unfolded by humans because the confusion results in attributing fiqh thoughts to Allah to inoculate the thinking of the faqih-ulema from criticism. The word for ‘thinking’ is tafkir in Arabic while the denunciation of a Muslim as a heretic paired with banishment/exclusion from the umma community is takfir, a play on words noted by the late Muslim reformer Abu-Zaid who complained about the defamation of tafkir by an act of takfir.30 In short, historical shari‘a is based on fiqh, not on revelation, as it had emerged from human reasoning. In this context, an intertwining of shari‘a and politics took place, when Islam was used as a legitimacy for the caliph-ruler. Yet the invocation of shari‘a as a device for legitimacy in Islamic history is not the contemporary shari‘a-state, nor is it the faith of Islam. The Muslim scholar Hussein F. al-Najjar argues that in the religion of Islam, ‘religion and state are not intertwined . . . There is nothing in [traditional] Islamic Shari‘a that underpins the twisting of religion and politics. Shari‘a does not prescribe governance, as it is an ethical set-up for conduct, also of the rulers, but there is nothing in it that legitimates a design of the state in the understanding of din-wadawla.’31 The latter notion that al-Najjar rejects expresses the belief in a unity of ‘religion and state’ being the political religion of Islamism. To be sure, the classical caliphate is not the ‘shari‘a state’ Islamists are poised to establish. Therefore, it is a great mistake to confuse the classical order of the caliphate with the Islamist contemporary one of a shari‘a-state, the latter being a political order of Islamism based on an invention of tradition.32

The Construction of Shari‘a as a Constitutional Law for an Islamic State In terms of the political philosophy of Kant, the origin of the concept of democratic peace, cosmopolitan law is a basic requirement. Does Islamist shari‘a as the political order of the state contribute to this end? Underlying the political conduct of ruling Islamists is their presentation of a shari‘a paired with claims to divinity in a constructed ‘sacred law’. From such a perception, every opposition to Islamist rule is construed as a heresy. In the aftermath of the Arab Spring a Muslim scholar, El-Fegiery, expressed this misgiving, that in a:

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public order based on Shari‘a . . . human rights will be endangered . . . Islamists assert in their model of an Islamic state . . . that there are fixed rulings in Shari‘a that cannot be open to change [. . .] So, under the model of the Islamic state advocated by these Islamist groups, one specific understanding of Islam would be institutionalized and adopted by the state as authentic. In consequence, any religious belief that differs from the mainstream of Shari‘a would be denounced as heresy.33 Among the victims of this new religious authoritarianism is the ‘enlightened Muslim thought’ outlined above, suppressed under the rule of a ‘shari‘a-state’ of contemporary Islamists who are adding politics to Islam. They not only outlaw their Muslim opponents as heretics, but also discard opposition in general. In the authoritative textbook The Legacy of Islam, one reads that in traditional shari‘a, the basis of the political structure ‘was the umma . . . no theory of constitutional government, however, was formulated’.34 As a result, no serious student of Islam knowledgeable of its sources, the Qur’an and the Hadith, would ever contend that these divine sources prescribe shari‘a as a constitution for a state. One may add to this statement the fact that constitution is a modern notion and so the Arabic word for it, dustur, never occurs in the Islamic tradition. Nonetheless, Islamists invent a shari‘a designed to serve as the constitution for their Islamist state. The roots of the Islamist invention of tradition can be traced back to the founder of the Movement of the Muslim Brotherhood (MB), Hasan al-Banna. By then, recourse to the shari‘a was made, however, in a new reinvented shape. In contrast to already cited scholarly Muslim authorities, al-Banna states ‘Government is an essential part of Islam’ and recommends that ‘If people say [in response to this claim of din-wadawla] this is politics, then you respond no, this is our Islam and we rebuke any separation [of religion and politics].’35 Al-Banna goes even further when he contends that Islamic governance rests on shari‘a ‘and the Islamic state is based on it’. This contention is simply wrong given that traditional shari‘a is an ethics for the umma, not a system of government. One must consider that the shari‘atized Islamist law of the state is not a view shared by all Muslims. The consequence is two conflicts: a global

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one between shari‘atized Islam and international law, and the other within Islamic civilization among Muslims themselves. The return of the sacred in the shape of an Islamist shari‘a is a most consequential development. A well-informed observer, Erich Kolig, expresses the misgiving that the prevalence of this ‘social and temporal specificity . . . threatens to alienate Islam more and more from the social patterns of modern global society.’36 The debate in question touches on the feasibility of a global democratic peace based on cosmopolitan law which is bystepped by Islamists in a tacit alliance with Western cultural relativists. Therefore, the contemporary discussion on the return of the sacred is charged with great constraints imposed on it. Harvard sociologist Daniel Bell initiated this debate as early as 1977, contesting Max Weber’s view of a universal secularization understood in terms of Entzauberung or disenchantment. Bell made a prediction on a general theoretical level that has been later sustained by the rise of contemporary political movements based on religion. At issue is a needed rethinking of earlier concepts in view of the contemporary inversion of secularization into a claimed de-secularization.37 This development underpins a challenge posed to Max Weber’s ideas on secularization viewed as a rationalization in the shape of a ‘disenchantment of the world’. The ongoing Islamization process of law is a contestation that must be placed in the context of de-secularization vs secularization, a process that alienates Muslims from the international secular society and rekindles tensions in a conflict-ridden situation. The process in point is exemplified by the current shari‘atization of Islam. As stated above, it not only alienates Muslims from non-Muslims, but also establishes divides within Islamdom itself. The emerging conflicts become intractable, because the issues in point are religionized and become therefore non-negotiable. One cannot negotiate about what is presented as a faith and even elevated to the sacred. Islamist governance is divisive because people of other religions cannot share supremacist Islamic and Islamist views that contradict the cosmopolitan concept of a democratic peace, which is of a secular nature. In this context, cosmopolitan law is replaced by a concept of a lex divina/ divine law that is designed for the public space as a constitutional law. In contrast, cosmopolitan law is needed for establishing a democratic peace in a process of a cross-civilizational bridging.

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A hypothesis is put forward based on the conflict between the Salafiorthodox scriptural understanding of shari‘a and modern constitutional law with regard to democracy and individual human rights. This tension between universalism and cultural particularism can be resolved peacefully and this is what cross-civilizational bridging should be all about. Ju¨rgen Habermas proposes a universal validity to cultural modernity after dissociating it ‘from its modern European origins [to] stylize it into a spatio-temporally neutral model for processes of social development in general’.38 In contrast to a cosmopolitan vision of a cultural modernity that underpins a democratic peace, civilizational self-assertive claims have a legal tradition. Such a reference promotes a legal particularism for shaping the public space. This is consequential, because this claim undermines an emergence of an international society based on shared cross-civilizational legal universal rules. To be sure, an existing of such a global civil society presupposes a sharing of ‘common values’ beyond particularisms. As already argued above, states in the international system are supposed to ‘conceive themselves to be bound by a common set of rules in their relations with one another’. If this requirement cannot be fulfilled or al-shari‘a-based order does not fulfil it, then one has consequentially to abandon any thinking about an international society on which a global democratic peace would rest. This is the point that underlies the misgiving that Muslims under an Islamist rule would alienate themselves from the rest of the world and humanity united in an international society based on the cosmopolitan values of a democratic peace. However, there exists an Islamic alternative to the Islamist shari‘atization project. It would be a revival of the buried tradition of Islamic humanism to serve as a contribution for bridging between the civilizations. This tradition of an Islamic rationalism is also in line with cross-cultural universal standards approved by the contemporary enlightened Muslim thought. As a result, there is no clash of civilizations, but rather a conflict within Islamic civilization between shari‘atized Islam and a prodemocracy civil Islam based on the tradition of Islamic humanism. This tradition matters to the international community based on the secular law of democratic peace. The return of religion to the public space in Islamic civilization is a return of the sacred to politics as a constitutional

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law. It must be stated in a combination of vigour and candour that this shari‘atization project impedes the incorporation of Islamic civilization into an international society that rests on shared universal values and rules and on a pluralism of cultures and religions. This is what democratic peace is about. It is not about sharing the mechanism of a ballot-box to establish a rule for the majority over all who disagree; that would be a situation of tyranny, not democracy. In the early work of the Muslim legal scholar Abdullahi An-Na’im published in 1990, one reads the unequivocally and most succinctly written statement: ‘The Qur’an does not mention constitutionalism.’39 The implication is that those who construct an Islamic constitutional law in an effort at a de-secularization engage in constructing a postQu’ranic legal body. Islamists create their own legal product, but claim a divine law for their human thinking. The early An-Na’im of 1990 argues further that his analysis ‘has clearly shown that this [democratic] conception of constitutionalism is unattainable under Shari‘a’ (emphasis added), reinforcing that ‘only two options would be open to modern Muslims: either abandon the public law of Shari‘a or disregard constitutionalism’. Unfortunately, two decades after writing the quoted courageous views, An-Na’im joined the movement for the approval of the return of shari‘a to the public space. This issue matters to the inquiry into the shari‘a-state and its compatibility with the vision of a democratic peace. At issue is the consonance of a shari‘a-constitution with the Kantian civic-cosmopolitan constitution to be shared by individuals and the state.

The Challenge of Islamist Shari‘a Law to a Global Democratic Peace For a proper understanding of the challenge that the return of shari‘a to the public square in an Islamist state poses, one needs to catch a glimpse of the historical context of the development that followed the abolition of the caliphate in 1924 in Turkey. The ensuing process of postcolonial state-formation was related to a superficial secularization and adoption of modern law. In this context shari‘a was removed from public space and replaced by secular positive law with Kemalist Turkey claiming to be the pioneer. In this regard, it was the secular model for Islamic

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civilization.40 The birth of Islamism in Egypt took place in the same decade; however, institutional Islamism was by then on the fringe – it succeeded to thrive only in the twenty-first century. As a result, contemporary Islamism has been able to give the secular model a blow. Most interesting is the fact that this occurred in Turkey, leading to the electoral seizure of power by the Islamist AKP in 2002, and only a decade later in Egypt. Turkey has ever since been a torn country. The ruling Islamist AKP imposed on Turkey a creeping Islamization and provided a model for this process in a democratic disguise. One should respect some particularisms of Islamic civilization, but a misleading approval of the return of shari‘a to the public sphere in a politicized new shape seems to not be this kind of respect. Respect for the cultural ‘other’ needs always to be placed in a cross-civilizational bridging. The shari‘atization of Islam in a process of the return of the sacred fails to fulfil this requirement. It presents a new shari‘a that runs against the basics of an international society as it needs to be based on shared values as a way for bridging. Therefore, it is the very meaning of cross-civilizational bridging to share values needed to underpin a democratic peace. This vision of a democratic peace is challenged by the agenda of a re-making of the world along the tenets of the Islamist shari‘a. This is a value conflict between cosmopolitanism and a cultural particularism. In this context it is most pertinent to quote the questions asked by John Kelsay: Who will provide the primary definition to world order? Will it be the West . . . or will it be Islam? . . . The question for those who envision world order, then, is: who determines the shape of order in the new international context? The question suggests a competition between cultural traditions with distinctive notions of peace, order and justice.41 The point I want to make is that there is a conflict embedded in a competition between shari‘a and democratic constitutionalism, i.e. between the return of the sacred in a political shape and secular law. The implication is a challenge that generates tensions and leads to conflicts on all levels. This chapter engages with a reference to the scriptural reality that the notion of shari‘a occurs only once in the

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Qur’an and not with a legal, but rather an ethical meaning. This reference exists along with the fact that in Islamic history, a development of shari‘a to a legal system took place. The chapter has also dealt with the traditional and classical post-Qur’anic efforts to unfold a shari‘a law, which were undertaken by humans, i.e. by the ulema and faqihs. Traditional shari‘a was – with a few exceptions – restricted to civil law, worship and also a penal code.42 Aside from the legitimation of the caliphate and of its actions post-eventum there existed no political shari‘a, and never a claim to constitutionalism. There were, however, two exceptions. The first is a significant exception of two medieval Muslim thinkers. Despite the separation between siyasa and shari‘a in medieval Islam referred to at the outset of the chapter, Ibn Taimiyyah (1263 – 1328) associated shari‘a with siyasa43 (state administration); however, the order of the state Ibn Taimiyyah argued for is not the contemporary Islamist shari‘a-state. Prior to him, al-Mawardi (974 – 1058) wrote Kitab al-Ahkam alSultaniyya to argue for an Islamic governance. In this context, I argue that the mix of religion and politics that occurs in the history of ideas in Islam, old and new, negatively charges the reformist efforts to question the legitimacy employed for the justification of a political order. The embedded tensions are addressed by the late Muslim reformer Nasr Hamid Abu Zaid as a context identified in the title of his book, Scripture: The Power and Reality. In another book he addresses the tensions between these three different issues that determine the prevailing al-khitab al-dini/religious discourse.44 Muslims who subscribe to the ‘enlightened Muslim thought’ engage in a reasoning that goes beyond scriptural constraints and allow an ijtihad/free thinking that does not contradict the ethics of shari‘a.

The Diversity of Shari‘a: Which Shari‘a for Politics? In my view, there are three levels of analysis to be considered for testing the critical view of an Islamist shari‘a-state and its compatibility with democracy: 1. The level of classifying non-Muslim monotheists (Jews and Christians) as dhimmitude, i.e. people who are allowed to retain their religious beliefs under restrictions, but are not considered to be

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equals to Muslims. On this level one can state a lack of religious pluralism in Islam. 2. The level of non-monotheist religions (all others beyond Judaism, Christianity and Islam) considered to be an expression of kufr/ unbelief and to be fought against along Qur’anic provisions. 3. The level of Muslims who either leave Islamic belief through conversion or choose not to believe (atheists, or agnostics). These renouncing Muslims are considered to commit either riddah/apostasy or heresy and therefore are to be punished as unbelievers. The riddahdoctrine clearly indicates the lack of freedom of faith in Islam. These three levels indicate the existence of three ‘categories’ pertinent to the case of freedom of faith in Islamic constitutional understandings of interpretative shari‘a law. All facts support the validity of the hypothesis critical to the shari‘atization as contrasted with democratic constitutionalism, some agreeing that the fact that shari‘a was never codified makes it a highly flexible legal system.45 This may apply to the classical shari‘a, but not to its understanding in the new shari‘a references of political Islam. There is thus a contradiction: politicized shari‘a is understood in a highly dogmatic manner by Islamists, even though they engage in an invention. For instance, all of the mentioned three levels are confused by Islamists who classify all in disagreement with their view as kafirun/infidels. Their call for the implementation of (tatbiq) al-shari‘a is also directed against these kafirun; in essence, people of Muslim faith. Thus, the denial of freedom of faith as a part of the Islamist violation of human rights touches equally on Muslims and non-Muslims alike. The politicization of Islam advances shari‘a from civil law and worship to a constitutional law (dustur). In this process, Islam becomes more a political religion than a religious faith. Unlike the secular political religions (e.g. fascism and communism), the Islamist political religion is based on the divine as a faith. The question of whether Muslims themselves enjoy the freedom of faith touches on the consideration of two Islamic shari‘a-related doctrines: first, the already mentioned riddah/apostasy and second, the admission of takfir (declaration of a Muslim as unbeliever) in Islamic legal thought old and new. Freedom of faith conceded to others in Islam applies only to Jews and Christians, but it is a limited freedom.

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In addition the recognition is associated with assigning the legal lower status of dhimmitude, i.e. believers viewed as inferior to Muslims. By modern legal standards, this is more a violation of the human rightsbased freedom of faith than a variety of tolerance, as commonly seen. The hypothesis includes the normative contention that a change of this situation to the extent of establishing freedom of faith in Islam requires an Islamic law reform on Islamic grounds. The statement of legal differences pertinent to freedom of faith neither amounts to accepting the rhetoric of a clash of civilization nor what is wrongly viewed as legal pluralism. At issue is not a negative or positive view of the differences, as both cases suggest, but rather the need for a legal reform to facilitate an accommodation in a situation addressed as a predicament of Islam with modernity. The return of the sacred in a political shape intensifies this predicament. The inherited confusion of shari‘a and fiqh by Muslim scribes who view shari‘a as ‘holy given’ never questions the prevailing shari‘a reasoning and while Muslim scholars Najib al-Armanazi (in his 1930 book on international law in Islam) and Mohammed Said alAshmawi go beyond the confusion of shari‘a and fiqh, others do not. One may classify the contemporary writings by Muslims on this subject in two categories. First, classical shari‘a is maintained with some, however, superficial accommodations in the authoritative books of al-Azhar and some Muftis, like the slain Mufti Subhi al-Salih of Lebanon. In these contributions, there is no claim for a shari‘a-state. Secondly, shari‘a is reinvented in contemporary Islamism. The writings of alBanna and Qutb in the past and Qaradawi at present rank at the top of this category. Throughout the history of Islam, all Muslim legal scribes, the ulema, who constructed the madhahib/four schools of Sunni Islamic law viewed the shari‘a as civil law of mu’amalat for settling matters of mu’amalat related to marriage, divorce, inheritance etc. and as a penal code of hudud. In fact, this is the substance of the traditional Islamic shari‘a law that never included a reference to constitutional law, be it in the Hanafi, Shafi’i, Maliki or Hanbali legal schools.46 Whether or not the shari‘a includes freedom of faith is an issue that pertains to the ibadat/divine matters, not to constitutional law that does not exist in traditional Islam. All of the mentioned madhahib schools are in agreement that no Muslim has the right to leave the Islamic community/umma, be it through conversion to another religion, or through renouncing the belief/iman in Islam.

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Here exists a consensus that any commitment of a kufr/heresy by a Muslim is subject to physical punishment fixed by the hudud law. By international standards, one can maintain the fact that there exists no codified shari‘a law. One is then inclined to ask Islamists: ‘to which shari‘a do they speak’ with the definite article of ‘the’ shari‘a? The cited call of their shari’atization of Islam opens the door for arbitrary politics in the name of divine law. As an interpretative law, traditional shari‘a was always subject both to individual and madhahib/legal-school-related interpretation of the Qur’an and of the Hadith. In the past, shari‘a involvement in politics was mostly restricted to providing the caliphs post-eventum with legal legitimacy47 amounting to a declaration that the political deeds of the rulers were in line with the provisions of the shari‘a. The faqihs were never independent in their ruling and also had no reason to venture into an unfolding of a constitutional law as a domain of shari‘a. The Arabic term for constitution/dustur is as recent as the issue itself. While asking Islamists to ‘which shari‘a’ they refer in their envisioned constitutional law, one unfolds an awareness of three understandings of Islamic shari‘a much different from one another. These include first the scriptural understanding of the much-quoted Qur’anic verse in Al-Jathiya surah which reads: ‘wa ja’alnaka minha Shari’atun bi al-amr fattabi’uha/we have ordained for you a Shari’a to live in line with it’. The traditional understanding of this shari’a is a morality not law; as phrased in the Qur’an the provision reads ‘al-amr bi al-ma’ruf wa al-nahi an al-munkar/to enjoin the good and forbid the evil’. In short, in this understanding shari‘a as a morality of conduct for sumum bonum is clearly not a legal system. At present, there is a need to revive this understanding in a double-track strategy: to refute in Islamic terms the popular call for the shari‘atization of law and to contain any arbitrary legal system that violates human rights. Secondly, in the course of the eighth century, four Muslim scribes – Abu Hanifa, Ibn Hanbal, al-Shafi’i and Malik Ibn Anas – established the four legal schools in Sunni Islam that carry their names. They were and continue to be restricted to civil law, but also cover the faith, i.e. the ibadat. Thirdly, at present and since the unfolding of political Islam resulting from the return of the sacred based on the politicization of religion, shari‘a obtained not only a political dimension but also a new shape.

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The reference repeatedly made to Islamism as an invention of tradition is also applied to the Islamist recourse to shari‘a. This process results in a totalizing shari‘a that clearly legitimates a political rule not consonant with democracy. The return of the shari‘a to politics is paired with the idea of a so-called Hakimiyyat Allah, a term used by Islamists for the shari‘a-state. Clearly, this Islamism emerges from a crisis of modernity that promotes a return of the sacred, but this is definitely not the revival of a belief system, nor is it an indication of a religious renaissance. What happens in reality is that religion is coming back in a political garb to challenge the secular order and to question secular constitutional law by establishing a shari‘atized law. The result of testing the hypothesis is that Islamist shari‘atization does not indicate a democratization process, nor is it a contribution to the needed crosscivilizational bridging in the pursuit of a democratic peace. In contrast, ‘enlightened Muslim thought’ is in line with both genuine democratization and with bridging with non-Muslims.48

Universality of Law vs the Particularism of a Shari‘atization of Islam Kant’s idea of a democratic peace rests basically on the universality of an understanding of law that claims to be cosmopolitan. Muslim authors such as Hichem Djait are highly critical of Europe, but nonetheless approve the universality of ‘science, critical thought, certain kinds of philosophical questioning, and ethical choices . . . [that] derive in some fashion from the European ethos’. Kant’s democratic peace is a part of this rationalism. Djait is aware of the fact that Europe ‘aimed at universality, but this was more an ideal than reality’.49 He refers to the ideal and incorporates it into contemporary ‘enlightened Muslim thought’, thus overcoming a cultural particularism. The dichotomy between cultural particularisms and universality matters a lot to the theory of democratic peace. In a civil society, as well as in an international society, a lawful constitution has the function of a cultural current that serves as a pillar of a democratic order. In this understanding law is a cultural system but it need not necessarily be a particularism. Given the existence of cultural diversity, one needs to ask: how could there be a universal law? The problem is that culture is by definition always local and therefore a world culture could never evolve;

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however, in a globalized world humanity needs a universal law to order global structures. In respect of diversity, this law can be shared on the grounds of cross-cultural tenets based on a consensus. If no consensus over a related concept of cosmopolitan law is possible, then cultural tensions arise that could lead to conflict. The return of the sacred includes a call for a divine law that disapproves a constitutionalism based on a universality of law. In this case, a democratic peace is untenable. In contrast, the approval of a universal law by the ‘enlightened Muslim thought’ is a viable option. Therefore, this thought collides head-on with the Islamist venture of a shari‘atization of law. The particularism of shari‘a viewed as a divine law for Islamic governance, in view of the fact that humanity is subdivided in a number of religion-based civilizations, each of which has its own distinct legal traditions, becomes a source of tensions that generates conflict. How could this conflict be resolved? Contemporary Islamdom needs a legal philosophy that undergirds a universality of law supplemented by a general acceptance of all local cultures and their civilizations. True, international law is in its origin Western, as is cultural modernity itself. Here I face a similar problem with the universality of law. Leaning on Ju¨rgen Habermas I argue that there is a dissociation of law (and modernity) from its European origins to ‘stylize it into a spatio-temporally neutral model’.50 In my view, this dissociation provides an exit. At this point of the analysis, it is safe to conclude that the overall need for a cross-cultural consensus on a universally accepted notion of law is now beyond dispute. Article 1 of the UN Charter rules that the settlement of international disputes by peaceful, that is legal means, is supposedly valid for all people and states. The UN is an international organization of all peoples, but international law is – again – in its origin and cultural roots basically European law. Therefore, this law seems not to correspond with a universal legal awareness and acceptance in non-Western civilizations. In our postbipolar age, one needs to acknowledge that although there is only one international law, a diversity of legal systems exist parallel to the diversity of cultures and civilizations. When it comes to placing constitutional law in this context, we see Salafi Muslims and Islamists applying the Western notion of dustur to the Qur’an, viewing this revelation as their Islamic constitution considered to be also valid for the entire humanity in line

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with Islamic universalism. In order to properly grasp this conflict-ridden situation, a reference to the Oxford jurist H. L. A. Hart is worthwhile. Hart shows how European-structured law becomes international law, binding for new states: It has never been doubted that when a new, independent state emerges into existence . . . it is bound by the general obligations of international law . . . Here the attempt to rest the new state’s international obligations on a ‘tacit’ or ‘inferred’ consent seems wholly threadbare.51 Under the outlined conditions the return of the sacred to politics in the context of post bipolarity functions is a divisive force; hence it does not provide a contribution to democratic peace. Contemporary Muslims need to embrace the approval of a universal law in a mindset of the ‘enlightened Muslim thought’, put by one Muslim representative as: there can be convergent paths to establishing social and political systems that promote individual freedoms, human rights and social justice . . . It is therefore time to call for a universal rule of law . . . respected for its own sake in a ‘Kantian’ way . . . some form for a universal rule of law . . . would help to define a framework – political, cultural and economic – that is truly compatible with democratic ideals on the scale of humanity.52 The combination of clarity and vigour in this statement is most convincing and evidences the consonance of the enlightened Muslim thought with democratic peace.

Cosmopolitan Law and Shari‘a Ethics: A Cross-Civilizational Bridging A return of Islamic shari‘a to its Qur’anic meaning as ethics in the pursuit of a cosmopolitan universal law is a viable venture for bridging in the conflictual situation addressed in this chapter. The honouring of the principle of legal-cultural diversity within one humanity must be made compatible with the need to find a balance between cultural particularisms and the needed commonalities. Among these is a cross-culturally based

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universality. It follows that one cannot indiscriminately admit any cultural particularism just in the name of respect for diversity. The requirements for a democratic peace are above particularisms. The bottom line is that the Islamist-reinvented shari‘a is a novelty which is not in consonance with international standards of cosmopolitan law. This view also relates to the hypothesis that even on local grounds, the shari‘atization project contradicts any democratic ‘lawful constitutionalism’.53 The question thus arises: Can there be a compromise in the context of the Arab Spring? Could the compromise be based on reform? Can shari‘a be reformed? If this is feasible, then how? And above all: Are Islamists willing to deal with these questions in a political culture of free speech? In the pursuit of a cross-civilizational bridging, one needs to accept a legal reform to be conducted on the basis of an admission of the insight that contemporary shari‘a is a law made by humans and thus is revisable.54 To be sure, a revisited shari‘a in the context of a reform of Islamic law cannot be achieved if it were restricted to an effort of exegesis of the scripture. In this mindset, the red line has to be crossed. The rethinking by culturally innovative Muslims on the basis of admitting a free philosophy of law is truly the essence of ‘enlightened Muslim thought’. The venture of an Islamic law reform gives rise to the questions of law and international morality combined with the idea of the universality of rights and human rights for cross-cultural bridging in the age of the return of the sacred. This reality challenges the accommodation of Islam to cultural modernity along with a modernization to be accomplished in a new legal reasoning. This cannot be successful without a rethinking of basic Islamic concepts by Muslims themselves. Do they accept this challenge? The answer is yes, but also, no. Against the Islamist essentializing of Islam, there is an Islamic alternative: namely, the revival of the medieval Islamic rational philosophy that approves the primacy of reason. Muslim medieval rationalists integrated ancient Greek philosophy into their classical Islamic thought. The buried tradition of a ‘Hellenization of Islam’ is pertinent for the needed rethinking of Islam in an age of a politicized shari‘a poised at de-secularization. As a result, the project of a revival of Islamic humanism is most urgent for coping with the global conflict. In classical Islam, there existed a humanism that inspired contemporary Muslims such as Mohammed Abed al-Jabri. His project is the best effort

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in this direction aimed at establishing ‘enlightened Muslim thought’55 characterized by a mindset that admits bridging on the grounds of universality of democratic ideals such as democratic peace based on cosmopolitan law. Aside from the conflict that can be resolved by the idea of a cosmopolitan law consonant with democratic peace, an open interpretation of shari‘a that also allows a rethinking of the non-legal norms can be made acceptable to Muslims since it combines exegesis (tafsir) with ijtihad. The Oxford scholar Hart points out that all legal systems, whether traditionally handed down or legislative in character, represent a compromise between two legal requirements, ‘the need for certain rules’ and ‘the need to leave open’, adding, ‘In every legal system a large and important field is left open for the exercise of discretion by courts.’56 Hart reminds us that a recourse to the same handed-down law can have a different content in different times and different systems. Islamic legal history offers a classic example in support of this assertion of disagreement and of diversity. It follows that the contention of one shari‘a being ‘the’ shari‘a is simply untrue. When contemporary Islamists allege that their shari‘a is a revealed law and infer that it is therefore not subject to change, then an ideological agenda is at work. The historical reality belies Islamist essentialism which dismisses any legal reasoning committed to reform and guided by a legal philosophy. To underpin the proposition to open the Islamic cultural system to ‘change’, one has to repeat again and again the fact that shari‘a is merely an ethics based on the Qur’an. The understanding of shari‘a as a law is not only based on a postQur’anic construction but also on a human thinking which is subject to change. It follows that an Islamic shari‘a ethics of governance could be made compatible with democratic peace, but this argument does not apply to the Islamist law of a shari‘a-state. The historicity of Islam speaks volumes against such a view that blocks any reform. That said, we could now turn to the aftermath of the Arab Spring and to the empowerment of Islamist movements. Islamists as rulers have silenced the need for a religious reform based on the acceptance of the historicity of Islam and thus of the shari‘a; the first step towards a deessentialization of any system of shari‘a requires the admission of distinctions based on historicity. In Islamic law there is a distinction between taqlid, that is a submission to the authority of the faqhis, and ijtihad, that is creative law-making through individual, independent

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legal reasoning. This ijtihad was the driver of Islamic modernism, which came into existence during the second half of the nineteenth century in Egypt, amounting to the trend of gearing up for a reform of Islamic law in the twentieth century. In this context, efforts were made for reviving ijtihad tradition in Islam. However, the return of the sacred in the shape of a shari‘atizing, political Islam precludes reform and accommodation to a cosmopolitan democratic peace. The Arab Spring ended with an empowerment of the Islamist movements that moved from a secretive underground opposition to a holder of political rule. In Egypt this empowerment was not lasting.57 In essence, this section addresses cross-civilizational bridging in the context of a compatibility of the shari‘a-state with democratic peace. In this mindset, I have decided to incorporate a relevant comparison between enlightened and Salafist Muslims in their different ways of looking at shari‘a. I begin with the contrast between the already cited reasoning of the Muslim Moroccan thinker al-Jabri and the Pakistani Salafist Muhammad Muslehuddin. The latter is obsessed in dealing with criticism of Western Orientalism pursued in a binary mindset that derails his thinking to reach incorrect/unsubstantiated conclusions. For instance, he antagonizes against the late Malcolm Kerr who was in his lifetime sympathetic to Islamdom. Kerr’s basic research into efforts toward reform in particular in legal thought in modern Islam and Islamdom is reflected in his famous book Islamic Reform.58 In his lifetime, Kerr was a consensus builder who engaged in the bridging of civilizational divides. It is thus unfortunate to see Kerr discredited by Muslehuddin with this statement: ‘Those who think of reforming or modernizing Islam are misguided, and their efforts are bound to fail . . . Why should it be modernized, when it is already perfect and pure, universal, and for all time?’59 In his view, therefore, the task of jurists should be solely restricted to interpreting the shari‘a in order ‘to comprehend and discover the law and not to establish or create it’. For this kind of Muslim, only textual reasoning on scriptural grounds is permissible. Reform is discarded with contempt and also outlawed as a heresy. How could such a Salafist and Islamist essentialism contribute to a democratization? It does even more in that it leads to the opposite: tyranny. As argued at the beginning of this chapter with Moataz El-Fegiery, the allegation of ‘fixed rulings in Shari‘a cannot be open to change’ ends up with stipulating

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that any dissent ‘from the main of Shari‘a would be denounced as heresy’. This is the core rule in a shari‘a-state in which shari‘a law – that is constructed by humans – is upgraded to a ‘revelation by God’. The consequence is that no one is entitled to question. In this way, Muslehuddin inoculates shari‘a against criticism. His understanding of shari‘a is reflected in this phrasing: Divine law is to be preserved in its ideal form as commanded by God, or else it will be devoid of its capability to control society which is its chief purpose. The mistaken view of the Orientalists is due mainly to the fact that the real good may be rationally known and that the law should be determined by social needs, while all such needs are provided for in divine law and God alone knows what is really good for mankind. Such a shari‘a contradicts any understanding of law that is supposed to be associated with revisable political checks on political power to ensure a democratic order of state and society. The prevailing contemporary and highly uncompromising legal view of Islamism brings to an expression the return of the sacred as a return of religion to public space, associated with a reference to shari‘a law that denounces opposition to shari‘a as a God-given order, as heresy.

Conclusion The analysis provided in this chapter focuses on the inner-Islamic tensions between Islamism and ‘enlightened Muslim thought’. The first conclusion is based on a reminder of the fact that Islamist shari‘a is not the classical, traditional Islamic law, but rather an expression of a new religionized politics. The shari‘atization of Islam can therefore be viewed as a (re)invention of tradition. One cannot repeat these facts enough in view of the prevailing orthodox-Salafist and Islamist essentialization of Islam politically empowered in the context of the Arab Spring. The results are conflicts and tensions. These prospects alienate Islamdom from international society and from non-Muslims and contribute to divisions within the Islamic umma worldwide. Another conclusion pertains to some Western scholars who reduce the addressed tensions to a ‘cultural misunderstanding’ in a mindset of

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‘political correctness’ that evades an open-minded dealing with the envisioned Islamist rule of a shari‘a-state and the conflicts it generates. In contrast to this thinking, critical-minded Muslims take the liberty to dismiss a shari‘a order for the state and for the society on the grounds of ‘enlightened Muslim thought’. In conclusion, I insist that these thinkers and their Islamic arguments deserve respect and thus attention in the Western debate in particular because they approve democratic peace and therefore also contribute to cross-civilizational bridging. The basic conclusion in this chapter is that the current return of shari‘a to politics in the context of post-Arab Spring reflects an Islamist shari‘atization of law. Since Islamism precludes a project of reform and a genuine cultural change to adjust to a civic constitutionalism it is an obstacle that stands in the way of genuine democratization. The first victim of a political rule based on such a shari‘atization of politics is a concept of rights including freedom of faith and of speech. Muslims of ‘enlightened Muslim thought’ are among the casualties, too. In contrast to Islamists, enlightened Muslims in a tradition stretching from Ali Abdelraziq to Mohammed A. al-Jabri approve cultural change and thus the requirements needed for a transformation of state and society towards democratization and a related global democratic peace. The bottom line is that as much social and economic change as cultural change is needed. Therefore, one must be allowed to speak of developing cultures.60 In fact, civil Islam is an outcome of cultural innovation. In contrast, the constructed new Islamist shari‘a of political Islam contradicts the idea of a democratic peace based on global democratization. Democratic peace requires an innovative legal philosophy that approves cosmopolitan law upon which a civic constitution rests. In a nutshell, one can conclude that Islamism is not consonant with this requirement. The inner-Islamic conflict is between two rival understandings of shari‘a, one as an ethics, the other as a system of government. Added to this is the insight that any conceding of a political place for shari‘a in Islamic civilization must be paired with a legal reform that enables Muslims themselves to engage in a cultural vision that facilitates a better future as a democratic part of humanity. Do not be mistaken: the statement of a blocked change is not imbued with any bias of an essentialist Orientalism. My views on Islamdom are based on the concept of ‘developing cultures’ that emerged from a

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project on cultural change referred to above. To be sure, as change in economy and politics is welcome, a need for a change of socio-cultural systems is also legitimate. This thinking inspires the present analysis and Muslims of today are challenged to emulate their ancestors in learning from others to change their cultural worldview. The post-Arab Spring world and the since ongoing development do not reflect a process of genuine democratization based on a lawful cosmopolitan constitution. In view of the emerging shari‘a-state, there are more doubtful questions than cheering good news. The balance of three years of Arab Spring that started with great hope is a mixed bag. The success story is that it was possible to topple authoritarian policestates that caused the exasperations of Muslim Arab people. The conclusion is that if the shari‘a-state fails to deliver what the people expect, then it will be toppled, too. One should never abandon the hope for a genuine democratization in the Arab world. It can only be genuine if it leads to ‘establishing a perfect lawful constitution’ (Kant) that not only guarantees the individual freedom of citizens (Kant’s ‘freedom of will’), but also allows Muslim Arabs to be part of a ‘universal civic society’. The balance of the Arab Spring to date is this: in Egypt, Islamists failed the test in the process of democratization.61 In Tunisia, the Islamist Ennahda Party agreed to some power-sharing and compromises, but the outcome is still uncertain. In Libya, Islamist militias terrorize the population worse than the despotism of the toppled Qadhafi ever did. In Syria, the emerging Islamists use the legitimate uprising against the totalitarian Ba’ath regime to persecute non-Sunni and Christian minorities. None of these cases proves consonance with the needed embedment of the MENA region in a world order based on democratic peace.

Notes 1. This essential difference is elaborated upon in B. Tibi, Islamism and Islam (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012), Chapter 6. 2. David Apter, The Politics of Modernization (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1965), p. 457; B. Tibi, ‘Global Communication and Cultural Particularisms: The Place of Values’, in Robert S. Fortner and Mark Fackler, eds, The Handbook of Global Communication and Media Ethics, 2 vols (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011), here Vol. 1, pp. 54– 78.

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3. Abdou Filali-Ansary, ‘The Sources of Enlightened Muslim Thought’, in Larry Diamond et al., eds, Islam and Democracy in the Middle East (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003), pp. 237 – 51, quoted p. 249. This enlightened view is also shared by Mohammed A. al-Jabri, Arab Islamic Philosophy (Austin: University of Texas, 1999). On Islamic humanism see also the reference in note 12 below. 4. Ibid. 5. See the original source: Immanuel Kant, ‘Zum ewigen Frieden’, reprinted in Zwi Batscha and Richard Saage, ed., Friedensutopien (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1975), pp. 37 – 82; contrasted by a lowering of this cosmopolitan standard by Bruce Russett, Grasping the Democratic Peace (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993). 6. Sohail Hashmi, ed., Islamic Political Ethics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2002), pp. 165 – 6. 7. Tibi, Islamism and Islam, Chapter 6. 8. Fazlur Rahman, Islam and Modernity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982), p. 32. 9. Hedley Bull, The Anarchical Society: A Study of Order in World Politics (New York: Columbia University Press, 1977), p. 13. 10. Hasan al-Banna, Majmu’at Rasa’il al-Imam al-shahid (Cairo: Dar al-Da’wa, 1990). The quotes are adopted from pages 162 and 190. For a detailed analysis of this Islamist governance see B. Tibi, The Shari‘a-State: Arab Spring and Democratization (London and New York: Routledge, 2013). 11. Joseph Schacht, An Introduction to Islamic Law (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979), p. 54. 12. Abdou Filali-Ansary, ‘Muslims and Democracy’, in Larry Diamond et al., eds, Islam and Democracy in the Middle East, pp. 193– 207, here pp. 205– 6. 13. Hamid Enayat, Modern Islamic Political Thought (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1982), p. 67. 14. For more details on this subject-matter see B. Tibi, ‘War and Peace in Islam’, in Terry Nardin, ed., The Ethics of War and Peace (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996), pp. 128 – 45. See also the reference to Kelsay in note 29 below. 15. Najib al-Armanazi, al-Shar’ al-duwali fi al-Islam (International Law in Islam), new printing (London: Riad El-Rayyes, 1990) (based on a Sorbonne PhD thesis, first published Damascus, 1930), pp. 226 – 9. 16. See the chapter on knowledge in B. Tibi, Islam’s Predicament with Modernity (New York: Routledge, 2009), pp. 65 – 94. 17. Sayyid Qutb, al-Salam al-Alami wa al-Islam, 11th edn (Cairo: Dar al-Sharuq, 1992) and by the same author, Ma’alim fi al-tariq, 13th edn (Cairo: Dar alSharuq, 1989), pp. 5 – 7. 18. Abdou Filali-Ansary, ‘Muslims and Democracy’, in Larry Diamond et al., p. 205. 19. See Russett, Grasping the Democratic Peace. The following quotes are adopted from pp. 11, 4, 24, 14 –15 and p. 135.

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20. Ibid. 21. Ibid., pp. 26, 28. 22. See note 5 above. The following quotes are from Immanuel Kant; they are adopted from the excerpts in an English translation in John Rundell and Stephen Mennel, eds, Classical Reading in Culture and Civilization (New York: Routledge, 1998), pp. 39 –60, here p. 39 and p. 43. On this matter see also the valuable German study by Emmanuel Richter, Der Zerfall der Welteinheit (Frankfurt am Main und New York: Campus, 1992). Chapter 1 on Kant and Chapter 3 on the system approach to our subject-matter. On democracy in Islamdom in this Kantian values-based understanding see Chapter 7 in B. Tibi, Political Islam, World Politics and Europe: From Jihadist to Institutional Islamism (London and New York: Routledge, 2014), pp. 216– 34. 23. David Apter, The Politics of Modernization, p. 457. On this dilemma of universal values vs cultural relativism see B. Tibi, ‘Global Communication and Cultural Particularisms’, pp. 54 – 78. 24. The quote is adopted from al-Jabri, Arab Islamic Philosophy, pp. 124– 8. 25. Hashmi, ed., Islamic Political Ethics, pp. 165– 6. 26. For evidence and more details see Bassam Tibi, The Shari‘a-State, Chapter 4. 27. Muhammed Said al-Ashmawi, Usul al-shari‘a (The Origins of the Shari‘a) (Cairo: Madbuli, 1983), p. 31. 28. Joseph Schacht, An Introduction to Islamic Law (Oxford: Clarendon, 1979), p. 1. 29. John Kelsay, Arguing the Just War in Islam (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007), Chapter 2. For a debate and a dialogue with Kelsay see B. Tibi, ‘John Kelsay and Shari‘a Reasoning’, Journal of Church and State, Vol. 53, No. 1 (2011): 4– 26. 30. Nasr Hamed Abu-Zaid, al-Tafkir fi asr al takfir (Reasoning in the Age of Excommunication from the Religious Umma-Community) (Cairo: Madbuli, 1995), in particular pp. 41 –54. 31. Hussain F. al-Najjar, al-Islam wa al-Siyasa (Islam and Politics) (Cairo: Dar alSha’b, 1977), p. 66. 32. One finds this confusion among others in the book by Noah Feldman, The Fall and Rise of the Islamic State (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2008); see in contrast B. Tibi, Islamism and Islam, Chapter 2. 33. Moataz El-Fegiery, A Tyranny of the Majority? Islamist’s Ambivalence about Human Rights, FRIDE Working Paper 113 (Madrid: FRIDE Foundation, 2012), p. 6; see also note 30 above on the banishment of deviance as takfir. 34. Joseph Schacht and C. E. Bosworth, eds, The Legacy of Islam (Oxford: Clarendon, 1974), quoted from pp. 405 – 7. 35. The following quotes are adopted from Hasan al-Banna, Majmu’at Rasa’il alImam al-Shahid, pp. 163, 190, 223, and 291. 36. Erich Kolig, ‘To Shari‘aticize, or not to Shari‘aticize’, in Rex J. Ahdar and Nicholas Aroney, eds, Shari‘a in the West (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), pp. 255– 77, quoted from p. 262.

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37. On this debate see Chapter 6 in B. Tibi, Islam’s Predicament with Modernity: Religious Reform and Cultural Change (New York and London: Routledge, 2009). For a defence of secularism against this fundamentalist ‘re-making’ see Paul Cliteur, The Secular Outlook: In Defense of Moral and Political Secularism (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010). On the fundamentalist de-secularization as a vision for a ‘Remaking the World’ see: Martin Marty and Scott Appleby, eds, Fundamentalisms and the State (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993), Part 3: Remaking the World Through Militancy. This is Vol. 3 of the five volumes of the ‘Fundamentalism Project’ of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. On the claim to re-make world order see also Daniel Philpott, ‘The Challenge of September 11 to Secularism in International Relations’, World Politics, Vol. 55, No. 1 (October 2002): 66 – 95 and the chapter ‘Islamism and the Political Order’ in B. Tibi, Islamism and Islam (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012), pp. 31 – 53. 38. Ju¨rgen Habermas, The Philosphical Discourse of Modernity (Cambridge, MA: M.I.T. Press, 1987), p. 2. 39. This is the phrasing of An-Na’im in an early most promising book; see Abdullahi An-Na’im, Toward an Islamic Reformation: Civil Liberties, Human Rights and International Law (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1990), p. 100 and p. 99. In that book he argues against shari‘a, but in a sea-change 18 years later in a new book, Abdullahi An-Na’im, Islam and the Secular State: Negotiating the Future of Shari‘a (Harvard: Harvard University Press, 2008), he uncritically in a full u-turn approves shari‘a. The cited two books document a change from an enlightened critique of shari‘a to an apologetics of it. In the chapter on secularization and de-secularization in my book Islam’s Predicament with Modernity, Chapter 6, pp. 178– 208, I take issue with the new thinking of An-Na’im viewed as setback. 40. The major book on this subject-matter is Niyazi Berkes, The Development of Secularism in Turkey (New York: Routledge, 1998). For an update see Zeyno Baran, Torn Country: Turkey between Secularism and Islamism (Stanford: Hoover Press, 2010). 41. John Kelsay, Islam and War (Louisville/Kentucky: John Knox Press, 1993), p. 117; see also the new book by Kelsay, Arguing the Just War in Islam. 42. The classical works on this issue are: Joseph Schacht, Introduction to Islamic Law and N. J. Coulson, A History of Islamic Law, 3rd printing (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1978). 43. The classical work by Ibn Taimiyya, al-Siyasa al-Shari‘yya, exists in many reprints; on Ibn Taymiyya and Mawardi see Chapter 5 in B. Tibi, Der wahre Imam. Der Islam von Mohammed bis zur Gegenwart (Munich: Piper, 1996, 2 paperback editions 1999 and 2002). 44. See the related two books by Nasr H. Abu Zaid, al nas, al-sulta, al-haqiqa [The Scripture, the Power and the Truth] (Casablanca: al-Markaz al-thaqafi, 1995) and Naqd al-khitab al-dini [Critique of Religious Discourse] (Cairo: Madbuli, 1995).

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45. See the reference in note 26 above and B. Tibi, ‘Islamic Law/Shari‘a, Human Rights, Universal Morality and International Relations’, Human Rights Quarterly, Vol. 16, No. 2 (May 1994): 277– 99 and Chapter 3 on Law in B. Tibi, Islam’s Predicament with Modernity, pp. 95 – 129. 46. For pertinent examples see the books by two late Sheykhs of al-Azhar, Mahmud Schaltut, al-Islam, Aqida wa Shari‘a [Islam is a Religious Doctrine and Law] 10th edn (Cairo: al-Shuruq, 1980) and later Jadul-Haq Ali Jadul-Haq who edited the authoritative al-Azhar text book, Bayan li al-nas [Declaration to Humanity], 2 vols (Cairo: al-Azhar, 1984 and 1988). In these books taschr’i/legislation is equated with wahi/revelation. Allah is viewed as the supreme legislator. The faqihs are supposed to know best what God legislates. This thinking leads to the confusion of shari‘a and fiqh. See also Subhi al-Salih, Ma’alim al-Shari‘a alIslamiyya [Essential Characteristics of Islamic Law] (Beirut: Dar al-Ilm Lilmalayin, 1975), pp. 122ff. For an overview see Chapter 7 on Shari‘a in B. Tibi, Islam Between Culture and Politics, 2nd edn (Basingstoke: Palgrave MacMillan, 2005), pp. 148– 66. 47. On post eventum legal thinking in Islam see Sir Hamilton Gibb, Studies in the Civilization of Islam (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1962), Part Two, in particular pp. 154 – 62. 48. Tibi, Islam Between Culture and Politics, pp. 126– 8. 49. Hichem Djait, Europa and Islam (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985), p. 102. 50. Habermas, The Philosphical Discourse of Modernity, p. 2. 51. H. L. A. Hart, The Concept of Law, 2nd printing (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1970), p. 221. See also on international law H. L. A. Hart and Michael Akehurst, A Modern Introduction to International Law, 6th edn (London: Unwin Hyman, 1987), pp. 21f. The classic work by F. S. C. Northrop, The Taming of the Nations: A Study of the Cultural Basis of International Policy, is fortunately reprinted in a 2nd edition (Woodbridge, CT: 1987). The basic issues of international law are discussed by Terry Nardin, Law, Morality and the Relations of States (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1983). 52. Abdou Filali-Ansary, ‘The Sources of Enlightened Muslim Thought’, quoting from p. 205. 53. Kant, ‘Zum ewigen Frieden’, pp. 26 – 8. 54. This issue was discussed earlier in contributions to the volume edited by Tore Lindholm and Kari Vogt, Islamic Law Reform and Human Rights: Challengers and Rejoinders (Copenhagen and Oslo: Nordic Human Rights Publ., 1993). 55. See the references in notes 3 and 12 above. On Islamic humanism see B. Tibi, Islam in Global Politics, pp. 85 – 110 and also the article by the same author: ‘Bridging the Heterogenity of Civilizations: Reviving the Grammar of Islamic Humanism’, Theoria: A Journal of Political and Social Theory, Vol. 56, No. 120 (2009): 65 – 80. More recently by the same: ‘Islamic Humanism vs. Islamism’, Soundings, Vol. 95, No. 3 (2012): 230– 54. 56. Hart, The Concept of Law, p. 102.

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57. For an update see the new part IV to the second 2014 edition of B. Tibi, Political Islam, World Politics and Europe. 58. Malcolm Kerr, Islamic Reform: The Political and Legal Theories of Muhammad Abduh and Rashid Rida (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1966). 59. Muhammad Muslehuddin, Philosophy in Islamic Law and the Orientalists: A Comparative Study of Islamic Legal System (Lahore/Pakistan, no date). The quotes are from pp. 247 and 242. 60. See the publication of the Culture Matters Research by Lawrence Harrison, ed., Developing Cultures, 2 vols (New York: Routledge, 2006). Vol. 1 consists of essays on cultural change, Vol. 2 consists of case studies. 61. See the reference in note 57 and the commentary by Roger Cohen, ‘Political Islam fails Egypt’s test’, IHT, 5 July 2013 and Youssef Rakha, ‘Egypt shows how Political Islam is at odds with Democracy’, IHT, 16 July 2013, p. 6.

CONCLUSION Yakub Halabi

Liberal international relations scholars assert that the only robust law in interstate relations is that democracies do not fight each other. The advent of each wave of democratization has served to further bolster the belief that democracy – rather than free trade, proliferation of international organizations, universal norms, nuclear weapons, or the balance of power – is the main factor responsible for interstate peace. The main question is, has the wave of democratization that swept the Middle East since the Arab Spring of 2011 shaken the liberals’ confidence in the democratic underpinnings of democratic peace? Moreover, was this transformation meaningfully imbued with the virtues of freedom, equality, peace and prosperity (FEPP), or were changes simply in name only? Regarding the first and second virtues of freedom and equality, we notice that citizens within the newly democratic Arab states have been enjoying more and more freedoms not only due to the advent of democracy but also due to the political void that was created following the fall of the authoritarian regime. At the same time, collectivist social structures, such as sectarianism, communalism, or religious dogmatism, continue to stifle true liberty. Throughout this volume, we have witnessed how minorities in countries such as Egypt and Iraq are seeing their right to religious freedom diminishing, while ordinary Muslims must still struggle for their liberty to pursue a secular way of life or

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simply a ‘Western’ lifestyle. The abrupt collapse of the Mubarak regime in Egypt, for instance, inadvertently transferred unregulated freedoms to the public which were quickly misappropriated by powerful groups for pursuing their own interests, confusing freedom with anarchy. With the absence of order, Muslim fanatical groups exploited this excessive ‘freedom’ to launch attacks on the Christian minority. It should be noted in this regard that wherever there is excessive freedom, we can hardly find equality before the law. The collectivist and more powerful segments of society may and do use their clout to subjugate and impose their will on less organized groups or individuals. The question in our context is to what extent the principles of freedom and equality are significant for the sake of pacifying foreign policy towards other democracies. When citizens think as individuals rather than as a collective, they gradually tend to adopt universal norms and humanize the people of other democracies, rather than simply being driven in a herd behaviour by the relativist norms of their ethnic or religious group. By the same token, individuals who are privileged to think freely are less likely to impose their relativist norms on others or perceive the world through the lens of these norms. When one of Hamas’ leaders, Musa Abu-Marzuq, for instance, contemplated the idea of direct negotiations with Israel, he cited an Islamic fatwa, which states that there is no ban on direct contact with non-Muslim enemies.1 As long as Hamas followers resort to relativist Islamic shari‘a rules in order to justify a certain course of action in foreign policy, they cannot recognize Israel’s right to exist peacefully, because there will be other radical Islamist figures who will provide a counterargument that forbids such action. In short, while it is possible to build a consensus around universal norms that are deliberated within international organizations on the basis of existing international law, it is strikingly more difficult for regional groups to build a consensus around relativist norms. Regarding the third virtue of FEPP, peace, the causal effect between democracy and foreign policy is not only unidirectional or inside-out, but is also outside-in; that is, tension without affects freedom within. In this sense, foreign threat may be used by an elected regime to stifle liberty in the name of national security, as in the case of the Palestinian Authority in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. The PA executive branch used the persistent tensions with Israel to apply emergency rules,

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claiming that as long as the Palestinians have not realized their aspiration for statehood, the PA must sacrifice liberty for the sake of security: a classic case of the means justifying the end. Applying these rules not only impinged on the general freedom of expression, but also raised tensions between Hamas and Fatah in 2006 surrounding who should be empowered and who should wield the authority to apply the emergency rules: the Fatah president or the Hamas government? Hezbollah has also utilized the foreign conflict with Israel and more recently in Syria in order to justify its objection to calls by the Lebanese government for disarming all sectarian militias including itself. As Hezbollah has been fighting with the Assad troops against the forces of the Islamic State in Syria and the Levant (ISIL), they continually claim that without Hezbollah, ISIL forces would have reached Beirut long ago.2 Furthermore, Abulof contends in this volume that the transition to democracy in the Middle East has undermined domestic democratic peace and inadvertently resulted in the consolidation of an anocratic state – a state that is neither democratic, where the state applies the rule of law, nor authoritarian, where the regime uses its iron fist to maintain stability. In other words, the multi-ethnic and multi-tribal nascent democracies, such as Iraq, Yemen, and even Lebanon, that have a longer democratic tradition than other such nations have been degraded to failed states. Hence, instead of pacifying domestic violence, the democratization process (read excessive freedom) and the political void left behind by the former authoritarian regime beget violence. The critical question then is, are anocratic states a euphemism for failed states?3 Or, is the transition to democracy merely a temporary gloomy period that will eventually result in the nation rising up against the reactionary domestic forces scorning freedom, civility and modernity? Would this then lead to strong democratic institutions being established? The experience of the Middle East with democratization shows that the transition to democracy has led to the rise of a dominant strong agency such as the army or the Justice and Democratic Party (AKP) in Turkey or the Revolutionary Guard in Iran, or alternatively, a weak state and impotent government that is dominated by warlords, as in the case of Lebanon, Iraq and the PA. To a great extent, the democratic model of Lebanon unfortunately constitutes a harbinger that points to the type of democracy evolving in multi-ethnic or multi-sectarian Arab democratic states such as Iraq and

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Yemen. In tribal societies such as Libya, a weak state coupled with excessive freedom led to a civil war. In the PA, the conflict took place between the secular, pragmatist and modernist Fatah and the religious, Islamist and dogmatist Hamas. Regarding the fourth virtue of FEPP, prosperity, democratization has inadvertently deteriorated the economic situation in the newly democratizing states in the region. This is reinforced by a report by the Africa Development Bank that found a link between economic inequality, development and political instability, stating, ‘However measured . . . inequality is high in the MENA region though with significant country variations. Inequality retards development and creates socio-political instability.’4 The overthrow of the Mubarak regime for instance worsened Egypt’s economy, and the millions of Egyptians living below the poverty line saw their living standards dwindle even further. The political turmoil and public disorder has deterred many tourists from visiting Egypt, while the economy is close to stagnating due to striking workers calling for wage increases: a situation made possible due to workers starting to enjoy greater freedom to demonstrate following the collapse of the Mubarak regime. Non-oilexporting MENA nations, furthermore, not only suffer from an alarmingly high poverty rate, but also experience a high income gap that will not be narrowed as a result of democratization. Finally, prosperity depends on many different factors, such as foreign direct investments, political stability, skilled workers and free trade. While the Arab Spring marks the advent of liberty in the Middle East, this liberty has so far failed to bring about much prosperity. Students of the democratic peace theory also assert that democracies wage wars against other states only when the democracy’s head of state is confident that their country can win. Contrary to both the DPT and balance of power theory detailing where wars are waged by the more powerful actors, Bassem Hassan contends that the theory of democratic peace ignores identity and the anarchic culture that in his view has dominated Egypt’s foreign relations towards Israel. The advent of democracy in other words does not change national memories or deeply ingrained or contested identities. First, the key factor that dominates these relations in this view is that it is historicist and intersubjective in the sense that shared worldviews among Egyptians are the outcome of past interactions between the two states, rather than material, universal-

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normative or organizational (separation of power between the three main branches of the state). Secondly, state identity is not only an outcome of these international social processes, but that in return forges foreign (social) relations. Hassan reminds us that the cultural and political solidarity that Egyptians share with the Palestinians in the Gaza Strip and the West Bank and the humiliation inflicted on Arab states by Israel during the 1967 Six-Day War could override any sense of universal norms that Egyptians may hold toward the people of Israel. Egyptians in this sense will continue to express solidarity with the Palestinian cause, but the question is whether they will also advocate nullifying the Camp David peace accord with Israel or even seek to use force for the sake of liberating the Palestinian territories. Hassan alludes indirectly to the reasons a war could be initiated by a weaker power in an asymmetric conflict in some cases: a policy that cannot be explained by either the DPT or the rationalist realist theory.5 As a result, in spite of much hope and expectation, the Arab Spring appears to have resulted in an unremarkably changed Middle East, as its impact on pacifying the domestic arena or the foreign policy has so far remained either vague, as demonstrated in the cases of Egypt or Tunisia, or negative, as proved in the cases of Yemen and Libya. This vagueness or negative impact could also be concluded from the experience of other Islamic/Arab states in the region that have had a longer experience with democratization than the Arab Spring states, such as Turkey, Iran, Lebanon and Iraq. Thus, despite the mass uprisings across the various countries in the region that led to the toppling of infamous dictators in some areas and the conducting of democratic elections in others, the Middle East has entered an unstable political environment. Far from that, the prospect that democratic institutions may strike roots in Arab and non-Arab Muslim democratizing countries in the region has remained uncertain. In Egypt, the Muslim Brotherhood won the presidency and turned into the largest political party in the parliament, but was ousted from power by the army following the mass demonstrations in June 2013. In July 2013, the army declared that the parties in the parliament and President Morsi failed to meet the demands of the anti-Morsi demonstrators or, as the commander-in-chief Abdel Fattah al-Sisi put it, the Egyptian people themselves, who in essence, called upon Morsi to step down. Regardless of Morsi’s commitment to democratic values,

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the question is whether the street had the right to order the president to resign, or even worse, ask the army to remove him from power. Following this process, the road to the presidency of al-Sisi, who became the Minister of Defense under interim President Adly Mansour, was smooth and certain. No major presidential candidate participated in the elections that were held in May 2014, and consequently or not, al-Sisi won the elections easily. Likewise, new problems have arisen in Tunisia since the toppling of President Ben-Ali’s regime, such as the worsening security situation following the resignation of many police officers from their positions. The Arab Spring bestowed on the people the freedom to conduct political activities, yet the economy stagnated because of repeated strikes of workers who unequivocally thought that political freedom would automatically bring with it better economic conditions. The shrinkage of the tourism industry and the return of Tunisian expatriate workers from Libya in masses exacerbated unemployment and worsened the economic situation. The working class in Tunisia, as elsewhere in newly democratic countries, is not patient enough to forebear living with hardship in the short run, in order to reap the fruits of political stability and prosperity in the long term. These workers demand immediate political freedom and prosperity that can occur neither simultaneously, nor within a short period of time following the eruption of the revolution. In terms of the PA, the tension with Israel has dominated the Palestinian political culture. Fatah and Hamas not only disagree over the interests of the Palestinian people, but also disagree over the means of realizing their national interests. Indeed, they could not even reach a compromise on the mechanism of how to define the national interest. While Abu-Mazen of Fatah believes that the best avenue of realizing Palestinian interests is through diplomacy and the support of the international community for the sake of establishing a Palestinian state within the 1967 borders, Hamas contends that the use of force has remained the best instrument for compelling Israel to put an end to the occupation, an idea that in its view should be the first stage for liberating the whole area of mandatory Palestine. Similar to Lebanon, moreover, the PA has remained impotent in the sense that it cannot impose its will on the whole area under its jurisdiction, particularly the Gaza Strip.

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It is possible then that the democratizing Arab states will fall back into what Hisham Sharabi calls neopatriarchy. The term illustrates a situation where modernism intersects with patriarchy, or when modern political organizations such as parties are formed along clan, sectarian, tribal, ethnic or religious lines and take control over the parliament. In this sense, the traditional forces adapt themselves to the new modern democratic conditions and subordinate modernity to their own needs. Neopatriarchy in the words of Sharabi ‘is in many ways no more than a modernized version of the traditional patriarchal sultanate’.6 In other words, solidarity will be consolidated, and political parties will be formed based on communal trust rather than common interests or ideological convictions; these traditional amalgamations are not hospitable to the principles of liberalism and equality, and certainly will not lead to the consolidation of universal norms in foreign relations. The election of neo patriarchal candidates is manifested in the foundations of Arab solidarity. In the municipal elections in the Arab villages of Israel, there are on average 12 to 15 different lists competing for the 12 municipal seats in the city council,7 each of these lists being run by several local clans. Likewise, in Egypt, most of the candidates in the constituency parliamentary elections are independent local notables whose popularity is based on their personal background. In many cases, national parties, such as the Arab Hadash Party in the Israeli Knesset, or the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt, strike deals with local notables, who agree to run as a candidate on the party list. Another critical question is, was the Arab Spring or Revolution itself uniquely Arab or Muslim? Not really, according to Olivier Roy, who continues: The demonstrators were calling for dignity, elections, democracy, good governance, and human rights. Unlike any Arab revolutionary movements of the past sixty years, they were concerned with individual citizenship and not with some holistic entity such as ‘the people,’ the Muslim umma, or the Arab nation.8 Although Roy is right about the demonstrators themselves, we cannot equate or mix the revolution with democratization, assuming that the latter will be consolidated as a direct outcome of the desires of the protestors. As a result, the predicament of the Arab democratization

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process is that, on the one hand, the demonstrators as a collective and as individuals sought universal values and called for the establishment of a Western-model democracy. On the other, when it comes to political organizations and rallying around political parties, many Arab citizens retreat into the traditional social structures and vote for parties that scorn not only secularism, but also individualism. These neopatriarchic parties deplore the right of the individual to think and act freely. The demonstrators in other words did not constitute a political organization, because the only denominator that united them during the revolution was their desire to topple the regime and embark on a new democratic era. Still, Roy notes that ‘Whatever ups and downs may follow, we are witnessing the beginning of a process by which democratization is becoming rooted in Arab societies.’9 While the parties themselves may not be champions of individual liberty and equality, the demonstrators may rally again in Cairo’s Tahrir Square or elsewhere in the Arab world, to demand the values of dignity, elections, democracy, good governance and human rights. The dilemma of the neopatriarchal political parties in the postArab Spring is an example of how to continue suppressing individual liberty on the one hand, without stifling the whole process of democracy altogether, on the other. Performing these two tasks allows neopatriarchal parties to maintain and cultivate their grassroots support that will ensure their victory in the elections, without triggering mass demonstrations against them. Thus, in the words of international relations scholar Ghassan Salame´, the Arab democracy is a ‘democracy without democrats’: namely a democracy that is run by non-democratic or even anti-democratic parties.10 The question is how this predicament in the Arab democratic culture will affect foreign policy and democratic peace. Taking the clout of demonstrators into account, we can assert with great certainty that the head of the state understands that any unpopular violent adventure in foreign policy against another state may result in them being ousted from power. In this sense, the head of the state may be much more cautious in pursuing a reckless foreign adventure. What is less known is the nature of the separation of power between the executive branch and the legislative one. Also, can the elected parliament insert greater transparency in the decision-making process or constrain the authority of the president? How will neo-patriarchal parties behave in foreign policy?

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Middle East politics has been characterized by parties with strong sectarian affiliation or religious ideology or by a large number of independent parliamentarians. The fact that the Muslim Brotherhood was toppled from power and banned from politics, in Egypt for instance, will compel its members to run in future elections as independent candidates or in coalition with other legal parties. In this sense, the Arab Spring did not change the political climate for the Muslim Brotherhood from the period of Mubarak. As the parliament members will be elected by the people, particularly in a constituency democratic system, this means that these candidates will hold themselves accountable to their voters in their district. In this sense, the parliament members will be autonomous of the president and will seek to constrain his manoeuvrability. It may also mean that these members may not vote across party lines in the parliament, but rather based on what suits their interests in their district. Finally, the fact that many parliament members are independent may make the task of policy coordination within the parliament that much more difficult – allowing the president or the executive to manipulate the parliament to his will. Hence, it is possible to divide Middle East democracies along two models: the Turkish model, and the Lebanese one. Based on the Turkish model, the army will play a prominent role in shaping foreign policy and will most likely seek secularization of society and Western-oriented foreign policy – assuming that the army in states, such as Egypt, Tunisia and Algeria, will have cohesive connections with the US. Based on this model, it is also possible that a strong Islamist party could emerge as a counterbalance to the army in these states. This assumption is based on the axiom that the Islamist party in Turkey, Egypt, Tunisia, and Algeria has remained the most powerful grassroots political party. In both cases, however, stability either under the hegemonic ruling of the army or the party may lead to a stable foreign policy, especially towards other democracies in the region. This type of democratic peace will certainly not be founded on universal norms or the separation of power between the three main branches of the state, but on two other reasons. First, the people or demonstrators may oust from power a leader engaged in a reckless foreign policy. Secondly, the political and economic integration of the new democracies in the civilized world and the global economy will discourage the inclination towards a hostile foreign policy that violates international law. This model applies to the homogeneous

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nations of the Middle East, such as Egypt, Tunisia, and even Iran. Based on this model, these nascent democracies will have the features of democracies run by non-democrats, where the parliament plays a marginal role in foreign affairs, and not constitute a reliable counterbalance to the executive. Yet these are democracies in which elections are free and fair and held regularly, where the people always have the option of replacing the ruling party and the head of state. The second model is the one embodied by the Lebanese democracy: a weak state and an impotent government. Beneath the state there are sectarian militias often affiliated with foreign states, such as Hezbollah with Iran and Syria. Each of the militias is more powerful than the national army and conduct autonomous foreign policy. This model has been developing in Iraq, Yemen, Libya and the Palestinian territories. The Lebanese model is based on the combination of sectarianism at the national level and clan politics at the local constituency level, where government portfolios and low-ranked positions are divided based on sectarian affiliation. This model is gradually developing in Iraq, where it has been tacitly agreed that the prime minister should be Shi‘ite, the speaker of the House Sunni, and the president Kurdish. Yet Iraq of 2016 has had much more serious problems than Lebanon, where ISIL has occupied the bulk territory of north-western Iraq including the cities of Ramadi, Falluja and Mosul. The defeat of the Iraqi army by ISIL forces in Mosul and its expansion eastward, and atrocities against the Yazidi and Christian minorities, prompted the reluctant US president Obama to engage in an airstrike military operation against ISIL in September 2014. Although ISIL forces are comprised mainly of foreign Sunni Islamists, the movement is also gaining support among the Sunni Arabs of Iraq, who prefer a Sunni fundamentalist regime over a democratic Shi‘ite one, thus enabling sectarian solidarity to override interest-based solidarity. There are two final factors that will have a tremendous effect on democratic peace in the Middle East: firstly, the persistence of Israel’soccupation of the West Bank and East Jerusalem, and the rise of the Islamist movements. Some students of democratic peace came to the conclusion that ‘When territory is at stake, issue-related variables come to the fore and matter more than regime type in explaining states’ settlement strategies.’11 In other words, domestic interest groups put pressure on their democratic government to refuse any peaceful

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settlement that entails the withdrawal from territories that their state had occupied in the past. This is the case of Israel, where any future centre-left government will find it extremely difficult to pass a resolution that calls for the withdrawal from the West Bank, let alone East Jerusalem. Thus, the common (belligerent) identity that develops from interactions between Israel and its Arab neighbouring states matters more than regime type, as explained by Bassem Hassan. It matters more because the Arab states expect Israel to adhere to international law, which prescribes solving the Arab– Israeli conflict along the 1967 borders, as a precondition for (democratic) peace: a demand Israel has so far rejected. The second factor is the identity of the party in power. Students of democratic peace examine the structure of a democracy and ignore the ideology of the party in power. The rise of Islamist movements and the implementation of Islamism as a political ideology is dealt with by Bassam Tibi in this volume, where Islamist movements rebuff universal norms that usually underpin democratic peace. The interpretation of shari‘a laws by Islamist movements and the relegation of this set of laws to a higher status than international law means that Islamists do not deal with other non-Islamic states based on existing common rules. In the Palestinian–Israeli conflict, where Hamas adheres to shari‘a laws that call for jihadi war for liberating the whole territory of Palestine, Israel adheres to Halakha laws that reject withdrawal from any part of Eretz Yisrael. Despite democratization or because of it (democracy being a springboard that brings such parties to power), Israel and Hamas can never reach a compromise.

Notes 1. Haaretz, 11 September 2014, http://www.haaretz.com/news/diplomacy-defens e/1.615390. 2. ‘Hezbollah: ISIS Wants Lebanon’, Daily Star, 31 August 2014, http://www. dailystar.com.lb/News/Lebanon-News/2014/Aug-31/269106-hezbollah-isiswants-lebanon.ashx#axzz3G9aAqIWM. 3. According to Robert Jackson, ‘“Failed states” have a legal existence but not much political existence . . . The government has failed the citizens and maybe the citizens have failed the government too: to speak of “government” and “citizens” is misleading. In short, “failed states” are hollow juridical shells that shroud an anarchical condition domestically. They fail to disclose very much if

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4. 5.

6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

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anything in the way of empirical statehood.’ Robert Jackson, Surrogate Sovereignty? Great Power Responsibility and Failed States (The University of British Columbia: Institution of International Relations, 1998), p. 3. Mthuli Ncube and John Anyanwu, Inequality and Arab Spring Revolutions in North Africa and the Middle East (Africa Development Bank, 2012). One cannot explain the eruption of the October War in 1973 without taking into account the results of the Six-Day War of 1967 and Israel’s objection between 1967 and 1973 to settle the conflict with Egypt in a peaceful manner. Yakub Halabi, US Foreign Policy in the Middle East: From Crises to Change (Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2009), pp. 60 – 2; T. V. Paul, Asymmetric Conflicts: War Initiation by Weaker Powers, Cambridge Studies in International Relations (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1994), Chapter 7. Hisham Sharabi, Neopatriarchy: A Theory of Distorted Change in Arab Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), p. 7. Yakub Halabi, ‘Democracy, Clan Politics and Weak Governance: The Case of the Arab Municipalities in Israel’, Israel Studies, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2014). Olivier Roy, ‘The Transformation of the Arab World’, Journal of Democracy, Vol. 23, No. 3 (2012), p. 5. Ibid., p. 6. Ghassan Salame´, ‘Where Are the Democrats’, in Democracy without Democrats: The Renewal of Politics in the Muslim World, ed. G. Salame´ (New York: I.B.Tauris, 1994), p. 1. P. James, J. Park, and S. Choi, ‘Democracy and Conflict Management: Territorial Claims in the Western Hemisphere Revisited’, International Studies Quarterly, Vol. 50 (2005), p. 803.

INDEX

9/11 attack, 100, 107, 114, 116 al-Abadi, Haider, 153 Abbas, Mahmoud, 202– 4, 206– 9, 212– 13 Abdullah, King of Jordan, 133 Abdullah, King of Saudi Arabia, 133 Abu-Marzuq, Musa, 205, 212, 260 Afghanistan, 107, 114 Ahmadinejad, Mahmoud, 104 AKP, see Justice and Development Party Algeria, 115, 267 Allawi, Ayad, 115, 140, 149, 150 Arab Spring, 1, 3, 4, 8, 18, 20, 22, 29, 32, 98, 157, 179, 201, 221, 222, 226, 233, 234, 235, 248, 250, 251, 252, 253 Arafat, Yasser, 12, 192– 5, 198– 204, 206 Armenia, 70 al-Assad, Bashar, 171 al-Assad, Hafez, 113 Assad regime, 57, 58, 261, 116, 117, 118 Atatu¨rk, Kemal, 46 Ba’ath Party, 115 regime 144, 145 Barghouti, Mustafa, 201

Barzani, Massoud, 140, 150, 151 Barzani, Mustafa, 143, 144 Brzezinski, Zbigniew, 99, 106 Bush, George W., 11, 84, 107, 109, 113 Camp David Peace Accord, 194 Carter, Jimmy, 99 China, 96, 97, 109, 117, 179 CIA (Central Intelligence Agency), 100 Clinton, Hillary, 100 Cold War, 47, 99, 100, 178 Da’wa Party, 146 Dahlan, Muhammad, 204, 206 Davutog˘lu, Ahmet, 57 Dayton, Keith, 207 Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine (DFLP), 195, 199 Druze, 77, 82, 85, 89 Ecevit, Bu¨lent, 52 Egypt, 157– 84 Iran relations, 157– 61, 164, 166, 168, 171– 5, 179, 181– 4 Israel relations, 157– 62, 164, 166, 168– 83, 263 Nasserism, 47, 158–61, 164, 180– 1, 183 Erbakan, Necmettin, 52, 61 – 2

272

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Erdog˘an, Recep Tayyip, 50, 51, 53, 56, 57, 64 – 6 Fatah, 12 – 13, 191– 6, 198– 215, 261– 2 Gates, Robert, 99 Germany, 60, 105 Ghajjar village, 85 Greece, 70 Gu¨l, Abdullah, 51, 54, 56 al-Hakim, Amr, 150 Hamas, 12 – 13, 117, 191– 2, 195, 197– 200, 203– 15, 225, 260– 2, 264, 269 Egypt relations, 170, 174, 180 Fatah relations, 206– 7, 211 Israel wars, 198 Turkey relations, 58, 61 –4 Haniya, Ismail, 205 Hariri, Rafic, 81 –4, 86, 88, 90, 114 al-Hashimi, Tareq, 151 Hezbollah, 10, 34, 61, 75, 83 – 8, 96, 111– 12, 114, 116– 17, 160, 261, 268 Hussein, Saddam, 97, 99, 111, 115, 142, 143, 144, 145–6, 147 India, 30, 109, 163 Iran, 4, 7, 10 – 11, 13, 32, 46, 48, 57 – 61, 67, 75, 83, 85, 88, 95 – 127, 143, 144, 152, 153 Contra Affair or Irangate, 97 Egypt relations, 157– 61, 164, 166, 168, 171– 5, 179, 181– 4 EU relations, 105– 6 Green Movement, 108 Hezbollah, 111– 12, 114 Iraq relations, 106–10, 113–16, 116 Iraq war, 97, 109, 110– 11, 115, 120 Israel relations, 97, 102, 105– 6, 108– 14, 116– 9, 125 Lebanon relations, 85

THE

MIDDLE EAST

nuclear programme, 96, 108– 10, 116– 17 and the P5 þ 1, 110 Palestinian Authority relations, 261, 263, 268 parliament (Majlis), 103 Saudi relations, 75, 85, 112 Syria relations, 113, 116– 18 United Arab Emirates relations, 113 US relations, 107– 9, 112– 14, 116– 18, 125 Iraq, 2, 4, 7, 11 – 12, 22, 32, 47, 83 – 4, 87, 88, 96, 97, 100, 106– 10, 113–15, 138 –56 Communist Party, 143 invasion of Kuwait, 105, 112 Iran relations, 106– 10, 113– 16, 116, 152, 153 Iran war, 97, 109, 110– 11, 115, 120 Palestinian Authority relations, 259, 261– 3, 268 parliament, 142 US relations, 139, 149, 152, 153 Iraqi National Congress, 146 Iraqi Republican Guard, 145 Iraqiyya Bloc, 149– 51 Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS), 115–16, 138, 140, 152 Islamic Supreme Council of Iraq (ISCI), 147, 151 Israel, 5, 6, 10, 11, 13, 14, 21, 22, 23, 26, 32, 33, 35, 47, 50, 57, 260– 5, 268–9 Egypt relations, 157– 62, 164, 166, 168– 83, 263 Iran relations, 97, 102, 105– 6, 108– 14, 116– 19, 125 Lebanon relations, 78, 79, 82, 83, 85 – 7, 91 Palestinian Authority (PA) relations, 191– 205, 207– 15 Turkey relations, 48 – 9, 57, 59 – 67 Israeli Defense Force (IDF), 85

INDEX Japan, 109, 117 Justice and Development Party (AKP), 8, 9, 46 – 63, 65 – 7 Kerry, John, 115, 213 Khamenei, Ali, 104, 105, 114 Khatami, Mohammad, 102, 107, 112 Khomeini, Ruhollah, 104, 112 Kirkuk, 144, 148 Kurdistan, 138, 140, 141– 4, 147, 148, 150, 151, 152, 153 Kurdistan Democratic Party (KDP), 145 Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG), 141, 145, 148 Kurdistan Workers Party (PKK), 60, 61 Kurdistani List, 150 Kurds, 140 Lebanese Armed Forces, 85 Lebanese army, 87, 88, 90 Lebanese Crusader Army, 90 Lebanese democracy, 268 Lebanese government, 83, 87, 88, 91, 261 Lebanese– Israeli wars, 162 Lebanese prisoners, 86 Lebanon, 2, 7, 10, 22, 23, 63, 67, 74 – 91, 97, 111– 12, 116, 169, 261, 263, 264 1982 war, 33, 83, 177 2006 war, 33, 67, 88 Likud Party (Israel), 116 al-Maliki, Nouri, 115, 139, 142, 149, 151, 153 Meshaal, Khaled, 197, 205, 208, Mexico, 163 MI6, 100 Middle East, 1, 2, 3, 4, 7, 8, 10, 12, 14, 17, 18, 20, 22, 23, 24, 28, 32, 34, 35, 46, 47, 48, 57, 59, 60, 66, 67, 75, 84, 85, 97, 100, 108, 109, 110, 113, 114, 116, 118, 125,

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126, 139, 200, 226, 233, 259, 261, 262, 263, 267, 268 Mohtashemi, Ali Akbar, 111 Mosaddeq, Mohammad, 100, 106 Mousavi, Mir-Hossein, 123 Mubarak, Hosni, 86, 158– 160, 164–7, 169– 70, 174, 178–80, 248, 250, 262, 267 al-Musawi, Abbas, 112 al-Musawi, Husayn, 112 Mossad, 100 Muslim Arabs, 253, 265 Democrats, 67, 99 Kurdish, 115 law, 234 organizations, 58 populations, 78 public in Turkey, 77 sects, 76 states, nations and democracies, 2, 4, 7, 10, 13 – 15, 47 – 51, 58, 59, 60, 77, 88, 97, 160, 166– 7, 181 Turkish society, 61 world, 58, 60, 119, 234 Shi‘a, 77, 97, 115 Sunni, 65, 66, 77, 78, 97, 112, 171 umma, 265 Muslim Brotherhood, 6, 89, 158, 161, 164–5, 167– 75, 179– 81, 226, 263, 265, 267 Muslims, 79 – 80, 99, 115, 160, 222, 223, 228, 229, 230, 232, 236, 237, 238, 242, 248, 250, 259 Nasser, Gamal Abdel, 161, 180– 1 National Iraqi Alliance, 150 Netanyahu, Benjamin, 116 North Korea, 107, 109 al-Nujaifi, Usama, 140 Obama, Barack, 65, 278 O¨calan, Abdullah, 61 O¨zal, Turgut, 49

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Pakistan, 7, 109 Palestinian Authority (PA), 191– 215 Israel relations, 191– 205, 207 –15 Legislative Council (PLC), 12 Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), 10, 12, 33, 192– 5, 197, 200, 203, 206, 208– 9, 211– 12, 214 Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (PUK), 145 People’s Mojahedin Organization (MKO), 107 Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP), 195, 199 Rafsanjani, Hashemi, 11, 104, 105, 106, 111, 112, 115 Rajoub, Jebriel, 206 Reagan administration, 97 Rouhani, Hassan, 102, 108 Rushdie, Salman, 106 Russia, 96, 99, 109, 117, 179, 180, 182 al-Sadr, Muqtada, 115 Salafi, 117– 18, 171– 4, 182, 238, 246, 250– 1 Shah of Iran, 60, 98, 99, 125, 161 Shatt al-Arab, 115 Shi‘ite, 2, 6, 10, 11, 12, 75, 82 – 9, 133, 268 al-Sisi, Abdel Fattah, 175, 180, 263– 4 Sunni, 2, 6, 12, 13, 65, 66, 75, 77, 78, 79, 80, 85 –90, 97, 112, 114– 19,

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138–41, 145, 147, 150– 3, 167, 171, 172, 174, 183, 243, 244, 268 Taliban, 99, 100, 107 Talibani, Jalal, 115 Tirawi, Tawfik, 206 al-Tufayli, Subhi, 112 Tunisia, 3, 4, 5, 7, 22, 48, 59, 98, 253, 263–4, 267, 278 Turkey, 4, 5, 7 – 10, 22, 23, 32, 46 –57 1982 constitution, 48 AKP, 49 ANAP, 49 DYP, 50 EU relations, 50 – 3, 59 Hamas, 61 Hezbollah, 61 Iran relations, 57 – 8, 60 Israel relations, 48 – 49, 57, 59 – 67 Ottoman legacy, 57 PKK, 60 Syria relations, 57 – 8, 60 Turkmen, 142 United States, 163, 179, 182 Egypt relations, 171, 173, 175 Iran relations, 96, 99, 102, 106– 14, 116– 19, 125 Iraq relations, 139, 149, 152, 153 Lebanon relations, 83 – 4, 86 Turkey relations, 50, 60, 61 Yezidi, 152