Civil Society in the Global South 9781138080256, 9781315113579

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Civil Society in the Global South

In recent years civil society has been seen as a key route for democracy promotion and solving development ‘problems’ in low-­income countries. However, the very concept of civil society is deeply rooted in European traditions and values. In pursuing civil society reform in non-­Western countries, many scholars along with well-­meaning international agencies and donor organisations fail to account for non-­Western values and historical experiences. Civil Society in the Global South seeks to redress this balance by offering diverse accounts of civil society from the global South, authored by scholars and researchers who are reflecting on their observations of civil society in their own countries. The countries studied in the volume range from across Africa to Latin America, Asia and the Middle East to give a rich account of how countries from the global South conceptualise and construct civil society. The book demonstrates how local conditions are often unsuited to the ideal type of civil society as delineated in Western values, for instance in cases where numerous political, racial and ethnic sub-­groups are ‘fighting’ for autonomy. By disentangling local contexts of countries from across the global South, this book demonstrates that it is important to view civil society through the lens of local conditions, rather than viewing it as something that needs to be ‘discovered’ or ‘manufactured’ in non-­Western societies. Civil Society in the Global South will be particularly useful to high-­level students and scholars within development studies, sociology, anthropology, social policy, politics, international relations and human geography. Palash Kamruzzaman is a senior lecturer in politics and international development at the University of South Wales, UK.

Routledge Studies in Development and Society

Informal Urban Street Markets International Perspectives Edited by Clifton Evers and Kirsten Seale Cultures of Development Vietnam, Brazil and the Unsung Vanguard of Prosperity Jonathan Warren The Role of Education in Enabling the Sustainable Development Agenda Stephanie E.L. Bengtsson, Bilal Barakat and Raya Muttarak The Gates Foundation’s Rise to Power Private Authority in Global Politics Adam Moe Fejerskov Poverty Alleviation and Poverty of Aid Pakistan Fayyaz Baqir Inclusive Innovation and Justice for Development Theo Papaioannou Feminist Advocacy, Family Law and Violence against Women International Perspectives Edited by Mahnaz Akhami, Yakin Ertürk and Ann Elizabeth Mayer Civil Society in the Global South Edited by Palash Kamruzzaman For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/ Routledge-­Studies-in-­Development-and-­Society/book-­series/SE0317

Civil Society in the Global South

Edited by Palash Kamruzzaman

First published 2019 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2019 selection and editorial matter, Palash Kamruzzaman; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Palash Kamruzzaman to be identified as the author of the editorial matter, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-­in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978-1-138-08025-6 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-11357-9 (ebk) Typeset in Baskerville by Wearset Ltd, Boldon, Tyne and Wear

Contents



List of illustrations List of contributors

  1 Introduction – civil society in the global South

vii viii 1

P alash K amru z z aman

  2 Civil society in China: Historical evolution, ongoing transformation, and future prospects

25

Zixue  3 Reconsidering the concept of civil society: Insights from the experiences of Thailand

35

T horn P itidol

  4 Re-­emerging civic activism: restoring the ‘ecosystem’ of Armenian civil society

54

Y evgenya   J enny   P aturyan and V alentina   G evorgyan

  5 The changing roles and impacts of civil society/NGOs in Nepal

70

M edani   P .   B handari and K rishna   P .   O li

  6 Civil society in Zimbabwe: Continuity and change

88

D avison M uchadenyika

  7 The multiple faces of civil society in India

104

S arbeswar  S ahoo

  8 The coalescence of the displaced: Syrian civil society beyond borders T amara  A l - ­O m

120

vi   Contents   9 Putting the T in LGBT: Trans and gender-­diverse (in)visibility and activism in South Africa

140

Zaynab   E ssack , N atasha   V an   der   P ol , S andile   N delu , J oshua   S ehoole , L .   L eigh   A nn   van   der   M erwe , and H eidi   van   R ooyen

10 ‘Menyicil keadilan’ (installing justice): Civil society and transitional justice in Indonesia

158

S ri L estari W ahyuningroem

11 Authoritarian neoliberalism and Islamist civil society in Turkey

176

Zeynep A talay

12 Symbolic power and Brazilian civil society in an age of globalism and populism

193

V in í cius R odrigues V ieira

13 Postcolonial perspectives on civil society in Mozambique: Towards an alternative approach for research and action

215

A bdul   I lal , T anja   K leibl , and R onaldo   M unck

14 Civil society in Mexico: From theory to practice

235

A lberto J . O lvera



Index

252

Illustrations

Figures   9.1 Timeline of key events and milestones for trans and gender-­diverse civil society   9.2 Top: Naked members of the UCT Trans Collective protest by blocking the entrance to the UCT Centre for African Studies (CAS) Gallery on the occasion of the #RMF “Echoing voices from within” exhibition on 9 March 2016. Bottom: The UCT Trans Collective used red paint and placards to cover photography featured at the #RMF exhibition, which they claim excluded and erased their work within the student movement 12.1 Strategic action and production of symbolic power 12.2 Levels of trust (2006 and 2008) 12.3 Trust according to presidential vote (2006) 12.4 Index of social trust in non-­state actors 13.1  Spheres of society in relation to the arena of civil society

148

153 200 204 205 207 226

Tables   4.1 NGO involvement in civic activism 11.1 Unionization statistics of public sector employees’ confederations

64 187

Box 9.1 A brief description of key trans and gender-­diverse CSOs in South Africa

147

Contributors

Tamara Al-­Om is near the completion of her doctoral research on Syrian civil society at the Centre for Syrian Studies, School of International Relations at the University of St Andrews. Her research interests lie in the areas of non-­violent movements, civil society, women, liberation and rebellion. Publications include: ‘The Emergence of the Political Voice of Syria’s Civil Society’ in The Syrian Uprising: Domestic Origins and Early Trajectory (Routledge, 2018); ‘Civil Society in Arab Thought’ in Enthopolitics Papers (2016); ‘Syria’s Women and the Fight to Live in Truth’ in Routledge Handbook of the Arab Spring: Rethinking Democratisation (Routledge, 2015); and ‘Don’t Ignore Syria’s Non-­Violent Movement’ in Comment Is Free (Guardian, 7 June 2014). Zeynep Atalay is an assistant professor of sociology at St Mary’s College of California. She received her PhD in sociology from the University of Maryland in 2012. Her teaching and research interests are in transnational social movements, civil society, neo-­liberal authoritarianism, and political Islam. Her recent publications include ‘Partners in Patriarchy: Faith-­Based Organizations and Neoliberalism in Turkey’ in Critical Sociology; ‘Vernacularization of Liberal Civil Society by Transnational Islamist NGO Networks’ in Global Networks; ‘Civil Society as Soft Power: Islamic NGOs and Turkish Foreign Policy’ in R. Kastoryano (ed.), Turkey between Nationalism and Globalization (Columbia University Press, 2013); and ‘New Directions in Transnational Civil Society: The Politics of Muslim NGO Coalitions’ in L. Tragardh, N. Witoszek and B. Taylor (eds.), Civil Society in the Age of Monitory Democracy (Berghahn Books, 2013). Medani P. Bhandari has sound theoretical and practical knowledge in social science and environment science. Prof. Bhandari brings about 35 years of academic and professional experiences on NGO/civil society management. His field experience spans Asia, Africa, North America, Western Europe, Australia, Japan and the Middle East. Professor Bhandari has published four books, and about 50 scholarly papers in international scientific journals. His recent book is Green Web-­II:

Contributors   ix S­ tandards and Perspectives from the IUCN (River Publishers). Additionally, in creative writing, Prof. Bhandari has published hundreds of poems and essays, and has published two volumes of poetry with Prajita Bhandari. Currently, he is serving as a professor in the Inter-­Disciplinary Department – Natural Resource & Environment/Sustainability Studies, at Akamai University, USA, as a professor in the Department of Finance and Entrepreneurship, Sumy State University (SSU), Ukraine, and as international programme coordinator, Atlantic State Legal Foundation, NY, USA (remotely). Zaynab Essack is a research psychologist and senior research specialist in the Human and Social Development Programme at the Human Sciences Research Council in South Africa. In this position, she manages multi-­method and multinational social science research, with a focus on vulnerable (key) populations, including adolescents, young women, and men who have sex with men (MSM),. She obtained a PhD in psychology in 2015, which focused on standards of prevention in South African HIV vaccine trials. Zaynab is currently the principal investigator (PI) or co-­PI on the following studies: (1) a mixed-­methods evaluation of an incentivised behavioural intervention for young women; (2) piloting a walking school bus as a school-­related gender-­based violence (SRGBV) intervention; (3) a mixed-­methods evaluation of an intervention to interrupt underage drinking; and (4) a critical review of sexual and reproductive health services for MSM in eastern and southern Africa. Zaynab is an honorary research fellow at the School of Law, University of KwaZulu-­Natal, where she focuses on ethical-­legal and human rights issues. Valentina Gevorgyan is pursuing her PhD in political science at the University of Fribourg. Her research focuses on the relationship between civil society and government in Armenia and Georgia. The principal areas of her academic interest include the role of civil society in the development of public policy agendas and the promotion of human rights in hybrid regimes. She was a senior researcher of academic studies at the Amer­ican University of Armenia, including a four-­year project (2012–2016) on Armenian civil society. Valentina has published on civil society, activism and volunteering, and has presented at academic conferences in the south Caucasus region and Europe. Abdul Ilal is an economist and statistician with more than 20 years of experience in design, implementation and evaluation of macroeconomic and governance programmes as well as programme management. Palash Kamruzzaman is a senior lecturer in politics and international development at the University of South Wales, UK. He is the author of Dollarisation of Poverty – Rethinking Poverty beyond 2015 (Palgrave,

x   Contributors 2015) and Poverty Reduction Strategies in Bangladesh – Rethinking Participation in Policy-­making (Policy Press/Chicago University Press, 2014). He has demonstrated interests and published in the areas of participation in policymaking, national development experts (NDEs) and aid ethnography, international trading of political capital and high-­level expertise, civil society, extreme poverty, global development goals, Bangladesh and South Asia. Tanja Kleibl is a social worker and sociologist working currently as professor at Augsburg University of Applied Sciences. Her research interests are in the areas of political sociology, in particular civil society and social movements, international development and social transformation as well as postcolonial social work. Tanja has worked for various local and international NGOs and government agencies in Africa and beyond. She brings together more than 15 years of extensive practice experiences in development cooperation. Alongside her employment in the development sector, Tanja has been involved in applied civil society research, initially with a focus on civil society space in Ethiopia and later on looking at political and discursive interpretations of civil society and postcolonial state–civil society relationships. Davison Muchadenyika is a research fellow at the African Centre for Cities and the Climate System Analysis Group, both at the University of Cape Town. He is an urban planner with research interests in African cities and climate change, social movements, housing, urban politics and governance, and international development. He has published on these themes in journals such as Cities, Habitat International, Urban Forum, Journal of International Development, Journal of Southern African Studies and Development Policy Review, among others. Ronaldo Munck is head of civic engagement at Dublin City University and visiting professor of development studies at the universities of Liverpool and Buenos Aires. He was the founding chair of the Development Studies Association of Ireland and has written widely on globalisation, labour and development from a Southern perspective. He is on the editorial boards of Globalizations, Review, Global History and Latin Amer­ ican Perspectives, among others. His recent work includes Rethinking Latin America: Development, Hegemony and Social Transformation. Professor Munck is a lead author for the International Panel on Social Progress, chaired by Amartya Sen, due to report in 2018 on alternative futures for global democratic development. His forthcoming book is Rethinking Global Labour with Agenda Publishing. Website: dcu.ie/community. Sandile Ndelu is a black trans feminist writer, speaker and lawyer currently working as a candidate attorney and Bertha Justice fellow at the University of the Witwatersrand’s Centre for Applied Legal Studies (CALS). Sandile holds a Bachelor of Arts in media and writing studies

Contributors   xi and a postgraduate Bachelor of Laws degree, both from the University of Cape Town. A product of the Rhodes Must Fall, Fees Must Fall and UCT Trans Collective student movements, Sandile has gone onto establish the Trans University Forum (TUF!), which aims to mobilise around transgender inclusivity and affirmation at all 26 South African universities and beyond. Krishna P. Oli has over 35 years of professional work experiences in a wide range of development and environmental issues on the policy– programme–action continuum, in particular environment planning and management, the implementation of multilateral environmental treaties, ecosystem management, developing regional cooperation mechanism in the Hindu Kush Himalayan countries, capacity building, policy coordination and networking with stakeholders at different levels. Dr Oli has published many papers in international journals. He is also an artist, poet and story writer. Dr Oli was senior officer at ICIMOD for several years, as well as visiting professor at various universities in Nepal, China and other countries. Currently, Dr Oli is an honourable member of the National Planning Commission of the Nepal Government. Alberto J. Olvera holds a PhD in sociology from the New School for Social Research (1996). He is a professor-­researcher at the Instituto de Investigaciones Histórico-Sociales, Universidad Veracruzana, Mexico and a member of the Mexican Academy of Science and of the National System of Researchers, Level III (maximum). He is the author of 25 articles in scientific journals, 92 book chapters, ten edited books and three books, most of them published in Mexico but several in Brazil, Argentina, Colombia, Costa Rica, Chile and the United States. He has had a very active participation in national civil society organisations, ministerial councils and advisory bodies. He is frequent collaborator on a number of newspapers in Mexico and on El Pais Internacional. Yevgenya Jenny Paturyan is an assistant professor on the Political Science and International Affairs Program at the Amer­ican University of Armenia. Previously she worked at Caucasus Research Resources Centers – Armenia. She received her PhD in political science from Jacobs University Bremen, Germany, in 2009. Her academic interests are in the sphere of civil society, volunteering, the democratisation of post­communist countries, and corruption. Thorn Pitidol is a lecturer at the Faculty of Economics, Thammasat University. Thorn graduated from the University of Oxford, UK, receiving an MPhil in development studies and a DPhil in social policy. His research focus is on the intersection between economics and politics, with issues of interest ranging from development problems to inequality and welfare systems. At present, he coordinates the Center for Research on

xii   Contributors Inequality and Social Policy (CRISP) at Thammasat University, Bangkok, Thailand. Vinícius Rodrigues Vieira is a visiting professor at the Institute of International Relations of the University of São Paulo (IRI-­USP) and holds a doctorate in international relations from Nuffield College, University of Oxford (2014), and an MA in Latin Amer­ican studies in the University of California at Berkeley (2010). He has held visiting positions at Yale University (2012), the Institute for Advanced Study (2015–2017), and Princeton University (2016–2017) and currently serves as the secretary of the research committee on international political economy of the International Political Science Association (IPSA). Sarbeswar Sahoo is an associate professor of sociology at the Indian Institute of Technology Delhi, India. He was Charles Wallace fellow at Queen’s University Belfast, UK, and Alexander von Humboldt postdoctoral fellow at Max Weber Kolleg, University of Erfurt, Germany. He completed his PhD at the National University of Singapore and has authored Civil Society and Democratization in India: Institutions, Ideologies and Interests (2013) and Pentecostalism and Politics of Conversion in India (2018). Joshua Sehoole is a human rights activist focusing on gender and bodily diversity. He currently serves as the advocacy and programmes manager at Iranti, using media advocacy as a tool for activism that reaches and changes the lived experience of lesbian, trans and intersex communities in Africa. Joshua is passionate about strengthening collaboration within the continent, addressing issues of wellness, and increasing the representation and voice of a diverse range of African movements in global spaces. He holds an honours degree in international politics from the University of South Africa. Zixue Tai is an associate professor in the College of Communication and Information Media at the University of Kentucky. His primary area of research pertains to the social, political and cultural ramifications of the new media sector in China. L. Leigh Ann van der Merwe is a coloured transgender woman born in the Eastern Cape Province of South Africa. Leigh Ann founded Social, Health and Empowerment (SHE), has conceptualised projects such as the African Transformative Feminist Leadership Institute and has co-­ authored the Transilience Research Report on violence against transgender women in South Africa. She is versed in the human rights instruments of the United Nations. She considers herself an ‘intersectional’ feminist. She holds a certificate in community journalism from UNISA and a postgraduate diploma in public health from UWC. She holds positions on various executive and advisory boards. Leigh Ann

Contributors   xiii was recognised as a Women’s Human Rights Defender in December 2012. Natasha Van der Pol is a PhD intern in the Human and Social Development Programme at the Human Sciences Research Council in South Africa. Natasha obtained a master’s degree in research psychology from the University of KwaZulu-­Natal in 2016. She is currently registered for a PhD in diversity studies at the Wits Centre for Diversity Studies at the University of the Witwatersrand. Her research interests include gender and sexuality, mental health and biracial identity. In 2017, she was listed as one of the Mail & Guardian’s 200 Young South African Leaders for her sexual and gender minority research. Heidi van Rooyen is the executive director of the Human and Social Development Programme at the Human Sciences Research Council in South Africa. This multidisciplinary programme explores complex questions about society and groups of people living in adversity over their life courses. Heidi is a social scientist with a PhD in psychology, an NRF C1 rating and a professorship from the University of the Witwatersrand. Heidi is an accomplished and internationally recognised scholar. For more than two decades, her work has addressed HIV risks and vulnerability as well as the broader contexts and inequalities that shape this risk. She is currently the principal investigator (PI) or co-­PI on several grants: (1) a mixed-­methods study addressing the relationship dynamics and minority stressors on HIV risk-­taking behaviours among same sex partners; (2) research exploring community-­based models for delivery of HIV treatment and support; (3) an ethnographically informed intervention addressing masculinity in African males and uptake of testing and HIV treatment; (4) a study testing the feasibility of a novel lottery incentive to encourage linkage to care among men; and (5) a mixed-­methods evaluation of a combination prevention intervention for young women. Currently Heidi is exploring new areas of research that explore the influence of sexual orientation and gender identity as social determinants of health, and issues of race and identity. Heidi is a certified life coach who balances the demands of leadership, publishing and grant writing with a regular contemplative writing practice and poetry. Sri Lestari Wahyuningroem teaches political science at the University of Indonesia and the University of Pembangunan Nasional Veteran, Jakarta. She received her PhD from the Australian National University, doing her thesis on transitional justice and democratisation in Indonesia, and a Master of Art from Central European University, Budapest. With a background in political science, she has research interests in the areas of transitional justice, civil society, peacebuilding, and gender studies, with a geographic focus on Indonesia and South East Asia. She

xiv   Contributors has also been engaged in activism and research with national and international organisations, including the United Nations. Currently she is one of the experts for Transitional Justice Asia Network, a network of human rights and transitional justice advocates and researchers in Asian countries.

1 Introduction – civil society in the global South Palash Kamruzzaman

Background The meanings of civil society vary according to historical, social and political contexts. Civil society has always been associated with the formation of a particular type of society that seeks the greater good and/or pursues common goals. The conceptual ambiguities, however, rise from its changing meanings over time. For seventeenth- and eighteenth-­century thinkers, civil society was characterised by the rule of law, based on certain fundamental individual rights, enforced by a political authority also subject to the rule of law (Kaldor, 2004; Chandhoke, 1995). Black (2001) argues that there was no clear distinction at that time between civil society and the state; rather, the former was a generic term for a secular constitutional order. Up to the end of the eighteenth century, the term was synonymous with the state or political society as civil society was a more or less direct translation of Cicero’s societas civils and Aristotle’s Koinonia politike (Kumar, 1993; Beasley-­Murray, 2010). Reflecting on its classical origin, Kumar, 1993: 376) insists that Locke speaks of ‘civil government’ as an alternative to ‘civil or political society’, Kant sees burgerliche Gesellschaft as a constitutional state towards which political evolution tends, and for Rousseau the état civil was the state. In contrast to the uncivilised condition of humanity, civil society has been linked with the notion of civility and polite society where the members treat each other with mutual respect and tolerance, and where rational debate and discussion become possible (Kaldor, 2004). Evidently, the origin of the concept of civil society is deeply rooted in European societies and its transitions.1 For the context of this book, the key point that needs to be emphasised is that civil society in these conceptions expresses the growth of civilisation to the point where societies are civilised. The contemporary ideas of civil society, however, underwent something of a renaissance in the 1990s after the demise of the Soviet Union. The new meanings become distinctly different from its original perceptions as they diffuse smart combinations of democratic pluralism with a continuing role for state regulation and guidance, which appears attractive to societies

2   P. Kamruzzaman seeking to recover from state socialism. At the same time, it seems to offer help in the refashioning of radical politics in those societies where socialism has lost whatever appeal it once possessed (Kumar, 1993). Democracy promotion became a key agenda (often under the camouflage of development aid) to promote neo-­liberal values to the former Soviet and Eastern European countries as ‘civil society broadly considered to be the cradle of democracy’ (Purdue, 2007: 1). The aspect that demands critical attention is whether the extant narratives are reflective and representative of the civil societies in non-­Western countries, where differences, rather than commonality, are the rule. This very much paves the ground for this book, as two dominant trends are visible in civil society literature on non-­Western countries. First, one might find an attempt to depict civil society in a ubiquitous manner often as a coalition of non-­governmental organisations (NGOs) or coalitions of different groups predominantly led by the NGOs. This largely applies to the ‘post-­renaissance’ works where such an indiscriminate depiction shrinks the possibilities of including assorted organisations in understanding civil society in non-­Western contexts. Second, the accounts of civil society in non-­Western countries are mostly (not always) narrated by Western scholars. These accounts do not necessarily have any issues or limitations. But, taking into account how hegemony is created, in knowledge building and the relations of power,2 one might wonder whether the accounts could be any different if they had been written by local scholars. How much might one’s upbringing in a local country/culture and experience of being a citizen of a non-­Western country (being somewhat less powerful than Western scholars in building knowledge/epistemology and shaping the agenda/trajectory of global hegemony) portray different accounts of civil society in those countries? Not only might the power that builds hegemony be different there but the values of Western scholars might also be different from those of scholars from these countries. This book is an effort to explore and pursue the diversity issue further, which is not only one of the defining features of civil society but also constitutes a field of global power relations. As Cox (1999) insists, on the one hand, states (and corporate interests as agencies of the global economy) seek to use civil society to stabilise the social and political status quo. On the other hand, civil society is the realm in which those who are disadvantaged by globalisation can mount protests and seek alternatives, often through local community groups of diverse cultures and evolving social practices worldwide. Chapters included in this book show the continual presence of civil society in the global South through various forms of altruism, associations, activisms, religious charity, gender diversity, movements, protests, anti-­establishment campaigns, fighting global hegemony etc.3 The structure of this introduction is as follows. The next section provides a brief overview of civil society as described in existing literature. This section also includes a short discussion of the extent to which the

Introduction   3 c­ ontemporary narratives are applicable and relevant in understanding civil society in non-­Western countries. The final section offers chapter summaries of this book, followed by a brief note on the main overlapping themes that emerge in different chapters. The later highlight how the arguments made in this book augment, complement and challenge existing understandings of civil society in non-­Western country contexts.

A brief overview of civil society Hegel is widely regarded as the first theorist who distinguished the state from civil society. Hegel (1820/2001) explains that civil society comprises the realm of organisations that lie between the family at one extreme and the state at the other. Chandhoke (1995) insists that Hegel saw civil society as a set of social practices constituted by the logic of the capitalist economy and the ethos of the market, but nonetheless distinct from the economy. A number of other scholars also identify civil society as an intermediary sphere between family, state and market. For example, Anheier (2004) asserts that civil society is the sphere of institutions, organisations and individuals located between the family, state and market in which people associate voluntarily to advance common interests. Cohen and Arato (1994) understand civil society as a sphere of social interactions situated between economy and state, composed above all by the intimate sphere (specially the family), the sphere of associations (especially voluntary associations), social movements, and forms of public communication. For Cohen (1988), civil society encompasses a social realm including a plurality of institutions and associations and voices; a domain of autonomous moral choice; and a legal system incorporating basic rights that protect and demarcate this social realm. Gramsci (1971: 208), however, conceives civil society as standing ‘between the economic structure and the state with its legislation and its coercion’, thus serving as the locus of both resistance and legitimation of the established order. Kumar (1993) observes that the formula most commonly found in Gramsci is that the state equals political society plus civil society. Therefore, from a Gramscian perspective, civil society has political roles as a vehicle for the construction of cultural and ideological hegemony (Edwards, 2013), which also provides an opportunity to create resistance against capitalism (Howell and Pearce, 2002). Habermas also describes civil society as an anti-­hegemonic force, whose purpose is to aggregate the interests of power of the marginalised members of society. Habermas (1996: 365) views civil society as: associations, organisations, and movements that attuned to how societal problems resonate in the private life spheres, distil and transmit such reactions in amplified form to the public sphere [and] institutionalises problem-­solving discourses on questions of general interest inside the framework of organised public spheres.

4   P. Kamruzzaman Contemporary understanding of civil society, nevertheless, is deeply influenced by the ideas of Tocqueville (1835/1945), who envisioned civil society as associational life, composed of voluntary membership organisations that oppose totalitarian regimes in different parts of the world to keep the state accountable and effective. Tocqueville (ibid.) argues that citizens can never live in a society without giving themselves to common enterprise. When citizens are allowed to associate freely in everything, they end up seeing the universal and unique means that can be used to attain the various ends they propose. Civil society, thus, fosters the social norms and trust necessary for people to work together, and teaches individuals to appreciate and effectively use their liberties in promoting democracy and checking despotism. For the neo-­Tocquevillians, the ability to form associations and engage freely, therefore, is inherently good. Such a view portrays civil society as progressive, enlightening and emancipatory. It allows the realisation of individual potential by giving voices to the marginalised and assisting the vulnerable groups (Howell and Pearce, 2002; Schnabel and Scholte, 2002), promoting the pro-­poor agenda (Howell, 2002), and forming collective consciousness among large number of voluntary associations against suppressive states in making truly powerful changes (Jenkins, 2001; Hewison, 2017). This is cognate with Putnam’s (1993, 2000) ideas that civil society is composed of groups which crosscut kinship ties and patronage. Putnam identifies social capital as an outcome that emanates from norms of reciprocity and networks of civic engagement found in strong civil societies as the fuel that drives democratic organisations. Moreover, civil society has been delineated as problem-­solving agencies that fulfil the governance gaps, tackle market failures, and improve public accountability by serving crucial watchdog roles over the market and public system when those fail to provide basic public services (Brainard and Chollet, 2008; Stiles, 2002; van Rooy, 1998). Conventional understandings outline civil society as the platform where all interest groups (either economic or non-­economic) are located (Moravcsik 1998: 22). Nevertheless, the idea of the universal common good conceals the reality that all societies are made up of groups with different and often conflicting interests, and that all groups are equally part of society, whether their goals conform to a specific idea of civility or not. It cannot be assumed that business associations, NGOs and trade unions, all operating within the space of civil society, have access to similar resources or share similar goals and values (Howell, 2002). However, a few important points can be raised as the basis for continuing the discussion. First, as conventionally defined, civil society is clearly a Western construct. The thinkers who played instrumental roles in the concept’s development have been Europeans or Westerners, living at particular points in history, and their ideas have been based on their situated values and experiences. Those ideas were later exported to non-­Western countries without much consideration of diverse sociopolitical, cultural,

Introduction   5 economic and religious contexts of those countries. Second, it is important to explore whether all organisations in-­between family and state would represent civil society. This leads to several other relevant questions, such as what are the different characteristics of the organisations included in civil society (and the organisations that are not in it)? The concept of voluntary association also contains ambiguities (Warkentin, 2001; Whaites, 2000): what should be identified as voluntary? To illustrate, informal cooperative societies or social clubs are voluntary organisations because the decision of membership for individuals to join these organisations is open, while the decision over membership of a family is not chosen. Moreover, Ottaway (2017) asserts that joining political parties is a free choice but a distinctive line has always been drawn between civil society and political society. Furthermore, belongingness to any religious belief in most parts of the world is not chosen, but religious groups are usually considered a definite part of civil society. In all certainty, informal social organisations play crucial roles in constituting civil society in the global South. Third, in existing scholarship, civil society groups do not aspire to control the government and exercise power (as opposed to influencing policies in the public interest), unlike political parties (Ottaway and Carothers, 2000). True, there are organisations within civil society that act purely as pressure or advocacy groups and do not intend to contest public office. But civil society activists are often close to political parties, and many move freely between civil society organisations and parties (Chandhoke, 1995; Howell and Pearce, 2002; Ottaway, 2017). In addition, many political parties, especially when in power, set up organisations in an attempt to neutralise resistance and counter hegemony; those are attributed mainly to civil society. How can the existing understandings of civil society, therefore, be applied to the countries in the global South? A number of scholars question the usefulness of the concept in a non-­Western context, considering it a manifestation of Western liberalism (Anheier et al., 2011; Lewis, 2001; Maina, 1998; Makumbe, 1989; Sogge, 1997). While civil society is innately intertwined with the notion of modernity,4 how can the existing narratives be congruent in those countries where a majority of the sociopolitical and democratic institutions are either in their infancy or non-­existent and where the boundaries of traditional informal civil society associations and membership of political organisations might be overlapping and blurred? For example, any definition of civil society based on Western experience may appear inappropriate against specific experiences of Islamic and Arab societies where diverse tribal and other groups contest for control within the social power structure. This is also true for states with long colonial experiences and numerous political, racial and ethnic sub-­groups that are ‘fighting’ for autonomy. Sogge (1997: 42) elaborates on this by suggesting that an ahistorical application of the concept in previously colonised countries is particularly problematic because, for example, the colonial state

6   P. Kamruzzaman controlled the associational space in Mozambique so tightly that ‘ways of associating together hardly ever resemble institutions of civil society known to Westerners’. Maina (1998: 137) also argues that civil society, as we know it, reflects the political reality and evolution of Western society, which have ‘limited explanatory power’ to explain the complexities of African associational life because of its inability to understand the domination of predatory state, the characteristics of class and ethnicity along with the operational modes of informal organisations. In many non-­Western countries, civil society is characterised by parochial associations such as village communities, burial societies, trade unions, industrial confederations, commercial organisations, student groups and fundamentalist religious cults, all of which may not have an interest in matters beyond their own immediate concerns and seek to manipulate the state for their own ‘selfish purposes’ (Moyo, 1993: 4). This is consistent with Migdal’s (1996) observation that two different types, namely traditional and modern civil society, can coexist in non-­Western countries. On the one hand, modern civil society, defined and organised into a set of formal professional NGOs, has clear boundaries that separate it from the family and the rest of society, including the state. On the other hand, traditional civil societies are loosely structured but embedded in culturally sanctioned mechanisms for swapping labour and mobilising effort in the performance of large collective tasks. Therefore, universal conceptualisation of civil society, similar to Western models, may be problematic because the preconditions of modernity (and civil society), namely the systemic differentiation between market, state and society, and the concomitant emergence of modern rights-­holding individuals, have been either not completed or carried out in a distorted manner. In many countries in the global South, the rule of law is still a pending political project, at least for the majority of the population. In most parts of the world, then, civil society lacks its fundamental preconditions (Olvera, 2012) including traditional civil society actors’ various roles and potential for enacting social change. Nevertheless, the idea of civil society cannot easily be dismissed as having little meaning outside its Western origins, but neither can it simply be (re)discovered in those countries to promote democracy and good governance (Lewis, 2001) because the construction of an ideal version of civil society highlights the danger of dogmatism. As Ambrose (2000) argues, those who believe that their conceptions of the good are unquestionably correct while all others are seriously misguided often promote the dogmatism that leads to sociopolitical conflict. It is, therefore, argued in this book that against any universal and more or less homogenous depiction of civil society the heterogeneity of civil society in social, political and cultural terms need to be recognised in understanding civil society in non-­ Western countries (Kleibl, 2017; Dagnino, Olvera and Panfichi, 2006). Indeed, within civil society multiple and diverse social actors coexist

Introduction   7 (­ Kamruzzaman, 2013), as do opposing political projects, cultural values and forms and practices of relationship with the state. Civil society actors adopt varied institutional formats, defend different political projects, embrace multiple religions and develop distinctive cultural practices. Such heterogeneity is an expression of the political, social and cultural plurality of contemporary societies (Dagnino, Olvera and Panfichi, 2006: 31–42). The next part offers chapter summaries of this book followed by a cross­analysis of the major themes emerged in these chapters.

About the book Tai offers an excellent account of historical evolution, ongoing transformation and future prospects of Chinese civil society in Chapter 2. He demonstrates that understanding civil society in China can offer particular difficulties, due to a lack of an exact indigenous Chinese equivalent for the term. Civil society in China is often interpreted as gongmin shehui (citizens’ society), shemin shehui (townspeople or urban people’s society) and wenming shehui (civilised society). While none of these options fully explains how civil society is conceptualised in the West, Tai insists that earlier signs of civil life pertaining to these options can be traced back to historic periods from the Zhou Dynasty (1100–256 bc) to the Mao era (1949–1976), and, recently, gongmin shehui has become a de facto equivalent in Chinese language. For Tai, state corporatism demands particular attention in understanding civil society in China because the state allows some degree of autonomy towards some social organisations created by the government to represent sectoral interests at the national, regional and local levels. Various terms such as ‘growth through participation’, ‘governed development’, ‘governed participation’ and ‘participatory governance’ are used to describe the state–social organisation relationship (often labelled as a special feature of Chinese civil society). Proliferation of NGOs characterises another form of social corporatism where grass-­ roots organisations or a bottom-­up policy approach does not necessarily challenge the state. Tai insists that the above terms and NGOs’ apparent inability evince the desirability of some civil society organisations (CSOs) in utilising administrative advantages and government resources. This process also allows maintaining social stability by reducing social challenges towards the monopoly of the party-­state. Citing from the work of Ma (1994), Tai shows that two distinct camps in China propagate state– civil society relationships differently. The domestic theorists focus on the making of a modern citizenry where active state involvement has enabled ‘an intimate and harmonious’ relationship between the state and civil society (ibid.: 192). The exiled intellectuals however sharply challenge such narratives as their ‘primary concern has been creation of a private realm that is independent of the state’ (ibid.). Tai concludes that Chinese civil society is a concept, not a reality, as finding an exact duplicate or even

8   P. Kamruzzaman close equivalent of a social concept across diverse national sociopolitical contexts is almost impossible. Pitidol provides a case study of Thai civil society in Chapter 3. Thailand, once an aid recipient country, no longer receives support from donors. The author explores what happens to civil society in such a context. He informs us that, in Thailand, state replaced the donors as main source of support for the local CSOs. Many scholars describe the concept of state-­ sponsored civil society as an elitist project that was based on an inherent distrust of building civil society from below. Supported by the state, civil society could not function as an autonomous sphere between the state, family and market. As much as the state, through its different arms and entities, tried to control the scope, norms and remit of civil society, it has been also true that a large section of civil society got close to the political elites. Nevertheless, policies, politics and political demand by the poor people in the mid-­2000s put Thai civil society in a place where it had to make a difficult choice: whether to support rural poor people’s activities or to support the middle class who were condemning the rural poor as being ‘lured by pro-­poor populist policies’. During the long-­running conflict, some sections of civil society indeed took a radical stance in identifying election and democracy as Western models that were unsuitable for Thailand and therefore constituted ‘the root cause of Thailand’s problems’. The coalition of political ruling elites and some CSOs vehemently rejected poor people’s participation in the country’s democratic struggle as immoral actions. While the political and ruling elite were attempting to establish their ideas and values through promoting a community culture of self-­sufficiency and self-­reliance, some sections of civil society were keen to secure further access to state resources and power. Pitidol elucidates this new relationship further with an example of the Community Organisation Development Institute (CODI) network. He argues that two aspects demand particular attention. First, the importance of alliance building among the political leaders/elites and civil society leaders. Second, support through the alliances of civil society provided legitimacy for the ruling elites who were lacking democratic credentials yet seeking to sustain power. Pitidol, therefore, insists that civil societies in developing countries might tend to collaborate with political elites in return for political access to power and resources. This can lead them to take uncivil and undemocratic actions where traditional and cultural values can be used to justify their move. Influenced by Edwards’s analogy of ecosystem, Paturyan and Gevorgyan assert that social movements are an integral component of civil society in Armenia (Chapter 4). The authors argue that an ecosystem approach to civil society acknowledges the diversity and interconnectedness of different entities that coexist and cohabit within a complex system in order to self-­ develop and maintain a balance. Armenian civil society is a good example of Edwards’s (2013: 32) idea that, ‘as in a real eco-­system, all parts need to

Introduction   9 be present and connected if the system is to operate effectively’. While there is a lack of literature on pre-­Soviet civil society, the authors tell that there are historic examples of extended family, neighbourhood community, and faith groups playing important roles in Armenian civic life along with mass mobilisation and voluntarism during major crises such as war and natural disasters. In their proposition of looking at Armenian civil society as an ecosystem, Paturyan and Gevorgyan draw from four recent campaigns and social movements (such as the Save Teghut Civic Initiative, Stop Changes in Maternity Leave Law, Let’s Preserve the Afrikayn Club Building, and Electric Yerevan) with varied degrees of success and failure. These campaigns and movements adopted conventional and creative strategies ranging from street protest to physical occupation and cultural events. Among the examples, Teghut, Maternity Leave and Electric Yerevan achieved some successes, forcing the government to make concessions and changing policies, whereas the Afrikyan club building could not be saved. The authors identify some strengths and weaknesses of these campaigns but put special emphasis on the collaboration between the activists and NGOs. After the Soviet era, both the public sector and civil society flourished in Armenia and developed different types of symbiosis among them. The authors believe that such a symbiotic relationship is mutually beneficial and potentially suggests a way forward for ‘civil society to increase its impact and next level of development’. The authors however disagree with Edwards’s (2013: 32) prediction that ‘remove or weaken one part [of the ecosystem], or strengthen others artificially, and the system breaks down’ by showing that Armenian civil society was crippled by former Soviet rule and the artificial enhancement of an ‘invasive species’ such as donor-­driven NGOs. Yet, Armenian civil society did not lose its spontaneous self-­organising potential and there has been a resurgence of such activities in recent years. Bhandari and Oli in Chapter 5 manifest that in Nepal community-­based voluntary social institutions are declining and there has been a surge in modern NGOs due to a relatively weak government and the influence/ availability of foreign aid. For the authors, in all societies some active members try to help others and take initiatives to promote general welfare. Such philanthropic civic behaviour has a long history in Nepal, covering many aspects such as supporting families during famine; providing food and water for travellers; and construction of public residences/inns, wells and water taps, temples, monasteries, mosques, trails, bridges etc. They call it informal voluntary social development, where rich people occasionally donate some land but other resources come from clan members in the forms of donation of labour, grains and animals. Such activities also took some institutional shapes in the forms of Guthi and Dhikuti, functioning as common resource management body and people’s informal bank. Especially visible at times of crises such as outbreaks of cholera and earthquakes during the 1930s and 1950s, some of these organisations are still

10   P. Kamruzzaman carrying on their works. Nevertheless, associational life in Nepal has experienced rapid change since the commencement of democracy in 1990, resulting in the mushrooming of NGOs. Although many NGOs play important roles in advancing socio-­economic development, Bhandari and Oli argue that the majority of NGOs have become mere conduits of INGOs and have not been able to transform into a strong civil society. As rewards for service delivery activities and as an outcome of available donor money, NGO leaders can be seen living ‘princely lives’, and political parties/leaders use many NGOs for political interests. Muchadenyika, in Chapter 6, discusses continuity and changes of civil society in Zimbabwe. This chapter makes four main arguments: first, the growth of contemporary civil society in Zimbabwe can be understood through a democratisation project that limited the scope of civil society in its appeal, focus and reach. Second, a close relationship between civil society and opposition movements constrained the scope of civil society in looking beyond the political objective of regime change. Third, donor money has provided a major challenge for some sections of civil society and, fourth, the inability of mainstream CSOs to achieve wider common goals has led to a new form of movements by a loose network of activists. For Muchadenyika, the intractable link between civil society and governance in Africa often means that civil society grew in antagonism with the state. Civil society in assorted parochial forms existed in Zimbabwe for a long time before being manufactured by donors. Civil society was a sphere to fight against colonialism and help the government meet development objectives. For Muchadenyika, while the government’s failure in economic and social welfare led to widespread frustration, changes in political landscape also played a significant role in shaping contemporary civil society in Zimbabwe. He elucidates this by giving the example of the National Constitutional Assembly (NCA) when it transformed into a political party. Muchadenyika insists this was a grievous mistake as it was different from when the Movement for Democratic Change (MDC) turned into a political party and its leaders resigned from various labour, civic and student groups. The NCA leaders just formed a political party using the banner of the once-­vibrant organisation and, for Muchadenyika, this gave a wrong signal to other CSOs affiliated with the NCA. One might wonder whether the transformation of the NCA into a political party could be explained solely through the political aspirations of some of its leaders. This chapter insists that donor money has been one of the main challenges for Zimbabwean civil society for many years but antagonistic relationships between state and CSOs have also created a situation where influential individuals wielding extensive power in influencing the donor agenda (and civil society) extend their sway to the opposition party. This led to what Muchadenyika identifies as ‘founder member syndrome’, where the founders of many CSOs exploit donor resources and fellow workers by treating the organisations as their ‘personal havens’. This has caused frustrations for

Introduction   11 some disenchanted activists arguing that formality destroys activisms and activists, resulting in developing some loose and informal networks such as the Occupy Africa Unity Square movement, #ThisFlag, and Tajamuka. Sahoo, in Chapter 7, argues that the politics of civil society could be multifaceted and may have different implications for democratisation. He draws on empirical evidence of three NGOs (Seva Mandir, Astha, and Rajasthan Vanvasi Kalyan Parishad (RVKP)) in the north-­west of India, highlighting three different kinds of politics within civil society. Seva Mandir was set up to create self-­reliant and self-­governing village communities by mobilising the poor, who would demand accountability for various development activities. Seva Mandir later adopted a service delivery-­focused project implementation approach that secured financial stability for the organisation despite opposition from some members. Astha was created by a group of activists who left the Seva Mandir and focused on the principle of structural transformation through community activism. Milan Mela (celebration of community gathering) of People’s Organisations played an instrumental role in this regard. While Astha remained unregistered so that the government could not ban it for political reasons, it also maintained a cooperative relationship by organising training and capacity-­building activities for government officials. The RVKP is heavily influenced by dominant Hindu ideology (Hindutva) in mobilising tribal people against ‘cultural aliens’ such as the Christians and Muslims. Shoo contends that three case studies show the diverse and multifaceted nature of civil society in India, defying normative notions that civil society advances democratic values and acts as an agent for political liberalisation. This was particularly evident for the RVKP, which, in practice, is driven by the objective of resisting ‘threatening others’ but on paper its stated intention reads as ‘to improve the socio-­economic conditions of the tribal communities’. One of the main arguments of this chapter is that such practice is anti-­democratic and against the conventional perception of civil society as secular and pluralistic. Despite its development and welfare programmes help the rural poor, the RVKP serves as an important medium to spread Hindutva ideology at the local level, which helps the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP). In return, the BJP-­led central government provides significant political, economic and legal support to the RVKP to achieve its objectives. Therefore, Sahoo contends that to obtain a deeper understanding of civil society emphasis should not just be on the nature of the organisations: several other factors (such as ideologies and approaches (politicised or not), as well as CSOs’ relationship with the state) also need to be taken into account. Al-­Om’s work (Chapter 8) reveals that activists in exile maintained and expanded the networks built in Syria beyond national borders, turning Syrian civil society (SCS) into a sphere unconstrained by the traditional geographic boundary. For Al-­Om, prior to 2011 (before the uprising), SCS was restricted in its activities and dominated by government-­controlled

12   P. Kamruzzaman bodies and extremist groups. Targeted kidnappings, arrests and assassinations were customary, leading many activists to leave Syria or cease their activities. Drawing on from empirical evidence, Al-­Om insists that the discourses of civil society need to be revisited because of SCS’s ability to function beyond the borders. Her account of SCS emerges from below and has a strong political conviction. This account of SCS firmly outlines that refugees, highly active in neighbouring Lebanon and Turkey, cannot be seen as detached from the political failure that produced them. It is, therefore, of great significance that civil society is capable of expressing political voices as a means for political participation and resistance. This chapter also demonstrates how SCS in exile was built through various informal and formal networks building and maintaining a sense of shared identity. A shared identity, however complex this might be in the context of Syria, is fundamental in Al-­Om’s work because this represents an ethical commitment that keep them [SCS] carrying on their work to make positive change. This constitutes an alternative narrative against the Syrian regime and mainstream media. One key aspect of SCS in exile has been the development of spaces that allowed Syrian refugees to gather and experience some sense of normality within a reality that has been far from normal. While some of these forums later opted to act more like NGOs, the majority of them remained informal and/or political. Taking Syria’s current sociopolitical context into account, Al-­Om convincingly argues that civil society can be well functioning beyond traditional state borders and with political emancipation. Nevertheless, she is sceptical about the future of such activities as some activists are moving further afield, either to provide for their families or for a better future. She questions whether distance would dilute the drive and ambition for change. She insists the answers are not yet known but she is optimistic because of these activists’ unremitting ability to adapt to ever-­changing conditions. Essack and colleagues in Chapter 9 engage with historic and contemporary forms of transsexual resistance/activism in understanding how such activities in South Africa are intertwined with intersectional understandings of transsexual experience and other social movements. The authors reveal that South Africa represents a paradox for sexual and gender-­inclusive civil society because the legal framework can be described as one of the most progressive in the world while the lived reality is different from legal coverage and policy rhetoric. Transsexual and gender activists often experience a high level of transphobic violence in everyday life. This chapter, through the examples of contemporary movements (such as the Fallist movement), demonstrates how gender-­minority activists brought forwards the transsexual (T) agendas into South Africa’s lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) movement. This chapter also exemplifies what impact and contribution civil society can make ‘when efforts are consolidated to address new struggles to rewrite the dominant Western narrative informing binary gendered positioning,

Introduction   13 pathologisation of trans and gender-­diverse identities, and colonisation of educational and other spaces’. In doing so, the authors show some historical and political differences of transsexual identities and movements between South Africa and the global North, emphasising that activists in South Africa aim to secure rights for all sexual and gender minorities in contrast to some selected groups. They argue that the apparent progressive legal framework was borrowed from the West and failed to embrace diverse forms of struggles and injustices experienced by South African sexual and gender minorities. These issues raise the need for a different form of activism and a group of transsexual and gender-­diverse activists (such as the Collective) advocate for meaningful inclusion of transsexual and gender-­diverse people and their issues in polices, debates and government service sectors. These were visible when at the first anniversary of the Fallist movement the Collective staged a dramatic nude protest disrupting and preventing an exhibition from being opened to the public. It was argued that ‘it is disingenuous to include the trans people in a public gallery when you have made no effort to include them in the private’ and ‘we will not have our bodies, faces, names, and voices used as bait for public applause’. This chapter claims that the need for including transsexual and gender minorities in civil society is clear as their participation in South Africa has been successful in challenging African patriarchy, and recentring the politics of the trans body in protest when transphobia and heterosexual privileges may be overshadowing a supposedly progressive space. Wahyuningroem in Chapter 10 delineates civil society’s roles in Indonesia in installing justice for past human rights abuses/violations, focusing on victims’ experience at the local, national and international levels. Civil society activities in Indonesia aimed to make incremental changes rather than instantaneous or short-­term outcomes. The author insists that, in its inception, transitional justice, as led by the state, was politically superficial, responding only to domestic/international pressures for the accountability of the repressive regime. Civil society’s role was marginal at the beginning. Nevertheless, it was the grit and persistence by civil society that popularised the notion of transitional justice and kept the agenda alive during the early years. A dual-­track strategy was adopted by civil society, combining lobbying of the upper political elite to use their influence and working independently to empower grass-­roots communities. This resulted in achieving what Wahyuningroem describes as a ‘positive yet limited outcome’. Transitional justice is a complex issue and become more difficult as many perpetrators sought a way back through engaging into mainstream politics. The movement descended into further complications when some parts of civil society were against the prosecution of past human rights violation, labelling transitional justice as a pro-­communist agenda. Differences among the CSOs hindered significant progress at the  national level, but progress was made at the local level. Testimony

14   P. Kamruzzaman hearings, organised by a civil society coalition to seek truth at the local level, promoted broader public education on the subject, acknowledging victims’ experience of injustice. Such initiatives succeeded in engaging youth groups and local influential figures including religious leaders, academics, and even individuals from military institutions. Despite resistance from some sections, the adoption of a dual-­track strategy and working with wider international communities proved to be an effective tactic for civil society in installing justice (mencicil keadilan) in Indonesia. The limited yet positive outcome highlighted in this chapter reveals the significance of small but meaningful bottom-­up creative strategies in working with local government organisations, political elites and international community vis-­à-vis seeking large-­scale (national) change. Atalay in Chapter 11 elaborates on the rise of a faith-­based civil society in Turkey in recent years. Turkey’s new faith-­based civil society helps to consolidate the hegemony of the AKP government rather than functioning as a self-­governing entity that is capable of challenging the state’s power and authority. Under the auspices of the AKP government, Islamic charities and NGOs have grown in numbers and strength, while spaces for oppositional CSOs have contracted significantly. The government’s favoured section of civil society has taken up major roles in providing welfare services of neo-­liberal restructuring and systematically disciplining the groups that could pose a threat to the government. One of the central arguments of this chapter is that civil society may actually tighten up the controls of an authoritarian regime instead of restraining the state’s power. Atalay insists that, in present-­day Turkey, civil society has become ‘a colonised and co-­opted sphere of collective action’. Throughout the country’s transition from a fragile democracy to an authoritarian regime, monopolising power and neo-­liberal hegemony has become the main motto of the government. In this process, on the one hand, government has found an ally on their side as the Islamic charities and NGOs have assumed key roles in influencing the electorate through welfare resource distribution, and information politics. On the other hand, apparently innocent but effective techniques such as anti-­terrorist measures and executive orders are being introduced in closing down NGOs with a different voice. The history of repeated military coups has taught citizens that participation in associational life could be a risky business and the authoritarian state made the best of it by incentivising the loyalist section and repressing, marginalising and criminalising others who refused to be co-­ opted. Atalay argues that, while much of the literature portrays a positive picture of civil society (as a sphere that has the power to restrain state from oppressing and exploiting citizens and consequently shaping state behaviour), in practice the example of Islamic civil society in Turkey reveals that ‘civil society is very often shaped by the surrounding political regime, legal system, and ultimately state institutions’. In this process, the state plays the main role because collaboration with civil society provides it

Introduction   15 with some form of legitimacy and enables to consolidate its hegemony in most, if not all, corners of social life. Rodrigues Vieira in Chapter 12 offers an account of the interactions of symbolic power and Brazilian civil society. For him, patrimonialism provides a powerful tool in understanding civil society because as a concept it blurs the distinction between the public and private spheres. Brazil has been historically pervaded by authoritarianism and patrimonialism, where not only borders between public and private spheres are blurred but also there are significant overlaps between political and economic arenas. This means that civil society is deeply entwined with various fabrics of social life including the market, the state and politics. Rodrigues Vieira also insists that two more concepts such as symbolic power and doxa are integral in understanding civil society in Brazil. The main argument of this chapter lies in identifying how left-­leaning governments and their non-­state allies find themselves in a place where they all tend to resist the progress and uphold the status quo. This represents a doxa in cranking up the ‘principle of domination’ (Bourdieu, 1996: 264–265) where the non-­state actors lose their symbolic power ‘necessary to mobilise the population against state power’. Rodrigues Vieira illustrates this by suggesting that a situation where political parties seek to control the state and civil society simply wishes to influence the state creates a conducive environment for the state to capture civil society. State has the power to co-­opt the collective actors by promoting or pretending to promote common good and this happened in Brazil between 2003 and 2015. Analyses of the relationships between the state, civil society and landless movements in Brazil under the Workers’ Party (PT) government suggest that the left-­leaning CSOs and social movements adopted a collaborative stance with the government when the PT reached power. This created a predicament that Rodrigues Vieira describes as: once parties with political affinities with a given set of CSOs and OSMs reach power, the leaders of such organisations face an inevitable dilemma: either they continue contesting doxa (arguably the ultimate goal of civil society) or they move towards reform and subsequently prop up the status quo (the state’s main objective). The collaboration between state and CSOs created a patrimonial doxa where the PT captured the civil society by incorporating them into federal administration in return for its autonomy. This chapter contends that, at a time when globalism and populism are on the rise, the autonomy of civil society in developing countries can only be ensured and retained when it is not part of the coalition that forms government or controls the state as well as when it is not driven by the agendas of external donors. Based on their involvement in various steps of framing a civil society research project in Mozambique, Ilal, Kleibl and Munck offer some

16   P. Kamruzzaman ­methodological learning and conceptual recommendations in Chapter 13. They propose that postcolonial perspectives can help to deconstruct discourses and practices of contemporary civil society research often driven by liberal democratic ideologies. However, they make us aware that generalisation such as labelling Western notions of civil society as bad and romanticising indigenous concepts as a sphere that resists neo-­liberalism might be dangerous. They claim that colonial past and postcolonial ­economic/power relationships may affect civil society actors’ transformational role. For them, critical awareness of these issues is useful in perceiving how civil society has been conceptualised and researched in Africa. In Mozambique, for example, the national liberation movement, FRELIMO, came to power after independence in 1975. The FRELIMO government imposed strict control over the public sphere and civic associations but the 1990 Constitution led to the development of a multi-­party system and formally introduced freedom of association. This allowed many former leaders to set up Western-­style NGOs. These NGOs are weak in influencing political decision-­making (because they rarely carry advocacy activities outside the capital and struggle to translate the technical language of the donor). Nevertheless, the availability of donor money for these NGOs in the absence of a mechanism to support informal groups linked to the traditional social structure is problematic: not only is community trust in Mozambique deposited in religious/spiritual actors and the traditional social structure but also these dynamics remain under-­researched/­invisible within the civil society scholarship. The authors, therefore, offer some broader propositions to move the civil society debate in the global South forwards. Among others, their propositions include: • • •

the significance of employing postcolonial perspectives in understanding the historical impact of colonialism in the development of civil society; the incapability of a Western normative framework that often fails to understand civil society’s motive for making political change in many countries; civil society is a mixture of modern and primordial practices, organisations and institutions. It constitutes an arena where contesting ­relationships coexist. Therefore, analysing the implications of instrumentalisation and co-­optation in understanding the roles and capacity of civil society actors is extremely important.

Reflecting on his roles as researcher and activist, Olvera in Chapter 14 offers an account of the conceptual and political history of civil society in Mexico. This chapter delineates the changing meanings of civil society and the role it plays in the struggle for democracy. In Mexico (and some other parts of Latin America), the question what constitutes civil society has been contested over many years but it is acknowledged that civil society

Introduction   17 offer a public space where various social actors challenge the ideological hegemony of the oppressive state. One of Olvera’s central arguments is that there have been several attempts to disregard the grass-­roots activists and peasant and indigenous peoples’ sectors of civil society. A network of NGOs, political elites, state agencies, and some academics that attempted to invent a factitive ‘third sector’ in Mexico played important roles in this process. Olvera also depicts the practice of how political elites and party leaders have occupied and/or co-­opted some sections of civil society. Since 2000, despite its working-­class and peasant sectors suffering some significant defeats, civil society actors were instrumental in Mexico’s transition to democracy and bringing in some positive changes towards institution building and accountability. Nevertheless, the process has been weak as the Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI) retained veto power over constitutional reforms, institutional innovations and state-­owned enterprises, making them the main beneficiaries of the current situation. In addition, democratic transition created a new scenario for some civil society actors as NGO leaders joined in the government, creating a new form of cooperation between civil and political actors. Political parties’ effective strategies of colonising the government and institutions by appointing loyal ‘citizen representatives’ in newly formed institutional and social positions reveal the weaknesses of civil society in Mexico. However, Olvera feels that the corrupt and authoritarian nature of the current regime has enabled civil society to bring back the agenda of defending the citizenship rights of the working-­class, peasant and indigenous people’s sectors of civil society. In moving forwards, this constitutes the main challenge for civil society in Mexico. The next part of this discussion offers a cross-­analysis of the main themes emerged in these chapters. Civil society accounts in non-­Western countries included in this book do not claim to be adequate for the purposes of generalisability and theory building. Nevertheless, there are some overlapping themes that complement, contest and challenge some of the conventional ideas of civil society and thereby add to the existing scholarship (see overview section for more details). These are: 1 2 3 4 5

Civil society, as delineated in its classical European origins and through Western values, may not always be relevant in many countries. Traditional groups and associations are transforming into modern forms of civil society. The scope of civil society can transcend national borders and neo-­ liberal interpretations. Groups, associations and alliances that often constitute civil society are not always ‘civil’. Often civil society has political motives and act on those motives or are driven by them.

18   P. Kamruzzaman 6

In many countries, civil society is vulnerable to ‘state capture’ and thus often fail to function as an autonomous sphere.

First, some chapters in this book question the relevance of the concept of civil society in specific country contexts. To illustrate, Tai explains that there is no exact indigenous equivalent of civil society in the Chinese language. While civil society in extant literature refers to a sphere in-­between state, family and market, Tai reveals that guan (official), si (private) and gong (public) are often cited in representing civic discourses in China. Each of these terms and other Chinese phrases (see above) captures variable components of civil society but none of these can fully explain civil society in China. Olvera insists that, while civic resistance and social movements have been part and parcel of civil society in Mexico, a coalition of donor agencies, NGOs and governmental organisations attempted to invent a ‘third sector’ that is distant from local meanings of civil society.5 Nevertheless, such an attempt provided some legitimacies for NGOs to collaborate with the government in implementing public services by ignoring the farmers and working-­class people’s sections of civil society. Furthermore, Essack and colleagues demonstrate that identity strategies unfold differently in gender and sexuality movements around the world. In their chapter, they convincingly demonstrate how Western concepts were unhelpful in advancing the rights of South African sexual and gender minorities.6 Second, in connection with the arguments of preconditions for civil society to flourish in a similar way to the Western countries, some chapters reveal that forms and shapes of civil society in many countries are changing rapidly. Primordial forms are transforming into modern formal entities mainly owing to foreign aid often available under the guise of myriad development and democratisation projects. Bhandari and Oli show this trend in Nepal, where NGOs are at the forefront of providing public goods and services. Paturyan and Gevorgyan, however, argue that donors have tried to enhance an ‘invasive species’ by supporting the NGOs but they could not damage the Armenian civic ecosystem. Civic activism in Armenia is on the rise with many successes and some failure. In Al-­Om’s account of Syrian civil society, many activist groups in exile were forced to formalise their structure and operation in order to be eligible for funding opportunities. The groups that opted to become formal were bogged down in paperwork and bureaucracy and, thereby, lost sight of their main objectives. Sahoo evinces this proclivity in India, where Seva Mandir gave up its community empowerment motive and adopted a service delivery approach for the survival of the organisation. Different forms of politics are, therefore, in play through such transformation.7 The leaders of former activist groups often set up NGOs in a changed context and build alliances with media and political parties (for more details, see the chapters on Nepal, Mozambique and Mexico). With the available resources,

Introduction   19 NGOs not only act as a vehicle for service delivery but also offer job opportunities to party cadres and loyal followers among the known networks. Reverberating with the argument of top-­down authoritarianism and personal rule within civil society (Schnabel and Scholte, 2002; Ndegwa, 1996), often this leads to forming a culture that Muchadenyika identifies as ‘founder member syndrome’ and Bhandari and Oli believe enables the NGO leaders to live ‘princely lives’. Third, taking the geopolitical contexts of many countries into account, the discourses must move beyond neo-­liberal interpretation(s) that place civil society with the tasks states no longer wants (e.g. welfare, charity and maintaining human rights). Al-­Om reveals that the scope of civil society’s work can transcend humanitarian aid and operate beyond geographic borders.8 Activists who left Syria after the uprising are now ‘leading the movement abroad’ and fighting alongside the people on the ground, generating a greater sense of comradery. Building alliances outside national borders has also been an important tactic by civil society networks in Indonesia (see Wahyuningroem). A coalition of human rights NGOs and other sections of civil society joined international movements working on similar issues and gathered additional strength in advancing the case for installing transitional justice for past oppression by the state. Civil society in different country contexts may not be driven by the idea of humanitarian aid or service delivery but aims to form resistance as well as seeking to promote justice by enthusiastically building shared identity and plans for a better future. Tai offers a different perspective of civil society’s activities beyond borders by showing that there are two distinctive schools writing about Chinese civil society. Domestic scholars are complementing the normative understanding where the state plays a supportive role, whereas scholars living abroad are more interested in constructing civil society as a sphere that is independent of the state. Fourth, civil society is not always civil. Civil society comprises a wide variety of organisations and feuding factions; many of them may promote intolerance and anti-­democratic values and often can resort to violence (Hadiwinata, 2007; Norton, 1993). Wahyuningroem details how some sections of civil society in Indonesia mobilised masses to persecute or rally against human rights groups’ activities by labelling those as having a pro-­ communist agenda. Sahoo delineates how the RVKP deliberately promotes hatred against Christians and Muslims in Rajasthan, India, through various development activities. Atalay also draws a similar observation from Turkey, where newly formed CSOs promote religious values through support groups and service delivery in repressing the oppositional groups. In both India and Turkey, the state (or the ruling party) directly backs such activities and gains political benefits from this. Pitidol also traces civil society’s not-­so-civil and anti-­democratic face in Thailand, where some sections of civil society endeavoured to undermine the electoral voting system by discarding it as an alien model imported from the West and through

20   P. Kamruzzaman promoting the traditional culture of the sufficiency economy and communitarian leadership. Ilal, Kleibl and Munck in Mozambique and Muchadenyika in Zimbabwe also observe civil society’s anti-­democratic behaviour. In both Mozambique and Zimbabwe, the authors argue that when former civil society organisations/movements took over the state power with absolute control (in both cases with massive popular support) they constricted the scope of associational activities in such a way that suffocated the civic spheres. Fifth, some sections of civil society may have political aspirations that could shape the agenda and remit of their activities. Bhandari and Oli argue that civil society’s political agenda is clearly visible in Nepal, where the government is weak and NGOs have become more political. NGOs attempt to assert themselves as a parallel to the government, where politicians want to  use donor money in popular programmes to support their ambition to remain in power. For Wahyuningroem, human rights groups in Indonesia collaborated with new political elites to ensure that the state takes the issue of transitional justice more seriously. Politicians also secured their interest (as they gained some legitimacy) from this collaboration. Olvera, from Mexico’s experience, asserts that the democratic transitions made oppositional leaders of the social movements political, especially when political leaders offered them to join the government. The practical effect of this process is the sudden rise of the ‘already-­existing political plurality contained in the very actors of civil society’. Al-­Om insists that recent conflict and consequent resistance from the civil society groups, both in Syria and in exile, indicate that political emancipation is the most vital component of civic activities. She quotes one of her respondents, who suggests that ‘forced compartmentalization of the humanitarian and the political worlds is delusional. Refugees cannot be separated from the political failures that produced them.’ Hence, the divide and separation among state, market, individual and politics to limit the scope of civil society are unhelpful. Finally, connected with the discussion of political nature/motive of civil society and political leaders’ quest for seeking legitimacies, one of the most common themes that emerge in this book is that of the state’s ability to capture and co-­opt civil society. This trend is widespread from Latin America to Asia, Africa and Middle East. There are several different mechanisms in this regard, as different interest groups are either contesting to maintain or challenge power and hegemonic relationships (Kamruzzaman, 2013). Rodrigues Vieira highlights that in Brazil patrimonialism makes civil society particularly vulnerable for state capture. He states that all contestation by civil society eventually fails when ‘state captures the rebel spirit’ through the co-­optation of CSOs in various administrative and political roles. In Mexico, when past movement leaders received offers to join the government, this rapidly transformed civil society activists into government officials who somehow lost impetus for political empowerment and social justice. In Asia, it is not just states’ ability to co-­opt civil

Introduction   21 society but at the same time there is a demonstrated willingness from civil society to get co-­opted. In Nepal, it was civil society that wanted to access further state resources. While the state did not directly intend to capture the rebel spirit of civil society or neutralise the oppositional movement, this still represents an example of how civil society submerges into pursuing the similar agenda of the state. Sahoo, however, shows that civil society has multiple faces and not all organisations are willing to join the service delivery and project implementation bandwagon. Among three case studies in India, the RVKP has a demonstrated interest to complement the agenda of the ruling political party in return for generous funds and favourable treatment from the government. In Thailand, the state has injected new meanings for civil society and democracy in consolidating its objective to disregard poor and rural people’s participation in democratic movements. Some civil society leaders also joined in this endeavour to ensure further access to state resources and political power, creating a win–win situation for both parties. Creating a win–win situation for the state/government and some sections of civil society can also be found in the Middle East. Atalay delineates how the AKP government acted as a supporter of a particular section of civil society and a repressor for others. She insists that this creates an environment where civil society, often shaped by the surrounding political regime, legal system and institutions, becomes reliant on state resources and a vehicle for advancing the state’s agenda ‘by providing theopolitical legitimacy’ for the state. Civil society in other countries are also at risk of being co-­opted, colonised and dependent in political systems in which the rule of law, civic liberties and  democratic institutions are weak. In an African context, Ilal, Kleibl and Munck show that civil society and NGOs in Mozambique became less critical owing to the co-­optation of some civil society actors into Mozambique’s government and the ruling party.

Notes 1 As Howell and Pearce (2002: 72) argue, ‘historically, civil society emerged in the context of European transition from a feudal mode of production toward an industrialised, modern capitalist economy’. 2 Piquemal (2001) points out that in researches with cross-­cultural participants there is often a power imbalance rooted in colonialism, and Hettne (1995) underlines that academic imperialism is still a major problem for knowledge production. 3 One of the key elements that led this book project is the fact that civil society is inherently diverse in its forms, functions, shapes, ambitions, scopes etc. Therefore, it needs to be clearly stated that wholesale generalisation should be avoided. Although the accounts of this book are written by non-­Western Scholars describing their ‘own’ civil societies, these do not represent the civil society in respective countries. It is also acknowledged that the accounts of civil society in these countries could have been very different if other individuals had written these chapters.

22   P. Kamruzzaman 4 According to Chandhoke (1995), civil society is a modern concept because it epitomises a clear dichotomy between civil and political life. The modern notion of civil society arose ‘against the claims of both absolutism and important versions of modernity to establish a direct relation between state and citizenry, free of the multiple intermediaries of the late medieval, corporate order’ (Foley and Edwards, 1998: 5–6). 5 In many ways, this is similar to the case of Eastern Europe in 1980s, as Comaroff and Comaroff (1999) assert that civil society was rediscovered and given contemporary relevance by the intellectuals engaged in the anti-­totalitarian struggle. 6 Essack and colleagues concur with Swarr and Nagar (2003: 514) that applying Western categories may be ‘incomplete, inapplicable or even offensive depending on contexts and histories’ to non-­heteronormative gender and sexual practices in the global South. 7 As engineered civil society colonises and squeezes out all indigenous competitors in establishing NGOs, reducing the remit of civil society to professionalised service delivery or advocacy (Ishkanian, 2009: 10). 8 This is similar to Muslih’s (1993) argument that civil society is not the exclusive domain of one country or continent, or a particular political system. Even in a ‘stateless’ condition, Muslih found a vibrant civil society among the Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza.

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2 Civil society in China Historical evolution, ongoing transformation, and future prospects Zixue Tai Fast-­paced economic expansion in China since the late 1970s has fundamentally transformed Chinese society. On the one hand, decades of market liberalization have engendered unprecedented opportunities for Chinese citizens at various sectors in pursuit of material prosperity and personal wealth. On the other hand, disentangled economic interests as manifested in diverse corporate, state, and institutional relationships have unraveled challenges and contradictions that often threaten social harmony and disrupt civil stability. Within this context, the role and dynamics of Chinese civil society in the process of social transformation have been a constant area of debate among scholars, government bureaucrats, and social activists. This chapter offers a critical overview of current deliberations and debates both in and outside China on the evolving nature of Chinese civil society caught in the throes of market liberation and political stagnancy. The chapter is structured as follows. It starts with a comprehensive review of the historical origin of the conception of civil society in China, from Confucian teachings to modern thinkers, and examines the contextual factors in the late 1980s and early 1990s within which the concept of “civil society” rapidly gained currency among both students of China studies from abroad and social science researchers within China. It then summarizes major theoretical threads and thematic strains in academic publications contemplating the role and function of Chinese civil society in contemporary China. This is followed by a critical analysis of the ongoing transformations of Chinese civil society and ends with a discussion of the emerging trends and prospects of civil society in China in the years to come.

Chinese conception of civil society The resurgence of the concept of civil society among the community of global scholars in the social sciences and humanities since the late 1980s has triggered a vigorous debate on the usefulness and applicability of such a paradigm in the Chinese context. One main point of contention in the

26   Z. Tai 1990s is whether the Western concept of civil society – whose premises presuppose a dichotomous opposition between state and society – was appropriate to the analysis of China (Huang, 1993; Wakeman, 1993). Nonetheless, intellectual deliberations flourished in the ensuing decades by both overseas China scholars and Chinese researchers within the country. The first hurdle for the contemplation of civil society in China is the lack of an exact, indigenous equivalent for the term in the Chinese language. As I noted elsewhere (Tai, 2006), civil society is often translated in Chinese in three variations: gongmin shenui (公民社会, or citizens’ society), shemin shehui (市民社会, meaning townspeople or urban people’s society), and wenming shehui (文明社会, or civilized society). While each of these translated terms captures different aspects of the conceptual strains of the concept of civil society, none can convey the full dimension of their original counterpart. As it turns out, the first one has now become the de facto term in the Chinese language. It is useful to foreground the Chinese conception of civil society in the Confucian philosophy, the bedrock of Chinese philosophy underpinning governance of people and the state. Confucianism has been commonly associated to the advocacy of the supremacy of the state and repugnance of individual autonomy. In Confucian cultures, the state is considered the extension of the family, and government assumes a paternal role whose authority is justified in the protection of the public good. It is for this reason that Zeigler (1988, pp.  115–146) argues that “state corporatism” rules in Confucian nations. In such systems, the government plays an encroaching role in creating “captive organizations” that only gain legitimacy in state-­assigned roles. Pye claims that this “cultural inertia … inhibits the growth of a vibrant civil society” in China (1991, p. 443). Many have challenged the above assumptions. There is insufficient evidence to suggest that Confucianism is incongruous with the idea of civil society, contends de Bary (1998), a leading scholar of classical Asian thought in the West. As an example, de Bary cites the neo-­Confucian scholar Zhu Xi in the Song Dynasty, who used his lifelong career in advocating fiduciary communities at the local level to teach and practice the ideals of civil morality. The principles of “mutuality, reciprocity, and cooperation” (p.  59) among community members preached by neo-­ Confucianism offer us some glimpses of the nascent intellectual flares of civil society thinking in classical Chinese philosophy. Weller (1999) sees a parallel between Confucian scholars throughout Chinese history and public intellectuals in the West who stay outside the spheres of the coercive power of the state and who have made pivotal contributions to the intellectual debates on civil society. The three core concepts of gong, si, and guan have often been cited in the context of institutional development and civic discourse in Chinese history. Guan (官, or official) is the realm of official, bureaucratic

Civil society in China   27 f­ unctionality, while si (私, or private) is confined to the domain of activities promoting the private interests of individuals, families, and businesses. Gong (公, or public), on the other hand, pertains to the parameters of undertakings at the local (communal) level for the management of collective goods and public services not fulfilled by the above two. In elaborating the tripartite model of gong, guan, and si, Rankin argues that “ ‘public’ retains a considerable communal element but refers more specifically to the institutionalized, extrabureaucratic management of matters considered important by both the community and the state” (1986, p.  15). In tracing the historical development of the Chinese concept of gong, Rowe suggests that “the Chinese idiom of a ‘publicness’ outside the institutions of bureaucratic administration has been at least as well-­developed historically and perhaps more developed, than its analogues in the West” (1990, p. 326). Gong, however, does not live up to the equivalence of the public sphere as conceptualized in the West. As Weller points out, When gong was contrasted with officialdom, it still had implications that the elite were acting on behalf of the state, whose values and goals they shared even if they were not (yet) part of the world of officials.… Gong indeed meant public, but more in the sense of “public interest” than a Habermasian “public sphere” (1999, pp. 27–28) Likewise, Confucian teachings have always laid emphasis on intellectuals to work in tandem with, rather than against, the state, in order to promote public interest. In my historical review of the evolution of the concept of publicness, I aver that “the Chinese gong promoted more the spirit of public service, or engagement in unselfish activities for the public good, rather than a rational discourse on the issues of a public nature as assumed in the European public sphere” (Tai, 2006, p. 71).

Historical contours and evolution of civil society formations in China Throughout human history, civic organizations and social institutions have always been adapting to the social, political and cultural conditions of the day, in China or elsewhere. It is useful to offer a historical description of the evolving formations of associative organizations in the country in order to get a fuller understanding of their present-­day development. Des Forges (1997) suggests that embryonic forms of civil life pertaining to each of the three variants of the Chinese conception of civil society established their presence throughout different historic periods in China from the Zhou Dynasty (1100–256 bc) to the Mao era (1949–1976). The analysis by Brook of self-­organizations in Shanghai from the sixteenth to

28   Z. Tai the twentieth century (1997) identifies four axes beyond kinship on which social groups were formed: locality, occupation, fellowship, and common cause. In my extensive review of scholarly debates on the historical trajectory of civil society in imperial China, I noted three overall trends, all highlighting the pivotal role played by the state in defining the missions, functionalities, and operations of civic associations. First, corporatism pervades most social organizations. Two types of corporatist relations can be noted as organizing principles across nonstate institutions: (1) state corporatism surrenders local/institutional interests to the coercive power of the state, while (2) local corporatism plugs the independence of ordinary members within organizations to local elites and civilian authorities. Second, self-­organizing groups also make various efforts in breaking away from state power by mobilizing cross-­regional resources and fostering voluntary cooperation on an egalitarian basis mostly outside of the spheres of state influence. In many cases, social upheavals, rebellions, and uprisings broke out when tensions ran high between the state and powerful autonomous groups. Third, there is a noticeable pattern throughout the imperial times that the rise and fall of autonomous organizations has correlated closely to the fluctuations of state power (i.e., weak state linked to vibrant autonomous organizations and vice versa). For example, as Weller aptly notes, “It is no accident that elite horizontal institutions like academies or charities thrived during periods like the Southern Song or late Ming, when politics was at its most chaotic” (1999, p. 29). The Republican Era (1911–1949) marks a watershed in Chinese history, starting with the demise of the Qing Empire and ending with the founding of Mao’s Communist regime. Overthrow of the Qing Dynasty ushered in an extended period of turmoil, interwoven with warring factions and military revolutions as well as proliferations of political associations each aspiring to set the country into a path of their design/desire. As an era of intense contact between China and the outside world, it was also a time of immense cultural and ideological innovation when elite intellectuals took the lead in embracing a variety of social ideas and political experiments from both the West and the East on multiple fronts. Self-­managing political associations and civic organizations fundamentally shifted state–society relations, and a nascent civil society was the leading force in introducing constitutionalism and institutional reforms in the country. Any emergent civil society, however, was nipped in the bud with the founding of Mao’s People’s Republic. The Leninist state, solely controlled and ruled by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), equated the interests of the party to those of the people and society, and appropriated all social elements into the central command of the state. Voluntary associational life was negated to give way to the monism of the party-­state, and all social organizations were effectively incorporated into the vertical structure under the absolutist control of the Communist Party with Mao as its helmsman. Consequently, any academic or political debate on civil society

Civil society in China   29 outside the purview of party-­defined gamut would not be tolerated up to the 1970s. Mao’s death in 1976 pushed Deng Xiaoping to the front line of Chinese politics. Surge of interest in the concept of civil society as it applies to China among both China scholars in the West and domestic social scientists within China in the late 1980s coincides with a period of epic transformation both within and outside of the country. Globally, the collapse of the former Soviet bloc countries and its subsequent transition to democracy in Eastern Europe has been largely attributed to the strengthening and detachment of civil society from the state in these countries. Domestically, the introduction of reform in the economic sector since the late 1970s has led to decades of breakneck economic growth across the country, and liberation of the economic sector has expanded the repertoire of individual choices in terms of jobs to do, places to live, and things to do in people’s everyday lives. More importantly, as people’s dependence on the state establishment declines, there has been a flourishing of regional, local, and national networks of interest groups and organizations focused on sheltering private interests and well-­being of economic, professional, religious, and intellectual cohorts and organized groups. The growth of these various horizontal networks creates the natural soil for a bourgeoning civil society that the country has never witnessed before. This trend has continued to this date.

Scholarly debate and intellectual deliberations Contemplations on the concept of civil society in China started in the 1980s. In her extensive review of debates in the early years (1986 to 1993), Shu-­yuan Ma (1994) notes two distinct camps: domestic theorist and exiled intellectuals. Furthermore, The former have focused on the making of a modern citizenry, consisting of law-­abiding and civil members of society. Existence of this entity presupposes the active involvement of the state. The relation between civil society and the state was thus seen as an intimate and harmonious one. This contrasts sharply with the basic orientation of exiled intellectuals, whose primary concern has been creation of a private realm that is independent of the state. (Ma, 1994, p. 192) The democratic potential of civil society for China was a central point of debate early on. This is easy to understand considering, first, the global context of the revival of the idea of civil society against the backdrop of the transitions to democracy in Eastern Europe in the 1980s and, more importantly, the domestic setting of the government’s brutal crackdown of the 1989 Tiananmen Pro-­democracy Movement. That this paradigm is

30   Z. Tai ­ articularly attractive to exiled scholars and political dissidents comes as p no surprise. This overall thesis manifests nicely in the book by Baogang He (1997), in which he argues that there rises a quasi–civil society in China and it plays an essential role in the initialization of the democratic transition in China. This strain of discourse continues to be the focus of many scholarly works to this date. Over the past decades, there has been a robust body of research output on Chinese civil society among social scientists in China. In their state-­ofthe-­field critical review of extant scholarship on civil society within China from the 1990s to the early 2010s, Jianxing Yu and Jun Zhou (2012) note these overall trends. First, the focus of research “has been developing between theoretical construction and reflection” (p.  130). The former relates to moving beyond dominant Western paradigms in constructing a theoretical framework that aptly fits the status quo of Chinese civil society, while the latter marks efforts in assessing the fitness of proposed models to Chinese actuality. Second, dominating the research agenda has been the question whether civil society exists (or has existed) in China and, if yes, the nature or particularity of Chinese civil society. Third, “theoretical contributions to political development have been limited” (p. 130). This is probably not surprising considering the reluctance of the party-­state to allow any political reform that may lead to erosion of its monopoly of political power. Finally, as Yu and Zhou (2012, p. 131) point out, there lacks “a theoretical common basis for the debates” on civil society. In other words, there is no consensus among scholars on what the terrain of civil society encompasses. A central premise in Western discourse on civil society has been the society-­versus-state paradigm, which places civil society as a buffer in opposition to the encroaching tendency and the suppressive power of the state. This line of argument is either often cited in proposing an ideal type of Chinese civil society or is employed by advocates in refutation of the existence of an autonomous civil society in China. The special state–­society setup in China has led to the theoretical proposition of state corporatism in characterizing civil society in China, suggesting that social organizations are created by the government to represent sectoral interests at the national, regional, and local levels, and may participate in the political process. Meanwhile, these organizations are granted a certain degree of autonomy in their respective sphere of operation (Unger & Chan, 1995). State corporatism within social organizations allows the state to exercise due control while delivering services to constituencies that the state cannot render effectively, thus maintaining social stability and lessening challenges to the monopoly of power by the party-­state. This type of arrangement is often branded as a special feature of Chinese civil society by domestic scholars in their localized analytical framework, as manifested in labels such as “growth through participation,” “governed development,” “governed participation,” and “participatory governance” (Yu & Zhou, 2012, pp. 121–125). All these terms indicate the desirability on the part of

Civil society in China   31 social organizations to build allies with the state in utilizing administrative leverages and government resources to strengthen social organizations. Moreover, proliferating nonprofit organizations (NPOs) and private foundations in China have lately cultivated new types of relations with the state, moving beyond the typical state corporatist framework as stated above. Jun Han (2016) characterizes this as social corporatism, which combines the bottom-­up mechanism of horizontal social integration with vertical policy influence. Under such an establishment, bottom-­up and grassroots social organizations do not necessarily challenge or balance the state power. To some extent, they can strengthen the state in the provision of public goods and social services. On the other hand, corporatism … provides a channel for social organizations to influence government policies in a bottom-­up and self-­ organized manner. (Ibid., p. 30) In a similar vein, as society gets more active and more pluralized, Jennifer Hsu’s (2014) review of recent research reveals a clear trend among NGOs in China to be more voluntarily aligned closer to the state (especially local government authorities) as a strategy to advance their work and promote the interests of their constituents. Jessica Teets calls this state–society collaborative relationship “consultative authoritarianism” that “encourages the simultaneous expansion of a fairly autonomous civil society and the development of indirect tools of state control” (2013, p. 20). One area of contention that lasts to date has been through which lens to view and judge civil society formations in China. One school of thought follows a prescriptive frame (what it should be), typically setting the current state or lack thereof of Chinese civil society against the ideal-­ typical model as cast in the Western context. The other approach largely takes a historical stance, offering a descriptive map (what it is) of the evolving landscape of civil society in China. The same pattern can be observed within debates among scholars in China. Yu and Zhou (2012, p. 161) note two distinct camps: “normative and interpretative” – “The normative level refers to the ideal relationship envisaged by scholars, while the interpretative level refers to the reality relationship described by scholars and their corresponding interpretations” (p. 116). I concur with Brook’s assessment that “civil society in China is a concept, not a reality,” and that “the concept provides a comparative ground from which to ask questions” (Brook, 1997, p. 21). Social concepts rarely find exact duplicates or even close equivalents across national settings, but normative models provide useful starting points to detect commonalities and untangle particularities in diverse socio-­political contexts. Of particular note is the murky definition of what constitutes Chinese civil society in the first place. As Joseph Cheng (2015) points out, ­prevalent

32   Z. Tai discourse on civil society places emphasis on four defining characteristics: nongovernmental, nonprofit, autonomous, and voluntary. There have been varying efforts in molding and bending these yardsticks in measuring and analyzing civil society configurations in China. A common practice is to equate all civic organizations (e.g., Cheng, 2015) and nonprofit, private associations (e.g., Han, 2016; Hsu, 2014) with components of civil society. Many scholars resort to citing the official number of social organizations registered with the Ministry of Civil Affairs as an indicator of the vitality and growth of civil society in China (e.g., Teets, 2013). This approach is flawed because many NGOs opt to register as a business entity with the Bureau of Industry and Commerce, rather than with the Ministry of Civil Affairs, or they simply decide not to register at all. As a result, it is hard to estimate the exact scale and scope, but a general consensus is that the number of unregistered NGOs is pretty large (Deng, 2010). Furthermore, self-­managing organizations specializing in certain services that fall outside of the approved domains by government authorities, such as rights activists and labor protection, may voluntarily choose to avoid registration in order to remove them off the radar of official regulators. In that regard, voluntary associations serving niche groups, especially resource-­poor constituents, play a critically vital role in the shaping of Chinese civil society. That sector deserves special scholarly attention.

Ongoing transformations, emerging trends, and future prospects In the late 1980s and early 1990s, there was a significant and sometimes predominant focus on the democratic implications of civil society in China, mostly thanks to the 1989 Student Pro-­democracy Movement in Beijing. Transition to democracy was also an important topic on the agenda for Chinese intellectuals, partly due to sporadic periods of laissez-­faire breeze in ideological debates during the years when Hu Yaobang (who was CCP general secretary from 1982 to 1987, and was forced to resign for being accused of being lenient toward “bourgeois liberalization”) and Zhao Ziyang (CCP general secretary from 1987 to 1989, and put under house arrest after the Tiananmen Massacre) respectively took the reins of the Chinese Communist Party. The dramatic state–society transition in Eastern Europe in the 1980s also played an important role in strengthening academic interest in similar potentials in China. Although the democratization prospect of Chinese civil society continues to be debated among some to this date, a substantial body of scholarship has emerged in the past decade or so contemplating the role of civil society organizations in advocating for particular (especially resource-­poor) interest groups in society and gaining leverages in negotiating with state power. Historically, economic dynamics have shaped the path of social developments. This applies well to the ongoing transformations of Chinese civil

Civil society in China   33 society. In the early years of the reform era (i.e., the 1980s), the change started with the agricultural sector and China’s villages. That spread to state-­run enterprises and factories in the 1990s. Further economic restructuring since the late 1990s has created gigantic income gaps among different social sectors. Unlike in the early years of the reform era, which brought about benefits to all social groups, recent deepening of economic transformation has produced clear losers and winners. As a result, contentious activities have been on the rise on multiple fronts, and civil society groups have been playing a critical role in shaping these actions (e.g., Fu, 2017). Unlike many other civil society organizations, which are encompassing in memberships and broad in scope of reach, these new formations are highly modular in mission and participants, with a narrowly defined path of action. Other areas that have garnered a lot of attention and involvement from Chinese civil society in recent years include environmental protection, labor relations and food safety (Fulda, 2015; Hsu, 2014; Kuhn, 2015; Scott, Schumilas, & Chen, 2014). An emerging trend points to the clear pattern that the role of civil society in China has diversified and turned increasingly issue-­based, and the scope of participation has expanded to the policy process in many areas. There is also accumulating evidence showing intense collaboration among civil society elements involving areas/issues of common concern. Additionally, growing engagement with the global community and collaboration with international counterparts has broadened the vision and strategic alliance of Chinese civil society, as testified in the EU–China Civil Society Dialogue Programme (Fulda, 2015, pp.  221–295). Under particular circumstances, such as the Wenchuan Earthquake of 2008, civil society may fulfill roles the state woefully lacks in restoring order and maintaining social well-­being (Shieh & Deng, 2011). But, more often than not, state regulation and control of civil society will in all likelihood continue, and may at times be exacerbated. This evolving state–society mechanism will be a central point of academic scrutiny for years to come.

References Brook, T. (1997). Auto-­organization in Chinese society. In T. Brook & B. M. Frolic (Eds.), Civil society in China (pp. 19–45). Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe. Cheng, J. Y. (2015). Globalization and the development of civil society in China. In P.  N. Wong & Y.  J. Cheng (Eds.), Global China: Internal and external reaches (pp. 131–163). Singapore: World Scientific Publishing. De Bary, W. T. (1998). Asian values and human rights: A Confucian communitarian perspective. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Deng, G. (2010). The hidden rules governing China’s unregistered NGOs: Management and consequences. China Review, 10(1), 183–206. Des Forges, R. V. (1997). States, societies, and civil societies in Chinese history. In T. Brook & B. M. Frolic (Eds.), Civil society in China (pp. 68–95). Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe.

34   Z. Tai Fu, D. (2017). Disguised collective action in China. Comparative Political Studies, 50(4), 499–527. Fulda, A. (2015). Civil society contributions to policy innovation in the PR China: Environment, social development and international cooperation. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Han, J. (2016). The emergence of social corporatism in China: Nonprofit organizations, private foundations, and the state. China Review, 16(2), 27–53. He, B. (1997). The democratic implications of civil society in China. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Hsu, J. Y. (2014). Chinese non-­governmental organisations and civil society: A review of the literature. Geography Compass, 8(2), 98–110. Huang, P. C. (1993). “Public sphere”/“Civil society” in China? The third realm between state and society. Modern China, 19(2), 216–240. Kuhn, B. M. (2015). Policies, collaboration, and partnerships for climate protection in China. In Y. Jing (Ed.), The road to collaborative governance in China: Governing China in the 21st century (pp. 71–93). New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Ma, S. Y. (1994). The Chinese discourse on civil society. The China Quarterly, 137, 180–193. Pye, L. W. (1991). The state and the individual: An overview interpretation. The China Quarterly, 127, 443–466. Rankin, M. B. (1986). Elite activism and political transformation in China: Zhejiang Province, 1865-1911. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Rowe, W. T. (1990). The public sphere in modern China. Modern China, 16(3), 309–329. Scott, S., Si, Z., Schumilas, T., & Chen, A. (2014). Contradictions in state-­and civil society-­driven developments in China’s ecological agriculture sector. Food Policy, 45, 158–166. Shieh, S., & Deng, G. (2011). An emerging civil society: The impact of the 2008 Sichuan Earthquake on grass-­roots associations in China. The China Journal, 65, 181–194. Tai, Z. (2006). The Internet in China: Cyberspace and civil society. New York: Routledge. Teets, J. C. (2013). Let many civil societies bloom: The rise of consultative authoritarianism in China. The China Quarterly, 213, 19–38. Unger, J., & Chan, A. (1995). China, corporatism, and the East Asian model. The Australian Journal of Chinese Affairs, 33, 29–53. Wakeman, F. (1993). The civil society and public sphere debate: Western reflections on Chinese political culture. Modern China, 19(2), 108–138. Weller, R. P. (1999). Alternate civilities: Democracy and culture in China and Taiwan. Westview Press. Yu, J., & Zhou, J. (2012). Chinese civil society research in recent years: A critical review. China Review, 12(2), 111–139. Zeigler, L. H. (1988). Pluralism, corporatism, and Confucianism: Political association and conflict regulation in the United States, Europe, and Taiwan. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press.

3 Reconsidering the concept of civil society Insights from the experiences of Thailand Thorn Pitidol 1 1  Introduction As a prominent concept in politics, civil society is distinctive in the way its meaning can be influenced by the surrounding context. At present, civil society is generally known as an associational realm between the state and the family, occupied by organisations which are autonomous, independent of the state and formed voluntarily (White, 2004, p. 10). This meaning is often combined with the expectation that civil society can contribute to the vibrancy of democracy (Elinoff, 2014, p.  361). The global political context since the 1980s has played a crucial role in shaping this meaning. Events such as the fall of socialism and the failures of developing states led to negative perceptions of the state, and, with the recognitions of the shortcomings of the market, civil society was conceptualised as an alternative to the state and the market in offering solutions to political and development problems (Chandhoke, 2003, pp. 13–18; Howell and Pearce, 2001, p. 1). Yet, as context changes, the meaning of civil society shaped by one context can find itself no longer suitable. The recent experiences of Thai civil society exemplify this situation. In the past few decades, civil society in Thailand has gone through transformations that resulted in it having characteristics that are somewhat inconsistent with the current vision of civil society. Thai civil society has engaged closely with the state, and a large section of Thai civil society has turned against democracy. This chapter aims to use the experiences of Thai civil society to investigate areas that the present concept of civil society needs to reconsider, and suggests pathways for improvement. This chapter contains six sections, including this introduction. Section 2 looks into the making of the contemporary concept of civil society, and points to certain aspects of the concept that are problematic. Sections 3 and 4 explore the case of civil society in Thailand. Section 3 examines broader transformations of Thai civil society, while Section 4 provides insights into specific aspects of such transformations, investigating a case of an influential network of civil society organisations in Thailand built

36   T. Pitidol around an organisation called the Community Organisation Development Institute (CODI). Section 5 analyses the experiences of Thai civil society, elucidating aspects and dynamics that need to be incorporated to improve the conceptualisation of civil society. Section 6 offers the conclusion.

2  Framework for reconsidering civil society Meanings and context of emergence Finding a specific meaning of civil society is a daunting task; the concept contains lots of ambiguities and debatable elements (Boussard, 2002). Facing the challenge in defining the contemporary concept of civil society, Arugay (2013, p. 169) points to two approaches. The first focuses on defining positive characteristics, setting the scope on the domain of actions that can be viewed as relating to civil society. This approach underpins the identification of civil society as the “associational realm” that is occupied by voluntary organisations that are independent from the state (see, for example, White 2004, p.  10). The second approach puts more emphasis on normative characteristics, setting the benchmark on certain qualities to help categorise civil society. This approach underpins the view that associates civil society with voluntary organisations that possess certain democratic qualities such as respect for the rule of law and non-­violence (see, for example, Whitehead, 1997). The two approaches suggest two attributes that are often associated with the contemporary concept of civil society. The first is the independence and autonomy of civil society from the state. The second attribute is the association of civil society with democratic potential, seeing the promotion of civil society as the means to enrich democracy. Interestingly, these two attributes have not always been associated with the concept of civil society. Looking into the history of the concept, not only have different versions of civil society that existed in the past had dissimilar meanings; their meanings have sometimes even contradicted the current view. Take for example, the concept of civil society proposed by Antonio Gramsci (1891–1937), which rejects the clear separation between state and civil society. Gramsci saw civil society as the realm that enables the domination of the working class in capitalism. Through his struggles against fascism in Italy, Gramsci identifies the state as the protector of capitalism, and views civil society as the arena that the state can use to gain hegemony over society to perform such a task (Cohen and Arato, 1992, p. 146). Differences between the past and the current vision of civil society, such as the one found between Gramsci’s and contemporary concepts of civil society, highlight the influence of different contexts in shaping the concept’s meaning. As suggested by Edwards and Foley (2001, p. 2), the variation in the concepts of “civil society” bears the marks of the political struggles within which they were born.

Reconsidering civil society in Thailand   37 The current vision of civil society is also shaped by the conditions of our time. The event that is widely acknowledged to spark the rise of the current version of civil society was the fall of Communism in Eastern Europe in the 1980s. This context brought attention to the importance of voluntary associations and self-­help organisations in contributing to the movements against suppressive states, influencing their identification as civil society (Hewison, 2017). Three other conditions also had a crucial role in shaping the current vision of civil society: (1) the decline in the perception of the state, (2) the rise of neo-­liberal ideology, and (3) the popularity of the concept of “social capital” (Chandhoke, 2003). The decline in the perception of the state came with the fall of socialism, and was amplified by the growing problems of developing states in the global South. Through these events, the state was no longer seen as a viable solution to most social and livelihoods problems, especially of the poor and the disadvantaged. In this context, civil society was raised as the means that could offer hope for those who were suppressed or neglected, becoming the locale for them to mobilise for recognition and protection (ibid., p. 19). At the same time, there was the rise of a new ideology, neo-­liberalism. This new ideology argues for the state not to intervene in the market, adding to the recognition of civil society as the only alternative in addressing social problems (ibid., p.  9). Such a perception influenced international development agencies to turn towards civil society organisations as the new vehicle for fulfilling their development goals, leading to the identification of NGOs as important representatives of civil society (Edwards and Hulme, 1996). The current vision of civil society also received influence from the popularity of the concept of social capital, especially the one proposed by Robert Putnam. Putnam associates the core element of civil society, voluntary associations, with the existence of social capital, referred to as a feature of social relations that contributes to the ability of society to work together and accomplish certain goals (Putnam, 1993, p. 86). The prevalence of voluntary associations can lead to a higher level of social capital, and enables conditions such as a better quality of democracy (Putnam, 2000, p.  338). The concept of social capital helped to draw widespread attention to the normative value of promoting civil society. Problems of the contemporary vision Despite its current status as one of the most popular political concepts, the contemporary concept of civil society has many problems. The concept’s widespread adoption means it has been associated with numerous ideas and interests, causing the concept to become vague and its critical value lost. The inclination to point to civil society as the common answer to development problems also led to less discussion of the concept’s problems.

38   T. Pitidol Furthermore, as the recent context influenced the concept to focus on some attributes, certain aspects of the actual civil society have tended to be neglected. Chandhoke (2003) identifies three main areas that the contemporary concept of civil society lacks the ability to understand, including (1) the actual interactions between the state and civil society, (2) the potential uncivility of civil society, and (3) the problematic status of NGOs in representing civil society. First, the emphasis on the separation between state and civil society, and on the autonomy of civil society, often misrepresents the actual nature of civil society. As previously explained, the historical experiences of state failures have led to the desire for civil society to be the realm that protects people from state intrusion, and underpins the emphasis on the separation between state and civil society (ibid., pp. 17–18). Yet, in reality, civil society can hardly be free from the interactions with the state, as Chandhoke argues: Civil society and the state cannot be neatly bounded off or insulated from each other, for at the least the former requires a political and legal framework that institutionalises the normative pre-­requisites of rights, freedom, and the rule of law. Also note that none other than the state provides this framework. (Chandhoke, 2003, p. 45) Furthermore, the state can also act as the supporter of civil society and form a closer relationship with it. This can transform civil society to become the realm that relies on the state’s resources, communicates the state’s ideas, and even functions as a vehicle to extend the state’s power (ibid., p. 49). It is also possible for civil society organisations to be influenced by the ideas promoted by the state, leading them to voluntarily assume similar roles and practices to the state. To this end, the division and contrast between the state and civil society can never be clear, leaving the relationship between the state and civil society an area in need of further explorations. Second, the normative attribute of civil society, especially its potential to contribute to democracy, is questionable. Civil society is actually a realm that is occupied by numerous type of organisations, many of them having different or even conflicting objectives (Alagappa 2004, p. 33). Among the numerous types of civil society, there are organisations that do not pursue democratic agendas but are mobilised by aims related to nationalism, identity, and culture. The inner dynamics of civil society organisations can also be far from democratic, characterised rather by domination and unequal power relations. All of these suggest that it is certainly possible for civil society to become uncivil in their character and objectives, raising the need for the concept to recognise this possibility. Finally, the identification of civil society with NGOs, influenced largely by the roles of international development agencies, can create a misunderstanding. Most NGOs in developing countries are run by the middle class.

Reconsidering civil society in Thailand   39 Despite claiming to represent the poor and the disadvantaged, most NGOs are not directly operated by these people (Chandhoke, 2003, pp. 62–65). More question can be raised from the fact that the agendas of the NGOs are often influenced more by the demands from their donors, or by their own vision of development. Thus, there is a need for the concept of civil society to acknowledge the problematic position of the NGOs in representing the locals.

3  Thai civil society: transformations in context and conditions Over the past few decades, Thai civil society has gone through transformations that resulted in it having conditions relevant to the aforementioned problems of the contemporary concept of civil society. The transformed context of Thai civil society consists of two major changes. First, the Thai state replaced foreign donors as the main supporter of Thai civil society organisations. Second, the recent political crisis propelled a large section of Thai civil society organisations towards a stance against democracy.2 This section explores these changes and their effects on the characteristics of Thai civil society. The exploration aims at building a broader picture, raising a number of specific issues to be examined further in Section 4. 3.1  The landscape before changes Before the recent transformations, the landscape of Thai civil society was characterised by the successive emergence of two major types of civil society organisation (Jamaree, 2000). The first type includes development NGOs and the community organisations (COs) that work on promoting community development. The second type consists of rural advocacy movements, which occurred mostly in response to environmental conflicts. This chapter will focus on development NGOs and COs, as they have been at the centre of the changing nature of Thai civil society. In the 1980s, the emergence and proliferation of development NGOs in Thailand brought attention from academics and development practitioners to the concept of civil society (Kasian, 1997, p. 121). Most founding members of the Thai development NGOs were the ex-­student activists who mobilised against the military regime in the 1970s (Shigetomi, 2004, p. 3). Their student movement was suppressed by the military in the late 1970s, but a more open political environment in the 1980s allowed them to come back into a new role of development NGOs, a role that was assisted by the influx of foreign development agencies into Thailand. An important characteristic of development NGOs in Thailand is their orientation towards a development approach called the community culture approach (also known as the community culture school of thought) (Phudisarn, 2000, p.  17). While the emphasis on community

40   T. Pitidol development already existed in some development projects of the Thai government and voluntary organisations,3 the NGOS took that emphasis to another level (Thorn, 2016a). Their community culture approach endowed community development with stronger meanings, identifying rural development problems as rooted in the declining influence of the previous culture that belonged to Thai villages. The intrusion from the state and the market system is seen as the primary cause of this decline. Thus, the approach views the goal of development to be the revival of Thai villages’ past culture of self-­determination and self-­sufficiency to be the solution to rural development problems (Kitahara, 1996). Most development projects of the NGOs promoted the formation of associations at the village level. This has led to the creation of another important type of civil society organisation, the COs. Most COs are associations formed at the village or the sub-­district level through assistances of NGOs and government agencies (Shigetomi, 2004, p. 47). They are operated mainly by locals, with community leaders having a crucial role in organising their activities. A number of characteristics associated with the community culture approach of Thai NGOs and COs have had important implication on their later course of development. First, because their approach focuses on promoting community self-­reliance, the NGOs and COs tend not to focus on the “political aspects” of rural problems and neglect to engage with the government (Thorn, 2016a). Such features had a crucial role in enabling the eventual co-­optation of Thai civil society by the elites. Second, their community culture approach also has a strong normative character. Adopting the approach, most NGOs and CO leaders see their position as the “active” external actors helping the “passive” rural villagers. They tend to downplay the agency of rural villagers, perceiving them as those who suffer from the inability to adapt to changes such as the expansion of the market system (Rigg, 1991). In the recent context of Thailand’s political conflicts, this characteristic had an influence in turning a large section of Thai civil society against democracy. While not the focus of this chapter, it is still important to recognise another major type of civil society in Thailand, the rural advocacy movements. Rural advocacy movements in Thailand gained influence in the early 1990s. Their emergence was driven by the growing conflicts over natural resources between the rural dwellers and the government, which often stemmed from large-­scale government projects that threatened rural livelihoods such as dam construction (Pasuk, 2000). In contrast to the NGOs and COs, the movements were led more directly by the rural villagers who faced the problems; the nature of their problems also meant that they frequently had to engage in confrontations with the government (Benjarat, 2007, p. 135).

Reconsidering civil society in Thailand   41 3.2  The Thai state’s turn towards civil society The two types of Thai civil society organisations were greatly assisted by the roles of foreign donors4 (Amara and Chantima, 2002). In the 1990s, foreign donors started to leave Thailand for less developed countries in the same region (Connors, 2007, p. 218). At the same time, the Thai state evolved into a new role as the main supporter of Thai civil society organisations, particularly for the COs and NGOs. Contributing to the new role of the state was the changing political context. The mass protest against the military in 1992 initiated the period of democratisation, marked by a political reform that culminated in the 1997 Constitution. The goal of the reform was to promote democracy, with the emphasis on good governance and wider political participation (Hewison, 1996, p.  85, 2007, p.  933). Through the reform, civil society gained an acceptance from the government as a vital element of democracy, and promoting civil society became a part of national development agendas. Two aspects were crucial in this change: (1) the transformed concept of civil society, and (2) the new relationship between the state and civil society. The transformed concept of civil society The concept of civil society that drew widespread attention in Thailand, especially from the government sector, was modified in meaning. Playing a crucial role in redefining the concept were public intellectuals who had a prominent role in the political reform of the 1990s. Through their interpretation of the concept, civil society was presented as the realm of cooperation between different stakeholders from state and civil society. A notable example was Prawase Wasi, a royalist medical doctor highly respected by the NGOs, who proposed his concept of civil society as the realm of cooperation between the actors who work in development, including: communities, academics, government officers, NGOs, and others (Prawase, 1993). Such a reinterpreted concept of civil society was welcomed by the Thai state in its turn to promote civil society. New meanings were also added to the purpose of civil society. Prawase’s concept of civil society argues that the main objective of civil society is to help communities revive their tradition and wisdom, a purpose that is in line with the community culture approach (Connors, 2007, p.  224). Another important change occurred when the concept of “sufficiency economy” was introduced by the highly revered King Bhumibol Adulyadej in 1997.5 Similar to the community culture approach, sufficiency economy seeks to promote the values of self-­sufficiency and self-­reliance. As sufficiency economy became the most powerful development concept in Thailand, elements of community culture approach were adopted by the state (Thorn, 2016a). Thai NGOs and COs also subsequently associated the purpose of their works with sufficiency economy.

42   T. Pitidol The above transformation of meaning had important consequences on the potential of the concept of civil society in Thailand. Somchai Phatharathananunth (2006) branded the concept of civil society promoted by the Thai state as “elitist”. Somchai argues that the concept contains inherent distrust in the building of civil society from below, and has implicit preference for elites and state to lead the changes for the rural population. This limited the concept’s potential in enabling the challenge on state dominance and the status quo of the elites. The influence of sufficiency economy led the purpose of civil society converging with the ideology promoted by the state, with such a purpose becoming more orientated towards the objective of promoting cultural and moral values. New relationships between state and civil society The transformed concept of civil society became a platform for new relationships to be built between the state and civil society, especially NGOs and COs. This new relationship contains three major aspects. First, the new relationship came in the context of the 1990s’ political reform, with the political elites holding the “reformist” stance opening up spaces for NGOs to share the state’s power. The reformist elites welcomed NGOs’ leaders into the new positions, giving them opportunities to provide advice to the government, to participate in drafting the national development plan,6 and to sit in new government institutions created by the 1997 Constitution7 (Connors, 2003, p.  10). The close connection formed between the NGOs and the reformists would subsequently have a major influence on the Thai NGOs’ recent political stance. Second, through the 1990s’ reform, the government turned towards a new role as the provider of funding and support to development NGOs and COs (Gawin, 2004, p. 88). Several government branches assumed this new task, most notably the Ministry of Public Health and the NESDB. A new type of state-­sponsored organisation, called “public organisations”, was established in the 1990s to pursue development-­related objectives. Designed to be more independent than government ministries, the public organisations became an important source of funding for NGOs’ development projects. The most notable public organisations supporting NGOs and COs include the Thailand Health Promotion Fund and CODI (Gawin, 2004, p.  92). The funding, however, is not provided without limitations. NGOs and COs more willing to follow the government’s development agendas were more likely to gain support. Third, the Thai government assumed a new role as the promoter of “local civil society”, and undertook projects to promote its vision of civil society. From 1996, a project called “Prachakom” was operated throughout the country by the NESDB and the Ministry of Interior (MOI)8 (Surangrat, 2001, p.  54). The project sought to promote local participation by organising public meetings that invited community members to help make

Reconsidering civil society in Thailand   43 policy decisions at the local level. Seen as a means to promote sufficiency economy, the Prachakom project was deemed a success, affirming the government’s turn towards this new approach (ibid., p. 55). The Thai state’s promotion of local civil society also underpinned its new direction in using local participation as a means to earn political legitimacy, such as by claiming the existence of local forums to gain public acceptance for its development projects. 3.3  Thai civil society’s turn against democracy Another crucial transformation of Thai civil society has arisen from the country’s political conflicts since the mid-­2000s. Through the course of the conflict, a large section of Thai civil society took a political stance that was highly controversial, showing a lack of support for democracy and welcoming the military’s intervention in Thai politics (Hewison, 2014, p. 6, 2017). In the 1990s, Thai civil society was glorified as a progressive political force, with its roles in promoting political participation widely acknowledged as an instrument to improve the quality of Thai democracy. This started changing in the early 2000s, with the rise of Thaksin Shinnawatra to power. Thai NGOs were initially supportive of Thaksin for putting focus on the poor in his policies, but their stance changed when Thaksin became the centre of major political conflict in the mid-­2000s. From the mid-­2000s, the overall landscape of Thai politics has been broadly characterised by a long-­running conflict between those who oppose Thaksin and those who support him. Thaksin’s opponents, comprising the urban middle class and the elites, resented his corruptions and authoritarianism. Their protests against Thaksin initially evolved into a movement called the People’s Alliance for Democracy, which used the “Yellow Shirts” as their symbol. Their protests paved the way for military interventions against Thaksin and his allies. Thaksin’s supporters, comprising mostly the rural poor, also rallied to support him. In their protests against the military interventions, their movement evolved into the so-­ called United Front for Democracy against Dictatorship, which used the “Red Shirts” as their symbol. Since the start of the conflict, the military and the Constitutional Court attempted to bring down Thaksin, but Thaksin’s political parties continued to return to power by winning national elections. In 2014, the anti-­ Thaksin movement mobilised under the new name of the People’s Democratic Reform Committee (PDRC) against the government led by Thaksin’s sister, Yingluck Shinnawatra. The PDRC’s stance against electoral democracy was clear: they identified the election simply as an avenue for Thaksin and his allies to return to power. The PDRC disrupted a national election, wanting the appointed “reform” government to come into power to clean off Thaksin’s influence from Thai politics. Their

44   T. Pitidol protest ended with the military coup in May 2014, which installed the military government into power until the present. Thai civil society could be seen as facing a difficult choice of who to side with in the conflict. The rural people they claimed to work for were mostly supportive of Thaksin, but the middle class, with whom they shared a similar background, took the opposite position. From the early stage of the conflict, a large section of Thai civil society took a stance against Thaksin, siding with the Yellow Shirts and the PDRC. They took a similar stance to their middle-­class counterparts in dismissing the legitimacy of Thaksin’s rural support, condemning rural people for having their votes bought by Thaksin or lured by the benefits of Thaksin’s pro-­poor “populist policies” (Hewison, 2017). The long-­running conflict with Thaksin propelled Thai civil society towards a more radical stance; it became more aligned with the conservative-­royalist force, and their focus shifted towards identifying elections and democracy as the root cause of Thailand’s problems (Somchai, 2014). Two main factors were observed to drive a large section of Thai civil society towards its controversial stance. The first factor was its development vision. A large section of Thai civil society saw Thaksin’s policies as running against its development vision based on the community culture approach. Policies to stimulate the rural economy, such as the village funds and the suspension of farmers’ debt, were perceived as immoral means that lured farmers away from their culture of self-­reliance towards commercialisation. The policies were also seen as detrimental to the ties between development NGOs and the rural population (Kengkit and Hewison, 2009; Somchai, 2014).9 The second factor was the internal culture of Thai civil society. Nithi (2014) argues that many development NGOs in Thailand had an internal culture that promoted submission to seniors and lacked self-­reflection. This caused them to be slow in adapting to the changes brought by Thaksin, and made them resistive to such changes.

4  A case study of the CODI’s network Within a broader transformation of Thai civil society, there remain issues that can be explored further. More implications of the state turn towards civil society can be examined, and more insights into the conditions behind Thai civil society’s turn against democracy can be provided. This section pursues these tasks by examining a case study of an important network of civil society organisations in Thailand, built around a public organisation called the CODI. The CODI was founded in 2000, and since then has been providing indispensable support to COs and NGOs all around the country (CODI, 2010a). During Thailand’s political conflict, the CODI’s network of COs and NGOs held stance against Thaksin and his allies, playing a part in

Reconsidering civil society in Thailand   45 s­ upporting the broader anti-­Thaksin movement. A look into the activities of the CODI’s network, in the context of Thailand’s political conflict from 2006–2010, can help shed light on: (1) how the transformation in state– civil society relations affected the actions of Thai civil society, especially its political roles, and (2) how the redefined ideas within Thai civil society influenced its practices and its turn towards an uncivil political stance. The CODI’s network and the new relationship between state and civil society The origin of the CODI was directly connected to the political reform of the 1990s. The public intellectuals and elites supportive of the community culture approach were able to capture the state’s resources to create organisations such as the CODI to promote their development vision (Connors, 2003, pp. 224–226). These “reformist elites” and the CODI have since formed a close connection. The CODI provides funding and support to COs all over the country, to help them operate a wide range of community-­based development projects.10 The organisation operates through a large network of NGOs and COs from the national level to the provincial level. At the provincial level, the CODI organises projects and distributes funding through a network of CO leaders that came from various villages and sub-­districts.11 Within the CODI’s network, representatives of CO leaders from the provincial level join each other to form committees at regional and national levels, to decide on the overall direction of their projects and the allocation of funds. The CODI also provides support to development NGOs. It recruits many of its officials from NGOs and also invites personnel from NGOs to join its network, along with the CO leaders to act as advisors. In the political conflict that has troubled Thailand since 2006, the CODI, together with its network of COs and NGOs, pursued activities that exemplify the influence of its relationship with the state. During the height of the protests against Thaksin in 2006, the CODI’s network mobilised for its alternative concept of democracy, called “communitarian democracy”, which was essentially a response to Thaksin’s domination of Thai politics through winning elections (CSM, 2006). The concept argues for democracy based on communitarian values as a more suitable alternative for Thailand than electoral democracy (Prawase, 2006). The CODI’s network held a series of seminars to propose the idea and argued for its actualisation to be a solution to Thailand’s political problems. In the aftermath of the military coup in September 2006, the CODI’s network found the opportunity to turn its idea into reality. Wanting to legitimate its coup against Thaksin, the military junta selected public figures with a “reformist” outlook to hold important positions in its appointed cabinet. Some reformist elites with close connection to the CODI were chosen by the junta,12 and helped turn the concept of communitarian democracy into a

46   T. Pitidol large-­scale development programme called the Council of Community Organisations (CCO). Actors in the CODI’s networks saw this new programme as an opportunity to gain a large amount of funding and a new source of power.13 A similar situation for the CODI’s network occurred in 2009, during its mobilisation against the government led by the People’s Power Party (PPP), a political party effectively led by Thaksin. The network advocated for a reform programme to take place after the removal of the PPP from power. Their aim was actualised when the interventions from the Constitutional Court and the military helped Thaksin’s opponent, the Democrat Party, into power. In need of political legitimacy, the Democrat government embarked on a large-­scale political reform programme that promised to bring an end to Thailand’s political turmoil. Through its connection with the reform elites who assumed leading roles in the Democrat Party’s programme, the CODI’s network was able to take part in the programme, and obtained a large amount of funding to advocate its development vision (CODI, 2010b). These actions of the CODI’s network elucidate important aspects of the new relationship between the state and civil society in Thailand. The first aspect is the importance of the connection between the reform elites and civil society. Such a relationship not only enabled a large section of Thai civil society to gain access to the state’s resources and power; it also influenced its political stance. As the reform elites participated in the political conflict, the connection drew civil society to side with them. The second aspect was the use of civil society, particularly by those having political power, to claim support and enhance their political legitimacy. This was signified by the actions of the junta in 2006, and by the Democrat Party in 2010. Lacking in democratic credentials, these governments quickly turned to form alliances with civil society to sustain their power. The CODI’s network and the redefining of the ideas and practices of civil society A closer look into the ideas and the practices within the CODI’s network can yield further insights into the inner dynamics that influenced Thai civil society’s controversial political stance. Two crucial features can be observed from the network’s participatory activities. First, the network’s activities were often motivated by ideas resulting from the “redefining” of progressive political concepts such as democracy, by infusing the concepts with the community culture approach. Take for example, the concept of communitarian democracy. The argument made to support communitarian democracy was based on downplaying the importance of elections as a crucial element of democracy. Democracy based on elections was branded the “Western system” that was not appropriate for Thailand. The alternative version of democracy for Thailand was

Reconsidering civil society in Thailand   47 argued to be based on the Thai community culture of using deliberation instead of elections to select leaders (CSM, 2006). Such an alternative was glorified as a “morally superior” version of democracy for the Thais14 (Prawase, 2006, p.  10). It can be observed that, in such a process of ­redefining meaning, a crucial procedure of setting the boundary between “us” and “them” to mark the sense of collective identity was applied, resulting in the transcending of the goal of promoting of democracy into the goal of promoting “our” political system that is more morally justified.15 Second, the network’s formation and its organisation of participatory activities reflect its lack of internal democratic quality. The selections of the core members of the CODI’s network were top-­down, predominantly driven by the personal preference of the CODI’s executives (Thorn, 2016b, p. 13). The organisation of its participatory activities further signifies the internal dynamic of domination. The network’s main participatory activities was the participatory forum, the activity claimed by the CODI to give real voice to the communities. Yet, in reality, the content of most forums was influenced by a predetermined agenda. Even the open discussions were guided by a set of questions that CODI officers selected, with the CODI officers also taking part to make sure the discussions did not deviate from the desired outcomes (ibid., p. 14). These features of the CODI’s network provide further insights on factors behind the stance against democracy of Thai civil society. The previous section mentioned how the meaning and purpose of the concept of civil society were redefined in Thailand. The case of the CODI’s network shows how the concept of democracy mobilised by civil society could also be transcended. As illustrated by the concept of communitarian democracy, the meaning of democracy held by the CODI’s network was subverted by the desire to mark the sense of collective identity, resulting in the subjugation of democratic goals to the mission of reviving community culture. The redefined purposes could also have affected the internal characteristics of civil society. As the case of the CODI’s network signifies, the preoccupation of those in power in the CODI’s network with their goal of promoting moral and cultural values propelled them to dominate the organisation’s practices, selecting participants primarily to fit with their vision, and designing participatory activities only to serve the advancement of their ideas. A similar impulse could result in the dynamic of domination and control within civil society organisations, making them prone to be led towards an uncivil stance.

5  Reconsidering civil society: lessons from Thailand The examination of Thai civil society in this chapter can add useful insights to the areas where the contemporary concept lacks understanding. As mentioned, these areas include the concept’s tendency to

48   T. Pitidol neglect: (1) the interactions between civil society and the state, (2) the possibility of civil society having an uncivil character, and (3) the problematic relationship between NGOs and locals. First, the examination of Thai civil society affirms the crucial influence that the state can have on civil society, especially in the context of countries, like Thailand, that no longer receive support from foreign donors. In this context, civil society organisations are not only left to operate in the space that the state can directly influence; they also tend to have the state as their new main source of support. The experiences of Thailand also illustrate important features of an arena that arose from the new relationship between the state and civil society. With both the state and civil society comprising multiple groups of actors, the arena of their relations are occupied by various type of connections between different groups of elites and civil society. Each connection encompasses the interlocking of elites’ and civil society’s interests and ideas. In the case of Thai civil society, such an arena was dominated for a long time by a connection formed between the reform elites and a large sections of NGOs and COs. During the recent political conflict, these connected groups mobilised to resist political changes brought by a new powerful connection between Thaksin and his supporting rural masses. This indicates that the realm of state–civil society relations is not just a site of multiple connections but also a site of contestations that can arise when these connections are in conflict. Second, the case of Thai civil society reveals that a turn towards the uncivil position of civil society is a process mediated by various factors. The experiences of Thai civil society point to one crucial factor: the redefining of the meanings and the goals of civil society. Civil society organisations in developing countries could be bounded by values arising from their preoccupation with the sense of collective identity. These values can get infused with their goals, and could take precedence over objectives such as the protection of people’s civil and political rights, leading civil society towards an undemocratic stance. In addition, the experience of Thai civil society also warns against glorifying the sense of voluntariness. In the contemporary concept of civil society, one’s desire to voluntary pursue a vision of goodness tends to be uncritically accepted as the positive element. The examination of the CODI’s network gives a contrasting picture: that the aspiration to “do good”, when combined with an impulse to assert moral and cultural values on others, could lead to the dynamic of domination and control. Third, the case of Thai civil society demonstrates the problems that can arise when civil society organisations such as NGOs and COs are taken simplistically as the representative of the locals. The turn of a large section of Thai civil society against democracy came with them condemning the political participation of Thai rural people, showing that civil society organisations can be driven by their own political vision to the extent that they reject the political rights of the people they claim to represent. The

Reconsidering civil society in Thailand   49 Thai case also signifies that civil society organisations can be occupied by their desire to attain resources and power, causing them to be highly pragmatic in making connections with the political elites. Thus, civil society organisations such as NGOs should be understood more accurately as one interest group in politics. They can have an important role in supporting the voices and power of a group people they are aligned with, but such a group is not necessarily the poor and the disadvantaged. Their potential to contribute to democracy is conditional on the democratic quality of their goals and actions. The lessons from Thai civil society also point to the danger of the contemporary vision of civil society. The turn of Thai civil society towards an undemocratic stance, for example, was facilitated by misunderstandings arising from the contemporary vision. The glamorisation of civil society had helped conceal a number of questionable characteristics inherent in Thai civil society, while the misrepresented picture of civil society opened ways for its misappropriation to support undemocratic goals. Thus, a more critical vision of civil society is needed not only to allow the reality of civil society to be understood but also for the dangers associated with the concept to be averted.

6  Conclusion The contemporary concept of civil society contains a number of problematic aspects. The concept’s emphasis on the separation between the state and civil society neglects the reality of actual interactions between the two entities. The concept’s focus on civil society’s potential to contribute to democracy neglects the possibility that civil society can also possess uncivil nature and goals. The identification of NGOs as an important type of civil society overlooks the complications in claiming the NGOs as the representatives of the local voices. The examination of Thai civil society affirms the importance of these problems, while pointing to the dynamics that need to be considered to enrich the concept of civil society. Over the past few decades, Thai civil society has experienced changes resulting from the Thai state replacing foreign donors as the main source of support. The new role of the state was influenced by the political elites who had an instrumental role in the political reform of the 1990s. A close connection was built between the reform elites and a large section of civil society. As Thailand entered a political crisis in the last decade, this connection became a platform that prompted the political mobilisation of a large section of civil society, who sided with the elites’ undemocratic stance to resist political changes while at the same time trying to attain further access to the state’s resources and power. During the Thai state’s turn to support civil society, the meaning and goal of civil society were also reinterpreted. The goal of civil society was redefined to prioritise the promotion of the Thai community culture of

50   T. Pitidol self-­sufficiency and self-­reliance. The redefined meanings influenced a large section of Thai civil society organisations to turn towards uncivil stance and characteristics. Driven by the desire to promote cultural and moral values, they imposed their development vision on the rural poor, while rejecting the poor’s participation in democracy as immoral actions misled by politicians. Their desire to impose values on others also underpinned the dynamics of domination and control that characterise their practices. The experiences of Thai civil society suggest that civil society should be seen as situated in the arena of varying and contesting connections formed between different groups within the state and civil society. It is also important to recognise that meanings associated with civil society can get modified when adopted to different context, and it is possible for this process to lead civil society towards uncivil goals and actions. Lastly, civil society organisations such as NGOs should also be seen more critically, as entities with relatively independent interests and visions, with their capacity to enrich democracy having to be carefully assessed based on their actual ideas and practices.

Notes   1 Lecturer, Faculty of Economics, Thammasat University, Bangkok, Thailand.   2 To be more precise, a large section of Thai democracy turned against “representative democracy”, condemning elections as a system that is unsuitable for Thailand. They also often claimed to promote “direct democracy” and “participatory democracy” as alternatives to solve the problem of representative democracy. Nevertheless, these claims are often superficial and largely problematic, while their eventual support of the role of the military in Thai politics affirms that they actually lack support for any form of genuine democracy.   3 Community development was promoted by the Thai government as means to gain support from rural villagers during their fight against the spread of communism. Voluntary organisations, led by university students in the 1970s, also adopted the approach with the particular influence of the ideas of Y. C. James Yen and his International Institute of Rural Reconstruction (see Thorn, 2016a).   4 Foreign development agencies gave funding to NGOs directly or indirectly through domestic agencies. Examples of important donors include Care-­ International Organisation, Aus-­Aid, NOVIB, Christian Aid, and CIDA. Rural advocacy movements also received assistance from foreign donors focusing on environmental issues, such as Terre des Homme and the Heinrich Böll Foundation from Germany, and Private Agency Collaborating Together (PACT) from North America (Gawin, 2004, pp. 75–84).   5 King Bhumibol’s concept of sufficiency economy was proposed in the aftermath of the 1997 economic crisis. The concept’s immense popularity was also largely attributable to the fact that it was proposed in an atmosphere where most Thais were disillusioned and resentful of the impact of globalisation and economic liberalisation.   6 For example, the NESDB’s Eighth National Development Plan received a lot of inputs from NGOs, resulting in its focus on promoting civic participation and forming a harmonious relationship between the government and the people.

Reconsidering civil society in Thailand   51   7 These institutions include, for example, the National Economic and Social Advisory Council and the National Human Rights Commission. Positions are reserved in these institutions for representatives from civil society organisations.   8 The Prachakom project was also assisted by NGOs, most notably the NGOs called the Local Development Institute.   9 In addition, many NGOs also resented Thaksin’s policies of economic liberalisation and privatisation, branding these policies as Thaksin’s attempts to enrich himself and his cronies at the expense of the national interests (Kengkit and Hewison, 2009). 10 CODI’s development projects include, for example, community-­based saving groups, community-­based resources management, and community-­based planning. 11 Most provincial networks consist of ten to 20 members. Many of these networks were already formed through past development projects, such as the World Bank Social Investment Fund Project, which operated in Thailand after the 1997 economic crisis. 12 The most notable reformist appointed by the military junta in the 2017 cabinet was Paiboon Wattanasiritham, an ex-­banker-turned-­development activist, who was appointed to the position of deputy prime minister. 13 Those who mobilised for the CCO programme initially wanted the government to set up another public organisation specifically to operate the programme, with a separate budget from the CODI. Nevertheless, as the whole proposal for the programme faced resistance from the Ministry of Interior, they conceded their demand and accepted the programme’s smaller status as one of the projects that the CODI operates. 14 Prawase also calls communitarian democracy a Buddhist form of democracy. He relates the concept crucially to Buddhist teaching on the value of community members working together (Prawase, 2006, p. 16). 15 This process of marking the boundary between “us” and “them” can be understood as related to the symbolic construction of community, a process of mobilising symbols signifying the boundary of community to affirm the sense of collective identity (see Cohen, 1985).

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52   T. Pitidol CODI. 2010a. Sata bun patina ongkarn chumchon [Community Organisations Development Institutions]. Bangkok: Community Organizations Development Institutions. CODI. 2010b. Patchuban/patipak/patirup: chumchon chadkarn ton-­eng su kan patirup prathetthai. [Now/opposition/reform: Community self-­determination for reforming Thailand]. Bangkok: Community Organizations Development Institutions. Cohen, A. P. 1985. The symbolic construction of community. Chichester: Ellis Horwood. Cohen, J. L. and Arato, A. 1992. Civil society and political theory. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Connors, M. K. 2003. The reforming state: Security, development and culture in democratic times. Working Papers Series, The Southeast Asia Research Centre (SEARC) of the City University of Hong Kong (No. 42). Connors, M. K. 2007. Democracy and national identity in Thailand (updated edition). Copenhagen: NIAS. CSM. 2006. Ton tang prachatippatai chumchon [The beginning of communitarian democracy]. Bangkok: College of Social Management. Edwards, B. and Foley, M. W. 2001. Civil society and social capital: A primer. In: B. Edwards, M.  W. Foley, and M. Dianai (Eds), Beyond Tocqueville: Civil society and social capital debate in comparative perspective. Hanover, NH: University Press of New England, pp. 1–16. Edwards, M. and Hulme, D. 1996. Too close for comfort? The impact of official aid on nongovernmental organizations. World Development. Vol.  24, No.  6, pp. 961–973. Elinoff, E. 2014. Unmaking civil society: Activist schisms and autonomous politics in Thailand. Contemporary Southeast Asia. Vol. 36, No. 3 (2014), pp. 356–385. Gawin Chutima. 2004. Funding for NGOs in Thailand: The politics of money in the nonprofit sector. In: S. Shigetomi, T. Kasian and A. Thongyou (Eds), The NGO way: Perspectives and experiences from Thailand. Chiba: Institute of Developing Economics, Japan External Trade Organization, pp. 61–98. Hewison, K. 1996. Political opposition and regime change in Thailand. In: G. Rodan, Political oppositions in industrialising Asia. London: Routledge, pp. 72–94. Hewison, K. 2007. Constitutions, regimes and power in Thailand. Democratization. Vol. 14, No. 5 (December 2007), pp. 928–945. Hewison, K. 2014. Thailand: The lessons of protest. Asian Studies: Journal of Critical Perspectives on Asia. Vol. 50, Issue 1, pp. 1–15. Hewison, K. 2017. Rethinking Southeast Asian civil society. New Mandala Website, November 2017. Accessed 13 January 2018. www.newmandala.org/illiberal-­civilsociety. Howell, J. and Pearce, J. 2001. Civil society and development: A critical exploration. London: Lynne Rienner. Jamaree Chienthong. 2000. Wiwattanakan prachasungkom nai pratetthai [The Evolution of Civil Society in Thailand]. Bangkok: Thai Development Research Institute (TDRI). Kasian, T. 1997. Bodsumpart Kasian Tejapera [Interview with Kasian Tejapera]. In S. Chuchai, and K. Yuwadi (Eds.), Prachasungkom Thassana Nakkid Nai Samgkom Thai [Civil Society According to Thai Intellectuals]. Bangkok: Matichon. Kengkij, K. and K. Hewison. 2009. Social movements and political opposition in contemporary Thailand. The Pacific Review. Vol. 22, No. 4, pp. 451–477.

Reconsidering civil society in Thailand   53 Kitahara, A. 1996. The Thai rural community reconsidered. Historical community formation and contemporary development movements. Bangkok: Political Economy Centre, Chulalongkorn University. Nithi, E. 2014. Kanmuang khong NGOs [The politics of NGOs]. Prachatai Website, October 2014. Accessed 14 January 2018. https://prachatai.com/journal/ 2014/10/55980. Pasuk, P. 2000. Civilising the state: State, civil society and politics in Thailand. Watershed: People’s Forum on Ecology. Vol. 5, No. 2, pp. 20–27. Phudisarn, J. 2000. Naewkid Ruang Prachasungkom Nai Pratet-­Thai [The ideas of civil society in Thailand]. Bangkok: The Centre on Environmental Law, Thailand. Pitidol, T. 2016a. Leawlang laewna karn pattana chonnabot thai. [Looking backward and forward on Thai rural development]. In: P. Junvith and P. Kongkirati (Eds), Puey gub sangkom thai nai wikrit pleanpan [Puey and Thailand in transformation crisis]. Bangkok: Social Sciences and Humanities Textbooks Foundation. Pitidol, T. 2016b. Redefining Democratic Discourse in Thailand’s Civil Society, Journal of Contemporary Asia. Vol. 46, Issue 3, pp. 520–537. Prawase, W. 1993. Naewkid lae yuttasart sungkom samanuparb lae witcha [Ideas and strategies for social harmony and wisdom]. Bangkok: Komol-­Keemthong. Prawase, W. 2006. Kanmuang samannachan: Srang khwamkhemkhaeng thong tin [Harmony politics: Strengthening the locals]. In: Ton tang prachatippatai chumchon [The beginning of communitarian democracy]. Bangkok: Center of Social Management, pp. 4–29. Putnam, R. 2000. Bowling alone: The collapse and revival of Amer­ican community. New York: Simon & Schuster. Putnam, R., 1993. Making democracy work: Civic traditions in modern Italy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Rigg, J. 1991. Grass-­roots development in rural development: A lost cause? World Development. Vol. 19, No. 2/3, pp. 199–211. Shigetomi, S. 2004. Spaces and Performance of NGOs in Thailand: Their Transformation in the Development Process. In S. Shinichi, K.Tejapira. & A.Thongyou (Eds.), The NGO way: perspectives and experiences from Thailand. Chiba Japan: Institute of Developing Economics, Japan External Trade Organization. pp. 39–60. Somchai, P. 2006. Civil society and democratization. Copenhagen: NIAS. Somchai, P. 2014. Civil society against democracy. Cultural Anthropology Online, 23 September 2014. Accessed 14 January 2018. https://culanth.org/fieldsights/575civil-­society-against-­democracy. Surangrat, J. 2001. Karn sang prachasungkom duay rat: karn pubtua khong rat thai [Building civil society by the state: An adaptation of Thai state]. Master’s thesis for Faculty of Political Science, Chulalongkorn University, Bangkok. White, G. 2004. Civil society, democratization and development: clearing the analytical ground. In: P. Burnell and P. Calvert (Eds), Civil society in democratization. London: Frank Cass, pp. 6–21. Whitehead, L. 1997. Bowling in the Bronx: The uncivil interstices between civil and political society. Democratization. Vol. 4, Issue 1., pp. 94–114.

4 Re-­emerging civic activism Restoring the “ecosystem” of Armenian civil society Yevgenya Jenny Paturyan and Valentina Gevorgyan

Introduction In this chapter, we describe the recent development of Armenian civil society, using an analogy of an ecosystem: a delicate, complex, and interconnected reality where different “species” of civil society coexist and interact. In particular, we focus on two elements of the civil society ecosystem: NGOs and mini social movements. We argue that, currently, Armenian civil society is undergoing a slow process of restoring diversity and balance between formal and informal entities. After outlining the theoretical framework, the chapter briefly discusses the history of Armenian civil society in the twentieth and early twenty-­first centuries, setting the stage for the current situation. It then compares and contrasts the NGO sector of civil society with the new informal activism, based on four case studies. We discuss key differences between NGOs and civic initiatives, their respective strengths and weaknesses, and how they relate to each other, drawing on extensive data collected during a four-­ year project (2012–2016). We argue that Armenian civil society is resilient and capable of restoring internal diversity when given sufficient time. Heavy restrictions imposed by the Soviet regime and artificial “NGO-­isation” of the early independence period did not erode spontaneous self-­organisation potential of the civil society. We are currently witnessing the return to a more organic, diverse, and complex “ecosystem”. Spontaneous civic activism has re-­emerged and complements the NGO sector with its unique forms of self-­organisation.

Theoretical framework In this chapter, we examine both organised (NGOs) and less organised (civic activism) elements of civil society. Hence, the theoretical framework borrows from two distinct and extensive schools of thought: civil society (understood primarily as voluntary associations) and social movements. The scholarly tradition of interpreting civil society as voluntary associations is

Re-emerging civic activism in Armenia   55 rooted in the works of Alexis de Tocqueville (2007 [1864]), Almond and Verba (1963), and Robert Putnam and colleagues (1994). However, not all civil society activities are channelled through formal institutions, nor do they all take conventional forms. Social movements are also a component of civil society, although their contentious character and unconventional repertoire of action make them a specific object of research (Della Porta and Diani, 1999; Kriesi, 1995; Tarrow, 1994; Tilly and Tarrow, 2007). Although studies of voluntary associations and social movements have generally been advanced through separate research strands, there is clearly an area of rarely explored overlap. Social movements can be seen as an “integral component” of civil society; conversely, the vibrant associational life of civil society can function as a support base for social movements (Della Porta and Diani, 2011; Tilly and Tarrow, 2007). In order to combine these two different approaches, we use the idea of the ecosystem, elaborated by Edwards (2013). This approach to civil society acknowledges and celebrates diversity and interconnectedness of entities, populating a given civil society, seen as “a complex and fragile ecosystem”. It also highlights the organic, self-­developing, complex nature of a healthy civil society, the importance of diversity, and the need to maintain the balance. “As in a real ecosystem, all parts need to be present and connected if the system is to operate effectively. Remove or weaken one part, or strengthen others artificially, and the system breaks down” (Edwards, 2013, p.  32). We argue that Armenian civil society is a good illustration of this point: it is an ecosystem that was crippled by external interventions and “invasive species” such as artificially strengthened donor­driven NGOs. However, we do not fully share Edwards’s scepticism expressed in the quote above. Parts of Armenian civil society ecosystem were weakened (or even temporarily removed) under Soviet rule, and other parts have been artificially strengthened (by state or donor intervention), yet Armenian civil society displays a remarkable level of resilience. For the past decade, it has shown signs of recovery in terms of increasing diversity of forms of self-­organisation. Adopting Edwards’s approach to our local context, we examine the ecosystem of Armenian civil society, in which two of its many elements, NGOs and mini social movements, function and interact with one another. A comprehensive approach like that has not been applied to the Armenian civil society, except the work by Glasius and Ishkanian (2015), and is rare in civil society studies.

A brief history of civil society in Armenia Armenia is a former Soviet Republic in the South Caucasus, independent since 1991. The territory of 29,000 km2 is home to about three million ethnically homogenous (98 per cent Armenian) people. The World Bank classifies Armenia as a lower-­middle-income country, with $3,800 GNI per

56   Y. J. Paturyan and V. Gevorgyan capita, with one-­third of the population below the official poverty line (The World Bank, 2017). Armenia’s political regime can be described as semi-­authoritarian or hybrid (Freedom House, 2016). There is almost no research on pre-­Soviet Armenian civil society (see Hakobyan et al., 2010, p.  15). Extended family, neighbourhood community, and the Armenian Apostolic Church have played an important role, but we know little about patterns of self-­organisation and collective action, except for a few historical examples of mass mobilisation of volunteers in times of major crises, such as wars or natural disasters. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Armenian intellectuals were forming networks and organisations, similar to the Western literary clubs and cultural societies. Some of these became focal points for humanitarian relief work during the First World War and in the aftermath of it, focusing particularly on the survivors of the Armenian Genocide of 1915. There are also accounts of volunteering for war. The most well-­known is the battle of Sardarapat (1918), where Armenian troops, strengthened by thousands of volunteers, stopped the advancement of the Turkish army (Hovannisian, 1967). During the 70 years of the Soviet regime, Armenian civil society was largely suppressed and substituted with a plethora of state-­run organisations. People were encouraged and at times even forced into those organisations. Not joining state-­managed mass youth organisations and trade unions was not an option. Communist ideology and the Soviet regime heavily impacted the Armenian civil society ecosystem, undermining some indigenous forms of self-­ organisation and subverting others. However, not all of it was negative. Volunteering is a good illustration of the Soviet paradox. The communist ideology endorsed volunteering, boosting membership in associations (Juknevičius and Savicka, 2003). However, the zeal of the Communist government in promoting volunteering created a somewhat paradoxical phenomenon of “compulsory volunteering”. Forcing people to volunteer “compromised the meaning of volunteerism and fostered an attitude of reticence toward volunteering” (Voicu and Voicu, 2003, p. 155). Predictably, after the collapse of the Soviet Union the resentment towards volunteering led many people to withdraw from civil society. Membership in associations decreased dramatically; volunteering (widely associated with “subotnik”1) was regarded with suspicion and disdain. It would be wrong to say that no civil society existed in communist Armenia. There were underground organisations and movements, mostly inspired by nationalism. There were also examples of spontaneous social mobilisation. In 1965, some 100,000 people gathered at the Yerevan Opera Square to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of the Armenian Genocide. This gathering evolved into a 24-hour rally, the first of such type and scale to occur in the Soviet Union (Karlsson, 2007). In 1977, a small group of Armenian dissidents founded the Armenian Helsinki Watch (Dudwick, 1997).

Re-emerging civic activism in Armenia   57 With the opening-­up of the Soviet regime in the late 1980s, the first NGOs were established in Armenia. Environmental protection was among the first issues that citizen groups advocated. Voluntary groups and organisations for humanitarian assistance were formed as a response to a devastating earthquake in 1988. The same year saw mass demonstrations in Yerevan in support of the Nagorno-­Armenia unification. Although we consider Armenian civil society to be much older, some Armenian authors refer to 1988 as the time of the birth of Armenian civil society (Abrahamian, 2001; Abrahamian and Shagoyan, 2011), referring to mass rallies and street activism. We characterise this period as the resurgence of civil society: another manifestation of resilience and diversity of self-­organisation. Regardless of whether one considers the late 1980s to be the birth or a resurgence of Armenian civil society, it is important to note that both formal and informal elements are visible. We see a spectrum of self-­organised activities, from humanitarian NGOs to mass sociopolitical movements. However, what looked like a promising restart for Armenian civil society turned out to be a short-­lived respite. Starting in 1991, the situation in the country was deteriorating fast. A rapidly collapsing economy, a lasting impact of a devastating earthquake, and a conflict with neighbouring Azerbaijan, which escalated into a full-­ scale war, plunged Armenia into what is now referred to as the “dark and cold” years of the mid-­1990s. Given these conditions, people were not concerned about anything but their daily bread. Although the NGO sector expanded thanks to generous international aid, activism was barely visible. Rapid, donor-­driven initial development (sometimes described as “mushrooming”) of NGOs ensued. Ishkanian (2009) describes this period as “genetically engineered civil society”. She argues that this overemphasis on NGOs had an adverse impact on the overall diversity of the civil society ecosystem: “[g]enetically engineered civil society … began to colonize and squeeze out all indigenous competitors, becoming the dominant type in its environment.… Civil society was reduced to professionalised service delivery or advocacy NGOs” (Ishkanian, 2009, p. 10). As the situation stabilised in the late 1990s and gradually improved during the first decade of the twenty-­first century, both the public at large and the civil society sector in particular slowly recovered some energy and interest in the public domain. The “ecosystem” of civil society became richer and new types of entities appeared, as described in greater detail below. The scars of communism are now fading, the wreckage of the transition period is gradually being overcome, and new forms of symbiosis between various types of civil society entities are emerging, making Armenian civil society more diverse and representative. The next section of this chapter presents the “newcomers” in the civil society arena: the mini social movements known locally as “civic initiatives”.

58   Y. J. Paturyan and V. Gevorgyan

Civic initiatives Civic initiatives or activist campaigns are groups of activists united around a specific issue of public concern. These are informal, decentralised groups, often led by young people. These new forms of civic participation registered some victories since their emergence in 2008 (Ishkanian et al., 2013) and are now an important and highly visible element of Armenian civil society. Activism through civic initiatives is distinct from the NGO approach. Unlike NGOs, civic activist groups maintain minimal levels of formal organisation. Membership, leadership, and decision-­making rules are simple and based on unwritten, informal conventions, acceptance, and mutual understanding. In this respect, civic initiatives resemble social movements. Another major difference between NGOs and civic initiatives is the focus of their main activities. NGOs’ mission statements and areas of expertise are usually fairly broad. Armenian NGOs often engage in varied projects that loosely connect to their mission; drifting focus areas (often in response to changes in donor preferences) is not uncommon. Civic initiatives, by contrast, are mostly narrowly targeted. Once the issue is resolved, the civic initiative in question ceases to exist. Of course, the individual network does not disappear overnight. The same people are likely to take up another campaign. One often sees the same individuals as core activists in various campaigns (Bagiyan, 2015; Hakobyan, 2016; Kankanyan, 2015). The third difference between NGOs and civic initiatives is that grants are the lifeblood and the modus operandi of NGOs. Most of them do not even consider the possibility of becoming self-­sustainable and moving away from grant-­earning and implementing cycles. Grants from international development organisations are actively sought and considered prestigious. Civic initiatives, by contrast, explicitly reject foreign funding. They aim at being self-­sustaining at any given point in time, undertaking only those activities that they can implement through volunteer commitment and minimal fundraising. This chapter discusses four civic initiatives in more detail, focusing on their strategies and ability to bring change (or failure to do so). The cases we chose provide a rich palette of Armenian civic activism in action: from tiny to largest, from unexpected victories to disheartening defeats. In the rest of the chapter we explore the NGO–activism relationships through the four civic initiatives (listed by chronological order of the start year): 1 2 3 4

Save Teghut Civic Initiative (hereafter Teghut): ongoing since 2008. Stop Changes in Maternity Leave Law (hereafter Maternity Leave): 2014. Let’s Preserve the Afrikyan Club Building (hereafter Afrikyan): 2014. Electric Yerevan: 2015.

Re-emerging civic activism in Armenia   59 In selecting the cases, we aimed at maximising the diversity of scope, issues, and outcomes. The Teghut case is often considered a landmark: the oldest ongoing environmental campaign that continues despite failing to achieve its prime objective. It is a unique example of persistence in the face of formidable challenges. Maternity Leave was a success and a case of clear NGO involvement. The Afrikyan case exemplifies a short-­lived, failed initiative, despite employing a variety of creative techniques. Electric Yerevan happened half a year into the study and gave us an opportunity to observe first-­hand the unfolding events. Data for each case were collected through analysis of news reports, documents, publications, previous studies, and social media. The understanding of the cases was further enhanced through interviews and focus group discussions with the activists and NGO leaders. Electric Yerevan is the only case where a direct observation method was utilised. Save Teghut Civic Initiative Teghut is a forest in the north of Armenia, rich with flora and fauna, including endangered species. In 2001 the Armenian government granted an exploitation licence for what was to become Armenia’s second-­largest copper–molybdenum mine; the operation of the mine would result in significant loss of forests and toxic waste creation. Several NGOs and activists got involved before the “Save Teghut Civic Initiative” was formally established, mostly by collecting information, raising awareness, and organising a campaign of letters to the president of the Republic (Kankanyan, 2015). So, already at the outset of this campaign, we see collaboration between formal and informal elements of the Armenian civil society. As the campaign progressed, the collaboration became more visible. This case is also one of mutual learning and co-­ development: NGOs and activists both learned from the experience. Activists went as far as adopting NGO operations style for some of their activities, as described below. A wide repertoire of strategies was used in the Teghut campaign. The activists collected petition signatures and picketed in front of government buildings and banks financing the projects. They also worked with the local community, advocating eco-­friendly sustainable development, based on honey, natural cosmetics, and tourism. To promote their ideas the activists organised several honey fairs in nearby villages. NGOs were involved in the initiative from the start, as information providers, awareness-­raisers, and legal advisors. Several NGOs attempted to dispute the legality of the mine. The court dismissed the case, arguing that NGOs were not eligible to defend the rights of other citizens or communities in court. NGOs learned from this experience and lobbied for a change in the legislation that would allow them to act as plaintiffs in similar cases.

60   Y. J. Paturyan and V. Gevorgyan Mining started in 2014. Unlike most other Armenian civic initiatives, the Teghut initiative did not disband after that. Moreover, it reached a new institutional level: it rents and maintains a small office in the centre of Yerevan. Its www.teghut.am website is saturated with information regarding the mine and its negative impact. Activists continue organising protests and awareness-­raising campaigns. At some point, they established their own NGO to be able to apply for grants. Thus, this case is an example of a long struggle, learned lessons, and a collaboration between NGOs and activists, but also some “mimicry”, i.e. activists imitating a formal NGO structure. Stop Changes in Maternity Leave Law This civic initiative was launched as a reaction to changes proposed by the government. The changes to be introduced would guarantee more financial resources for non-­working women, while working women would no longer get compensation equal to their salaries while on maternity leave. Similarly to the Teghut case, both formal and informal civil society elements got involved from the very beginning of the campaign. Several days of rather small protests (approximately 150 people, mostly working mothers, some with their children) were followed by a press conference, organised by an NGO. Although the campaign was much smaller that Teghut in its scope, it succeeded in gaining the government’s attention owing to smart framing tactics. Activists argued that, if the maternity leave payments depended on the number of working years (as proposed by the new law), women would postpone pregnancy until they had accrued enough working years for proper compensation (Bagiyan, 2015). In a tiny country with demographic challenges, the statement sounded like a threat. The government found itself in a negative spotlight, unable to argue its cause convincingly; it quickly backed down. Thus, this is a case of short and efficient collaboration between NGOs and civic activists. Let’s Preserve the Afrikyan Club Building A nineteenth-­century building constructed by a wealthy Afrikyan family later became the gathering place of the town’s intellectuals. In 1926, the building was taken over by the Soviet security apparatus. One of the most renowned twentieth-­century Armenian poets, Yeghishe Charents, was imprisoned here during the 1937 Stalinist purges. In 2014, the place of the building was sold to a construction company, despite the building being officially recognised as a place of eminent public interest. The stones of the building were marked for transferring to a space where the “Old Yerevan” project was to be implemented at some unspecified future point in time. Activists called for action, asserting that similar promises of rebuilding historic buildings at a new location had not been fulfilled; there was a real

Re-emerging civic activism in Armenia   61 concern that the building would simply disappear. In the following days, activists erased the marks from the stones of the building and pulled down the walls demarking the construction, which triggered police involvement. One activist was detained (Bagiyan, 2015). The campaign proceeded through street action (rallies), street performances (cultural events, concerts, movie screenings at the construction site), physical occupation (climbing the roof of the building), and letters to local and foreign officials. Some Armenian public figures (actors, singers, and artists) addressed an open letter to the Armenian president. Another letter was sent to the diplomatic missions accredited in Armenia, citing violations of the European Convention for the Protection of Architectural Heritage. The attendance at the street rallies was poor (30–40 people), but cultural events attracted crowds. This was particularly true for the concert by a famous Armenian piano player. While activists were engaged at the construction site, NGOs complemented the struggle with court litigation. Two NGOs filed a lawsuit, to no avail. By September 2014, the building was gone. The initiative disbanded and showed no further signs of activity. Thus, in this case, like in the previous two cases, we see both activists and NGOs as active players, but, unlike the two other cases, we see no impact. The campaign not only failed to save the building but it also seems to have disappeared without trace. Unlike the Teghut case, there seem to be no adaptation to the changed reality, no lessons learned, no attempt to take the struggle elsewhere, no efforts to follow up on the fate of the building. While it is hard to explain why this particular civic initiative was so unsuccessful, its somewhat chaotic internal structure could be one of the reasons. Another reason could be the fact that it appealed to an abstract public good (cultural heritage, architectural aesthetics) rather than an issue that is directly connected with people’s daily experience. This kind of framing provided for little support and was easily brushed aside by the authorities. Electric Yerevan Electric Networks of Armenia (ENA) is the exclusive provider of electricity in the country. It had raised electricity prices thrice in the previous few years. By 2015, people were paying almost twice as much for the electricity as they had been paying in 2008: about eight US cents per kWh. According to data released by an Armenian NGO, it was the highest price among all post-­Soviet republics except for Lithuania and Latvia (Epress News, 2015). In May 2015, ENA applied to Armenia’s Public Services Regulatory Commission with a request to raise the electricity price further, citing low profits and accumulated debts. The Commission approved a price increase of 17 per cent (about 1.5 US cents per kWh) on 17 June 2015. This decision sparked the protests.

62   Y. J. Paturyan and V. Gevorgyan Initially, activists gathered in front of the Public Services Regulatory Commission’s office. Clashing with the police, several activists were detained (Baitarian, 2015). The protests continued over the following days, grew in numbers and changed location to Baghramyan Avenue, a central street that houses the presidential residence, the Parliament, the Constitutional Court, and a number of embassies. The demonstrators faced the riot police, which used batons and water cannons on 23 June: a turning point in the campaign dynamics. The police also mistreated journalists; some recording equipment was damaged. A total of 237 people were detained (Movsisian et al., 2015). The police crackdown clearly backfired. Protests resumed and grew in numbers. Some estimate the number of the crowd gathered at Baghramyan Avenue the evening after the water cannon dispersal at 15,000 (Baitarian, 2015). Two weeks of stand-­off ensued and became widely known as the Electric Yerevan. Hundreds would be present on Baghramyan Avenue during the days; thousands joined in the evenings, some camping on the street overnight. A high level of self-­organisation was evident. People were bringing and distributing food and water, and cleaning after themselves. In a matter of days, several “working groups” (such as legal, logistics, PR) appeared. The atmosphere was rather festive: singing, dancing, and drumming were a constant feature of evening gatherings. A couple of weddings took place on the occupied street. Humour was used extensively by the protesters: on posters and in dressing up in swimming suits (a pun on the water cannons). The protesters repeatedly emphasised a peaceful attitude towards the police, regularly offering food, sweets, and fruits. As a result, the government offered partial concessions, calling for an audit of ENA and announcing a state subsidy to cover the increased price for individuals (but not for businesses). People would not have to pay until the results of the audit. This announcement seemed to change the dynamics of the protest and placate at least some participants. Their numbers gradually declined over the next week. The remaining smaller crowd was dispersed by the police ten days after the government announced the audit and the subsidy. Unlike the water cannon incident, this dispersal was largely peaceful. The unblocking of Baghramyan Avenue marked the end of major visible activities. A few more attempts at organising people and blocking streets in July and September failed. The protests petered out.

Looking ahead: contemporary civil society in Armenia What do the four discussed cases of civic activism tell us about the contemporary Armenian civil society in general? And what did we learn about the relationship between formal and informal elements of the civil society in particular? This section of the chapter compares and contrasts the four

Re-emerging civic activism in Armenia   63 cases, putting them in the broader context of the Armenian civil society ecosystem, focusing on NGO–activism interaction. The two successful campaigns (Maternity Leave and Electric Yerevan) were related to personal financial benefits for large segments of the population. The two failed initiatives (Teghut and Afrikyan) were both aimed at protecting a public good: a clean environment in one case and the cultural heritage of the capital in the other. While four cases are not enough to generalise, they do suggest a possible pattern: success is harder in cases not related to individual well-­being. Each of the four cases had its specificities. The Teghut case is unique in its duration. It shows an impressive level of endurance despite the setback. Failing to address its main objective, it formulated new goals and remained active, unlike the Afrikyan case. For the latter, the failure to save the building signalled the end of the struggle. It need not have been so. The group could have shifted its attention to following up on what happened to the stones of the building or continued to monitor the conditions of other endangered cultural sites. The Afrikyan case is a powerful reminder to those who cherish spontaneous activism. While bottom-­up creative energies are certainly important, a campaign requires at least some basic level of organisation, something the Afrikyan case lacked (Bagiyan, 2015). Maternity Leave is a case of a small but well-­organised and powerfully framed campaign, which could be an explanation of its success. The last campaign, Electric Yerevan, was the most intense (two weeks of non-­stop action) and drew large crowds but was brief: perhaps an unavoidable trade-­off of intensity. Unlike other campaigns, it was also fairly simple in terms of repertoire: it was what can be considered a classic street protest campaign. Despite its simplicity, or perhaps because of it, it did succeed in forcing the government to make concessions. NGO’s and civic activists: collaboration, interaction, confusion? In terms of the patterns of interaction between activists and NGOs, our cases reveal a spectrum from one-­time, minor involvement to well-­ functioning collaboration. The success of activism campaigns is not related to NGO involvement. Our two failed cases, Teghut and Afrikyan, both had prominent NGOs involved. Electric Yerevan was most widely supported by the public and obtained at least some concessions from the government without major NGO involvement. In the Teghut case NGOs engaged extensively and provided substantial support. Some of the most prominent environmental, human rights, and anti-­corruption NGOs were involved at all stages. NGOs helped sound the alarm; they gathered and presented evidence, appealed to international organisations, and tried (unsuccessfully) local court litigation. The Maternity Leave civic initiative is a case of close and clearly acknowledged cooperation with NGOs. The majority of the core activists were

64   Y. J. Paturyan and V. Gevorgyan members of women’s rights NGOs; the organisations supported the initiative via administrative assistance, space for meetings, and legal consulting. A previous study of this initiative found that NGO leaders made a conscious choice of not taking the lead but providing logistical support instead. The strategy was motivated by NGOs’ concern about existing anti-­ NGO stereotypes among the general public (Bagiyan, 2015). The Afrikyan case is a good example of the fluidity and uncertainty of something as seemingly simple as NGO involvement in a civic campaign. NGOs were clearly involved: at least three NGOs provided support, participated in designing press releases, helped organise cultural events, and attempted court litigation. Several of the core activists were NGO members and leaders. Interestingly enough, this formal participation went unnoticed by some activists, who claimed no NGO involvement. This is a good example that NGOs could be doing work that goes unnoticed and easily dismissed. In Electric Yerevan, NGOs played the role of information providers. A report by an NGO was used as a base for an argument that Armenians already pay too much for the electricity; Transparency International publicised a few facts exposing ENA’s mismanagement and shady procurement deals. The information NGOs provided was used to strengthen the arguments of the protesters. Our four cases reveal different patterns of interaction between NGOs and civic initiatives: from close cooperation to involvement on the margins. On the positive end of collaboration are cases like Teghut and Maternity Leave, where NGOs were explicitly and extensively involved. The Afrikyan case is a curious example of confusion about the role of NGOs: while they were involved, their involvement went unnoticed by some core activists. Electric Yerevan is on the other side of the continuum, with barely any NGO involvement. Table 4.1 schematically presents NGO involvement in the four cases of civic activism, with some examples of types of activities. Table 4.1 NGO involvement in civic activism Level of involvement

Minimal involvement

Moderate involvement

Active involvement

Civic initiative Types of activities

Electric Yerevan •  Publicise the case; •  Fact-finding.

Afrikyan •  Court litigation; •  logistics; •  participation in demonstrations.

Teghut; Maternity Leave •  Court litigation; •  logistics; •  coordination; •  participation in demonstrations; •  legal consulting; •  fact-finding.

Re-emerging civic activism in Armenia   65 Mutual perceptions NGO leaders and staff are consistently positive in their perceptions of activists.3 They call civic activists “the progressive part of the public”. Civic initiatives are lauded for breaking stereotypes of public helplessness in the face of government decisions. NGO leaders and staff describe their interaction with activists as positive and fruitful. According to NGO members, the cooperation benefits the larger society and is a “natural development”. NGOs see their role as professionals guiding and providing support to civic activists. The positive attitude of NGOs contrasts with the guarded attitude of the activists. Although many of them have experience working in the NGO sector, their attitude towards NGOs is cautious. Some activists differentiate between “good” and “bad” NGOs, noting that the sector as a whole is dominated by “bad” NGOs: GONGOs and exclusively donor-­driven NGOs. They describe their interactions with “good” NGOs as positive and useful but are very critical of the rest. Some activists are current or former NGO members and mention NGO work as part of the story of how they got involved in civic activism. These activists highlight the importance of NGOs for the success of activist campaigns. Many activists, however, fail to notice the work of NGOs, even when NGOs are actively involved in the very campaigns the activists join. Blanket dismissals of NGOs as “grant eaters” and “brochure printers” are not uncommon. To me, their [NGOs’] activities are characterized by printing a brochure. Nothing else. But I believe they could have done more. (Female activist, 38) The quote above belongs to an activist who was involved in the Maternity Leave campaign: the one that had the most coordinated and substantial NGO support. Recall that NGOs chose to remain backstage in this case. Strengths and weaknesses Previous research (Ishkanian, 2015) recognises independence, self-­ organisation, and ability to embrace a political understanding of civil society as strong components of civic initiatives. We can add higher levels of public trust and ability to connect to common people to the list of strengths of informal civil society, exemplified in our research by the civic initiatives. Life experiences are a significant strength of civic initiatives. Activists often voice concerns regarding issues they were/are personally affected by. This makes their participation emotional and effective. The more a person has an attachment to the issue, the more real it seems to be. Activists are driven by their passions and their sense of justice. These can often be contagious, attracting people to their cause.

66   Y. J. Paturyan and V. Gevorgyan Weak organisational structures and unclear decision-­making structures are among the weaknesses of civic initiatives. The Afrikyan case is a prime example; there was also some evidence of a leadership split in Electric Yerevan. Some of our interlocutors mentioned a lack of strategic thinking and planning as a weakness of civic initiatives. Had civic initiatives been more knowledgeable in designing their agendas, there would have been more success cases. The inability to build and maintain a movement over a prolonged period of time is another weakness, highlighted by our study. Teghut is the only campaign that has survived over time, but even that campaign is not a fully fledged movement but a mini movement at best. The strengths and weaknesses of NGOs are a mirror image of the strengths and weaknesses of civic initiatives. Organisation structures, professionalism, and availability of funding that ensures continuity are the strengths of the NGOs. One of the weaknesses of NGOs is that they are disconnected from their constituencies and the public at large. The main reason for the disconnect lies in the mode of their operation: their responsiveness and accountability is in many cases limited to donors only. They rarely attempt to reach out to the broader public or to its marginalised segments. Their purposes, formulated in a “lingua donor” are hardly ever understood. Their impact and their day-­to-day work lack the visibility and the drama of the protest campaigns. NGOs’ heavy reliance on foreign funding makes them easy targets of criticism as “foreign servants”. In sharp contrast with activists’ passionate voluntary commitment to an issue, NGO involvement is often professional: NGO staff get paid for doing their work. As a result, they are trusted less than the informal activist campaigns. Their image in the public eyes is somewhat tarnished. The strengths and weaknesses of activists and NGOs demonstrate that the two components of civil society need each other and could benefit from a symbiosis, similar to that described by Glasius and Ishkanian (2015). Indeed, our four cases point to that: civic activism campaigns relied on NGOs to strengthen their cause. Complementing each other’s strengths is one of the possible ways for civil society to increase its impact and advance to the next level of development (Gevorgyan, 2017).

Conclusion Armenian civil society went through several phases of development and recession in the twentieth and early twenty-­first centuries. As a result, we have a peculiar mix of various forms, norms, and spaces within contemporary Armenian civil society: a blend of local and imported, old and new elements in the process of adapting to each other. The few glimpses of pre-­Soviet Armenian civil society show evidence of both spontaneous volunteering and formal organisational structures, particularly visible during times of national crises. During the Soviet period, civil society was heavily controlled. It consisted of pseudo-­voluntary

Re-emerging civic activism in Armenia   67 s­ tate-­monitored GONGOs on one hand and underground groups and spontaneous outbreaks of mobilisation on the other hand. In the final years of the Soviet regime, organisations were allowed and started to appear. In the domain of less formal organised activities, a powerful social movement sprang into action shaping the country’s political course. The “national awakening”, however, did not last long. After the collapse of the Soviet Union Armenian civil society experienced a boom of NGOs. Those can hardly be considered an indigenous form of self-­organisation. Rather, their development was boosted by generous international donor support. For almost two decades NGOs were seen as the civil society both by donors and by the public. Spontaneous self­organisation was dormant until around 2008. During the past decade, new forms of self-­organisation emerged and gained visibility on the Armenian civil society arena. Civic initiatives are on the rise. They mostly position themselves as apolitical, but the issues they raise often cross into the political domain. Civic initiatives routinely draw on a non-­conventional political participation repertoire, resembling social movements in that respect. NGOs and civic initiatives are currently the two most visible elements of the Armenian civil society. NGOs are institutionalised entities with offices, staff, budget, relatively broad missions, strong links to the international donor community, and weak links to the Armenian public. Civic initiatives are loosely coordinated teams of activists, narrowly focused on a specific task, explicitly rejecting foreign funding and often (but not always) able to frame their struggles in a way that resonates with the broader public, bringing thousands into the streets. Both NGOs and civic initiatives have their respective strengths and weaknesses, which, in a way, mirror each other. NGOs have resources, expertise, and institutional continuity but lack public trust. Civic initiatives seem to be more favoured by the public4 but lack resources and, as a result, often lack continuity. It is probably safe to assume that both sides – NGOs and activists – are still learning and discovering each other’s strengths. Civic activism seems to be the arena where civil society can overcome the post-­communist syndrome of disengagement. It remains to be seen whether and to what extent the new mini social movements will grow in scope and how they will maintain connections with each other and with the NGO sector. Armenian civil society is a lesson in resilience. During the 70 years of the Soviet regime, it was heavily curtailed, monitored, and replaced by state-­run pseudo-­voluntary associations. Yet, it was not completely suppressed. Given the first opportunity, it flourished, albeit briefly, during the last years of the Soviet rule. It struggled through the “cold and dark” years of severe economic collapse and blockade of early independent years. It was overpopulated by Western-­style NGOs in the subsequent decades. For the past decade, we have witnessed a gradual return of diversity of forms of organisation, and a slow learning process of coexistence and cooperation between various forms. Edwards’s (2013) analogy of ecosystem holds. The ecosystem

68   Y. J. Paturyan and V. Gevorgyan of the Armenian civil society suffered attempts at heavy remodelling, a drought of vital resources, invasive species, and other types of stress. However, it survived and is showing signs of organic growth. Contemporary Armenian civil society is richer than it was ten years ago. Civic initiatives have entered the civil society arena and brought distinct ways of organising and operating.

Notes 1 Supposedly voluntary, but largely compulsory, work on Saturday often focused on neighbourhood clean-­up or free labour at one’s workplace. 2 Nagorno-­Karabakh was an autonomous region of Azerbaijan, with an overwhelmingly ethnic Armenian population. In 1987, its local self-­governing body applied to the Soviet authorities with a request to be transferred from Azerbaijani to Armenian jurisdiction. 3 We talked to a specific sub-­set of the NGO sector: those who choose to get involved. We believe this approach is justified, because we wanted to understand the patterns of interaction, so it made sense to seek out those organisations that attempted to interact. 4 There is no data on levels of public trust. The Electric Yerevan campaign, however, shows that activists can attracts tens of thousands of people to their cause, something NGOs were never able to do.

References Abrahamian, L., Shagoyan, G., 2011. From Carnival Civil Society Toward a Real Civil Society: Democracy Trends in Post-­Soviet Armenia. Anthropology and Archeology of Eurasia 50, 11–50. Abrahamian, L. H., 2001. Civil Society Born in the Square: The Karabagh Movement in Perspective, in: The Making of Nagorno-­Karabagh. Springer, pp. 116–134. Almond, G. A., Verba, S., 1963. The Civic Culture: Political Attitudes in Five Western Democracies. Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ. Bagiyan, A., 2015. Non-­governmental Organizations (NGOs) and Civic Activism in Armenia (master’s thesis). Amer­ican University of Armenia, Yerevan, Armenia. Baitarian, L., 2015. #ElectricYerevan: Anatomy of a Movement. CIVILNET. Della Porta, D., Diani, M., 2011. Social Movements, in: Edwards, M. (Ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Civil Society. Oxford University Press, pp. 68–79. Dudwick, N., 1997. Political Transformations in Postcommunist Armenia: Images and Realities, in: Dawisha, K., Parrott, B. (Eds.), Conflict, Cleavage, and Change in Central Asia and the Caucasus. Cambridge University Press, Glasgow, pp. 69–109. Edwards, M., 2013. Civil Society. Cambridge: Polity Press. Epress News, 2015. Armenia Has Highest Electricity Rate in CIS. EPress.am Independent Journalists’ Network. Freedom House, 2016. Nations in Transit 2016: Armenia. Gevorgyan, V., 2017. The Next Step in the Development of Armenian Civil Society (Policy Fellowship Research Initiative). Open Society Foundations – Armenia. Glasius, M., Ishkanian, A., 2015. Surreptitious Symbiosis: Engagement Between Activists and NGOs. VOLUNTAS: International Journal of Voluntary and Nonprofit Organizations 26, 2620–2644.

Re-emerging civic activism in Armenia   69 Hakobyan, A., 2016. Coordinating Groups of Civic Initiatives in Armenia: Cases of Teghut, Dem Em and Electric Yerevan (master’s thesis). Amer­ican University of Armenia, Yerevan, Armenia. Hakobyan, L., Tadevosyan, M., Sardar, A., Stepanyan, A., 2010. Armenian Civil Society: From Transition to Consolidation (Analytical Country Report), CIVICUS Civil Society Index. Counterpart International, Yerevan, Armenia. Hovannisian, R. G., 1967. Armenia on the Road to Independence, 1918. University of California Press, Berkeley, CA. Ishkanian, A., 2015. Self-­Determined Citizens? New Forms of Civic Activism and Citizenship in Armenia. Europe-­Asia Studies 67, 1203–1227. Ishkanian, A., 2009. (Re)claiming the Emancipatory Potential of Civil Society: a Critical Examination of Civil Society and Democracy Building Programs in Armenia since 1991. Armenian Review 51, 9–34. Ishkanian, A., Gyulkhandanyan, E., Manusyan, S., Manusyan, A., 2013. Civil Society, Development and Environmental Activism in Armenia. The London School of Economics and Political Science (LSE). Available at http://eprints.lse.ac.uk/54755 (last accessed 26 September 2018). Juknevičius, S., Savicka, A., 2003. From Restitution to Innovation: Volunteering in Postcommunist Countries, in: Dekker, P., Halman, L. (Eds.), The Values of Volunteering: Cross-­Cultural Perspectives, Nonprofit and Civil Society Studies. Springer US, New York, pp. 127–142. Kankanyan, N., 2015. Environmental Activism in Armenia (master’s thesis). Amer­ ican University of Armenia, Yerevan, Armenia. Karlsson, K.-G., 2007. Memory of Mass Murder: The Genocide in Armenian and Non-­Armenian Historical Consciousness, in: Mithander, C., Sundholm, J., Troy, M.  H. (Eds.), Collective Traumas: Memories of War and Conflict in 20th-Century Europe. Brussels: P. I. E. Peter Lang, pp. 13–46. Kriesi, H., 1995. The Political Opportunity Structure of New Social Movements: Its Impact on Their Mobilization, in: Jenkins, J. C., Klandermans, B. (Eds.), The Politics of Social Protest: Comparative Perspectives on States and Social Movements. University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, United States, pp. 167–198. Movsisian, H., Gabrielian, S., Shoghikian, H., Harutyunyan, S., 2015. Scores Arrested As Police Break Up Yerevan Protest. RadioFreeEurope/RadioLiberty. Putnam, R. D., Leonardi, R., Nanetti, R., 1994. Making Democracy Work. Civic Traditions in Modern Italy. Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ. Tarrow, S., 1994. Power in Movement: Social Movements, Collective Action and Politics, First Edition. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge and New York. The World Bank, 2017. World Bank Open Data [WWW Document]. Available at: http://data.worldbank.org/?display=graph (last accessed 3 February 2017). Tilly, C., Tarrow, S., 2007. Contentious Politics. Boulder, CO: Paradigm. Tocqueville, A. de, 2007. Democracy in America. Digireads.com, Stilwell. Voicu, M., Voicu, B., 2003. Volunteering in Romania: A Rara Avis, in: Dekker, P., Halman, L. (Eds.), The Values of Volunteering: Cross-­Cultural Perspectives. Springer, New York, pp. 143–159.

5 The changing roles and impacts of civil society/NGOs in Nepal Medani P. Bhandari 1 and Krishna P. Oli 2

Background Theoretically the role of civil society can only be effective when the country is governed by the people and for the people. Public concerns and well-­being can be formalized only through people’s participation in governance. However, some active members of society always try to think outside the box for public welfare. In the contemporary world, the culture of NGOs in research development and service delivery is increasing. This has resulted in increased networking among NGOs and government. This trend is based on management theory, based on the principles of collaboration, openness, strategic alliances, and capacity development of the network. In Nepal, NGO networking is extremely important. The Federation of Community Forestry User Groups and different civil society organization groups are well networked to influence government policy and program implementation. In Nepal, formalization of civil society used to be considered an unseen threat to the autocratic or semiautocratic regime. The Registration of Societies Act of 1959 relaxed this process, which was formalized by the constituting of a “National Coordination Body” for NGOs in 1977. Despite this, however, the processes of NGO registration were restricted till 1990. After 1990, the Social Welfare Act 1992 established a Social Welfare Council to conduct social welfare work through coordination, resource mobilization, and promotion of social organizations. After the abolition of the monarchy in 2008, Nepal became a republic and entered the democratic era, which is still undergoing fermentation. Despite the transitional phase, today, civil society organizations (CSOs) and NGOs are active in public service delivery. An estimated more than 50,000 NGOs and CSOs established in Nepal are influencing different spheres of Nepali life, inter alia in the countries’ democratization, human rights protection, and environmental conservation. Many of these NGOs network among themselves and with the government for program implementation and planning in the country. This study was carried out with desk review and discussion with some NGO leaders, government officials, and donors. This chapter

Changing civil society in Nepal   71 presents the contribution and role of CSOs and NGOs in social change through public service delivery and advocacy. In the current context, the role of CSOs is significantly important for Nepalese environmental, economic, political, and social development and transformation. This chapter uses the terms NGOs and civil society, with similar meanings and objectives.

Introduction Civil society is the plethora of private, nonprofit, and nongovernmental organizations that have emerged in recent decades in virtually every corner of the world to provide vehicles through which citizens can exercise individual initiative in the private pursuit of public purposes. If representative government was the great social invention of the eighteenth century, and bureaucracy – both public and private – of the nineteenth, it is organized, private, voluntary activity, the proliferation of civil society organizations that may turn out, despite earlier origins, to represent the great social innovation of the twentieth century. (Salamon and Anheier 1996: 1) We live in an environment where both government and nongovernment organizations (NGOs) are networked. Their alliances in both informal as well as formal groups have been increasing. This trend is based on management theory, on the principles of collaboration, openness, and strategic alliances. Collaboration and alliances are required to address the contemporary complex developmental and social issues. Networking brings synergies and adds value to the ongoing work of organizations and enhances institutional capacity. Engel (1993) states that NGOs desire to develop the network because they expect to improve the quality of their interventions and the effectiveness of their work. Huxum (1996) describes this as a collaborative advantage to address constraints on financial resources. The roles of NGOs and civil society are to serve society, act as watchdogs, support with policy advice, and complement the work of government. They change social life by bringing together diverse groups of people to solve social problems. Individuals and local NGO groups can fulfill their common public tasks; individuals when bound within NGOs develop civic consciousness, which manifests itself in a more active citizenry, healthier communities, and, ultimately, a stronger democratic system (Perry and Thomson, 2004). This is manifested in one CIVICUS (2011) report: “Citizens and their collective endeavours constitute the basic fabric of any society. Individually and together, citizens have always acted voluntarily to improve their communities and societies.” Empirical evidence shows that the state acknowledges the role of NGOs in the socioeconomic development of the nation

72   M. P. Bhandari and K. P. Oli and has been trying to develop a collaborative approach for development. NGOs’ power is not only increasing owing to their efficiency in service delivery but also because of the donors’ interests and the neoliberal globalized world order (Bhandari, 2017). This scenario applies to Nepalese context as well. Nepali NGOs and civil society are contributing to the development and implementation of many global agendas in conservation and the sustainable use of resources, adaptation to climate change and the mitigation process, and the protection of human rights. It is a continuing process that cannot be stopped by any authority as it is the accumulative evolution of the consciousness of citizens. This chapter supports this thesis of CIVICUS and suggests that the civil society movement can contribute to both the democratization process and service delivery despite their metamorphoses, even in unfavorable sociopolitical situations, on the basis of the available literature. There is scant literature available on the role of civil society organization of Nepal. Much is reported to the NGOs who are registered with government and work through there, but are silent on how NGOs evolve and work outside the public domain. For example, the informal form of civil society movement at the local level called community user groups has long history in Nepal, however they have only been formally recognized since 1980. Today there more than 17,000 community forestry user groups engaged in the forest and biodiversity conservation in over 30 percent of forest land in the country (FERN, 2016), who have managed to change the entire landscape of degrading mid-­hills into greenery, a hallmark in the development of local-­ level NGO institutions committed to conservation. Many such groups are also working for the conservation of agro-­biodiversity, water management, and enhancing the livelihood of poor people and human rights protection. The NGOs’ activities can be seen in all sectors of the country, society is benefiting from NGOs, and NGOs are benefiting from the social support. This was not the case until 1990: international organizations and multilateral donor agencies were mainly supporting the government’s program. NGOs were marginalized and the significance of NGOs in nation building was overshadowed by restrictive government policy in the early days. When the country entered in the democratic era in the 1990s, people had very high expectations of the democratic government and the government alone could not meet those expectations; NGOs began to form and this tendency continues still: The advantage that NGO have over the public sector is the freedom from fixed administrative procedures or standard operating procedures. This led Donor enthusiasm to a proliferation of NGO, many of them not all that motivated by altruism [because the motives of NGO leaders] may be exactly the same as those of a for-­profit firm – requiring the same monitoring and care in contract enforcement. (World Bank, 1995)

Changing civil society in Nepal   73 The World Bank’s altruism in general terms fitted with the Nepalese case. The World Bank, the Asian Development Bank, and other multilateral donors began to collaborate with local NGOs, and NGOs ran developmental activities using local resources as well as through collaboration with the government and international organizations. International development agencies and international organizations (INGOs) also incorporate NGOs as local partners, because the latter’s traditional and local knowledge, continuous presence in sectoral development at local to national levels, access to rural and semiurban populations, and small-­scale intervention ability of some NGOs afford them a major opportunity in facilitating enabling environments for participatory development and for the empowerment of excluded and disadvantaged populations (Lynch et al., 1997) in Nepal. NGOs are frequently and actively involved in challenging, reshaping, and appropriating global discourses – especially on environment and sustainability – to suit their own needs and are sometimes even able to spark wider structural change at international level (Ebrahim, 2005). National and local NGOs can generally respond more quickly than governmental and international organizations in providing primary services, particularly in health, water and sanitation, and primary education, and often at a lower cost (Shrestha, 1999). They understand the problems of local environment in a responsive way, because they are also the victims of the situation. This responsive capacity of NGOs to resolve social problem can be seen mostly in the health, environment conservation, and human rights movements in Nepal. The role of NGOs has been seen as critically important to implement many works that the government cannot extend to the community and people at large in development functions. In the above paragraphs, we have discussed the background and emerging trends of NGOs in Nepal. With this background, this study is undertaken through desk review and in discussion with government authorities and NGO leaders. The objective of this chapter is to highlight the significance of informal civil society and community-­based organizations in Nepal by the understanding the process of how civil society organizations/NGOs evolved from voluntary social institutions to modern NGOs, their development to modern NGOs, bringing the role that these NGOs play, their current situation, relations between NGOs, donors, and the government and the political dimension, and the value of community-­based organization in development. It also emphasizes the enhancement of NGO to implement a donor agenda, their effectiveness, and reconciling them for better performance. In the following section, this chapter elaborates how civil society/NGOs are playing an important role and contribute to social change through public service delivery and advocacy.

74   M. P. Bhandari and K. P. Oli

The process of evolution and transformation of voluntary social institutions into modern NGOs in the context of Nepal Eastern philosophy is very rich in propagating the idea and value of social services within society. This has been explained by Dahal and Timsina (2006). Such social actions and services were guided by philanthropic motives. In Nepal, civil society for social welfare can be traced back to the Lichhavi (Britannica, 2017)3 period and beyond. For example, the establishment of many trusts to run religious institutions like temples and chaityas4 managed solely by the local people in the form of local institutions. Similarly, the traditional mode of civic activities covers many aspects of the social safety valve and have influenced people’s social lives such as supporting people and families who suffer with the death of the head of the family or famine; support in kind and cash for marriages and funerals; providing food and water for travelers; construction of public residences/ inns, wells and water taps, temples, monasteries, mosques, trails and bridges; and tree plantation for public services including in dispute settlement. The development and transformation of civic activities into formal CSOs in Nepal has been studied by many authors including Dahal (2001), Pigg (1992), Yadama and Messerschmidt (2004), Ulvila and Hossain (2002), Paffenholz and Spurk (2006), and Bhandari (2014). Yadama and Messerschmidt (2004: 104) note that “the most socially conscious organizations such as trusts, endowments, and societies of Nepal claim formal or informal roots in the region’s ancient cultural-­religious heritage, both Hindu and Buddhist, and are therefore deeply embedded in cultural traditions of the society.” Although Nepal is a multiethnic, multireligious and multilingual country, the spiritual mind of all the different groups of people is influenced by Hindu and Buddhist philosophy, which is the greatest strength in the evolution of service-­based voluntary institutions based on their specific needs and niches. Therefore, the inspiration for such civic welfare work was based on their philosophy of getting eternal peace and leaving their name behind after their demise. These voluntary social development institutions used to vary in scope and scale, right from having no assets or no employees. Their work consisted of establishing traditional schools, hospitals, and irrigation canals, the construction of trails in difficult terrain, developing customary legal arrangements in the use of common property resources, and others as stated above. The funding sources used to include donation of labor, donation of grains and animals for social works. Some rich people used to donate land and some keep land on trust for running the social projects in perpetuity. As time progressed, in the historical development of civil services in Nepal, inter alia, the most important innovation for social institutions has been the formation of trust funds called guthis,5 used for managing common interest resources, and Dhikuti,6 a rotating bank for

Changing civil society in Nepal   75 economic support (informal people’s bank), which is still vibrant and ongoing in contemporary Nepal (Shrestha, 2004). Aside from these, individual ethnic groups developed their own social institutions to manage and run their traditional rituals, where each household has to contribute a certain amount in kind or cash. Individuals and clan family members collectively act to manage the institutions established by their ancestors to deal with the ongoing and evolving social and environmental challenges. The mode of governance of such institutions is autocratic, solely selected from the dissidents of charitable donors’ members to a broad representation of community households. This has been described by Lama Muktas (1992), Pokhrel (2000), Dhakal (2002), and Shah (1986). Most social problems used to be solved amicably with mutual understanding among the groups and local social leaders were regarded as social motivators. Since the country is largely rural and when it comes to resources management the country was self-­governing and this system still continued today in major spheres of social services and resources management. Although the concept of philanthropic voluntary social organizations and their functioning is ancient, the origin of the modern form of NGO can be traced back to the early 1950s in Nepal. More recently, a somewhat ideal type harmonious relationship between the people and local-­level institutions was challenged by the commencement of democracy in 1990. People’s aspirations and desire for development and modernization have been changed. Traditional institutions alone could not cope with the pervasive force of development and resources from external sources proved to be vital. Meanwhile, state machinery crafted political entities such as village development committees and municipal areas as part of the local-­ level governance mechanism, furnishing them with funding and local-­level bureaucracy. The role of earlier voluntary institutions was gradually transferred to these state-­manufactured institutions. Modern development efforts penetrated rural areas and modern NGOs became one of the vehicles of development as the traditional institutions were deemed to lack the capital and capacity to continue their role that had once been effective. In addition, Nepal faced a Maoist insurgency from 1995, which continued for over ten years. The ethnic group forming one single political nation, living harmoniously from centuries, was manipulated for the mere political interest of vote banking by the ruling political parties/elites and monarchy, while segregating and fracturing the harmony of society by the Maoist insurgents and other political parties. This led to a massive fragmentation of society, resulting in the rise of splinter groups of various kinds in the country. The traditional notion of social service became secondary. After the removal of the monarchy in 2008 and the establishment of a Western style of democracy, in the modern republics of Nepal, the legal framework for the registration of NGOs was made easier, resulting in the mushrooming of NGOs. The self-­functioning

76   M. P. Bhandari and K. P. Oli voluntary system of community-­driven social service movements increasingly diminished and became monetized, though few still remained uninfluenced. Under the patronage and vested interest of political parties and splinter groups, many NGOs were registered formally. Although the major objective of all the NGOs, registered or nonregistered, remained social welfare, the working modality was becoming completely different. The concept of service without any expectation and social reformers has been changed. Therefore, today many of these NGOs have become more of a political vehicle to impose a political party’s ideology and simple conduits of international NGOs among the people. Among modern NGOs, there is widening gap in their working modality between what the plan says and the actual implementation on the ground among the estimated over 50,000 NGOs. There is a lack of an effective and meaningful monitoring and reporting system by the Social Welfare Council (SWC) and other government agencies. What the NGOs have adopted from the traditional voluntary institutions is the concept of community-­based organizations (CBOs) and the user groups that are now embedded in the genes of Nepalese government as well as most NGOs. With the exception of a few resourceful traditional voluntary institutions, the majority of them have now been converted into CBOs. With different forms of CBOs as program implementers at the grassroots level, NGOs in modern Nepal have become one of the major vehicles for program delivery in many parts of the country, providing employment to over 100,000 people. The major undertaking of government to bring guthis under a statutory legal system in 1976 and its successive amendments warranted the free willful use of guthis by their respective patrons and their descendants. The Dhikuti system, however, is still vibrant even in urban areas.

The development of modern NGOs As stated above the history of civil society organization in Nepal is very long and rich, but the evolution of traditional civil society into the modern form of NGOs commenced gradually after the advent of democracy in the country in the early 1950s. The number of political events supported the evolution and growth of NGOs in Nepal. The first was the political change of 1950 from an autocratic Rana family regime to a constitutional/­ absolute monarchy. Up to 1950, Nepal was closed to the outside world. From 1951, US government support through a number of USAID projects injected a significant amount of foreign aid into Nepal (USAID, 2016). Although there were number of self-­running civil society groups, the Registration of Societies Act 1959 legally enhanced this process of NGO proliferation, which was formalized in 1977 by the constituting of a “National Coordination Body” for NGOs. This was a window system developed to monitor NGO registration, their network, and flow of funds

Changing civil society in Nepal   77 through donors, chaired by a powerful member of the royal family. The process of registration, however, was restricted till 1990. After 1990, the Social Welfare Act 1992 established a Social Welfare Council to conduct social welfare work through coordination, resource mobilization, and the promotion of social organizations. In addition to general social welfare programs, the government also provided special programs for the benefit and welfare of children and elderly, destitute, and disabled persons; for the protection of the interests of women; and for unemployed, poor, and uneducated persons. This Act legally strengthened the nongovernmental sectors in Nepal, resulting in the growth of NGOs from a total of 220 in 1950 to 1,210 in 1993, shortly after the commencement of fully fledged democracy in the country (Rademacher and Tamang, 1995). During this period, the wave of global privatization revolution that took off during the 1980s became a major mantra to the new masters of democratic Nepal. At the same time, since the early 1990s, Nepal has been in the process of restructuring its banking industry to increase foreign investment into the country and to support rural credit delivery by creating new financial institutions (Rehman, 2006). Projects were designed to provide sustainable rural credit delivery through the deployment of NGOs, small rural banks, and saving and credit cooperatives (Asian Development Bank, 1998). This gave emphasis to the processes commonly referred to as economic globalization or market liberalization, which became synonymous with “development” (Rehman, 2006). In order to promote social development for rural communities, government machinery was not believed to be enough and required local-­level institutions as new vehicles for development, resulting in the further expansion of NGOs. Today over 80 INGOs and 4,000 NGOs have launched at least 9,000 saving and credit “solidarity” groups across the country, replicating the Grameen bank model of Bangladesh (Escobar, 1995). Community organizations, concerned with global development and paying particular attention to the plight of the poor, were considered development NGOs owing to their attention to the development agenda. Second, the government’s lack of capacity in public service delivery also necessitated for the need for NGOs, and in Nepal this has been seen a process of political development. Major donors such as Norway and the United States began to channel a large part of their development assistance through NGOs. Since then the external assistance received by the government in the form of project aid, commodity aid, technical assistance, and program aid was gradually transferred to the NGO sector. Thus, NGOs got to the forefront in providing public goods and services in Nepal. As of 2016, SWC reports, the tide of NGOs has reached 40,000 registered NGOs in the council. Moreover, there are many NGOs which have not yet registered with the SWC. It is estimated that the total number of NGOs in the country is over 50,000 (Kathmandu Insider, 2011). These NGOs are engaged in dealing with a wide range of issues, from education

78   M. P. Bhandari and K. P. Oli to health, human rights, human trafficking, nature conservation, climate change adaptation, and sustainable development. NGOs have also taken on the concerns of marginalized ethnic groups, with many organizations devoted specifically to the furthering the interests of particular disadvantaged groups. Furthermore, micro-­credit and “community-­based” initiatives are also on the rise. Micro-­credit, in particular, has been given much emphasis by the development industry, following the relative success of initiatives in neighboring Bangladesh (Bateman and Chang, 2012). However, it is important to note that not all the registered NGOs are active in their function, as their abortion rate in terms of functioning is very high for their birth rate. The major challenge for the development of a country like Nepal is to have a stable government followed by stable institutions that can really empower the local people and community in their pursuit of development at the local level. In contemporary Nepal, empowerment is mostly seen as providing services to the people, leading to their economic development. Empowerment, however, is the expansion of assets and capabilities of poor people to participate in, negotiate with, influence, control, and hold accountable institutions that affect their lives (World Bank, 2014). Donor agencies also press more on the empowerment of the people and good governance to their client NGOs. However, in reality, the NGOs seem to be mere conduits of their donors and multinational aid agencies. Most of the NGOs in Nepal face many challenges for their evolution, survival, and service delivery. Almost all of them, from INGOs to local NGOs, say they are not involved in politics. However, in their late incarnation, they seem to be absorbed in influencing the state’s political system. For example, during the people’s movement in 2006, many NGOs such as doctors’ unions, the Nepal Bar Association (an apex association of the bar), the teachers’ union, the taxi drivers’ union, labor unions, the civil servants’ union, students’ unions and private banks all joined in on strikes, which effectively halted all the activities in the country and placed unprecedented pressure on the ruling government. Partly this was mediated and coordinated by many INGOs/NGOs, in which the media played an extremely important role. To some extent, this event absorbed civil society/NGOs into political society as partners of political parties. Today, a large number of these NGOs are actually based on political party lines, have adopted political parties’ cadres, and have become employment-­ generating industry for the parties. The funding for many such NGOs has also come from INGOs, the vested interest donor groups of Western countries, who come to Nepal with disguised agendas, many of which live a princely life with the money they collect in the West without any accountability whatsoever.

Changing civil society in Nepal   79

The role of NGOs in Nepal In the above paragraphs, we have given a brief account on the development and evolution of NGOs in Nepal. This section examines the role they play in country’s development. Not all the NGOs are dependent on foreign funding in Nepal. Some traditional NGOs can still be seen as functioning the indigenous system of social service delivery well with philanthropic motives. They survive because they are dedicated to the welfare of society and their prosperity, supporting and in many cases complementing the government program of action. In their establishment, their philanthropic founders had ensured resources to continue for a long time so they can run without financial support from outside. Second, it also depends on the ethical values of the patron and their members. For example, Gandhi Charkha Parcharak Mahaguthi, set up by Tulsi Mehar in 1950, functions now as a mahaguthi. The Paropakar Sanstha, established in 1954 to alleviate the suffering of cholera victims in the Kathmandu Valley, is another example of an organized philanthropic effort. It has now become a voluntary movement of medical care for the poor, with more than 15 medical centers and voluntary medical distribution systems in the country (Rijal, 2004). There are some 18 national and eight regional philanthropic organizations providing assistance to the poor, with branches operating in different parts of the country (Asian Development Bank, 1999), for instance the Nepal Red Cross Society, founded in 1963, in which Daya Bir Kansakar served until his death at age of 90 in 2001. He was modern Nepal’s noble personality of unselfish service to others. Another Nepali NGO, the King Mahendra Trust for Nature Conservation established in 1982 by the Legislative Act, mandated as an autonomous, nonprofit, and nongovernmental organization to work in the field of nature conservation in Nepal, which is successfully continuing its work in the name of the Nepal Trust for Nature Conservation (National Trust for Nature Conservation 2015), managed to develop models for the participatory management of protected areas in the world. The Family Planning Association of Nepal, the Nepal Children’s Organization, many mothers’ clubs, local self-­help groups, Amasamuha (mother group), and religious trusts are some of the major welfare organizations. Some of these have networks in most districts within the country. One of the notable local-­level nonformal/formal CBOs is Amasamuha, informally in existence all through the history of Nepal, which was instrumental during the devastating Nepal/Bihar earthquake of 1934, providing help. One of the authors’ grandmothers was active in forming local helping groups for the service of earthquake victims. This was also evident during the recent devastating earthquake of 2015 in Nepal as Amasamuha was active in service and welfare. Although such movements are not documented (because they often serve anonymously), many such groups are actively working for social welfare within the country.

80   M. P. Bhandari and K. P. Oli NGOs bring material and human resources to a country. There is an expectation that these resources can help public institutions and contribute to social development and poverty alleviation. Today there are over 186 INGOS registered (SWC 2011), many of which work as conduit of their government, spreading their agenda through the local-­level NGOs. Their portfolios range from few thousand US dollars to millions of US dollars. The presence of so many INGOs and NGOs in a small country like Nepal make one wonder what role they actually play in helping the poor country to fight poverty and environmental disaster. In Nepal the role of NGOs is not only limited to development work. Their role in nature conservation and service providing for needy people and pursuing poverty reduction is important. They encourage community participation and a nonhierarchical decision-­making structure as well as flexible and adaptive nests to the community. Some of the INGOs have also widely brought publicity for the country globally just by their presence and work in Nepal. Often they are engaged in larger agendas, for example human migration, glacial retreat, climate change impacts, policy formulation on livelihood improvement, disaster risk reduction and mitigation, mountain agricultural systems, and problems in implementing multilateral environmental treaties and sustainable development goals. The International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development can be used here as an example. Through research on climate change and glaciology in the Himalayas, it has brought many issues related to the impacts of climate change globally and within the region. Similarly, other INGOs like the IUCN – the world conservation union – WWF, and CARE Nepal are committed to their roles in conservation and development, such as policy support in the development of the National Conservation Strategy and its implementation, development support on the policy for Himalayan sacred landscapes, transboundary biological corridor development, and Terai Arch landscape development to name a few. These INGOs carry global and regional conservation and development agenda and therefore have played a crucial role in shaping and reshaping the Nepal government’s policy in different sectors, which has then been implemented by the government, partner INGOs, local NGOs, and CSOs through their networks. National NGOs like NTNC, mentioned above, have played an important role in the development of new and progressive models of participatory institutional development in the management of protected areas, which became a model not only for Nepal but also for the rest of the world. Another strong national NGO engaged in the conservation of forests is the Federation of Community Forestry User Groups, which is committed to conservation as well as working as watchdog for the government in policy development and program implementation in the forestry sector. Such works are implemented through networks and in many ways. One of the most effective ways that these and other local CSOs and NGOs has invented is establishing FM radio stations in

Changing civil society in Nepal   81 different parts of the country. There are total of over 400 FM radio stations currently operational. These radio stations and their broadcasts are “revolutionary,” with community radios talking people’s languages in their own parlances (Dahal and Aram, 2011). NGOs are frequently considered a remedy for corrupt and inefficient bureaucracy and believed to represent the voices of the weak. For example, the umbrella association of community radio stations in Nepal, ACORAB, a forum of citizens’ participation, also influences the government in policy matters and unveils corruption cases covering government and donors to nongovernmental sectors. Thus, the proliferated number of NGOs along with their subordinate institutions in Nepal shows the growing tendencies of civic engagement as they are supposed to articulate people’s sentiments in both policymaking and its implementation. The favorable policies pursued by the government have increasingly been linked to making NGOs more responsible along with the principles of good governance (Dhakal, 2009). In addition, civil society is also engaged in other forms of media including mass media such as TV and its role is further increasing, thus enhancing the capacity of the people and the community at large and making the government aware of its activities.

NGOs, donors, and Nepali government politics As stated above, the role of NGOs and civil societies is very important in providing social and other services to the people and community at large. However, they are not immune to economic and political problems such as lack of funds, transparency, accountability, and good governance within their organizations. Furthermore, in contemporary Nepal, the government is weak and, therefore, many NGOs attempt to impose their agendas in government policies and programs with little or no reference to the donor agendas. This is specifically true for many INGOs registered within the country. In fact, Nepal and Nepali NGOs require financial support to undertake social and development works, but INGOs, the so-­called external developmental partners, brought some funds, their so-­called expertise and all the conditionalities. This has occurred in the name of empowerment but has eventually had negative impacts on society, particularly within the sector of social development. For example, during the recent political upheaval, such social institutions appeared more likely to fracture the Nepalese community by creating mass division between and among the many communities in the name of empowerment through injecting an alien religion among the poor and marginalized communities. This represents a crisis that was nonexistent or latently existing with no potential value for the development of the country, resulting in an increasing disharmonious and intolerant society, which is contrary to the spirit of civil society and NGOs. Nevertheless, NGOs are not fully established solely for service delivery in society. However, they try to assert themselves as parallel to the government

82   M. P. Bhandari and K. P. Oli by empowering themselves. Core to this is their livelihood and, to sustain themselves, make their life easy while at the same time preparing a special niche to gain social respect. Politicians, on the other hand, want to handle the country and to manage the people themselves, therefore their first priority is to keep themselves in power. They would like to know the functioning of donor agencies, where they are located, and the sources of their funding. Politicians largely want to use donor money for the socioeconomic upliftment of poor people. They do not want to use the money brought from outside to make a few people of poor countries rich while making the NGO leaders richer and enjoying princely lives. Therefore, there are always dilemmas and conflicts of interest over who controls the resources. In many situations, donations come from a developed country in the name of supporting poor people, but a large part of such funds is used to support and care for the NGO leaders in the form of a tax-­exempted salary, logistics, hardware, and software, and to implement their own agenda. These NGOs are very smart on paperwork and capable of the excellent use of the English language in producing glossy picture reports. Such reports form a basis for perpetual funding. The statements made above are largely true for the NGOs engaged in improving livelihoods, providing social equity and justice, human rights, and many other social sectors. As for the last two decades, many modern NGOs in Nepal, instead of becoming part of a vibrant and autonomous civil society, have become more of a parasite and conduits, dependent on donations from external sources. Therefore, modern NGOs in Nepal have not been able to transform into a strong and plural civil society that can guard against the excesses of state power. Considering their number, the functioning of NGOs is not effective and many of them maintain good relationships with the government and national power coterie. Therefore, many Nepali NGOs, instead of mobilizing and exerting pressure on political power centers for social and political change, are becoming part of the state apparatus, largely politicized and a ground for employment for political party workers.

Community-­based organizations (CBOs) and NGOs In the present development paradigm of Nepal, the role of CBOs has received new emphasis because they are homegrown local institutions. They are more self-­reliant and efficient in developing the local economy and are more accountable and transparent. The focus of these CBOs is to build equality across society in all streams of works (Edwards, 2004). CBOs are legitimized by the statutory law as a local-­level entity. They are the backbone of any program implementation in Nepal. CBOs vary from water user groups to climate change adaptation to biodiversity conservation and forest protection and management. For example, over 2.1 million households (about 40 percent of the country in total) formed 17,685 community forest user groups, local-­level institutions managing about 1.6 million ha (27.4 percent of the country) of national forests as community forests

Changing civil society in Nepal   83 (Government of Nepal, 2015). Many such CBOs undertake social, nature conservation and work throughout the country. These basic building blocks of Nepalese society are in fact the true development, conservation force at the local level, where all the donor-­funded NGOs and government programs converge. They are the vehicle for most program implementation. Many of them are governed under their customary arrangements and therefore tend to be culture-­specific organizations, with activities linked closely to particular ethnic groups, though many are needs-­driven. They are the grassroots partners in decentralizing strategic implementation. Almost all NGOs working in Nepal work in partnership with the CBOs. For example, the South Asia Partnership in Nepal, which has four regional offices covering 62 of the 75 districts of Nepal, in partnership with more than 1,000 CSOs, received training on leadership in governance and peace, and has advocated for livelihood issues, such as women’s property rights (Asian Development Bank, 2016). Assuming 4,000 village development committees (VDCs) in Nepal and assuming at least ten CBOs in each of the VDCs, there are over 40,000 CBOs currently operational within the country. NGOs and CBOs can participate in development activities from the project identification phase to the monitoring and evaluation stage. According to the World Bank Operations Policy Department document, NGOs and CBOs can contribute in different project cycles and be involved in diverse activities including providing information on local conditions, participating in environmental and social assessments, organizing consultations with concerned parties, transmitting expressed needs and priorities of local communities to project staff, acting as a source, model, or sponsor of project ideas, and implementing pilot projects (World Bank, 1995). In project design they act as consultants to the government and to local communities, assist in promoting a participatory approach, and channel information to local populations. In the financial sector or funding arrangement, NGOs and CBOs can act as financers or co-­financiers. They facilitate local or external funding. In the project implementation phase they provide the delivery of services, training, or construction, or manage the project. They promote community participation in project activities, act as a supplier of technical knowledge to local beneficiaries, serve as advisors to local communities on how to take advantage of project-­financed goods or services, work as implementers of complementary activities and support, and act as beneficiaries of an NGO funding mechanism established by the project. In the final state of the project they evaluate and monitor the project.

Conclusion The End of our Foundation is the knowledge of Causes, and secret motions of things; and the enlarging of the bounds of Human Empire, to the effecting of all things possible. (Francis Bacon, The New Atlantis)

84   M. P. Bhandari and K. P. Oli Traditional civil society has played a very important role in Nepal even at times of hardship before it was modernized into NGOs. Philanthropic groups and individuals searched for options to serve the people and nature using the cultural domain of society. The developmental activities of civil society in Nepal were not only influenced by the local situation but equally influenced by the process of globalization. Thus, there has been a major transformation in Nepalese civil society. The role of civil society has been always crucial in managing the social problems. Owing to the increased need for resources in modern development, many of the voluntary organizations could not be sustained and were metamorphosed. Nepal maintains endemism in many ways, including service to mankind and service to nature. Nepal is unique in terms of culture, religion, and geography. Services are dependent on the social norms and values, which are transferred from generation to generation. These norms and value systems are embedded and evolved further in Hindu and Buddhist philosophy. Many of these surviving customary institutional arrangements are now adopted in statutory laws. Legal system has been established to manage CSOs. The roles of the Nepali government, donor countries/agencies, and INGOs are very important in understanding the transformation of traditional civil society groups into modern NGOs.

Notes 1 Dr. Medani P. Bhandari is professor of natural resources and environment at the Akamai University, Hilo, Hawaii, USA, with 25 years of experience working in NGO sector in Nepal. 2 Dr. Krishna P. Oli is a member of the Climate Change Council, Government of Nepal, and adjunct professor at the Faculty of Social Development and Western China Development Studies, Sichuan University, China, who has over 35 years of experience working in the INGO and NGO sector in Nepal. 3 The dynasty used Sanskrit as a court language and issued its own coins. It maintained close ties to India and also had economic and political relations with Tibet, thus becoming a cultural center linking central and southern Asia. The era ended when Amsuvarman founded the Thakuri dynasty in the mid-­eighth century (Britannica, 2017). 4 A chaitya is a Buddhist shrine or prayer hall with a stupa at one end. 5 Guthis are social institutions established under customary legal arrangements or by decree or by state law. Community or individuals can grant land of different kinds and cash to run the guthis. The members who establish guthis are called guthiyars. In contemporary Nepal there are many forms of guthi, but broadly they are classified into raj guthis (managed by the government under specific decree or law), chut guthis (semiautonomous), and niji guthis (managed solely by the community or individuals) (Shrestha, 2004). 6 Dhikuti is a rotating credit association in which equal amounts of money are collected from the participants in regular intervals and allocated to one member at a time. Its rotation is mostly determined by secret tender, the fund going to the lowest bidder, except at the first and last rounds of a round. Dhiktui has become a major informal financial institution for small enterprise finance in Nepal,

Changing civil society in Nepal   85 ­ articularly for investments in nonfarm and off-­farm activities. In many cases, it p is the only source of credit (Shrestha, 2004).

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6 Civil society in Zimbabwe Continuity and change Davison Muchadenyika

Introduction and background Acknowledging that there are various definitions put forward by different authors (Harbeson et al., 1994; Seligman, 1992; Gellner, 1991; Shils, 1991; Cohen and Arato, 1992), this chapter perceives civil society as ‘new spaces for communication and discussion over which the state has no control’ and ‘including only those groups, organizations, and personalities that pursue freedom, justice, and the rights of citizenship against authoritarian states’ (Monga, 1996: 7). The above definition includes networks and platforms of debate and  organisations primarily focused on promoting citizen rights and ­dismantling authoritarianism. Thus, civil society organisations (CSOs) are defined as: a dense network of voluntary associations and citizens organizations that help to sustain community relations in a way that generates trust and cooperation between citizens and a high level of civic engagement and participation. Therefore, they create the conditions for social integration, public awareness and action, and democratic stability. (Newton, 2001: 201) The growth of civil society in Zimbabwe can be understood through focusing on two aspects. First, civil society grew in response to an authorit­ arian regime. Thus, the strategies of civil society over time revolved around the response of a repressive state apparatus. Second, civil society has a sym­ biotic relationship with the opposition movement. In this regard, develop­ ments in the opposition movement have had serious ripple effects in civil society movements and vice versa. In such context, this chapter makes four arguments. First, the growth of civil society through a largely democratisation project limited the scope of civil society in terms of its appeal, focus, and reach. Second, the intimate relationship between civil society and the opposition movement militated against the development of a broader network of civil society beyond the

Continuity and change in Zimbabwe   89 political objective of regime change. Third, the overreliance on Western funding crippled civil society at a critical point in Zimbabwe’s struggle for democratisation. Lastly, the inadequacies and frustrations of mainstream civil society led to a new form of movements characterised by a loose network of activists. The chapter concludes that the future of civil society in Zimbabwe depends on broadening the objectives of civil society beyond regime change and liberating civil society from the ‘founder member syndrome’. Embracing elements of change, renewal, and transparency in Zimbabwe’s civil society is thus imperative. Writing in the early 1990s, Moyo believed that the remit of civil society was limited and challenged civil society to go beyond immediate concerns. In particular, he argued that:  The type of civil society that is currently being formed in developing countries such as Zimbabwe is characterized by parochial associations such as village communities, elite clubs in urban areas, political parties, burial societies, trade unions, industrial confederations, com­ mercial organizations, student groups and fundamentalist religious cults, all of which do not encourage an interest in matters beyond their own immediate concerns. These associations typically equate their own narrow aims with those of the public realm and thus seek to manipulate the state for their own selfish purposes.  (Moyo, 1993: 4) If the above is true, the foundation of civil society in the country was set on narrow goals. As the chapter argues latter, such narrow perspective of civil society would turn to be a major hindrance to civil society growth. Moyo’s (1993) argument sees civil society tendencies as similar to those of the state such as dictatorial tendencies, elite capture, and financial mis­ appropriation, which are all discussed latter in the chapter.

Theorising civil society in Africa There exist various strands of views about civil society in existing literature. Civil society in Africa grew largely in opposition to dictatorial regimes limiting people’s rights (Makumbe, 1994). In other words, civil society is a fundamental aspect of democratising the continent (Kew and Oshikoya, 2014). Put differently, any attempt at theorising civil society should delve into complex matters of politics and governance in independent Africa. The intractable link between civil society and governance in Africa prim­ arily means that civil society grew in antagonism with the state and its apparatus. Evidence indicates that civil society has been instrumental in bringing about political and social change in the continent (Nordlund, 1996). This understanding of civil society also resonates with the growth of civil society in Zimbabwe primarily as a response to an authoritarian state.

90   D. Muchadenyika A sceptical and critical body of literature views civil society as a breeding ground of ‘authoritarianism and anti-­democratic values’ (Okuku, 2002: 83). This view means that the conception of using civil society to dismantle authoritarianism on the continent is far-­fetched. As this chapter demon­ strates, there exist non-­democratic tendencies exhibited by some sections of Zimbabwe’s civil society. Others like Ndegwa (1996) indicate both pro­ gressive and retrogressive sides of civil society. In this instance, any specific instances of regression were not seen as inherent to the very existence and constitution of civil society, but rather simply as (historically contingent) empirical exceptions which ultimately proved the rule of civil society’s democratising thrust in opposition to the state. (Helliker, 2014: 158) There exists literature on the relations between civil society and the state, with the former seen as a vehicle for democratising the latter (Chabal and Daloz, 1999). Here, ‘the role of civil society in the context of state-­driven and state-­sanctioned authoritarianism therefore is to build a modernising democratic state’ (Helliker, 2014: 159). In other words, civil society is a pivotal foundation of a modern democratic state. For Zimba­ bwe, the democratisation project that started at the turn of the millen­ nium has embraced civil society as one of its anchors. Civil society is also entangled in the whims of international donor financing. In this relationship, other scholars like Edwards (1998, cited in Helliker, 2014) argue that the accountability relationship between civil society and donors ‘corrupt[s] the authenticity of civic action’ and ‘erodes its potential to be a motor for change, since—as the prisoners of someone else’s agenda—civic groups are less likely to take risks, innovate, and chal­ lenge’ (Helliker, 2014: 159). In such instance, the downward account­ ability of civil society to grass-­roots movements ‘becomes severely compromised’ (ibid.). It is vital to indicate that civil society operates in specific contexts. In particular, the socio-­economic and political context can have serious repercussions for civil society and vice versa. In this regard, the next section looks at the socio-­economic and political context in which civil society in Zimbabwe operates.

Civil society in Zimbabwe – socio-­economic and political context The growth of civil society is intractably linked to the prevailing socio-­ economic and political context. Thus, in understanding civil society in Zimbabwe, it is critical to look at the contextual realities. This is primarily because the context has had far-­reaching impacts on civil society. At the

Continuity and change in Zimbabwe   91 same time, civil society has had serious ramifications on the socio-­ economic and political context. While the focus of this section is placed on the post-­independence era civil society, it is acknowledged that civil society existed in the pre-­ independence epoch. Civil society existed during the Second Chimurenga supporting the liberation fighters, for instance the Zimbabwe Council of Churches (ZCC), the Catholic Commission for Justice and Peace (CCJP), and the Zimbabwe Project Trust. These CSOs continued to operate after the war, with the CCJP documenting the Gukurahundi atrocities and the ZCC giving birth to the National Constitutional Assembly (NCA). From the above, civil society is not something that is donor-­driven or manufac­ tured from outside. Thus, civil society is not all about democratisation; there have been other agendas of civil society such as fighting colonialism and helping the independent government meet its development objectives. Pre-­1995 Post-­1990, the economic and social development gains attained during the first decade of independence began to deteriorate. In the first decade of independence, the economy also began to deteriorate. At the same time, the government came under immense pressure from international finan­ cial institutions to adopt neo-­liberal policies and programmes. One such programme was the Economic Structural Adjustment Programme (ESAP), which led to retrenchments, the reduction of government support on social services sectors, and deindustrialisation in sectors such as textiles and clothing (LEDRIZ, 2012). Government withdrawal in financing key social sectors such as health, education, and social welfare created resent­ ment among many urban dwellers. In such context, CSOs began to mobilise and agitate against the govern­ ment’s development strategy. In essence, much resentment against the government was characterised by demonstrations, stayaways, and strikes showing dissatisfaction with government economic policy (Tsvangirai, 2011). During this era, relations between the state and citizens were strained as the former resorted to repressive tactics as a response to the latter’s concerns and actions. 1995–2008 During this period, five key events had an impact on Zimbabwe’s develop­ ment conditions. These are the unbudgeted gratuities to war veterans, the Fast Track Land Reform Programme (FTLRP), the Zimbabwe Democracy and Economic Recovery Act (ZIDERA), the formation of the Movement for Democratic Change (MDC), and the 2008 elections. In 1997, the Gov­ ernment of Zimbabwe (GoZ) issued unbudgeted gratuities to war veterans

92   D. Muchadenyika after the war veterans’ agitations towards the lack of reward for their efforts during the liberation war. This triggered ‘the Zimbabwean dollar to lose half of its value on a single day’ (Muchadenyika, 2016a: 1341). In the same year, the NCA was formed, which galvanised CSOs to demand a new and progressive constitution. The NCA became a civil society platform for engaging and confronting the government. In 1999, the MDC was founded premised on human rights advocacy, democracy, and good governance (Raftopoulos, 2010; Muchadenyika, 2015a). This completely altered the political developments in the country. The MDC grew to mount a serious and sometimes successful political chal­ lenge to the Zimbabwe African National Union Patriotic Front (ZANU­PF ). For instance, in the post-­2000 era, the party dismantled the one-­party state. The alliance between the NCA and MDC resulted in the rejection of the draft constitution in February 2000. Such political strength signalled the possibility of the ruling party to lose the imminent election. The gov­ ernment response through the FTLRP, which was aimed at taking and redistributing white-­owned commercial farms to black Zimbabweans, began in earnest (GoZ, 2001). The programme has had negative impacts on agriculture, food security, and economic growth in the country (Muchadenyika, 2015b). In response to Zimbabwe’s deteriorating socio-­economic and political conditions, the US Government adopted the Zimbabwe Democracy and Economic Recovery Act, 2001 (ZIDERA). The ZIDERA was premised on providing a ‘transition to democracy and promoting economic recovery in Zimbabwe’. The ZIDERA meant that the GoZ was not eligible for any loan, credit, or guarantee extended by the Bretton Woods institutions (Mucha­ denyika, 2016a). In 2001, the European Union imposed restrictive meas­ ures premised ‘on violence escalation, intimidation of political opponents, harassment of independent press and infringement of the right to freedom of speech, assembly and association, and the violation of norms and standards for free and fair elections’ (European Council, 2002). Much of EU and US overseas development assistance began to be channelled through CSOs and NGOs, bypassing the government. On the economic front, the country’s gross domestic product declined by 37 per cent between 1998 and 2006 (Zimbabwe Institute, 2007: 37). Zimbabwe’s economic conditions tumbled between 2007 and 2008. For instance, ‘at the beginning of 2008, the Zimbabwean dollar lost its value completely’ (Muchadenyika, 2016a: 1341). In fact, by July 2008, a loaf of bread was being sold at about ZW$100 billion (Dore, 2009: 18). On social services delivery, 60,000 of the 140,000 teachers remained at their posts and only 30 per cent of government health workers were kept in their posts (Dore, 2009). In other words, social services delivery had collapsed. In 2007, civil society and political parties organised a Save Zimbabwe campaign rally at Zimbabwe Grounds, Highfields (Harare), where opposi­ tion and civil society leaders were brutally assaulted by police and militia.

Continuity and change in Zimbabwe   93 Such brutal acts drew condemnation from leaders in the Southern African Development Community (SADC) region and abroad. SADC-­facilitated negotiations led by South Africa culminated in early harmonised elections in 2008. The elections and the aftermath would usher in a new era for the country. 2008–2013 The 2008 elections were inconclusive after Morgan Tsvangirai and the MDC defeated Robert Mugabe and ZANU-­PF in the first round of presidential elections. The MDC and its candidate pulled out of the run-­ off election after more than 300 opposition supporters were tortured and killed (Sachikonye, 2011). Thus the electoral stalemate led to the forma­ tion in February 2009 of the Inclusive Government, composed of the MDC and ZANU-­PF. On the development front, the Inclusive Government was faced with numerous challenges, with scholars such as Mbeki (2009: 101) arguing that the Zimbabwean case exemplified a ‘failed African state in which everything had gone wrong – economics, politics, foreign policy and public health – to the detriment of the Zimbabwean people’. The Inclusive Government prioritised constitutional reforms as a key element of ushering in a new governance culture. The constitution-­ making process began in 2010 and culminated in a referendum in 2013. The development gains attributed to the Inclusive Government include the restoration of public services and stabilisation of the economy (Barclay, 2010; Musemwa, 2014). 2013–2018 The 2013 elections resulted in the overwhelming yet unexpected victory for the ruling ZANU-­PF party. The party won a two-­thirds majority in Par­ liament and made significant inroads in reclaiming some urban centres which had been predominantly run by the opposition since 2002. Politi­ cally, succession battles within ZANU-­PF intensified and were character­ ised by violence, intimidation, and intense factional fighting (ICG, 2014). On the economic front, the gains made during the Inclusive Govern­ ment receded. Features of economic decline include drastic reduction in industrial capacity, massive closure of companies, high rates of unemploy­ ment, a liquidity crunch, and growing poverty (Muchadenyika, 2016b). The delivery of social services also tumbled owing to infighting within the ruling party, which also cascaded into state institutions. Key economic sectors contracted, and the government struggled to pay wages to provide basic services (ICG, 2014: 1). Amidst economic decline and unpreced­ ented ZANU-­PF infighting, Robert Mugabe was forced to resign in Novem­ ber 2017 after military intervention. The ‘new administration’ at least on paper showed signs of interest in economic revival and international

94   D. Muchadenyika r­ e-­engagement, though it is premature to comment on its state–civil society relations.

Continuity and change The prevailing socio-­economic and political environment in the country, the region, and the world had repercussions to CSO strategies and focus over time. In this regard, civil society in Zimbabwe was influenced by the operating environment and vice versa (it also affected the obtaining environment). In this section, we explore the different strategies employed by civil society over time. Soon after independence, the GoZ faced two key issues, namely debt and a development strategy. In this regard, it became imperative for civil society to focus on debt and development. Primarily, such focus was pre­ mised on providing options for debt payment and the country’s development path. The key turning point for civil society actors was the 1990s. The govern­ ment adopted neo-­liberal reforms through a programme called ESAP. The programme led to massive retrenchments, price hikes, and the removal of government subsidies on basic services (Raftopoulos, 2001). Coalitions of CSOs protested against such reforms. In other words, during the ESAP era, civil society resorted to strategies such as protests, boycotts, stayaways, and demonstrations (Saunders, 2001). It is important to note that the strategy changed from engagement and dialogue to antagonism. Partly, this is explained by a largely intransigent and authoritarian government which responded to civil society requests and demands through bullets, torture, and brutal force. Post-­1995, CSOs identified constitutional reform as a vital aspect in resolving the country’s political and economic challenges. This led to the formation of the NCA – a coalition platform for civil society advocacy towards a new progressive constitution. The NCA developed a model draft constitution and it successfully lobbied organisations and citizens to have constitutional reform as a national agenda. For instance, with its 96 affili­ ate member organisations, the NCA, ‘through its activities, the governance question entered the arena of everyday politics channelled the discussion of economic issues towards the crisis of the state and the politics of the Mugabe regime’ (Raftopoulos, 2001: 15). Mounting pressure from civil society led the government to constitute a Constitutional Reform Commission, mandated with drafting a new consti­ tution. The draft constitution was however rejected in the February 2000 referendum (Raftopoulos, 2001), marking a turning point in the history of civil society in the country. The government realised that a strong civil society was a major threat to its hold on power. Hence, the state apparatus developed and intensified new repressive tactics to whittle down the power and influence of civil society. Some of the tactics included laws such as the

Continuity and change in Zimbabwe   95 Access to Information and Protection of Privacy Act, the Public Order and Security Act, and the Private Voluntary Organisations Act, which essen­ tially criminalised access to information, activism, collective action, and public gatherings. Raising political questions by/from civil society was deemed by the gov­ ernment to be meddling in the internal governance affairs of the country. In other words, such work was in the government’s view for political parties. A coalition of CSOs and the labour movements (in particular the Zimbabwe Congress of Trade Unions (ZCTU)) reflected on the country’s socio-­economic and political context and resorted to form a political party aimed at regime change in 1999. Thus, the MDC was born out of civil society and the labour movement. The mutation of civil society to a political party had serious negative repercussions. The government viewed civil society as a breeding ground for the opposition party. Thus, the government and its other apparatus deployed its full might such as resources and spies on civil society. Despite this, a symbiotic relationship between the opposition party and CSOs became critical in civil society strategies. Civil society continued to promote the principles of civil liberties, potentially laying a strong ground for the opposition party. At the same time, the opposition party would move motions in Parliament to change laws and promote reforms aimed at restoring civil and political freedoms and economic policies that could potentially transform ordinary people’s lives. Moreover, the opposition party agitated for the removal of restrictions on civil society work. Civil society provided technical assistance and financial resources to the opposition movement, making it a key arm of the latter. However, an intimate relationship led to a breakdown in accountability between the two. Thus, civil society could not objectively criticise the opposition without losing donor support and being labelled as the security agents of the state. This relationship also bred a new development – individuals wielding extensive power influencing the donor agenda and civil society and extending their sway to the opposition party. However, this was prob­ lematic as the civil society and opposition party became driven more by the ambitions of some powerful individuals (who controlled donor financ­ ing) than by the realities on the ground. The fact that civil society had noticeable linkages with the opposition party affected the former in a number of ways. First, the reach of civil society was limited to those interested in opposition politics. As such, citizens not interested in politics could not be part of the civil society movement. Second, the government began to treat civil society as an opposition entity. Thus, the ruthless state apparatus unleashed its forces and diverse mechanisms for repression on civil society. In essence, civil society’s intimacy with the opposition party militated against the develop­ ment and growth of a robust and broader civil society movement.

96   D. Muchadenyika The growth of civil society was also influenced by the GoZ’s policies towards vulnerable groups such as women. Policies implemented by Zim­ babwe’s independent government ‘failed to respond sufficiently to the needs and responsibilities of women, so gender inequality and inequity have persisted’ (LEDRIZ, 2012: 88). In a largely patriarchal society women and girls were still marginalised. Civil society focused on reducing gender inequalities. Primarily, civil society became active in areas of women’s rights, business, law and politics. In fact, ‘the rise of the women’s move­ ment has been critical in driving the women’s agenda and organising women’s voices in the political, social and economic processes that con­ tinue to unfold in today’s Zimbabwe’ (LEDRIZ, 2012: 89). Women groups also realised the need to coalesce separately during the constitutional cam­ paigns and developed a separate campaign for women in a context where the Lancaster House constitution still upheld the application of customary law. This led women to develop a safe space for their campaigns through forming CSOs advocating for women issues. The discovery of diamonds in eastern Zimbabwe had a significant impact on the focus of civil society. For example, civil society exposed cor­ ruption in the extractives sector through dossiers, and advocated for the protection of human rights in mining areas and agitating for transparency and the benefit of local communities (Muchadenyika, 2015b). In this regard, civil society partnered with local communities, providing them with electronic gadgets to document abuses and empowering local com­ munities to stand up for their rights. Local civil society groups also entered into strategic partnerships with international organisations advocating for transparency in diamond mining. The securitisation of diamond mining meant that civil society had to develop sophisticated methods to work in such communities. Strategies developed include the use of community monitors, state security officials, and investigative journalists (local and international) to document and disseminate abuses in diamond mining and promoting transparent use of diamond revenue. The nature, form, and composition of the GoZ also affected civil society’s focus. For instance, one of the priorities of the Inclusive Government (2009–2013) was the writing of a new constitution. This process required extensive outreach programmes by the Constitution Select Committee (COPAC). For the outreaches to yield meaningful results, citizens required knowledge of the constitution such as rights, principles, and structure of the government among others. Having rejected the draft constitution in 2000, the process for building a new constitution presented a major opportunity. Civil society conducted constitutional campaign out­ reaches in the country, educating citizens on rights, principles of a consti­ tution, contents, structure of government, and separation of powers, among others (Muchadenyika, 2016b). Here, civil society played an essen­ tial role in civil education campaigns during the writing of a new and pro­ gressive constitution in Zimbabwe.

Continuity and change in Zimbabwe   97 The draft constitution was subjected to a referendum. Many notable CSOs except the NCA campaigned for the ‘Yes Vote’ on the draft constitu­ tion. The NCA argued that the constitution-­writing process was not ‘people-­driven’. Rather, it argued that the process was driven by political parties. The ‘Yes Vote’ won by 94.5 per cent. The NCA, one of the most important organisations in the CSO movement in Zimbabwe at the turn of the millennium, transformed into a political party in September 2013. This was a grievous mistake as it meant the decimation of the NCA – the cradle of civil society movement in Zimbabwe. This also signalled the direct meddling of CSOs in political affairs – a move which drew criticism from other CSO affiliates to the NCA. Unlike during the formation of the MDC, when leaders resigned from various labour, civic, and student groups, the NCA leaders just formed a political party using the name of the once-­vibrant CSO. Urbanisation and its features have had impacts on the work of civil society in Zimbabwe. For instance, the crisis in cities is evidenced by the failure of the delivery of services such as water, electricity, and sanitation, among others (Muchadenyika and Williams, 2017). In order to help ameli­ orate the situation, civil society invested financial and technical resources, particularly in helping local authorities to deliver services and promote accountability to residents and mobilise citizens to demand accountability. Prevalent strategies by CSOs included promoting social accountability (Muchadenyika, 2016b) and providing research evidence on service delivery and local government elections (WPYD, 2017a, 2017b). In addi­ tion, residents’ associations prioritised programmes focusing on promot­ ing active citizenship through building coalitions of citizens demanding accountability from public institutions. (WPYD, 2017a). The mobilisation of residents to demand the provision of services in a debilitating economic environment became an effective strategy in attempts at improving service delivery in cities. Lastly, the other dimension of civil society manifested in the form of a loose networks of activists. Such networks were largely informal in nature and include the Occupy Africa Unity Square movement, #ThisFlag, and Tajamuka. These resisted the formality of having a registered organisation, arguing that formality ‘destroys’ activism and activists. The aforemen­ tioned movements largely used social media as a mobilising platform. It is vital to indicate that these movements galvanised citizen agency in Zimba­ bwe at a time when opposition parties and mainstream CSOs looked weak and disorganised. From the above, the rallying point of ‘informal’ civil society networks include corruption, injustice, and poverty, which have largely affected the majority of young people in Zimbabwe. This also explains why such move­ ments are primarily led by young people. Most young people are engaged in informal economic activities, which are vulnerable to corruption and injustice perpetrated by state authorities. Collective issues became a

98   D. Muchadenyika rallying point for the youth movement. In a way, speaking against corrup­ tion, injustice, and poverty would be conceived as not confronting the ruling regime directly. However, here, I argue that the youth movement has largely been able to meet its goals for two reasons. First, the movement portrayed itself as apolitical, which drew many participants and sympathisers. In addition, being apolitical somehow insulated the movement from the ruthless state apparatus, which is often obsessed with any dissent associated with opposi­ tion parties. Further, portraying the movement as apolitical brought rays of hope to citizens and some actors who seemed to be lethargic about the prospects of opposition parties. Second, the emphasis on non-­violence became crucial. Experiences in Zimbabwe at the turn of the millennium show the brutal response of tyranny to violence protests. Such state response had a tendency of leaving scars and permanent injuries to people and in the process depleting the morale for future collective action. While the benefits of collective action are a common good, the costs of such action are often privatised. Such privatisation of costs often acts as a bad example to would-­be participants in a movement. The non-­violence thrust within the youth movement meant that the state was left with no material grounds for crushing and prosecuting the participants.

Civil society in Zimbabwe: challenges and prospects The main challenges confronting civil society in Zimbabwe relate to integ­ rity and ethics, ‘founder member syndrome’, political alliances, and the lack of a broad-­based agenda. Civil society in Zimbabwe primarily focuses on issues of accountability, in particular on the part of the government. However, calls for accountability often receive a backlash owing to wide­ spread signs of weak corporate-­type governance practices within the CSOs. These include but are not limited to financial misappropriation, employee abuse, bribery, and corruption. Partly, such practices can be explained by the capture of CSOs by founder members. Organisations (mainly CSOs) therefore become ‘personal havens’ for looting donor resources and exploiting fellow workers. In fact, in a period of four years, the four main donors in Zimbabwe were implicated in corrupt syndicates involving indi­ viduals in donors and CSOs. Investigations revealed that some individuals working in donor agencies were requesting a percentage (usually 10 per cent) of grants awarded as a bribe. In essence, there existed a network of individuals involved in the misappropriation of donor funds. Besides accountability issues raised above, the close relations between civil society and the main opposition party present serious pros and cons. Its main challenge is that such an alliance has somehow prevented civil society from pursuing a broad-­based and inclusive agenda beyond politics. In a way, collusion between civil society and opposition parties/movements worked

Continuity and change in Zimbabwe   99 to the detriment of developing a broad and issues-­based civil society. In addition, it led to the identification of civil society as pro- or anti-­ government. The factional fights in the opposition were also felt in civil society. The majority of CSOs in Zimbabwe are formed locally as trusts, associ­ ations, private voluntary organisations, or coalitions. These have been formed at the instigation of leading human rights champions. However, over time, transition of leadership was often hampered as founder members claimed exclusive control in the pursuit of the organisations’ visions. For instance, leadership challenges led to the collapse of once-­ vibrant CSOs such as the NCA, the Crisis in Zimbabwe Coalition, the Insti­ tute for a Democratic Alternative for Zimbabwe, Youth Initiatives for Democracy in Zimbabwe, and the Bulawayo Agenda, among others. Other CSOs, which have not changed leadership for more than a decade, are in a state of paralysis. Many CSOs suffer from founder member syndrome, which manifests in autocratic management practices, the recruitment of relatives and friends, and the gross abuse of donor funds. Such practices have retarded the growth of civil society in Zimbabwe. One of the key challenges facing CSOs in Zimbabwe is financing. For two decades, donors have been supporting CSOs financially. However, there seems to be donor fatigue, which is crippling civil society work. Donors now prefer funding CSOs in consortiums rather than as individual organisations. This funding mechanism has its own problems with regards to developing a vibrant civil society. Poor governance led to CSOs not having long-­term sustainability plans. There was over reliance on donor funding and donors were also not providing institutional support. However, the ailing economy also made it almost impossible for CSOs to pursue other options that could have led to a diversified funding base such as membership fees and corporate donations. Despite the above, the prospects for civil society hinge on four things, namely constitutionalism, accountability, urbanisation prospects, and the magnitude of informality. In 2013, Zimbabwe adopted a fairly progressive constitution with an expansive bill of rights. However, the hopes of a new era heralded by the new constitution are threatened by the ZANU-­PF gov­ ernment’s disregard of implementing the letter and spirit of the constitu­ tion. In particular, one of the important pillars that determine the structure of the government (devolution) is under incessant threat from the ZANU-­PF government (Muchadenyika and Williams, 2016). Thus, civil society focus on promoting the full implementation of the constitution provides critical pathways for future civil society work. Such work includes advocacy on devolution, freedom of expression, access to information, accountability of public institutions, and national healing and reconcili­ ation – which are crucial aspects of the new constitution. Promoting accountability between government institutions and citizens is a critical avenue of future civil society work. This emanates from a new

100   D. Muchadenyika constitution that provides space for such quest for accountability to persist. For instance, civil society can be premised on advancing constitution-­ related social accountability enablers such as information disclosure by public institutions, citizen participation, and the protection of funda­ mental human rights (Muchadenyika, 2016b: O184). The debilitating socio-­economic conditions bred massive informality in terms of both economic activities and human settlements. In fact, it is estimated that formal unemployment stands at over 90 per cent (Hammar et al., 2010), while about 25.1 per cent of the urban population lives in informal areas (UN-­Habitat, 2016). In addition, the level of urban poverty is estimated to be 46.5 per cent (ibid.). At the same time, the nature of urban economies is highly informalised. Thus, efforts by the government to formalise such informality often lead to transgressions and rights viola­ tions. In essence, civil society work supporting the transition from informal to formal is essential in building an inclusive society, economy, and settlements. Informality discussed above is expected to worsen taking into account the country’s urbanisation prospects. For instance, it is estimated that, by 2030, half of Zimbabwe’s population will be urban (UN-­Habitat, 2010). Essentially this means that the subject of inclusive urban development will become more prominent than ever. As such, investment in civil society work focusing on urban issues is fundamental. Such a focus includes pro­ moting dialogues and engagement between local authorities, government, and citizens, as well as championing alternative and inclusive service delivery models. From the above, the main challenges Zimbabwean civil society is facing relate to integrity and ethics, ‘founder member syndrome’, political alli­ ances, and the lack of a broad-­based agenda. However, the above also highlights prospective areas for future civil society work, namely constitu­ tionalism, accountability, urbanisation prospects, and the magnitude of informality.

Conclusion The growth of civil society in Zimbabwe is linked to developments in the socio-­economic and political context of the country. The debilitating socio-­economic conditions prompted civil society to grow in power and influence through challenging the government’s economic policies and advancing alternative economic policies. Alternative policies were pre­ mised on the social contract, respect for workers’ and human rights, and just and equitable development. In other words, the rallying point for civil society growth became alternative economic policies and development path. Neo-­liberal economic policies were vigorously resisted and became a launchpad for building a vibrant civil society movement in Zimbabwe, par­ ticularly in the 1990s.

Continuity and change in Zimbabwe   101 The political context in the post-­independence era was a catalyst for civil society growth. In fact, a one-­party state, repression of alternative voices, corruption and mismanagement within government agencies, and a repressive state apparatus characterised the political context. Such a context led to the emergence of numerous dissenting voices challenging the status quo and championing the broadening of political space. Civil society has changed strategies over time in line with the prevailing socio-­economic and political context. Civil society strategies primarily focused on opening up the political space and influencing policies that improve the socio-­economic well-­being of citizens. Overall, civil society managed to place its key concerns on the national political and economic agenda through confrontation, engagement, and dialogue. In this regard, civil society in Zimbabwe laboured through an oppressive state machinery to become a well-­respected sector. Nevertheless, the main challenges con­ fronting civil society relate to integrity and ethics, ‘founder member syn­ drome’, political alliances, and the lack of a broad-­based agenda, whereas the prospects for civil society hinge on four issues, namely constitutional­ ism, accountability, levels of urbanisation, and the magnitude of informality.

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7 The multiple faces of civil society in India Sarbeswar Sahoo

Introduction With the ‘third wave’ of global democratization, many formerly communist and authoritarian regimes were forced by civil society groups to make the transition to a democratic form of government and governance.1 Owing to its role in democratic transition in different parts of the world, civil society came to be considered an indispensable instrument for the survival and sustenance of democracy. Some believed it to be the ‘hitherto missing key’ to be acquired by the developing countries to reach the Western stage of political development (Comaroff and Comaroff, 1999: 2). For example, Dettke (1998: x) argued that ‘the most important concept the West could offer the emerging democracies was the concept of civil society’. Following this, Western aid agencies actively channelled development assistance to developing countries mainly through various non-­government organizations (NGOs) for building civil society and promoting good governance2 under the broad goal of ‘democracy promotion’. In this context, this chapter asks: how do the NGOs, as part of civil society, contribute to democratic development in India? Addressing this, the chapter argues that not all kinds of civil society institutions necessarily promote democratic political change. The chapter contends that, although civil society institutions play a role, they are neither the explanation par excellence for outcomes nor the prescription for developmental problems (Sangmpam, 2007). What shapes these institutions is the ‘practice of politics’ (Li, 2007). Grounded on the primacy of political framework, this chapter argues that the politics of civil society could be multifaceted and could have different implications for democratization. Drawing on fieldwork in the tribal-­dominated regions of north-­west India, this chapter presents comparative case studies of three NGOs, which reflect three different kinds of politics within civil society. Before analysing these cases, it is important to understand the relationship between civil society and democratization, which is discussed in the next section. The third section discusses briefly the nature of civil society in India. The fourth, fifth and sixth sections present the three case studies, highlighting

Multiple faces of civil society in India   105 three different kinds of politics within civil society; the final section provides concluding arguments on the implications of civil society for democratization in India.

Is civil society a democratic force? Scholars who view civil society’s role in democracy promotion positively claim that a robust, strong, and vibrant civil society strengthens liberal democracy. As Dettke (1998: x) notes, ‘it is possible to have a market economy without democracy, but it is inconceivable to have a democracy without the institutions of civil society’. Although this assertion is largely true, there are also strong ‘uncivil’ groups within civil society that could undermine democratization and the functioning of democracy. Sherry Berman (1997), drawing on her study on the National Socialist Party (Nazis) in Weimar-­era Germany, argues that dense networks of civil society can often serve to weaken rather than strengthen democracy. Similarly, Vedi Hadiz (2003: 597) observes in the context of Indonesia that the institutions of democratic politics and civil society are captured by predatory interests whose economic and political agenda are often profoundly anti-­ liberal and anti-­democratic. Considering this, the essential question is, ‘What type of civil society positively contributes to democratization?’ Civil society should not be treated as a monolithic category; it is essentially a pluralistic concept that entails both civil and uncivil forces. If it is to contribute positively to democratization, civil society must be dominated by groups with an interest in democratic civility and in moving the state in a liberal democratic direction. Besides civility, the politicization of civil society is also important for advancing the democratic project. Some scholars therefore define civil society as a site of struggle and political mobilization. For example, Chandhoke (1995) argues that civil society is a sphere in which groups are organized on social bases, including class, gender, sexuality, race, ethnicity, and environment, and are engaged in political and ideological struggles. Hewison and Rodan (1996) argue that the range of organizations in society may be enormous, but not all engage in overtly political activity. They describe these ‘apolitical’ groups, such as sporting clubs as well as charitable associations, as civic organizations. For Hewison and Rodan, civil society includes a range of non-­state politically active groups, which attempt to advance the interests of people, ranging from their members to the more general interest of wider groups in society. Although civil society is important to democratization, the state directly helps shape what kind of civil society may emerge in a country (see Chandhoke, 2001). According to Krygier (1996), while some states do constrain the functioning of civil society, other states facilitate it. For Krygier, a vigorous civil society requires a strong and facilitating state. In his examples, not only are strong and facilitating states benign and tolerant

106   S. Sahoo enough to allow civil society, but they also actively provide the capacity, ability, and power needed for it to emerge and thrive. In contrast, obstructive states inhibit civil society by restricting the sphere of the politically permissible. Krygier (1996) argues that, while strong obstructive states are detrimental to civil society, weak states are no better. Where the state is weak, a market develops for entrepreneurs of violence. Strong and facilitating states are thus vital to democratization (see Muetzelfeldt and Smith, 2002). This, however, does not mean that civil society needs a benign state to survive. Through struggle and mobilization, civil society can also force the state to respond benignly to the demands of the people. This shows that democratization is not a one-­way initiative of state or civil society, but instead a two-­way interaction between a strong civil society and a strong, responsive, and liberal democratic state.

Civil society in India Before discussing the contributions of civil society towards democratization, it is imperative to examine the nature of civil society in India. As we know, conceptions of civil society vary widely. Classical theorists equated civil society with the ‘civil state’, which emerged when individuals agreed to subordinate their separate wills into a unified common will to ensure civility and the rule of law against the state of nature. In contrast, modern theorists like Hegel defined civil society as a domain of particularity between the patriarchal family and the universal state. The concept, however, resurfaced in the 1980s to refer to the Tocquevillian idea of voluntary and civic associational life that opposed totalitarian regimes in different parts of the world. This conceptualization of civil society as a deliberate sphere of individual will was distinguished from social institutions that are natural to human society. These natural institutions, or what sociologists call ‘community’ (gemeinschaft), are marked by ascribed or primordial relations and identities. In the Indian context, scholars like Beteille (1999) and Kaviraj (2001) argued that primordial institutions such as caste, kinship, ethnicity and religion are irreconcilable with civil society because they are ‘pre-­civil’ and repressive and are also opposed to ideas of individual autonomy, freedom, and choice. For them, civil society included only those voluntary organizations that are open and secular in nature. However, if we follow Beteille and Kaviraj, this would mean the near ‘non-­existence’ of civil society in India as only 13 per cent of Indians are members of voluntary associations (Chhibber, 1999: 17). According to Lloyd Rudolph (2003: 1118), excluding caste and other ascriptive associations from civil society would narrow civil society’s scope in India. For him, ‘caste associations are anomalous; they are intentional associations, hybrids that combine voluntary with ascriptive characteristics’. These associations exemplify ‘the modernity of tradition’ and, hence, are part of civil society in India. In fact, civil society

Multiple faces of civil society in India   107 in India can hardly wish away the primordial and ascriptive groups from its sphere as they constitute an important part of the sphere of organized politics. Considering this, civil society in India could be described as a non-­state sphere where both voluntary and primordial, civil and pre-­civil, secular and faith-­based groups exercise their right to advance the interests of people rather than profit or political power. Although since the 1970s voluntary NGOs have come to be considered ‘the very life-­force for the civil society’, it must be noted that civil society is not limited only to them – all NGOs are CSOs but not all CSOs are NGOs. Given this plurality of civil society in India, one may ask: do all kinds of civil society organizations contribute to democratic political change? As discussed above, Beteille and Kaviraj would discard the democratic potential of the primordial groups and wholeheartedly support the so-­called open, voluntary organizations or NGOs. In this context, the chapter asks: do the so-­called NGOs always bring democratic political change? Drawing on case studies of three NGOs that work with vulnerable tribal communities in south Rajasthan, the chapter argues that not all NGOs contribute positively to the democratization process. In the following sections, I discuss the three cases and examine their contribution towards democratization in India.

Seva Mandir and the implementation of ‘constructive work’ programmes This section examines the role of Seva Mandir (literally, temple of service), one of the oldest and most institutionalized NGOs in Rajasthan. Seva Mandir was established in 1966 by the late Dr Mohan Singh Mehta, a well-­ known statesman and visionary, as an organization for the promotion of adult literacy. Influenced by the Gandhian idea of ‘constructive work’,3 which aimed to create self-­reliant and self-­governing village communities, Dr Mehta nurtured a vision of ending poverty and educating the poor. The foundational objective of Seva Mandir was to demand democratic accountability by mobilizing the poor politically and bringing about structural transformation in a society that was dominated by feudalistic relations and unaccountable and corrupt state practices. However, in 1985, Seva Mandir departed from its ‘demanding accountability’ objectives and came closer to the state to perform the role of ‘project implementation’. While some members of the organization opposed this move, Seva Mandir justified the shift by pointing out that the role of the voluntary sector is not to act as a substitute for governmental action, but as a necessary complement. Following its close and complementary relationship with the state, Seva Mandir, in a way, was compelled to follow a more depoliticized service delivery approach to rural development. At present, Seva Mandir describes itself as ‘politically neutral’ and maintains an amicable relationship with the state authorities. It argues that ‘it is easy to criticize the government,

108   S. Sahoo but prefers patience to politics’. Given this, the state has seen Seva Mandir in a positive way and actively involved it in various projects. It has not just been Seva Mandir: since the 1990s, the Indian state has made a shift towards neo-­liberal ideologies. As the neo-­liberal aid regime dislikes ‘oppositional/ politicized’ civil society organizations, Seva Mandir has preferred to remain apolitical. This has helped Seva Mandir receive large-­scale funding from international aid organizations, making it possible for it to continue with its various project activities such as natural resource development, education, health, women and child development, and so on. Seva Mandir’s work in a village typically begins with the formation of a village development committee (Gram Vikash Committee – GVC). Seva Mandir believes that the GVCs will provide a common space where people can discuss their problems and take collective responsibility for community development, which will lessen their dependency on the state. However, it was observed during the fieldwork that people’s agendas are often preset and limited and that their demands did not coincide with those of Seva Mandir. As Bradley (2006: 140) has rightly argued, although NGOs claim to consult target communities in the process of designing development programmes, in reality ‘projects are largely planned prior to any contact with the community’. As a Seva Mandir staff member noted: Previously the development programmes were rooted in people’s demands and were expressed through their planning and decision making. Though this is not completely eroded, Seva Mandir now gives priority to donors and implement projects in the village which may not be the primary requirement or immediate need of the people at the time. Many of these projects are now imposed from above [uparse thopa hua], for which they fail without having any substantial effect on people. (personal communication) Seva Mandir has also a group of ‘development professionals’ who are hired to design, implement, and manage its various developmental projects as well as to prepare reports. Although such ‘expert’ reports have helped Seva Mandir receive international development aid, it has, by telling people how to solve their problems, eventually disempowered ordinary villagers. Disempowerment does not mean villagers do not participate in development programmes. In fact, villagers do participate actively in village meetings related to development. However, it was observed that one of the reasons why people participate in meetings is that development programmes generate employment. The very moment that income-­generating development programmes are discontinued, participation of people in meetings declines significantly. Villagers find excuses to avoid meetings. This shows that people’s participation in development activities does not

Multiple faces of civil society in India   109 mean that local people have become aware about development as a problem or right; instead, it shows how development process is ‘incentive-­ induced’ and people’s participation is contingent upon the availability of concrete employment-­generating activities. In fact, according to the village people, non-­employment-generating programmes are not counted as ‘development’. Therefore, they appeal Seva Mandir to bring more employment-­generating programmes. However, with declining funding, Seva Mandir has not been able to meet people’s demands. Surprisingly, such declining patronage from Seva Mandir has not made people consider the state as an alternative agency of providing development benefits. One reason that has held them back from approaching the state is that, in government offices, they will have to deal with rigid and corrupt bureaucracies. Besides, Seva Mandir has failed to provide political clout to people’s participation and transform it into a struggle for rights and welfare claims. This shows that, although Seva Mandir intended to encourage people’s participation to create self-­supporting, self-­reliant and autonomous village communities through the formation of GVCs, it had many unintended consequences. One of them is the incentive-­induced development, which created a culture of ‘organized dependency’4 among the people. Although people were organized through the GVCs, they remained largely dependent upon Seva Mandir for projects. Independent effort on the part of the village committees to seek development projects or to make demands either on government institutions or from some other NGOs has rarely been possible. It also failed to generate forms of citizenship towards self-­reliance and sustainable change. In a sense, it shows that the mere implementation of projects and apolitical approach to development are not sufficient to bring empowerment and democratization.

Astha and the movement for ‘claim-­making’ This section analyses the role of Astha (literally, faith in people), which was established in 1986 by a group of activists in Udaipur who left Seva Mandir when it decided to shift its approach, from ‘demanding accountability’ to a mere implementation of projects. The activists of Astha had realized that NGOs’ service delivery projects are inadequate in fulfilling the needs of the marginalized people and that it is also not possible for NGOs to provide services for an indeterminate period of time. They also felt that service delivery involves a top-­down approach to development and ignores ‘political-­economic questions’ (Li, 2007: 11). For them, the prevailing discourse of development is purely an apolitical act and, as a response to this, Astha was born ‘in the (few) people’s refusal to abandon a struggle, and consequently, a refusal to stay within the confines of the development discourse’ (Kamat, 2002: 75). In contrast to Seva Mandir, Astha followed a more politicized approach. It emphasized ‘claim-­making’ and ‘rights-­based activism’ and mobilized

110   S. Sahoo people to redress unequal power relations at the grass-­roots level. Instead of service delivery, Astha’s major focus lied in structural transformation through community activism. In this regard, it integrated the ideas of Marx (class, exploitation, and revolution) with that of Mahatma Gandhi (non-­violence and village republics) and followed a unique method of non-­violent struggle (Satyagraha) to transform the exclusive and exploitative pattern of social relationship in the tribal society and to address its structural problems. Assuming that ordinary people in the villages have unconsciously become ‘consumers of services’ rather than ‘active citizens’, Astha refused to engage in service delivery activities. Its website mentions that: Astha does not parallel the Government, does not do what the government should be doing. Astha’s role is to help the poor, marginalized, deprived and exploited to access government schemes and resources, to make use of government laws intended to help the poor. This is part of the work of helping the poor to become organized and aware, and to work effectively on the problems they face.5 Astha adopted a movement-­oriented approach and concentrated primarily on radical claim-­making and building up of collective capabilities of the poor to demand their rights and entitlements. It developed a stance of ‘critical collaboration’ with the state, which often entailed a measure of conflict and confrontation (Eldridge, 1995). Unlike Seva Mandir, which viewed the state as ‘minimalist’ and needed civil society’s support in delivering services, Astha identified the state as the central instrument of engagement. By citing the Constitution as fundamental to India’s governance, it used constitutional principles to politically mobilize people to hold the state responsible to ensure the availability of food, shelter, education, health, and employment to all its citizens. In contrast to ‘service delivery’, the projects in which Astha works are related to mobilization and awareness-­building such as campaigns for the National Rural Employment Guarantee Act and the Right to Information. Astha believes that ‘conscientization’ and ‘mobilization’ of the people can act as the prime mover of social change and sustainable development. Hence, raising political consciousness is considered by Astha to be the first step for grass-­roots democratization. In a society characterized by corruption, clientelism, and a highly feudal and paternalistic bureaucracy, Astha’s strategy can be described as one of ‘growing citizenship from the grassroots’ (Kabeer, 2005: 184). Its emphasis on issue-­based activism and welfare rights discourse has radicalized the everyday politics of development at the local level, where people’s participation has become a more direct part of their struggle for rights, entitlements, and survival. Such grass-­roots activities and issue-­based struggles of Astha are carried out by its several people’s organizations (POs). These POs are unregistered

Multiple faces of civil society in India   111 associations of people, which are initiated and guided by Astha to work on political mobilization. They have remained unregistered because the government has the right to ban organizations of a political nature that are not political parties. These POs are different from Seva Mandir’s GVCs in the sense that they are involved in preparing politically aware citizens and guiding openly and actively their struggles. How does Astha decide the issue? Every year in September Astha organizes a tribal gathering in Kotra village, known as Milan Mela. More than 10,000 tribals come to participate from different parts of Rajasthan. This Milan Mela acts as an open democratic space where issues are discussed, experiences are shared, and strategies for collective struggle are devised. The tribals present their needs and problems at the Milan Mela and, on this basis, Astha, along with its POs and participants, decide on the major issues that need urgent action. Once the issue is identified, Astha and its POs, along with people, devise strategies, choose leaders from the community, and form an issue-­based struggle committee. Special training sessions are arranged to equip leaders and community members with necessary information and strategies. Activists and legal experts are invited to speak on the issue and suggest strategies for further action. As a result, community leaders become increasingly aware of the legal and political implications of the problem, helping them prepare more efficiently for the struggle. The leaders mobilize people through a rights-­based ‘claim-­ making’ approach, where mass mobilization strategies are employed to advance collective interests. Astha has followed the Constitution to justify its demands and argued that the demands for socio-­economic rights are legitimate claims in order to achieve equality and social justice. For example, the need for food security was projected through people’s right to life and right to food. Issues of political and bureaucratic corruption and unaccountability were addressed through the right to information. Astha has also worked on people’s right to forest land, a minimum wage, an employment guarantee, and so on. These rights-­based claims provide the legitimate ground to mobilize ordinary people to engage with the state. People’s demands are presented to the relevant authorities and institutions. Lobbying, advocacy, and networking strategies are also used to influence the authorities’ decisions. If lobbying and advocacy fail to bring about the desired social change, Astha and its POs employ legal procedures by filing cases and ‘public interest litigation’6 in the judicial courts. They also organize mass demonstrations, non-­violent protests, sit-­ins, rallies, hunger strikes, and street-­marches to pressurize the concerned authority to respond to people’s demands. Astha considers protest activity to be a meaningful ‘political resource’ (Lipsky, 1968) and believes that mobilization, training, political consciousness, and struggle for rights and entitlements are important instruments to empower people, to transform the nature of society, and to establish a social order based on equality and social justice.

112   S. Sahoo Astha’s open involvement in struggle, protest, mobilization, and advocacy work has often made it unpopular among the local government officials (Kuhn, 1998). However, Astha claims that its work is not anti-­governmental; what it is doing is working for the empowerment of the tribals and the effective implementation of the rule of law and government programmes. Besides, Astha has also maintained a cooperative relationship with the state and organized training for government officials to improve their capacity and knowledge. Thus, by maintaining a critical relationship with the state, Astha has been successful in persuading it to become more responsive to people’s interests, rights, and entitlements. However, it should be noted that the demands of the people have not always been successful. Success of a claim is dependent upon a variety of factors such as the nature of the claim, the approach adopted, the strength of the interest groups involved, the response of the state, and so on. This shows that, although Astha and Seva Mandir have the same objective of empowering the marginalized and increasing their participation in development process, the two organizations have been different in their approaches and functioning. While Seva Mandir followed a depoliticized service delivery approach, Astha took a more radical approach to rural development and maintained a critical relationship with the state. It recognized the state as the prime agency of engagement and followed non-­violent political mobilization as the major means of transformation in society. Its emphasis on issue-­based activism radicalized the everyday politics of development at the local level, where people’s participation became a more direct part of their struggle for rights, entitlements, and survival. This shows that, compared to Seva Mandir, Astha’s approach to development has not only transformed the poor tribals into ‘active political agents’ but also deepened the grass-­roots democratization process.

The RVKP and mobilization against the ‘culturally alien’ This section examines the role of the Rajasthan Vanvasi Kalyan Parishad (RVKP), a state-­level organization of the All India Vanvasi Kalyan Ashram (VKA–Tribal Welfare Association). VKA is an affiliate of the Hindu nationalist Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS–National Volunteers Association), which believes in the idea of making India a Hindu nation. For the RSS, Muslims and Christians are aggressors who propagate values that threaten the idea of the Hindu nation. Considering the increasing missionary activity in the tribal regions of Madhya Pradesh, the VKA was established in 1952 in Jashpur district of Madhya Pradesh with the objectives of: (1) looking after the welfare and development of the tribals, and (2) stopping religious conversion carried out by Christian missionaries among the tribes. In 1970s, the VKA expanded its activities to other parts of India and the Rajasthan branch, the RVKP, was established in the tribal-­dominated Kotra region of Udaipur district in the form of a tribal students’ hostel on

Multiple faces of civil society in India   113 25 August 1978. Besides tribal welfare, its major objective was to act as a counterforce to Muslims and Christian missionaries who had a strong presence in the region. The RVKP considers non-­Hindus ‘culturally alien’ or the ‘threatening others’ (Jaffrelot, 1996). It has argued that the tribals of Rajasthan have been victimized by Muslim businessmen and Christian missionaries of the region. Specifically, the RVKP’s construction of ‘the other’ and portrayal of tribal victimization have relied on the careful selection and presentation of local stories depicting Christian missionaries and Muslims in an ugly light. For example, in Kolyari village, although upper-­caste Hindus and Jain Baniyas have dominated the economic and political spheres together with the Muslims, only Muslims are portrayed as oppressors of the tribal populations. In the RVKP narrative, Muslims are involved in business activities, especially trade and money lending, and are collecting exorbitantly high interest on loans to tribal people. Similarly, Christian missionaries are accused of converting innocent tribal people through their education and healthcare facilities. The RVKP claims that tribal people ‘convert to Christianity either because they have been tricked by missionaries or because they have been seduced by offers of material remuneration’ (Menon, 2003: 43). The RVKP and Hindu nationalists have taken conversion seriously as they believe it increases the number of ‘enemies’ (van der Veer, 1996: 12) and challenges the idea of nationhood propounded by the RSS (Mallampalli, 2004). In response, the RVKP has ‘manufactured a constant fear – more imaginary than real – of being “swamped” demographically, swayed away culturally and subjugated economically by other communities/nations and hence the need for protection, preservation, promotion, and development of the Hindus’ (Kanungo, 2010: 87). The RVKP has established itself as a counterforce to Muslims (for economic exploitation) and Christian missionaries (for proselytization), portraying these two communities as enemies of the Indian (Hindu) nation who conspire to divide Hindus and destabilize India both culturally and politically. Thus, to contain the activities of these two communities, the RVKP has mobilized tribal people against Muslims and Christian missionaries, often resulting in conflict and violence. One might ask how the RVKP has managed to mobilize tribal people against Muslims and Christian missionaries. I argue that the RVKP has used development programmes as a major mobilizing strategy. By utilizing development and welfare programmes as a medium, the RVKP has entered into the villages and consolidated its networks among the tribals. Since its establishment, the RVKP has worked on education, health, sports, and economic development programmes. As per 2017 data, the RVKP runs 50 primary schools, five middle schools, two secondary schools, 31 one-­teacher schools and 14 students’ hostels for tribal children in Rajasthan. Besides education, the RVKP also runs 117 village health centres,

114   S. Sahoo weekly medical camps, 287 child development centres, 115 sports centres for youth, and 415 faith and cultural awareness centres.7 Furthermore, it has carried out numerous economic development programmes such as building small check-­dams, deepening wells and running agriculture development centres. The major programme which made RVKP popular among the tribals in the early 1990s was its tuberculosis control programme. The RVKP ran 17 tuberculosis centres in the tribal areas, covering 256 villages, where it distributed medicine and nutritional diets to patients. The RVKP set a world record by curing 3,892 patients with a curing rate of 89.64 per cent, which was recognized by the United Nations as a major success (RVKP, 2006: 24). The RVKP thus utilized these development activities as a medium to spread the politics of Hindutva8 and to establish its own version of ‘good’ society where the non-­Hindu ‘others’ are asked to follow the Hindu social values or leave the community. The RVKP schools and hostels ensured a firm footing for Hindutva and acted as agencies of political socialization through which the RVKP spread its education, culture, and ideology to the younger generations. The development activities were used for what Ruchi Chaturvedi (2011: 346) calls a ‘Maussian mode of mobilization: namely, giving gifts and services to incite the obligation to reciprocate with loyalty and support’. As a consequence of such mobilization, the Hindu nationalist political party, the BJP, has won elections in Rajasthan several times. For example, Mudgal (2004) argues that the work of the RVKP and other Hindu nationalist organizations greatly helped the BJP gain votes in the 2003 state election. Similarly, Lodha (2004: 5461) argues that ‘the “hyper-­activism” of saffron [Hindu nationalist] outfits in the tribal hinterland … accounts for the expansion of BJP’s influence in villages’. For its support, the BJP government has, in return, provided financial support to the RVKP and funded many of its schools, hostels, and other development projects. For example, in the early 1990s, the BJP government in Rajasthan led by B. S. Shekhawat gave the RVKP the project to run schools in the tribal regions. Similarly, in the early 2000s, the BJP government led by Vasundhara Raje allocated up to five million rupees per annum to the RVKP to run hostels (Singh, 2004). The government has also supported the RVKP’s ideological agenda and taken a belligerent stand on religious conversion. In 2008, the government passed the anti-­conversion bill, ironically called the Religious Freedom Bill, which aims to stop conversions by force or allurement and promote ‘freedom of conscience’. The bill allows stricter punishment, up to two to five years, if the convert is under the age of maturity (18 years), a woman, a tribal person, or a person of the lowest Dalit caste. It also makes it mandatory for anyone intending to convert another to send notice to the district magistrate at least 30 days in advance or face a fine of up to 1,000 rupees. However, the same requirement and penalty would not be applied to a person who wished to ‘reconvert’ people to their ‘original religion’

Multiple faces of civil society in India   115 or  to the ‘religion of one’s forefathers’, which can be understood as (re)conversion to Hinduism. Such political, financial, and legal protection from the state has often instigated RVKP activists to use violence against Muslims (depicted as exploiters) and Christian missionaries (depicted as proselytizers). Attacks against religious minorities, specifically Muslims, Christian missionaries, and converted tribal people, have increased greatly in recent years. For example, in April 2007, some RSS activists attacked a Christian preacher in his house in the official neighbourhood of Rajasthan’s chief minister in Jaipur. In another instance, the upper castes and Hindutva activists chased New Jerusalem Church missionaries and converts away from a village in Jhadol Block. There has also been an increase in Muslim shops in the region being looted by tribal populations. This shows that by utilizing development activities as a medium, the RVKP has politically mobilized tribals not just to provide electoral support to the BJP but also to counter the activities of Muslims and Christian missionaries in the region. In this regard, the BJP-­led state has also contributed significantly. This show how an uncivil society has collaborated with an illiberal state to undermine the secular democratic values of Indian society.

Conclusion The three case studies discussed above show the diverse and multifaceted nature of civil society in India. The case studies defy the civil society democratization thesis, which essentially assumes civil society as democratic and as an agent of political liberalization. These case studies demonstrate that there are several factors that are in play in determining civil society’s contribution to democratization. These factors include not just the nature of the organization but also their objectives, ideologies, and approaches (politicized or not), as well as their relationship with the state. The case of Seva Mandir is very common in the context of the neo-­ liberal aid regime. It is an organization that depends largely on international aid for its activities among the poor. The objective of this organization is democratic in nature; it has followed the Gandhian idea of ‘constructive social work’ that emphasizes social reform and service delivery. Such ideology and leadership of the organization has actively discouraged any kind of confrontation with the state as well as other oppressive elements at the local level. The case of Seva Mandir shows that, although its objective is democratic and it has a cooperative relationship with the state, its implications towards democratization have remained ambivalent. Although its service delivery approach has brought some short-­term benefits, it has preferred not to challenge the existing structure of oppressive relationship at the grass-­roots level. Rather than redressing the oppressive structures, it has unconsciously developed a culture of ‘organized dependency’ among the people at the grass-­roots level, which

116   S. Sahoo has often had adverse consequences in relation to its objectives. This is primarily because the leadership of the organization has chosen not to be involved in actions that would defy the foundational principles (ideology) of the organization. In contrast, Astha has followed a radical approach to rural development. It represents a typical movement-­oriented organization that mobilizes people not just against the local oppressive social structures but also against the unaccountable bureaucracy and patrimonial state. Like Seva Mandir, Astha’s objective is democratic in nature, involving the development and empowerment of the marginalized sections of society. However, what distinguishes it from Seva Mandir and other voluntary organizations is its unique ideology and approach to development. Astha has maintained a critical relationship – cooperation as well as conflict – with institutions of the state. Astha has largely rejected the service delivery and project implementation approach to development. It believes that the problems of poverty, underdevelopment, and marginalization are not a result of the failure of individuals but of structural and historical injustices. In order to address these problems, Astha has followed a rights-­based ‘claim-­making’ approach to development that helps people overcome dependency on NGOs, challenge the vested interests groups, and recognize the state as the central agency to ensure people’s welfare. The first step in this direction is to organize people at the grass-­roots level through its people’s organizations. These organizations become politicized through Astha’s mass meetings and training programmes, which impart political and rights-­based education to people. Although Seva Mandir organizes similar trainings and meetings, it actively discourages people’s involvement in any kind of politicized/movement activities. On the contrary, Astha’s people’s organizations and struggle committees directly mobilize people to make their claims and demand their rights from the state. By doing so, Astha has mobilized the community politically in the direction of democratic objectives. The case of RVKP reveals a uniquely different face of civil society. While its declared objective is to improve the socio-­economic conditions of the tribal communities, its latent objective has been to resist Christians and Muslims, for they constitute the ‘threatening other’. Such an objective is anti-­democratic in the context of a society that is secular and pluralistic. Because of such anti-­democratic objective, which is due to its affiliation with the RSS, every action of the RVKP stands as a threat to the secular democratic ethos of Indian society and polity. In order to achieve its objectives, the RVKP has followed the socio-­economic and educational development programmes as mediums to reach and to consolidate its legitimacy in the tribal society. Although the RVKP’s development and welfare programmes have helped the rural poor, they have served as important mediums to spread Hindutva ideology at the grass-­roots level. These programmes are also utilized by the RVKP to influence people’s political choices and acquire

Multiple faces of civil society in India   117 electoral support for the BJP. In return, the BJP-­led state has provided significant political, economic, and legal support to the RVKP and other Hindu nationalist organizations to achieve their objectives. In a sense the state was also partly responsible for the spread of illiberal and undemocratic ideologies through the institutions of civil society. The three case studies reveal three different kinds of politics within civil society. These show that civil society is not always a democratic force; it is multifaceted and can have contradictory consequences in relation to democratization. The evidence corroborates the claim that there might be different kinds of politicization where some may not even be supportive of democratization at all (Tornquist, 1998). The developmental and political actions of NGOs in civil society are, as Ndegwa (1996: 110) rightly notes, the ‘dependent variables’ that are initiated and guided by the ideologies and interests of the organization.

Notes 1 This chapter is drawn from my book Civil Society and Democratization in India: Institutions, Ideologies and Interests (London: Routledge, 2013). 2 For example, by the end of the 1990s, the U.S. was spending more than US$700 million a year of such aid to implement democracy programmes in approximately 100 countries in Eastern Europe, the former Soviet Union, sub-­Saharan Africa, and Latin America, as well as many in Asia and the Middle East (Carothers, 1999). 3 The Gandhian idea of ‘constructive work’ evolved between 1915 and 1945 and consisted of 20 items that visualized total transformation of the society, including communal unity, removal of untouchability, khadi, village industries, village sanitation, basic education, adult education, development of women, education in health and hygiene, provincial language, economic equality, kishans (peasants), labour, adivasis (tribals), leprosy, students, improvement of cattle, and nature care. Gandhi tested his constructive programme of rural development first in Champaran (Bihar) in 1917 and in Wardha (Maharashtra) in 1938. Gandhi proposed that his volunteers, who were known as constructive workers, take 11 vows before transforming into reconstruction workers: non-­violence, truth, non-­stealing, celibacy, non-­possession, manual labour, control of the palate, fearlessness, equal respect for all religions, using locally made goods, and removing untouchability (Sooryamoorthy and Gangrade, 2001). 4 Walder (1983: 52) uses the concept of ‘organized dependency’ to refer to the economic, political, and even personal dependency of the Chinese labour on the state enterprise. He argues that ‘[t]he greater the proportion of the subordinate’s needs that is satisfied by the organization, the greater is the subordinates dependence on the organization. The fewer the alternative sources for satisfying these needs, the more dependent are the subordinates’. 5 www.astha.org, accessed December 2008. 6 Public interest litigation refers to litigation filed in a court of law for the protection of the ‘public interest’. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, the Supreme Court focused on the protection of human rights traditionally regarded as civil and political rights. But since the mid-­1980s it has encouraged petitions on social and economic rights – the right to food, education, health, environment, and so on.

118   S. Sahoo 7 www.rvkp.org; accessed on 30 May 2017. 8 Hindutva refers to an ideology that seeks to establish India as a Hindu nation. In today’s Indian context, the major propagator of this ideology is the RSS, which draws its inspiration from V. D. Savarkar. In his book Hindutva: Who Is a Hindu? Savarkar provided an ‘exclusive, extremely radical and uncompromising form of nationalism and citizenship, which maintained that India, that is Hindustan, is the land of Hindus and its identity is embodied in Hindu culture and civilization’ (Sahoo, 2018: 134).

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8 The coalescence of the displaced Syrian civil society beyond borders Tamara Al-­Om

And when I leave, be sure that I did all I could to remain (Written on the walls in Homs. Art in Exile Facebook Page, June 2016)

1  Displacement of civil society The continued metamorphosis of Syrian civil society (SCS) is one of the very few certainties I have encountered since the beginning of my research on Syria. Prior to the uprising in 2011, SCS was dominated by government­controlled bodies, restricted in its activities and subject to unbridled suppression when its members and/or activities crossed the pre-­approved and ever-­changing lines imposed by the government. However, the early years of the uprising provided SCS activists and organizations with an unprecedented opportunity for freedom, often through non-­violent movements and building an identity of resistance despite continued oppression by the government (Al-­Om 2016).1 Al Haj Saleh (2017: 29) articulates the hope and ambition generated from the initial uprising: “for hundreds of thousands of Syrians: an experience of self-­renewal and social change, an uprising to change ourselves and a revolution to change reality”. A political voice, which had been absent until that point, began to emerge within SCS (Al-­Om 2016), enabling the undertaking of various activities, building connections and expressing critical thoughts and ideas. These activities were soon superseded by more organized protests leading to the emergence of Local Coordination Committees in many areas (Khalaf et al. 2014: 9). However, while it was possible for those involved in SCS to function inside the country in the early stages of the uprising, this became increasingly difficult. After years of targeted kidnappings, arrests and assassinations from both the regime and extremist groups (Khalaf 2015: 21), many leading activists were forced to leave Syria and re-­establish themselves (Malek 2014) either in bordering countries or further afield, dispersing SCS across various continents. While some eventually ceased their work for one reason or another, overwhelmingly the vast majority continue their work, relentlessly.

Syrian civil society beyond borders   121 This chapter will argue that the connections and networks that were built in Syria have been maintained and expanded beyond the borders of Syria, turning SCS into a sphere unrestricted by the traditional borders of a country. While technological advancements have played a significant role in this regard (Kavada 2014), without the connections, motivation, commitment and creativity of those involved, none of their work would have been possible. In this context, this chapter seeks to explore an area that is so far under investigated, that of the phenomena of SCS beyond Syria.2 In this way, understanding civil society (CS) as transnational, existing and functioning across and between borders provides the basis from which this piece approaches its conceptualization of SCS, which will be discussed in the next section (Section 2) of this chapter. In contrast to previous works on SCS, it no longer faces the same restrictions and threats by the Syrian government, although it faces restrictions and threats of other kinds.3 Section 2 also includes a brief outline of Keck and Sikkink’s work on Transnational Advocacy Networks, which lays the ground for some empirical observations in the following section exploring the fundamentals of these networks in the case of Syria. Section 3 will include some empirical observations4 focusing on the interpretation, understanding and use of CS. It is argued that empirical evidence offers a unique case study on CS scholarship that in the context of Syria is active and functional beyond its borders. Section 3 will also discuss the crossovers between the fundamentals of SCS and the fundamentals of civil society (as outlined in Section 2) involving the ideas of CS as resistance from below, and as a political realm and beyond non-­government organizations (NGOs). Finally, this chapter will reflect on its findings and consider new avenues for future research (Section 4).

2  Conceptualizing civil society 2.1  Civil society as transnational The changing nature of SCS, acting between and across borders, necessitates that we look at the notion of transnational civil society (TCS). TCS is often seen as a “project, a process, a space” for: network building, alliance formation, and advocacy which seeks to take advantage of the resources of nonofficial communications strategies to enhance exchange across a range of sites, movements and organizations, with the common aim of affecting transnational governance decisions and organizations. (Batliwala and Brown 2006, xi) However, unlike the broader discourse on TCS, discussing it in terms of the case of Syria differs slightly in that the operation of SCS “across more

122   T. Al-Om than one country” (ibid.: 3) has not been out of choice or effectiveness, but rather out of forced displacement and necessity. As such, while the discourse on this notion is extensive, for the purpose of this research and its contextual nature I have found the work of Kaldor to be most pertinent. Her overarching approach to CS necessitates a concept that is fluid, flexible and in flux that can be transposed across cultures, borders and contexts. For Kaldor (2003: 44), “ideas have no borders and the evolution of human knowledge is characterized by an endless borrowing and mixing of concepts and insights”. The concept of CS is thus malleable in the hands (or interpretation) of its bearer. The concepts of CS can also be transnational, which “break through the territorial boundedness of the concept, has relevance for the West as well as the South” (ibid.: 44). 2.2  Fundamentals of civil society The theoretical underpinnings of this piece are firmly based on the conceptualization of CS in a Syrian context, which is rooted in four fundamentals. First, the act of resistance is at the heart of the function of CS (Gramsci 2005; Al-­Om 2016), especially in the case of SCS, which has been forced to fight for its freedom and its existence. As such the version of SCS of primary interest that involves a striving for “political emancipation” is also crucial, attempting to alter and break with the “grand narratives” that exist globally surrounding the Syrian situation “through different globally organised networks” that are able to function beyond and across borders (Kaldor 2003: 10–11). Political emancipation, in this context, departs from both traditional and a great deal of contemporary discourse in its attempt to separate the realm of CS from the political realm. Instead, one of the most vital activities of CS is its ability to act as a means of political participation and the expression of the political voices. As such, conceiving CS as potentially political becomes the second fundamental of this work. All the more pertinent for a CS that is acting within a state of war, with its activities primarily a means and expression of resistance. Without this “political content, its implications for participation and citizenship”, be it local or transnational, CS will never achieve the progress it strives towards. This sentiment is echoed by Attar (2016), whose frustration is clear when it comes to the typical placing of the activities of CS within the realm of humanitarian aid and support. She states that “forced compartmentalization of the humanitarian and the political worlds is delusional. Refugees cannot be separated from the political failures that produced them.” The third fundamental of this work is that CS is inextricably linked to both the first and second fundamentals and that is CS must emerge “from below”. It cannot be dictated or predetermined but must arise organically from amongst the people. Within Kaldor’s analysis of TCS, she views at its foundation “the values of democracy, non-­violence, multiculturalism and

Syrian civil society beyond borders   123 secularity” and she links grass-­roots movements to the idea of citizenship (Kaldor 1999: 206). It is from these grass-­roots movements that these efforts towards its values must begin, from below, by “self-­organised groups of citizens working together across national boundaries” in the pursuit of a “civil vision in an uncivil world” (Germain and Kenny 2005: 94–95). Falk (1995) too echoes this call for action “from the ground up” as a fundamental characteristic of a global or TCS, which acts as a source of agency and continues in the search for a global ethic (cited in Baker 2002: 120). Similarly, for Lipschutz (1992: 391) it is those acting in the realm of CS who “are challenging, from below, the nation-­state system” through ­“heteronomous transnational political networks” whose project it is to “reconstruct, re-­imagine or re-­map world politics”. It is this search for an alternative vision, a reimagined world or a new ethics that drives these efforts of CS “from below”. In this way, CS, be it local or transnational, is at the same time “an aspiration and a description of a partial and emergent reality” which has the potential but not the “inevitability” to become fulfilled (Kaldor 2003: 46). Thus, it is the actions of individuals in pursuit of an alternative reality, that build the networks of SCS that are at the heart of this piece. The prevalence to place CS within the humanitarian realm and separate it from the political realm leads us on to the fourth fundamental of this work: the concept of CS must be conceived of as a notion beyond that of NGOs. NGOs (often synonymous with CS) dominate a great deal of popular narrative, particularly in the case of Syria, the wider Arab world and in the global South more generally, and when dealing with a TCS this propensity is amplified. There is a tendency to use CS and NGOs synonymously, which is visible amongst some of those working within the field and in works which refer to the thriving of SCS alongside the corresponding figures of emerging NGOs (Khalaf 2015; Alzoubi 2015; De Martino 2017). As such, SCS discourse must move beyond the neo-­liberal interpretation of CS that places at its realm the responsibilities the state no longer wants, including providing welfare, charity and maintaining respect for human rights. Kaldor (2003: 9) explains that CS within this approach “provides a substitute for many of the functions performed by the state … a way of evading the responsibilities of states for welfare or security”. This inevitably leads to what has been referred to as the NGO-­ization of CS. According to Roy (2016: 334), NGOs give the impression that they are filling the vacuum created by a retreating state. And they are, but in a materially inconsequential way. Their real contribution is that they defuse political anger and dole out as aid or benevolence what people ought to have by right. In a similar vein, Pant (2017) identifies another problem with this approach to CS. The professionalization of activists carries with it the expectation to “get rid of the ‘emotional’ side of your personality, which

124   T. Al-Om not only makes you less of an activist but also makes you less human”. This often results in a detachment from local knowledge and ultimately from the communities the organizations and individuals set out to support in the first place. Moreover, as Roy (2016: 334) argues, this professionalization of CS depoliticizes resistance and removes the actor from any real political involvement and consequently “threatens to turn resistance into a well-­mannered, reasonable, salaried, 9-to-­5 job. With a few perks thrown in. Real resistance has real consequences.” The NGO-­ization of CS often takes away the potentiality for the actors of CS to fulfil their aspirations towards real political change. Without considering the above fundamentals, within the context of Syria and beyond, we are in danger of losing touch with its actual purpose – of holding governments to account when they no longer fulfil their duty to their people (Locke 1689, Al-­Om 2016) rather than taking on the roles the government no longer wants. The general lack of support towards CS necessitates the continued resistance of its actors, the maintenance of existing as well as the development of new networks, to continue working together towards a more desirable state of being. These fundamentals will be explored with specific reference to the case of Syria in Section 3.1. 2.3  Transnational advocacy networks While I refer to the work undertaken beyond Syria’s borders as CS, primarily because it is work undertaken by Syrians themselves, I have found the work of Keck and Sikkink on Transnational Advocacy Networks (TAN) to be a very useful comparison. First, it coincides with the notion of TCS and, second, during the course of my research, I have found the term “networks” to be particularly apt when it comes to discussing the work of CS actors inside and outside Syria. They can vary from individuals to small groups, more structured groups, formal and recognized NGOs, and various other variations who come together and intersect at varying points as and when required, sometimes in particular public spaces that were established for that purpose, sometimes in public spaces that have grown into areas of coalescence by chance, and at other times maintaining connections remotely across and between borders. For Keck and Sikkink (1998: 33), a TAN is “an arena of struggle” which involves: relevant actors working internationally on an issue, who are bound together by shared values, a common discourse, and dense exchanges of information and services [which] must also be understood as political spaces, in which differently situated actors negotiate – formally or informally – the social, cultural and political meanings of their joint enterprise. (Ibid.: 2–3)

Syrian civil society beyond borders   125 At the foundation of any TAN are the actors “who care enough about some issue that they are prepared to incur significant costs … to achieve their goals” (Oliver and Marwell 1992, cited in Keck & Sikkink 1998: 14). However, this will only ever be possible if there are “fluid and open relations among committed and knowledgeable actors working in specialised issue areas” (ibid.: 8) and amplify their concerns into an international arena by help framing international and domestic debates (ibid.: x). It is the commonalities between the fundamentals of Keck and Sikkink’s TAN and the metamorphosing transnational networks of SCS that will form the basis of the next section. This will include looking at the importance of the shared values and goals of these networks, the importance they place on maintaining a sense of shared identity, the dissemination of information to provide alternative narratives to those coming from the Syrian regime or the mainstream media5 and the development of spaces (political and otherwise) that are essential for building their networks and connections across time and space.

3  Transnational networks of Syrian civil society Yassin-­Kassab and Al-­Shami (2015: 220) speak of the emergence of the Syrian uprising as a response to the people’s inability to breathe within society. The absence of any form of real political participation and of a public space for an active CS meant that there was never an opportunity “to build an alternative to save them [from] the system smothering them”, making it “immensely difficult to establish a more democratic and socially just society”. In spite of this lack, at the start of the uprising they were able to locate their political voices and express their resistance within an emerging realm of SCS. Out of necessity SCS became an overtly political realm which was being built “from below”, by groups of “active citizens” attempting to “reconstruct and reimagine” their reality in the hope that their combined efforts would challenge the status quo and lead to an alternative state of being, one based in dignity, freedom and justice. Unfortunately, despite the attempts of the initial peaceful uprising to use the realm of SCS to establish such an alternative, the continued political failures, international, regional and domestic,6 meant that those involved in the non-­violent resistance never had a real opportunity to see it to fruition. Over time, and in the face of increasing difficulty and torment, they have been forced to take on this challenge of building an SCS in exile. As we will see next, there is a clear understanding amongst those interviewed7 that activities undertaken are a form of ongoing resistance which carries with it a political dimension that goes beyond the remit of NGOs. From this we will be able to see the close correlation between the fundamentals of the CS as outlined above and the fundamentals which are held by the interviewees.

126   T. Al-Om 3.1  Fundamentals of Syrian civil society Facing the challenge in exile has certainly not been easy but the determination of those involved is clear with their unwillingness to cease working towards their goals, in spite of the threats, hardships and distance from Syria. According to Hindy and Ghaddar (2017), while there are divisions and varying outlooks about both the current state and future of Syria, those who were involved in the uprising overwhelmingly continue their struggle in exile. For many, “they intend to challenge an exclusionary master narrative written by the Assad regime” for as long as necessary. Indeed, as Al Haj Saleh (2017: 1–2) states, there is really no reprieve for Syrians from their current situation and as such from the work they continue to undertake; “these circumstances are not something from which one can be exiled; rather, they remain very present and personal”. Al-­ Kadri, founder of Pages, a bookstore café in Istanbul, echoes this sentiment: “in the end this is a huge tragedy and you can’t really escape it completely.… You can’t write about love without linking it to the catastrophe in Syria. It’s your daily life and occupies every moment of it” (quoted in Shaheen 2017). Despite this, the initial move into exile to Lebanon and Turkey brought with it a momentary sense of relief, being able to function with relative autonomy away from the Syrian regime. Berakdar (author interview, 2017, Istanbul), who founded Arthere, recalls his re-­establishment in Turkey: when we arrived here we did what we couldn’t do in Syria, it relieved us … because what we do here is your concern, no one cares, but in Syria you can’t do that because the government will ask you what are you doing, why are you meeting, what are you talking about. Maybe now, some Turkish people will feel they can’t talk about Turkish issues, but for us, we are kind of let be, to do what we want. Similarly, Fadi Halliso, co-­founder of Basmeh & Zeitouneh, a volunteer organization which operates predominantly in Lebanon (also in Turkey) says: now, with the relative freedom of exile and millions of fellow citizens facing crushing humanitarian need.… We can’t wait till the war is over; we have to start from now to build a society that lives in dignity and independence.… We don’t see ourselves as only an emergency response. We will return. (Quoted in Malek 2014) While a significant number of initiatives and projects involve supporting the increasing numbers of refugees with food, clothing and education, for one activist based in Lebanon there is a lot more that can be done from outside Syria. There are many

Syrian civil society beyond borders   127 projects that they hoped could sow the seeds of a flourishing democratic civil society … holding workshops on active citizenship and negotiation. For the most part they were small scale grassroots affairs, operated through networks of friends and acquaintances with little formal organisational structure.… These small organisations are the first real democratic experience that Syrian youth has had. (Quoted in Smallwood 2014) Part of this democratic experience is about being involved in the reshaping of the political space. The Day After,8 which distributes guides within Syria, is an attempt to “educate Syrians about the ideas of transitional justice, rule of law, the role of civil society, elections – all of which the organisation hopes will be used effectively in Syria’s future” (Browne 2015). Initiatives such as these are vital in the training and development of what one CS actor terms “good future citizens” (Clarke and Guran 2016). It is hard to ignore the overarching awareness that the work that they are undertaking is beyond that of providing humanitarian aid. There is an acknowledgement of the need for the CS they are building to be more than a neo-­liberal humanitarian CS that re-­acts, but also one that is based on the notion of resistance that is able to act and plan for the future. According to Al Jbaai (author interview, 2017, Beirut), a writer and playwright, it is the duty of every citizen to undertake this act of resistance: something Edward Said said is that: “the role of the intellectual is to be the thorn in the side of authority – any authority”. I really believe in these words, but it doesn’t have to be a thorn, or a fork,9 and not just an intellectual, but any human citizen … they must be a knife, not a fork … they must be a rocket, because anything inhumane going on in this world is a result of authority. Unfortunately, given the grim reality that many Syrians face in exile, most Syrian organizations and initiatives have been compelled to take on the role of supporting the humanitarian and security needs of Syrians, doing so to cover the shortfall left by the governments of host countries which are unable or unwilling to provide the necessary support. Many CS organizations have been forced to become NGOs and formalize their structures10 in order to be able to apply for significant funding opportunities, often leading them to get bogged down in paper work and bureaucracy and ultimately losing sight of their initial aims and objectives (Berakdar, author interview, 2017, Istanbul). Furthermore, this dependency on funding also leads organizations, initiatives and individuals to become indebted to donors, limiting their ability to choose what work they undertake or having to mould their work to meet funders’ expectations. Atassi (author interview, 2017, Beirut), one of the co-­founders of Bidayyat, expresses this difficulty and how they work to overcome it:

128   T. Al-Om for us what is important, we are not dependent on one donor and not governmental donors, we try to work with funds who support cultural initiatives or civil society but who are not connected to political agendas. When you have civil donors, you can have a balance and you have more freedom to do what you want to do without a lot of restrictions. While many NGOs are carrying out vital work which should not be undermined, their scope is limited in the long run. Berakdar (author interview, 2017, Istanbul) discusses an important distinction between the work of NGOs that work largely in the short term and the work of CS organizations that attempt to work in the long term: This is the real aim, to empower people, and to be a local social enterprise, not like NGOs that comes from above and gives instructions.… We don’t want to do this. This is good [the work of NGOs], very needed, but this is not everything. This is 6 years after the revolution, if we are still doing this, this is horrible. This means you haven’t put the children in schools, you didn’t teach anybody anything, nobody has place to work, you haven’t done anything. 3.2  Fundamentals of transnational networks of Syrian civil society It is a result of the alliances and networks that were nurtured while on the ground in Syria that CS has been able to cross borders, sustaining the work of those working beyond and across Syria’s borders. As Keck and Sikkink discuss in their work on TAN, it is the shared values and goals that are fundamental for the maintenance of the work of Syrian TCS. The shared values of these networks take us back to the start of the peaceful protests in their calls for freedom, dignity, justice and citizenship and it is their shared goals, particularly in the overarching themes of rebuilding and return, that enable so many CS actors to continue their work. The following sections will look at a number of themes that emerged from the interviews conducted and which fit closely with the fundamentals identified within the work of Keck and Sikkink (1998) in Section 2.3. 3.2.1  Maintaining Syrian identity and the idea of rebuilding and return The sentiment of the rebuilding of society for the eventual return is echoed repeatedly in the interviews conducted and in research beyond my own. Yassin-­Kassab and Al-­Shami (2015: 220) talk of the significant number of Syrians who: still have the stomach for the fight.… There’s reason to hope that when the bombs finally stop falling, when ISIS and regime ­checkpoints

Syrian civil society beyond borders   129 no longer threaten death, these people will return and raise their voices again for a better future. The actions of those within this CS in exile continue to build for the future, not only for a future Syria, which is largely unknown, but also for the future of those who do not know where they will end up and if or when they will ever return to Syria. Tied to this then is their work to maintain the collective memories of a Syria that no longer exists. The work of Bidayyat plays its part in this project of preserving these memories while acting within the sentiment of resistance: this is why cultures are so important, we have a huge archive of visual material about places, people, ways of living, stories that are part of the collective memory of Syrians, so to continue to produce films, to raise some debate is an act of resistance, if I can call it that. It is about how to, by doing that, through your work, other things can survive. (Atassi, author interview, 2017, Beirut) Importantly, these shared values and goals also provide a sense of shared identity amongst those involved, which is vital for the continued motivation and commitment to the very goals that stand at the foundation of the uprising, as described by a film-­maker Mokdad (author interview, 2017, Beirut), I do see myself as Syrian, and I’m very attached to Syria.… I find myself attached to many good and difficult memories. What attaches me is an ethical commitment. Meaning I was part of the revolution. From the start of the revolution, I was like thousands of the youngsters that had the desire for freedom, justice and a civil society in Syria. The ethical attachment I have as a Syrian that lived in this country, and as an artist or human in the end. There is also an undeniable sense amongst all those interviewed and all those heard across various other platforms that a shared Syrian identity,11 however complex, is fundamental to their state of being and ultimately to their continued work and determination for change. This can be perceived from the responses below from Mokdad: I think a person’s belonging to a country or place is a portal for their ability to change. So if I want to make change, I won’t be able to make a change in Beirut … in London, or in Germany [Interviewer: Only in Syria?] Only in Syria, yes, because I am from this country, I understand it, I was part of its revolution. If I want to make a change in this world, as a

130   T. Al-Om Syrian, who participated in the revolution, believing that this world must change. I believe that my Syrian identity is the portal for me. Within this discourse on a sense of shared identity, it is worth reflecting upon a distinction between the attitudes towards exiled CS actors prior to the uprising and to those forced into exile inter-­uprising. Whereas there was a disconnect between CS actors within Syria and those living in exile pre-­ uprising, many of those now living in exile experienced the struggle of the Syrian uprising alongside those still on the ground, giving a greater sense of comradery. For Halliso, the uprising gave Syrians the opportunity to “encounter each other in a way they never could before” (quoted in Malek 2014). According to the Mufti, the founder of the Association for Building and Nurturing Initiatives, under the Assad regimes “Syrians not knowing each other helped the regime survive” while the uprising provided “the opportunity for Syrians to interact with each other free of regime control … which allowed Syrians to decide for themselves what their readiness was and what values they shared” (quoted in Malek 2014). As Munif (author interview, 2016, Skype) stipulates, “after 4 or 5 years now, people were able to build trust, and understanding better”. Those who were once on the ground risking themselves “are now the ones leading the movement abroad” so “people understand the importance of outside and vice versa”. However, owing to the length of time that these actors remain outside of Syria, increasing distance is emerging between those inside and outside of the country. For a Syrian who works for a European Peace Institute (MC, author interview, 2016, Skype), the longer you stay away from your country, the less relevant you become, it becomes a battle over legitimacy, and who is representative and who is not and who should be around the negotiating table. Similarly, it was the dislocation from the reality on the ground that presented one of the fundamental problems faced by the official political opposition, with the groups largely being made up of many of the old CS actors who had been living outside of Syria for decades and who were void of first-­hand knowledge of the quickly changing dynamics within the country. According to one activist, the biggest divide [wasn’t] between the Kurds and the Arabs [or any other sectarian or ethnic divide] but between those on the inside and those on the outside. The politicians on the outside think as they thought twenty years ago. (Cited in Yassin-­Kassab and Al-­Shami 2015: 190) In contrast, after working for a number of years in Turkey, Berakdar (author interview, 2017, Istanbul) sees an importance with adapting to

Syrian civil society beyond borders   131 one’s new environment, resisting the temptation to “keep chewing the same cud over and over again” and working with local actors within a global CS. He insists, if you want to build a new generation or something for the future, what we used to do in Syria should be forgotten. There is solidarity but there are lots of problems, sectarian problems, society problems, hierarchy problems, and here we should face these kinds of problems, so you need this kind of space where Syrians, as artists, [can] be exposed to how other people live, how they can discuss … so it doesn’t work if we only work with Syrians, then they will stay in their own bubble and that’s what a lot of civil society has done. This movement of SCS actors and their exposure to other realities have also had some impact on their identity and have given them a much wider grasp of the world beyond Syria, as it has done so for Mokdad (author interview 2017, Beirut): because of what had happened I have a wider … affiliation, meaning now you have much more in common with many more people around the world, or cultures. Now I have the ability to see myself from the inside with an identity larger than Syrian. 3.2.2  Disseminating information, providing alternative narratives and building transnational support This reciprocal affinity with a much broader and more global arena, as Mokdad highlights, is an essential aspect of another fundamental of the transnational networks of SCS. This is based on the need to build transnational networks of support and advocacy through the dissemination of information about the situation on the ground in an attempt to break with the “grand narratives” that exist within the mainstream media about the plight of the Syrian people. Indeed, this has been playing a vital role from the start of the uprising. This has involved the work of citizen journalists who have provided insight with their videos and images, the development of channels of communication, for example to help warn fellow Syrians of air strikes, the documenting of human rights abuses, the shared chants of peaceful protesters or the protest banners of Kafranbel that are aimed at gaining international attention and support. There are also groups such as Planet Syria, which campaigns to “engage people around the world in solidarity to stop the violence and extremism” (Planet Syria Facebook Page 2017) and which is particularly aimed at “decision makers throughout the world”. For Atassi (author interview 2017, Beirut), the image of Syrians in the media is hugely important, and in some ways Syrians from the beginning were “not only victims of barrel bombs or by the violence, or by the

132   T. Al-Om killing machine”, but by the way in which the mainstream media dealt with the Syrian conflict. For him, it is vital for CS actors and organizations to get their messages to the people who want to look and see something different … a cultural way of looking to the Syrian crisis and also about the story of ordinary people that you will not see at the top of the news. For people who want to think out of the frame … for sure we have a common cause and we can share a lot of things regarding universal values and also something on the side of the ordinary people not with the powers. Unfortunately, while these networks of SCS have tried, in many creative ways, to get their voices heard in the international arena, providing “alternative visions and information”, the narrative of terrorism and extremism has dominated. Despite their continuing efforts, one of the greatest weaknesses of these networks has been their inability to “reframe international and domestic debates” (Planet Syria Facebook Page 2017). On the other hand, on a local level within Turkey, there are a few who have seen more success. Pages, the bookstore café, has received global media coverage of the work they do to support the Syrian community (Shaheen 2017; van Tets 2017). Berkadar (author interview 2017, Istanbul) and Arthere have also seen a positive response from the local community and media regarding their work: you can’t believe, I thought our change would be minimal. I never would imagine how much we changed the atmosphere in Turkey. We are in the news all the time.… People in the neighbourhood they come to us and know us.… And this is the opportunity that every time you go on the news … and people say “look Syrians, that is something positive”. I was expecting much less … I think we have reached a very wide audience. 3.2.3  Spaces One of the foundations of building the networks of SCS are the physical structures that have emerged as spaces for SCS to act, express and importantly feel safe. In both Beirut and Istanbul these spaces act as meeting points, areas for creating individually and sometimes collectively and places for discussion. Some of the spaces are overtly political, while others simply provide a space for Syrians to gather and experience some sense of normality, within a reality that is far from it. Arthere is one of these valuable spaces, with work desks, self-­service refreshments, an art space and a number of resident cats and kittens to aid with the overwhelming sense of calm and creativity. Berakdar’s (author interview, 2017, Istanbul) words reflect the ambience and purpose of the space:

Syrian civil society beyond borders   133 here we say, we are not here to preach to anybody, we just give them place where they can think, give them psychological support, artistic support.… At least we try to say we understand your situation and we try to give you what you lost in Syria – your comfort zone.… So we build you “home” here. Pages, the bookstore café in a leafy area of Istanbul, is another example of such spaces. It’s founder, Al-­Kadri, sees it as “a place where we can have conversations as Syrians with each other once again, to have dialogue, to accept each other, to change our mentality that was closed in on Syria only, and didn’t see the outside world” (quoted in Shaheen 2017). There are also organizations that provide spaces for Syrians to coalesce, but within more formal structures of training programmes, lectures and seminars, including the cultural house Hamisch in Istanbul and in Beirut Bidayyat, which provides training for film-­makers, and Ettijahat, which supports developing intellectuals and artists. There are also spaces that have emerged by chance and over time, one example of which is a small bar located in the sleepy residential area of Geitawi, Beirut, which provides a large basement space for Syrian artists (and a variety of locals and foreigners) to use for their work and social life. For a number of Syrians I interviewed, who live without any official identification papers,12 this space also provides a place of relative safety, distant from the threat of random spot checks and detainment by security forces. This threat was much less an issue for those based in Istanbul, and it was visible in their demeanour and attitude. Despite this threat, many spoke of a sense of freedom in their ability to undertake their work in exile.

4  Reflections and prospects 4.1  Struggles in exile Over the course of my fieldwork it was hard to escape the problems faced by the people I met and interviewed, of which the most potent characterization was a sense of absolute exhaustion. Life in exile in general, but in Lebanon in particular, has been growing increasingly difficult. Attacks, verbal and physical, are becoming the norm. Costs of living are increasing, while opportunities for work are diminishing. Most difficult of all is the slow but steady departure of many of those involved in Syria’s exiled CS to take the next step of moving to Europe and the Americas in the hope for something better, knowing they will unlikely find it, but most taking this step to provide for their families (Alloum, Author Interview, 2017, Istanbul). This move sometimes means the end of their work – although not always. Some locations, including Berlin, are becoming the new hubs of Syrian civil society in exile and further research on these newly emerging locations are essential to understand the

134   T. Al-Om continuously metamorphosing SCS. However, it is those who remain in Beirut and Istanbul who feel their absence most profoundly, with connections dislocated, projects suspended and plans for the future put on hold indeterminately. And, whatever has been achieved in exile, as Edward Said once said, “the achievements of exile are permanently undermined by the loss of something left behind forever” (Said 2000: 173). There is always a sense of living “betwixt and between, of being between here and there” (Dawson and Johnson 2001: 319). Moreover, there was a sense of overwhelming resignation, especially in light of the international community’s change in approach to Bashar Al Assad’s involvement in Syria’s future. Many have resigned themselves to his continuous presence, if only to stop future killings of more innocent people. The sense of resignation to a likely worsening situation is visible on their faces. For the Syrian novelist Rana Abdulfattah (2017: 46), this resignation is clear, as she asserts: I guess I am starting to accept it and embrace it to find a way to rethink my ideas of home and how I relate to it. Something is broken; the country is changed, destroyed. I am not scared for the future of Syria. It survived a lot throughout its history. What I am scared of, is more death and destruction. Despite this exhaustion and resignation, it is the death and displacement of so many people and the destruction of so much of their country that stop people giving up. Giving up would be to let go of all hope and to let all the suffering and loss be in vain. For Muna (author interview, 2017, Istanbul), the founder of the newspaper Souriatna, when asked why he continues, he simply responds, “Uff [laughs], I cannot say, but I ask myself that every day, until when I will be here? but we keep going, maybe tomorrow will be better”. 4.2  Reflections and future research This research has not attempted to showcase the activities undertaken by those within Syria’s CS since there are a number of works that have already explored this (for more details see Khalaf et al. 2014; Khalaf 2015; Al-­Om 2016; Al Zoua’bi 2017). Instead, I have tried to uncover the underlying values and ideals they hold at their core and the notions and fundamentals that direct and determine their work. I have attempted to highlight the ambitions that those interviewed strive towards on a daily basis and their resilience and determination to continue what so many Syrians sacrificed their lives for over the last seven years. Although their work may not always be perceived or even intended to be overtly political, the very acts they undertake are a form of continued resistance against the oppression and struggles they continue to face. Their work is as sentiment to their desire

Syrian civil society beyond borders   135 for the creation of something new, of the changed reality referred to by Al Haj Saleh (2017). Although they have not yet achieved such a change, but instead face a devastated country, hundreds of thousands dead, a scattered and lost population, there is still a drive to continue. There is an undeniable fragmentation within Syria’s CS networks, even amongst those working on similar projects. Minor disagreements in strategy and approach have led to broken partnerships. Internal bickering and backbiting is common. Yet, there is a remarkable desire to maintain their collective struggle: “civil society remains almost the only source of social cohesion” (Kaldor 2017) within the Syrian oppositional framework. Maybe it is also the knowledge that their inability to achieve their aims has not been completely of their own making. The Assad regime and the international community are also to blame. While the brutal response from the regime was unsurprising, the utter negligence of the international community has been devastating. Its unwillingness to listen to the alternative narratives coming from the SCS networks has proved detrimental to the effectiveness of their work. According to Al Haj Saleh (2017: 2), “possession of discourse has been an essential aspect of Syrians’ attempts to own politics in their country, and to own the country itself ”. A question that emerges from this work is whether similar research in areas beyond Lebanon and Turkey, even further from Syria, would yield different results. Do people working within Syria’s TCS based in Europe or the Americas feel differently? Has the distance between them and their country diluted their drive or ambition for change? Does the distance make them feel their ability to own their politics and their country is even further out of reach? One thing is for certain: their constant ability to adapt to the ever-­changing conditions they are faced with is unremitting. There are other avenues of research that this work brings up including as to whether any of these emerging networks of SCS are able to “transform themselves into a political movement”, which could play a role in the political realm of the current crisis. Similar to the question of Kaldor and her colleagues (2012: 23), will they ever be able to develop a “political agenda capable of constructing new sources of political authority with the capacity to address” the pressing issues facing Syria in the years to come? Such questions demand further research, but I fear without serious consideration to place those within these networks at the centre of the negotiating table such ambitions would be futile. Another area that demands exploration is the different levels of interaction, support and exchange between international networks of CS and the Syrian networks of civil society. Furthermore, it would be important to investigate how vital such transnational networks of support could prove to be in any future peace in Syria. For it is becoming increasingly clear, as Al Haj Saleh (2016) states, that:

136   T. Al-Om there is no such thing as the local anymore, and we cannot understand much without thinking globally.… This is even more relevant in the so-­called Middle East, the most internationalised region in the world, where societies’ fates are determined not solely by their internal structures and dynamics.… We ought to work locally and globally at the same time, with the need for a new global framework for transformative and emancipatory work becoming ever more necessary.

Notes   1 For a detailed discussion of the struggles faced by CS organization such as the Local Councils, see Khalaf (2015).   2 Specifically in Beirut, Lebanon, and Istanbul, Turkey, for the purpose of this chapter.   3 Including certain restriction by host countries, but this does not compare to restrictions under the Syrian government. It also does still come under threat from persons acting on behalf of the Syrian government. This can be seen with some attempted and successful assassinations of prominent CS actors in both Lebanon and Turkey.   4 A significant proportion of the empirical research in this chapter derives from interviews conducted in Beirut and Istanbul in the summer months of 2017 and some earlier interviews conducted over the course of 2016. Thirty-­three in-­ depth interviews were carried out with Syrian artists, writers, actors, musicians, film-­makers, activists, intellectuals and organizations. Consent was given in all cases. Real names are used in the majority of cases, or initials if so requested by the interviewee. The decision to focus specifically on Beirut and Istanbul as the principle locations for this research was based upon their proximity to Syria and more importantly their role as capital cities of the two countries that are “hosting” the largest number of Syrian refugees, with over one million Syrian refugees in Lebanon (UNHRC June 2017) and over three million Syrian refugees in Turkey (UNHRC July 2017). Furthermore, the actors and activities of SCS, within the conceptualization of this research, have been most active within these two locations, although this has been changing recently, with more of such actors and activities moving to European cities, predominantly Berlin.   5 The narrative of terrorism and extremists, with little distinction made between foreign groups, Syrian fighters or even civilians.   6 The regime and the political opposition.   7 See note 4 for information about interviews conducted.   8 The Day After initiative was launched in 2012 by 45 activists who are predominantly based outside Syria.   9 He makes a pun with shawka, meaning fork or thorn. 10 According to Western models of international NGOs. 11 While it is clear, as Ali Atassi (Beirut) describes, that there is not one single Syrian identity, for the purpose of this research the term Syrian identity is understood as more of an overarching identity particularly held by those in exile: The concept, word Syrian identity is a little bit problematic, because we don’t have one single identity. Every Syrian has a different identity, we have Kurdish, Arabic, Muslim, Christian, from Aleppo, from Damascus. It is always a complex issue, you also have gender identity, sexual identity. I try not to use a collective identity because instead we have identities.

Syrian civil society beyond borders   137 12 Many individuals interviewed have had their documentation confiscated by either Syrian or Lebanese officials, often with no cause or explanation.

References Abdulfattah, R. (2017). Tiger and clay: Syrian fragments. Palewell Press, UK. Al-­Om, T. (2016). “Emergence of the political voice of Syrian civil society”. Syria Studies Journal: Syrian Mutations. Vol. 8, No. 2, 25–48. Al Haj Saleh, Y. (February, 2016). Syria and the world: Reactionism is back, and progressing. Al Jamhuriya, translation. www.yassinhs.com/2016/02/19/syria-­and-the-­ world-reactionarism-­is-back-­and-progressing. Accessed 27 August 2017. Al Haj Saleh, Y. (2017). The impossible revolution: Making sense of the Syrian tragedy. London: Hurst. Al Zoua’bi, Z. (2017). Syrian civil society organisations: Realities and challenges. Citizens for Syria. https://citizensforsyria.org/OrgLiterature/Syrian_CSOs_Reality_and_ challenges_2017-CfS_EN.pdf. Accessed 9 January 2018. Alzoubi, Z. (2015). Syrian voices on the Syrian conflict. The Norwegian Peacebuilding Resource Centre. http://civilsociety-­centre.org/sites/default/files/resources/ syrian-­medical-ngos-­in-the-­crisis1.pdf. Accessed 9 January 2018. Art in Exile Facebook Page. www.facebook.com/artinexile.yarmouk/?ref=br_rs. Accessed 27 August 2017. Attar, L. S. (28 June 2016). The failure of international aid, empathy and innovation for Syria. https://medium.com/@amalhanano/the-­failure-of-­international-aid-­empathyand-­innovation-for-­syria-71a32b687a6d#.n58qch3z8. Accessed 27 August 2017. Baker, G. (2002). Civil society and democratic theory. Abingdon: Routledge. Batliwala, S. and Brown, L. D. Eds. (2006). Transnational civil society: An introduction. Bloomfield, CT: Kumarian. Browne, C. (30 June 2015). Hope amid despair: Syrian civil society. Middle East Institute. www.mei.edu/content/article/hope-­amid-despair-­syrian-civil-­society. Accessed 27 August 2017. Clarke, K. and Guran, G. (2016). Mobilizing in exile: Syrian associational life in exile. Middle East Research and Information Project. www.merip.org/mer/mer278/ mobilizing-­exile. Accessed 27 August 2017. Dawson, A. and Johnson, M. “Migration, exile and landscapes of the imagination” in Bender, B and Winer, M (Eds). (2001). Contested landscapes: Movement, exile and place. Oxford: Berg. De Martino, C. (June 2017). Syria: Civil society in times of war. Reset DOC. www.resetdoc.org/story/syria-­civil-society-­in-times-­of-war. Accessed 9 January 2018. Falk, R. (1995). On humane governance: Towards a new global politics. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania University Press. Germain, R. and Kenny, M. Eds. (2005). The idea of global civil society. Abingdon: Routledge. Gramsci, A. (2005). Selections from the Prison Notebooks. London: Lawrence and Wishart. Hindy. L. & Ghaddar. S. (2017). A nation in pieces: Views from Syrians in exile. New York: Century Foundation. https://tcf.org/content/report/nation-­pieces-views-­ syrians-exile. Accessed 8 January 2018. Kaldor, M. (1999). “Transnational civil society” in Dunne, T. and Wheeler, N.  J. Human rights in global politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

138   T. Al-Om Kaldor, M. (2003). Global civil society: An answer to war. Cambridge: Polity Press. Kaldor, M. (2017). Syrian civil society. Open Democracy. www.opendemocracy.net/ north-­africa-west-­asia/mary-­kaldor/syrian-­civil-society. Accessed 8 January 2018. Kaldor, M., Moore, H. L. and Selchow, S. (2012). Global civil society 2012: Ten years of critical reflection. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Kavada, A. (2014). “Transnational civil society and social movements” in Wilkins, G. et al. (Eds). (2014) The handbook of development communication and social change, First Edition. John Wiley & Sons. Keck, M. E. & Sikkink, K. (1998). Activists beyond borders: Advocacy networks in international politics. New York: Cornell University Press. Khalaf, R., Ramadan, O. and Stolleis, F. (2014). Activism in difficult times: Civil society groups in Syria 2011–2014. Beirut: Badael Project/Friedrich-­Ebert-Stiftung. Khalaf, R. (2015). “Governance without government in Syria: Civil society and state building during conflict”. Syria Studies, Vol. 7, No. 3. Lipschutz, R. D. (1992). “Reconstructing world politics: The Emergence of Global Civil Society”. Millennium: Journal of International Studies. Vol. 21, No. 3, 389–420. Locke, J. (1689). “Right to revolution” in Second Treatise of Civil Government. http:// press-­pubs.uchicago.edu/founders/documents/v1ch3s2.html. Accessed 6 January 2018. Malek, A. (12 December 2014). In exile, Syrian build the country they never could under regime. Al Jazeera Online. http://america.aljazeera.com/articles/2014/12/12/ in-­exile-syriansbuildthesocietytheynevercouldunderregime.html. Accessed 27 August 2017. Oliver, P. E. and Marwell, G. (1992). Mobilizing technologies for collective actions, cited in Keck, M.  E & Sikkink, K. (1998). Activists beyond borders: Advocacy networks in international politics. New York: Cornell University Press. Pant, S. B. (7 July 2017). Why grass-­root activists should resist being “professionalised” into NGO. Guardian. www.theguardian.com/global-­development-professionals-­ network/2017/jul/07/why-­grassroots-activists-­should-resist-­being-professionalised-­ into-an-­ngo. Accessed 4 September 2017. Planet Syria Facebook Page. www.facebook.com/planetsyria2015/info/?entry_ point=page_nav_about_item&tab=page_info. Accessed 27 August 2017. Roy, A. (2016). The end of imagination. Chicago, IL: Haymarket. Said, E. (2000). Reflections on exile: And other literary and cultural essays. London: Granta Books. Shaheen, K. (23 January 2017). Istanbul bookshop that transports young syrians back home. Guardian Online. www.theguardian.com/world/2017/jan/23/istanbul-­ bookshop-that-­transports-young-­syrians-back-­home. Accessed 9 January 2018. Smallwood, F. T. (September 2014). Refugee activists’ involved in relief effort in Lebanon. Forced Migration Review. www.fmreview.org/syria/smallwood.html. Accessed 27 August 2017. UNHCR. Syria emergency. www.unhcr.org/uk/syria-­emergency.html Accessed 27 August 2017. van Tets, F. (29 June 2017). Syrian refugee turns page on war with holland’s only arabic bookstore. Middle East Eye. www.middleeasteye.net/in-­depth/features/ syrian-­refugee-opens-­netherlands-first-­arabic-bookstore-­1663840969. Accessed 9 January 2017. Yassin-­Kassab, R. and Al-­Shami, L. (2015). Burning country. Syrians in revolution and war. London: Pluto Press.

Syrian civil society beyond borders   139

Interviews (date order) Yasser Munif, academic, Skype, 8 July 2016. MC, employee at the European Peace Institute, Skype, 9 July 2016. Oroa Mokdad, film-­maker, Beirut, 19 July 2017. Omar Al Jbaai, writer and playwright, Beirut, 19 July 2017. Ali Atassi, film director and co-­founder of Bidayyat, Beirut, 27 July 2017. Omar Berakdar, artist and founder of Arthere, Istanbul 3 August 2017. Jawad Muna, founder of Souriatna, Istanbul 15 August 2017. Houssam Alloum, artist, Istanbul, 15 August 2017.

9 Putting the T in LGBT Trans and gender-­diverse (in)visibility and activism in South Africa Zaynab Essack, Natasha Van der Pol, Sandile Ndelu, Joshua Sehoole, L. Leigh Ann van der Merwe, and Heidi van Rooyen Introduction Active citizen participation is woven into the tapestry of South Africa. It featured supreme in our attainment of freedom from apartheid rule, and continues to be the rubric of our society over 20 years into democracy. Civil society has played active roles in the attainment of democracy, and continues to hold the new dispensation to account through activism and advocating for citizens’ rights. Civil society organisations (CSOs) in South Africa are also a cornerstone to service delivery, often for the most vulnerable and marginalised groups. South Africa’s constitution (Republic of South Africa, 1996) was the first in the world to enshrine legal protections to its citizens based on their sexual orientation – an accomplishment that can be credited to sexual minority lobbyists and their strategic alignment with the African National Congress (ANC) in the struggle against apartheid (Brown, 2014). South Africa remains one of a few African countries where the rights of lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, and intersex (LGBTI) people are legally protected. The current legal framework in South Africa includes trans1 and gender-­ people too, unlike many other contexts. However, these laws are generic and do not directly address many of the social and political issues that affect trans and gender-­diverse groups. Further, the history of violence and hate crimes towards LGBTI people in South Africa indicates that legal protection does not always translate to the actual protection of human rights espoused in the constitution. Trans and gender-­diverse people are often included under the LGBTI umbrella acronym of organisations that engage in advocacy and activism for sexual minorities. However, trans and gender-­diverse representation within these organisations is low to non-­existent. There has been increasing focus on lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender3 (LGBT) organising; however, absent from this scholarship is gender and sexual diversity movements in the global South (Currier, 2011).

Trans and gender-diverse activism   141 Importantly, while there is substantial trans activism in South(ern) Africa, this CSO work does not necessarily get translated into a scholarly format. If it is written up, it is generally in the form of “grey” literature, such as reports for funders, and increasingly in terms of media outputs. This dearth of scholarly information has created several misconceptions about civil society organising in the global South. First, that there is a paucity of gender and sexual diversity activism in the global South; second, that the invisibility of LGBT organisations stems from widespread homophobia; and, third, that the absence of LGBT activism combined with homophobia suggests cultural and political ineptitude of countries in the global South (Bhaskaran, 2004; Currier, 2011). These arguments have been rebutted by scholars (Alexander, 2005; Currier, 2011) but reinforce the importance of scholarship foregrounding LGBT movements in the global South. The aim of the chapter is to engage with historic and contemporary forms of trans resistance and activism and to understand the ways in which the trans movement in South Africa intersects with other social movements. The chapter engages with the historical background, the ongoing invisibility of trans people, the politics of the tensions between trans activism and sexual orientation activism, and the importance of intersectional understandings of trans experience. The chapter also engages the historical and political arc of trans identities and the trans movement from which global North histories differ to those in the global South. The chapter begins with an overview of the history of trans and gender-­ diverse involvement in South African LGBTI civil society. By definition, civil society is “the arena, outside the family, the state and the market, which is created by individual and collective actions, organisations and institutions to advance shared interests” (CIVICUS, 2011, p.  8). In this chapter, we limit our consideration of CSOs to non-­profit organisations (NPOs), (including non-­governmental organisations (NGOs) and community-­based organisations (CBOs)) and social movements (informal groupings of individuals or organisations focused on a particular political or social issue) (Weideman, 2015). Social movements are politically and/ or socially directed collectives, often involving multiple networks and organisations focused on changing one or more elements of the social, political or economic systems within which they are located (Ballard, Habib, Valodia, & Zueren, 2005).

The emergence of LGBT civil society in South Africa During the 1980s, the lesbian and gay movement was racially divided. One stream focused on sexual minority rights driven by white middle-­class gay activists from organisations such as the Gay Association of South Africa (GASA). Additionally, GASA maintained an apolitical distance from the apartheid struggle and did not speak to the racial and class struggles that

142   Z. Essack et al. many South African sexual minorities experienced (Pettis, 2005). GASA was reluctant to relocate their services away from whites-­only facilities. Given the absence of organisations to address the needs of black sexual minorities, Simon Nkoli, a black gay activist, helped found the Gay and Lesbian Organisation of the Witwatersrand (GLOW), which became a model for several other gay groups in black townships. GLOW organised South Africa’s first three Pride marches, beginning in 1990 (ibid.). Historically, Pride marches served as a platform for political advocacy for equal rights. After these rights were realised, Pride marches became a platform to celebrate LGBTI identity and also to highlight stigma and hate crimes experienced by LGBTI groups. The South African constitution was the first of its kind worldwide to provide protection to its citizens based on their sexual orientation (Republic of South Africa, 1996). These protections can largely be attributed to the LGBT social movement, which pushed for decriminalising homosexuality and lobbied government to approve immigration, adoption, pension, and marriage rights for same-­sex couples (Thoreson, 2008). The grouping “LGBTI”, however, often overshadows the fact that legal wins based on sexual orientation do not necessarily translate to protections based on gender identity and expression. A major achievement towards the realisation of legal rights for trans and gender-­diverse persons came in 2003, with the amendment of the Alteration of Sex Status and Sex Descriptor Act 49 of 2003 (hereafter Act 49), a result of the unwavering advocacy and activism of Simone Heradien and Estian Smit (trans and gender-­diverse activists) and Sally Gross (intersex activist) (Theron, 2013). While these legal successes offered a pivotal triumph for the trans and gender-­diverse movement, actual implementation by the Department of Home Affairs (DHA) has been lacking (ibid.). As recently as 2013, a key CSO for trans and gender-­diverse people (Gender DynamiX) reported little success with implementation of Act 49 (ibid.). One of the challenges with the actual realisation of Act 49 has been its misinterpretation by the DHA, which erroneously requires surgery as a prerequisite for a successful application for status change. Such mis­ interpretations have dire consequences including an “inability of applicants to access medical services, open bank accounts, receive their education results, apply for jobs or social grants, vote, or perform any activity that requires identification because of the mismatch between their appearance and their recorded gender” (Legal Resources Centre & Gender DynamiX, 2015, p. 11). Furthermore, Act 49 does not uphold the human rights principles of self-­determination and bodily autonomy, through conflating sex and gender and continuing to rely on the medical sector for “authentication” of a trans person’s identity rather than on trans people themselves. The Act also does not accommodate individuals who do not identify as either male or female, which reinforces the (mis)conception of gender as binary (ARASA, n.d.).

Trans and gender-diverse activism   143 In tracking some of the constitutional gains for LGBTI in the country, it appears as if the broader LGBT4 movement benefitted from the political freedom that allowed public visibility after the transition to democracy – due to the support from key leaders in the ANC who were in contact with Nkoli (Pettis, 2005). Currently, the LGBTI movement in South Africa could be conceived as an identity-­related movement, whose target is less the state itself but rather society and social change more broadly (Ballard et al., 2005). Nkoli, was also one of the first South African activists to publicly acknowledge his HIV-­positive status and was instrumental in bringing HIV and AIDS education and counselling to disadvantaged populations. The LGBT movement has been heavily influenced by the effects of the HIV epidemic. The highest prevalence of HIV can be found in sub-­ Saharan Africa (Beyrer, 2012), with trans and gender-­diverse persons, particularly transwomen, at high risk for HIV (Baral et al., 2012). This risk of HIV is amplified given the scourge of corrective rape experienced by trans and gender-­diverse people, much like that experienced by black lesbians in townships (Beyrer, 2012). HIV has been a vehicle through which sexual minority issues and the agenda for equal rights advanced. HIV is a foremost health concern in South Africa – a country with one of the highest HIV prevalence rates in the world. As a result, the HIV agenda has dominated LGBT discourse, influenced by the greater availability of donor funding for HIV programmes as opposed to LGBT rights programmes. In contrast, the Northern trans and gender-­diverse movement has largely advanced through trans and gender-­diverse leaders’ efforts in organising, story-­telling, and risk-­taking, which have made significant strides in educating the public about the needs and lived experiences of trans and gender-­diverse people (Funders for LGBTQ Issues, 2015). African trans lives Understanding the relationship of globalisation and marginalisation to social movements is important. While some LGBT activists may even “credit” globalisation with the arrival of more progressive values, such as gay rights, in South Africa it could also been seen as dictating how sexual and gender identity should be understood. For instance, during the 1960s and 1970s feminine black men in urban areas were considered to be women and their masculine partners were considered to be heterosexual men (Klein, 2009). However, through the process of globalisation and the influence of the global gay community these men were relabelled as homosexual men (ibid.). The dichotomy that separates gender and sexuality (Currier, 2015) stems from Western notions of the separation between gender, sex, and sexuality. Ogana and Ojong (2015) write about conceptions of gender among isangoma (diviners). They describe that “an isangoma’s gender identity is dependent on any ancestor who inhabits the

144   Z. Essack et al. body of the diviner. If a male isangoma adopts a female descendant, he takes on female characteristics of dress, walk and voice” (Ogana & Ojong, 2015, pp.  72–73). Such examples of male African traditional healers assuming female identities during their traditional healing training (ukuthwasa) demonstrate that African identities can be more accepting of sex, gender, and sexuality fluidity. While the acronym may be useful to LGBT activism, the diversity that exists in the South African movement complicates communication across language barriers. The English terms “transgender” and “transsexual” are not directly translatable to indigenous African languages (Husakouskaya, 2013). For instance, Klein (2009) recounted an interview in the 1980s of a black LGBT activist providing sexual- and gender-­minority education to communities who were unfamiliar with the term transgender but instead referred to trans individuals as “a sex change”. During the initial phases of the LGBT movement in South Africa, lesbian and gay terms gained traction while bisexual and trans terms were less popularised and thus deferred as secondary positions within the social movement (Dirsuweit, 2006; Stobie, 2007). A key challenge underpinning the reluctance to adopt these identities in the global South is the foreign nature of these terms. This affected the ability of trans identity terms to be translated and understood within the multitude of cultural contexts that exist in South Africa. Unlike the LGBT movement in the global North, trans invisibility in South Africa is not a sign of activists’ deficient commitment to democratic inclusion and diversity (Currier, 2015). While there may not have been attempts to actively engage trans constituents, activists have been vocal on the importance of including trans concerns alongside lesbian and gay issues (Currier, 2010). These different approaches to movement-­building demonstrate that social movements transform the way that activists and constituents understand their identity (Currier, 2015). However, feminist and queer theorists caution against applying Western categories that may be “incomplete, inapplicable, or even offensive depending on contexts and histories” to non-­heteronormative gender and sexual practices in the global South (Swarr & Nagar, 2003, p. 514). Including T in the LGBT movement Within the South African lesbian and gay movement in the 1990s, there were relatively few constituents who identified as trans and gender-­diverse (Currier, 2015). While trans and gender-­diverse individuals may not have been visible representatives in early social movements, the LGBT acronym was used in its entirety by activists, who wanted the social movement to be inclusive rather than reflect the segregated and discriminatory era of apartheid, which perpetuated racial, class, gender, and sexual injustices (Currier, 2010; Ndashe, 2011). For this reason and in resonance with international LGBT movement organisations, the inclusion of trans and

Trans and gender-diverse activism   145 gender-­diverse individuals became common practice in the South African lesbian, gay and bisexual5 (LGB) movement (Ndashe, 2011), though it is debatable whether this has translated into concrete actions in advancing trans and gender-­diverse specific rights in South Africa. In South Africa, during the mid-­2000s lesbian and gay activists defended the umbrella LGBTI acronym when some felt that the inclusion of the T and I might divert attention from sexual minority rights and might unnerve African commissioners who were unfamiliar with expressed gender diversity (Currier, 2015). Still, many LGBT activists in South Africa expressed concern regarding the absence of trans and gender-­diverse identified constituents in the LGBT movement (ibid.), including: 1 2 3 4 5

an absence of identity talk, specifically the opportunity for trans and gender-­diverse constituents to define their own collective identity; the use of Western language and understandings of gender, which did not, and still largely do not resonate with local trans and gender-­ diverse communities; an invisibility of the specific health needs and social issues of trans and gender-­diverse people; the planning of strategic priorities for the movement in the absence of trans and gender-­diverse constituents, particularly regarding gender reassignment surgery; and the presence of intolerances within the movement, such as a rejection of trans and gender-­diverse issues and identities in favour of a sexual minority focus.

Global North–global South trans participation This brief overview of trans participation in the broader LGBT rights movement foregrounds similarities and differences with the global (read global North) LGBT movement. Trans and gender-­diverse invisibility is not unique to the global South. However, the reasons for this invisibility differ. In the global North, invisibility stemmed from a conscious exclusion by some lesbian and gay activists who viewed inclusion as a potential threat to the movement’s focus on sexual minorities (Currier, 2015). Exclusion was primarily based on the notion that trans and gender-­diverse communities might reject a homosexual identity and that some of these individuals are afforded privilege by identifying their same-­sex practices as heterosexual because they are able to “pass” as straight (Weiss, 2010). In contrast, social movements in South Africa have tended to be more inclusive because of the country’s political history of divisiveness stemming from apartheid (Ballard, Habib, & Valodia, 2006). Inclusive social movements tend to be more successful than differentiated social movements because larger constituencies are more influential when lobbying for change – a point which will be raised again later in relation to the

146   Z. Essack et al. #FeesMustFall movement. Additionally, using a collective LGBT identity enhances “access to donors, diplomats, international LGBT NGOs, and funding from Northern donors” (Currier, 2015, p.  96). In an attempt to be inclusive, South African activists encouraged constituents to embrace LGBT collective identities as personal identities (ibid.). However, trans identified constituents were not actively recruited to join activist organisations; rather, activists assumed that gender-­variant constituents would align themselves to the social movement over time (ibid.). Despite advantages, some commentators suggest that this top-­down approach appeared to be less successful than the bottom-­up approach in the global North, which was more conducive to identity coherence and convergence (ibid.). The South African LGBT movement differs from the global North movement on three distinct levels (Currier, 2015). First, the South African LGBT movement strives to be inclusive to attain rights and privileges for all sexual and gender minorities. Second, LGBT terminology has been borrowed from the West and may not resonate with non-­heteronormative gender constituents, making it difficult for individuals to adopt a trans personal identity and align themselves to the social movement. Third, without the adoption of trans identities it is difficult for activists to actively recruit trans constituents. These varying approaches in the global South and global North recognise how identity strategies unfold differently in gender and sexuality movements around the world, acknowledges how LGBT activists throughout the world exercise agency in determining whether they will use or modify these terms, and counters assumptions about how activists should engage in identity work.

Trans and gender-­diverse civil society in South Africa During the past decade a number of trans and gender-­diverse-focused NGOs began to emerge in South Africa (see Box 9.1 for a brief overview of some of these organisations). These CSOs, and others, offer support to trans and gender-­diverse individuals by advocating for their rights, providing training, education, and information, and delivering services. The trans and gender-­diverse movements were bolstered by media attention on various high-­profile reports that involved trans and gender-­ diverse people. These are shown in the timeline in Figure 9.1. For instance, in 2010, Gender DynamiX assisted a Malawian transwoman, Tiwonge Chimbalanga, who was convicted according to her country’s anti-­ sodomy laws, to resettle in South Africa. The case was widely publicised by the media, creating visibility for the T in the LGBT acronym. Trans intersectionality The LGBTI acronym may misleadingly suggest a homogenous group with identical experiences. However each letter in the acronym represents a

Trans and gender-diverse activism   147 Box 9.1 A brief description of key trans and gender-­diverse CSOs in South Africa Gender DynamiX (GDX), founded in 2005, is a human rights organisation, focusing its work on trans and gender-­diverse individuals and their significant others, friends, family, or allies (SOFFAs). It aims to bridge the gap between trans and gender-­diverse people and their partners and the need for information about transitioning. For more information visit https:// genderdynamix.org.za. Transgender Intersex Africa (TIA) was founded in 2010. This human rights organisation focuses on facilitating access to gender confirmation surgery and health care services for transgender and intersex constituents in rural settlements. For more information visit http://transgenderintersex africa.org.za. The Social, Health and Empowerment Feminist Collective of Transgender Women in South Africa (SHE) was founded in 2010 for transgender and intersex women in Africa in response to the gender imbalance in the trans and gender-­diverse African movement and to work towards a greater inclusion of trans, gender-­diverse, and intersex women and their issues at local, regional, sub-­regional and continental levels. For more information visit http://transfeminists.org. Iranti-­org is a queer human rights visual media organisation located in Johannesburg, South Africa, that was founded in 2012. The organisation uses the media as a platform for lobbying, advocacy and educational interventions across Africa. For more information visit www.iranti-­org.co.za. The Trans Wellness Project was founded in 2015 and aims to provide a comprehensive, integrated approach to community and individual wellness among the trans and gender-­diverse community. The organisation provides psychosocial support, education and community services. For more information visit https://forgood.co.za/cause/profile/trans-­wellness-project.

range of people of different races, ethnicities, classes, ages, socio-­economic statuses, identities, and geographies (Müller, 2018). The use of an umbrella LGBTI acronym reflects efforts to be inclusive; however, the intersectionality of interlocking systems of oppression means that experiences of individuals diverge widely. These issues raise the need for differentiated activism which takes into account the complex diversity of South African society. Trans and gender-­diverse individuals face various forms of injustice that are unique to their sexual and gender identity. Further, the realities of trans and gender-­diverse groups are not homogenous. The economic divide, which is still racially defined in South Africa, continues to impact access to information and medical services for marginalised groups (Klein, 2009). As in the early days of the lesbian and gay movement, which was separated according the needs of the white middle-­class versus the disadvantaged black activists, trans and gender-­diverse individuals who are

15 March: The Alteration of Sex Status Act, 2003 adopted

Final Constitution maintains antidiscrimination clause

GLOW organises SA’s first Pride march in Johannesburg

1990s

2009

2006

2012

2010

2000s

Kaleidoscope, an umbrella Iranti-org founded organisation comprised of by human rights activist, LGBTI student solidarity groups at universities across photographer & SA, launched at UCT curator, Jabu Pereira

2005

Malawian trans woman Tiwonge Chimalanga resettled in SA after Malawian anti-sodomy law conviction

SA gay pride flag launched in Cape Town

WHO moves gender incongruence out of mental disorders into sexual health conditions for ICD-11

The Trans Wellness Project & The TransCollective UCT were founded

2010s

2018

2016

Naked members of The TransCollective UCT protest at the #RhodesMustFall exhibit at the UCT Centre for African Studies Gallery

2015

2013

Gender identity disorder replaced by Gender dysphoria in DSM-5

Figure 9.1 Timeline of key events and milestones for trans and gender-diverse civil society.

1980s

1990-1999 Gay organisations instrumental in promoting HIV & AIDS education in disadvantaged populations

2004

1998

1997

1994

8 May: Criminalisation SA defend of sodomy, LGBTI “unnatural acronym at sexual acts” in 2006 African the Sexual Commission Offences Act on Human declared Gender unconstitional DynamiX was and Peoples’ Rights by high court founded

1990

1980

SAs interim Trans identity Constitution pathologised: prohibits sexual DSM-III lists orientationGender Identity based Disorder discrimination

Out-Wellbeing founded

30 November: Simon Nkoli dies of AIDS

Transgender and Intersex Africa (TIA) & Social, Health and Empowerment Feminist Collective of Transgender Women in South Africa (S.H.E.) were founded

Trans and gender-diverse activism   149 economically disadvantaged experience great difficulty accessing NGOs, NPOs, and CBOs that provide trans and gender-­diverse related services. Finally, access to health care services is difficult predominantly due to the limited availability of the internet in townships and rural areas, which means that information about these services is difficult to obtain (Klein, 2009). This is compounded by a paucity of available health care services in rural areas and the fact that poor people experience barriers in accessing the services related to unemployment and limited financial resources to cover the costs of travel to clinics or hospitals. In South Africa, oppression stemming from the intersections of race, class, economic status, and education is widespread across society and is amplified within sub-­groups of the transgender community. As a result, access and engagement with trans and gender-­diverse specific services, which are often located in urban settings, is less likely to reach those who live in rural areas, those who are black, and/or those who are less educated and therefore under-­employed (Wilson, Marais, De Villiers, Addinall, & Campbell, 2014). Consequently, some trans and gender-­diverse South Africans may resort to alternative methods of gender affirmation, for example a transwoman may misuse birth control pills as hormone therapy to achieve a change in secondary sex characteristics (Klein, 2009). Despite differences, there may be some shared experiences among sexual and gender minorities including experiences of stigma and discrimination in access to health care and pathologisation of sexual and gender identity (Müller, 2018). Transphobia Despite the progressive constitution and legal framework, there is widespread homophobia and transphobia in South Africa. The most recent iteration of the South African Social Attitudes Survey (Sutherland et al., 2016) found that, while the majority of South Africans have never and would never consider verbally or physically assaulting a gender-­ nonconforming individual, almost half a million South Africans reported having being physically violent towards a person born female but who dressed or behaved like a man and almost a quarter of a million have been physically violent towards a person born male who identified as a woman (ibid.). Research suggests that South African LGBTI continue to experience violent harassment, with black lesbians and trans men at heightened risk of violence, especially in rural or township environments (Theron, 2013). More broadly, the lived experiences of LGBTI may be fraught with physical and sexual violence, discrimination in terms of employment, and verbal abuse and threats (Legal Resources Centre, Iranti-­org, & Gender DynamiX, 2016). Further, public institutions may perpetuate stigma and discrimination by marginalising, deprioritising, and excluding sexual and

150   Z. Essack et al. gender minorities, which creates a lack of access to resources and potential underreporting of crimes. Social advocacy models are therefore critical in promoting social reform in terms of engendering accepting attitudes towards sexual and gender minorities. As evidenced in South Africa, advocacy and social change strategies are necessary because policy reform alone does not always equate to acceptance or tolerance of sexual and gender minorities (Gillespie et al., 2017).

Contemporary trans activism and the student Fallist movement The next section of this chapter engages with trans and gender-­diverse groups’ involvement in contemporary social movements in South Africa. The Fallist student movements (hereafter the movement) (e.g. #Rhodes MustFall; #FeesMustFall), involving the largest student protests since pre-­ 1994, have received considerable traction across the country (Pillay, 2016). Within it, emerged a group of trans and gender-­diverse activists that illustrated how trans and diverse civil society representatives in South Africa contribute to broader transformation debates and movements, and also advocate for meaningful inclusion of trans and gender-­diverse people and their issues within these debates and movements. The movement represents a modern-­day social movement exemplar mirroring the struggle for democracy in South Africa in the early 1990s. The movement emerged in 2015 and quickly swept across South African universities. To date the movement has gained influence across the political landscape in South Africa. The movement embraced black radical feminism, pan-­Africanism, and black consciousness and calls for the decolonisation of South Africa’s institutions of higher learning. “Decolonisation refers to the dismantling, removal, and/or transformation of laws, practices, ideologies, and institutions associated with foreign occupation and domination” (Currier 2011, p.  18). The decolonisation agenda has become particularly prominent in South Africa over recent years, and the LGBT movement has strategically focused on how social and political institutions need to be decolonised (Currier, 2011). Throughout the movement a group of trans and gender-­diverse, gender-­non-binary, and intersex students and staff at the University of Cape Town (UCT) known as the Trans Collective (hereafter the Collective) used their voices and bodies to prioritise the needs and wants of trans and gender-­diverse people within the university’s institutional and social spaces (Ndelu, 2015). Using the movement, the Collective endeavoured to add new texture to the theory and praxis of decolonising gender within the university. For them the task was “confronting toxic gender constructs as indispensable to the decolonisation project within and beyond UCT” (UCT: Trans

Trans and gender-diverse activism   151 ­ ollective, 2015). Their struggle was eloquently captured by a member in C the following statement: [The Trans Collective] emerged from a gap in the mainstream political dialogue and action which invisiblises the complexities, narratives, experiences, pain and oppression of trans* and gender non-­ conforming bodies and psyches. We recognize that colonization has had a severe impact on how we perceive gender and gender expression and thus we are reclaiming our space in the globalized decolonization movement and calling for our narratives to be instructive going forward. (Ibid.) Although the Collective was included in the movement, there was a deep sense of cisgender6 bias within the movement. The movement did not capture the full nuances of the gender matrix and the Collective found fault in how the movement’s mission statement made no mention of demands that were specific to trans and gender-­diverse people. Even the demands that were gendered in nature, such as reformation of the university’s response to sexual violence on campus, were cisgender-­centric and did not extend to trans and gender-­diverse members of the university. There was nothing in the language and substance in the charge of gender injustice that were put forward that included trans and gender-­diverse people. When trans and gender-­diverse constituents were included, the Collective felt that it was a “tokenistic” gesture to present the movement’s commitment to intersectionality. This made trans and gender-­diverse constituents feel disempowered by this tokenism as their issues were being represented by their “cisgender comrades”, thus denying them agency to speak for themselves. The Collective’s inclusion in the movement was not on their own terms and not for their benefit. In response to this erasure of trans diversity, the Collective wrote (ibid.): we problematize the fact that thus far the gender nuance of this decolonization project has privileged cisgender voices. Therefore it is our position that although decolonization necessarily requires degendering – this can only happen after a process of decisgendering. Moreover, the Collective instituted various interventions that were aimed at making the movement more inclusive of its trans and gender-­diverse constituents. This included infiltrating the discourse of the movement by providing trans and gender-­diverse affirming language. Political concepts such as transmisogynoir7 and transphobia were proposed and accepted as a means of enriching the intersectional politic of the movement. Movement constituents were urged to think carefully about their cisnormative biases.

152   Z. Essack et al. However, the Collective’s lectures, interjections, interventions, and personal call-­ins did not appear to be successfully integrated into the broader movement. The marginalisation of trans and gender-­diverse people within the movement was persistent with instances of some constituents being openly antagonistic towards trans and gender-­diverse people. This came to a rupture when, at the first anniversary of the #Rhodes MustFall student movement, the Collective staged a dramatic nude protest (see Figure 9.2) that disrupted and prevented the exhibition from being open to the public. In a press statement explaining their intervention, the Collective wrote that (ibid.): It is disingenuous to include trans people in a public gallery when you have made no effort to include them in the private. It is a lie to include trans people when the world is watching, but to erase and antagonise them when the world no longer cares. We have reached the peak of our disillusionment with RMF ’s trans exclusion and erasure. We are done with the arrogant cis hetero patriarchy of black men. We will no longer tolerate the complicity of black cis women in our erasure. We are fed up with RMF being “intersectional” being used as public persuasion rhetoric. We are saying down with faux inclusivity – RMF made it clear, to the world, that we are not welcome here. RMF will not tokenise our presence as if they ever treasured us as part of their movement. We will not have our bodies, faces, names, and voices used as bait for public applause. We are tired of being expected to put our bodies on the line for people who refuse to do the same for us. This event, described as the “trans capture”, marked a climax in the ruptures within the movement at UCT. The action raised entrenched issues with representation, inclusivity, and diversity within the movement. This was received with antagonism by some, who accused the Collective of privileging their own needs and sensitivities over those of the broader movement. Others, fearing that the movement would fail to extract valuable lessons on the principle of “intersectionality” from the intervention, lobbied for movement activities to be suspended until the movement meaningfully addressed the issues raised by the Collective. However, little good has come of the rupture. The movement failed to take these critiques seriously. As more marginalised groups emerged raising similar concerns and creating separate and safer organising spaces, some of the movement’s initial claims to intersectionality and inclusivity have been rendered hollow. What has become clear for these students is a need to organise themselves outside of the movement, to pull together human and intellectual resources, to reproduce and coordinate advocacy interventions, to share best practice, to build one another’s capacities, and to share strategies among trans students from all 26 public institutions of higher learning.

Trans and gender-diverse activism   153

Figure 9.2 Top Image: Naked members of the UCT Trans Collective protest by blocking the entrance to the UCT Centre for African Studies (CAS) Gallery on the occasion of the #RMF “Echoing voices from within” exhibition on 9 March 2016. Bottom Image: The UCT Trans Collective used red paint and placards to cover photography featured at the #RMF exhibition, which they claim excluded and erased their work within the student movement. Source: Lungile Sigasa.

The need for inclusivity of sexual and gender minorities in critical issues is clear, however much work needs to be done to ensure that this inclusivity is not merely a tick-­box activity but involves genuine consultative and collaborative participation. This case study reveals that struggles for improving trans and gender-­diverse visibility remain a challenge and will require improved consolidation among trans and gender-­diverse civil society themselves, and continued broader advocacy and activism.

154   Z. Essack et al.

Conclusion As described in this chapter, since the fall of apartheid some trans organising and mobilisation has occurred under the ambit of LGBT-­identified organisations. This inclusivity distinguished the LGBT movement in the global South from that of its Northern peers. Still, there are important divergences between trans and gender-­diverse movements and LGB organising in South Africa (Thoreson, 2013). First, trans organising focuses on regional and transnational solidarity, often invoking global best practices in their lobbying strategies. To this end, “while South Africa’s jurisprudence on LGB issues was cutting-­edge and far more progressive than in most countries, its steps on trans and intersex issues have largely aligned with best practices implemented abroad” (Thoreson, 2013, p.  659). This transnational focus is clearly evident from the brief description of some of the key trans and gender-­diverse CSOs in South Africa (see Box 9.1) – most of which describe their reach regionally or across the continent. Second, unlike the LGB focus on the judiciary and changing policy, trans organising has focused on the politics of everyday life, including improving access to health care, psychological needs, safety, and dignity (ibid.). The last point of variance is that trans organising has adopted a more flexible approach invoking multiple discourses including human rights, gender equality, and the right to bodily autonomy (ibid.). This divergence is poignantly captured in the Collective’s involvement in efforts on decolonisation. The opportunities and challenges, successes, and losses of intersectional approaches to trans activism are apparent in the Fallist student movement. The movement is a clear example of the challenges of trans activism in supposedly broad, inclusive, intersectional civil rights movements. The initial excitement around the opening up of a trans space within the movement and the possibilities for intersectional rights work was soon replaced by growing concern and disillusionment with the ­reinstatement of patriarchal, cisnormative masculinity and the subsequent silencing and marginalisation of trans voices. In many ways, trans presence functioned as a trigger to reactionary, patriarchal ideologies which, temporarily dormant in the initial challenges and euphoria of the movement, quickly re-­emerged to reinscribe cisnormative hegemony. Trans lives both within and outside the movement articulate a challenge to African patriarchy, foreground the decolonial imperative in South Africa in recent years, recentre the politics of the naked trans body in protest, show how heterosexual cis privilege and transmisogynoir may be reinscribed even in supposedly more egalitarian spaces, and shows how trans presence may be reinvisibilised in supposedly progressive social movements. This form of African trans activism foregrounds the lessons to be learned from trans reclamation of a broader social justice agenda and a determination to claim space and voice in large, intersectional rights movements.

Trans and gender-diverse activism   155 South Africa presents a paradox for sexual- and gender-­minority civil society. On the one hand, the legal framework is one of the most progressive in the world, creating an enabling legal and policy environment for sexual- and gender-­minority civil society and related constituents. Yet, the lived realities for trans and gender-­diverse citizens in South Africa do not necessarily reflect this progressive ideal. Rather, trans and gender activists, communities, and individuals in South Africa endure high levels of transphobic violence from society in general and from state-­sector services. The task of civil society post-­apartheid has therefore been to address some of these key issues through service delivery, advocacy, and activism but also to adopt an oversight role in terms of the realisation of legal rights for constituents (e.g. implementation of Act 49 and access to health care). In these efforts, South African trans and gender-­diverse civil society have brought increased visibility to the T in the LGBT acronym. More recent involvement of trans and gender-­diverse students in contemporary Fallist movements highlights the potential for the consistent relegating of trans and gender-­diverse concerns. However, more profoundly, it exemplifies the important and impactful contribution that can be made by civil society when efforts are consolidated to address new struggles to rewrite the dominant Western narrative informing binary gendered positioning, pathologisation of trans and gender-­diverse identities, and colonisation of educational and other spaces. Going forward, these remain critical tasks for South African trans and gender-­diverse civil society.

Acknowledgements We would like to thank Prof Finn Reygan of the Human Sciences Research Council for his critical reading and helpful comments on this chapter.

Notes 1 Trans refers to people who generally self-­identify with a gender that does not correspond to the sex assigned to them at birth (SANAC, 2017). 2 In this chapter, we use trans and gender-­diverse: in South African townships and rural areas trans is a term that is foreign or not often used. The addition of “gender-­diverse” recognises, from a framework of decolonisation, that there are native, African, indigenous understandings of gender diversity that do not necessarily use or conform with the Western conception of transgender. 3 LGBT refers to only lesbian, gay, bisexual, and trans, excluding intersex. 4 LGBT is used in this instance as intersex issues were not commonly associated with the movement during the period following the arrival of democracy in 1994. 5 LGB refers to only lesbian, gay, and bisexual, excluding trans and intersex. 6 Cisgender describes a person whose perception and expression of his/her gender identity corresponds with the biological sex he/she was assigned at birth. 7 Transmisogynoir refers to misogyny specifically directed towards transwomen of colour.

156   Z. Essack et al.

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10 ‘Mencicil keadilan’ (installing justice) Civil society and transitional justice in Indonesia Sri Lestari Wahyuningroem Introduction In 1998, after three decades of authoritarianism in Indonesia, transitional justice became one of the main political agendas for the country. Indonesia is one example of the many countries that have experimented with transitional justice mechanisms in order to try to deal with the legacies of a repressive regimes while going through a political transition. A whole range of approaches and mechanisms, most notably truth-­seeking, prosecutions, and reparations, was adopted and implemented at the state level during and after the political transition. The expectation was that these measures would strengthen Indonesia’s democracy and human rights. However, out of 137 names investigated for human rights abuses, none was punished. Moreover, security-­sector reform failed to include accountability for past abuses, and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission was formally annulled before its commencement. Transitional justice has been derailed since then. Twenty years after the demise of authoritarian rule, it is important to look at the roles of civil society in the process of transitional justice. This is not only because of the state’s failure in settling cases of past abuses, but also because of the growing numbers and outcomes of transitional justice mechanisms at the local and international levels. Civil society has been working on various initiatives to present justice both at the grass-­roots level (Brauchler 2009) and at the national and regional levels (Wahyuningroem 2013, 2018). With and without engaging the state, civil society, often led by human rights NGOs, seeks to present justice at any opportunity they encounter in the areas of reconciliation, collective memories, and reparation for victims. Studies in this field often look at the roles of civil society in supporting official transitional justice mechanisms. In Indonesia, however, civil society’s roles are far beyond the traditional practice, where human rights NGOs, and other parts of civil society build their own creative power in justice and accountability, focusing on victims’ experience at the local, national, and international levels. Civil society seeks to promote justice by cicilan (instalment). Transitional justice, in this sense, has shifted

Transitional justice in Indonesia   159 from state-­centred mechanisms to other forms of justice initiatives at the societal level. The ‘instalments’ refer to incremental justice initiatives by civil society, sometimes in collaboration with local government, suggesting that improving justice outcomes can also take place from the bottom up, or from the margins, rather than being entirely dependent upon top-­down or state-­centred initiatives. In this chapter, I demonstrate what roles civil society has played since the beginning of setting the agenda for transitional justice when state-­ centred mechanisms failed. However, the roles of civil society, in particular human rights groups, have been marginal in influencing political decisions. Rather than bringing forward desired outcomes from the transitional justice agenda, political lobbying and national advocacy by human rights NGOs resulted in the strengthening of impunity. This led them to strengthen strategies to work from below and from the margins. In supporting my arguments, I use some data from interviews I conducted for my PhD research between 2012 and 2016, especially in explaining the roles of civil society. The first part of this chapter discusses the conceptual frameworks and practices of transitional justice and the roles of civil society. The second part of this chapter looks at transitional justice in Indonesia, starting from the early adoption of the measures to the state’s failures and recent situations when democracy has been consolidated. The third part explores the roles of civil society in Indonesia, ranging from its encouragement of the state to adopt the transitional justice agenda to different strategies to achieve truth and justice as alternatives to state-­sponsored transitional justice. The last part offers a conclusion of this chapter.

Transitional justice, post-­transitional justice, and the roles of civil society In its simplest form, transitional justice, according to a 2004 report of the United Nations secretary-­general, is defined as ‘The full range of processes and mechanisms associated with a society’s attempts to come to terms with a legacy of large-­scale past abuses, in order to ensure accountability, serve justice and achieve reconciliation’ (UN Doc 2004, 3). Attempts to settle cases of past injustices can take place through various measures and mechanisms. The mechanisms referred to most in the literature are those that involve prosecution, truth-­seeking, reparations, and institutional reform in the form of purification or vetting, as well as reconciliation. Globally, an increasing number of countries have adopted and implemented transitional justice mechanisms. According to Payne and Sikkink (2014, 36–39), prosecution and amnesties are the two mechanisms chosen most often by countries around the world. Human rights trials, in particular, have occurred at both domestic and international levels. Domestic human rights prosecutions have been used widely in Latin America and Central

160   S. L. Wahyuningroem and Eastern Europe. The third largest numbers of prosecutions have occurred in Asia, both for domestic human rights prosecutions and international (including hybrid international–national) prosecutions. (Payne and Sikkink 2014, 40). In the Asia-­Pacific, Jeffrey and Kim (2014, 22–27) also show that increasing numbers of countries have adopted transitional justice mechanisms since 1980. For, Olsen, Payne, and Reiter (2010), there is a growing trend for countries in the Asia-­Pacific, including Indonesia, to institute more than one mechanism. Out of 19 countries that had adopted transitional justice by 2009, only six countries instituted just one mechanism. Others had implemented two or more mechanisms either simultaneously or sequentially. The most commonly used mechanisms in these countries have been trials, truth commissions, and amnesties. Within this global trend, civil society in the respective countries has played major roles in supporting state-­initiated transitional justice mechanisms (Backer 2003; Hayner 2005; Crocker 1999; Brahm 2007; Roht-­ Ariazza 2002). Their roles range from justifying a role in addressing human rights issues in preliminary settings of transitional justice processes (Backer 2003) to public deliberation and other technical roles such as victims’ assistance, investigation, mobilization, and so on (Duthie 2009). Countries that experienced successful transitional justice, civil society groups took significant roles by helping ‘to initiate, advocate for, and shape some of the strongest and most interesting transitional justice initiatives that have been implemented around the world’ (Hayner 2005, 45). Civil society groups, in this context, refer to a range of organizations including human rights organizations, humanitarian aid organizations, victim and survivor associations, development NGOs, lawyers, academic, mental health and medical associations, religious organizations, and conflict transformation and peacebuilding groups (Duthie 2009, 12). The main criticisms of transitional justice approach have been the heavy focus on institutions, top-­down state interventions, and the law, which tends to consider civil society’s role only as filling the gaps or acting as an ‘intermediary between institutional mechanisms and citizens’ (Gready and Robins 2017, 957). Rather than looking at civil society as the intermediary groups, Gready and Robins (2017) propose seeing civil society roles within a context of ‘justice in transition’ where both justice and transition are dynamic, diverse, and contextual. This is understood not exclusively as it relates to acts of violence that preceded transition but also in terms of continuities of injustice. In such an approach, civil society has different roles in its interaction with the transitional justice process, where civil society groups have more autonomy, independent action, and the modelling of alternatives, often choosing not to see the state as a principal reference. Grady’s proposal later allows us to examine the roles of civil society in modelling alternatives of justice in some countries. Recent studies of transitional justice, for example, acknowledge other ways of ‘doing justice’,

Transitional justice in Indonesia   161 including bottom-­up approaches which incorporate local practices and local initiatives by civil society groups or communities. Launched in 1995, REMHI (Recuperación de la Memoria Histórica, Historical Memory Project) is a well-­known bottom-­up mechanism in Guatemala. It is a truth-­ seeking mechanism organized through a project led by the Catholic Church that aims to document the atrocities committed during Guatemala’s 36-year civil war. Another example is a truth-­telling initiative in Northern Ireland called the Ardoyne Commemoration Project. This initiative is described as a grass-­roots ‘single identity truth recovery’ project set up in the Ardoyne area of north Belfast, an area that suffered one of the highest casualty rates during the conflict in Northern Ireland (Lundy and McGovern 2008, 284). In Indonesia, civil society has also been working on various initiatives to secure justice both at the grass-­roots level (Brauchler 2009) and at regional and national levels (Wahyuningroem 2013, 2018b). Such initiatives have emerged in part as a response to the failures of state-­sponsored transitional justice measures. I explain the detail of this in a later section.

Transitional justice in Indonesia Indonesia’s political transition started in 1998 with the fall, after 32 years, of the authoritarian regime, often called the New Order, led by General Suharto, following an economic crisis that hit the country and massive demonstrations that took place in Jakarta and elsewhere in the same year (Robison and Hadiz 2004; Hill 1999; Aspinall 2005; Robison 2001). This change marked the beginning of a transition from an authoritarian regime to democracy, and made it possible for past human rights abuses committed during the authoritarian period to be acknowledged by the wider public. After five successive presidents and four elections, there have been many attempts to bring about mechanisms for ensuring truth and justice with respect to past human rights abuses, and with regards to more recent abuses during or after the reform process. Indonesia is one of the many countries that has adopted more than one transitional justice mechanism. At the beginning of the transition, truth-­seeking was pursued for multiple cases, while legal reform also took place. Both processes later led to human rights trials. President Habibie (1998–1999) set up inquiry teams on conflict in Aceh and on the rioting and violence that accompanied regime change in Jakarta during May 1998. The National Commission on Human Rights (Komnas HAM) as an autonomous state-­run body also set up a number of fact-­finding teams aimed at revealing the truth about human rights abuses, including those that had occurred in East Timor in 1999, the 1984 Tanjung Priok massacre, the 1989 Talangsari massacre, and some other cases of recent and past abuses. Trials began under Abdurrahman Wahid’s presidency (1999–2001), including trials on mass violence

162   S. L. Wahyuningroem during East Timor’s 1999 referendum for independence. In 2004, Indonesia finally passed a Law on Truth and Reconciliation. But a Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) had not yet been established by the time the Constitutional Court annulled the law in 2006. From that time, the central government, along with the consolidated political elite including the military and elements of the repressive regime who oppose state accountability for past abuses, has taken no significant efforts to deal with or resolve cases of past abuses (Wahyuningroem 2018a). Legal regulation that relates to the adoption of human rights norms into local policies were mostly chosen by the government during the early period of reform (1998–2004). Within this period, Komnas HAM had a significant role in promoting and maintaining the momentum for human rights accountability through inquiries (truth-­seeking initiatives) including for cases of past abuses under Suharto’s rule (Setiawan 2013; Pratikno et al. 2002). Other than Komnas HAM and its truth-­seeking initiatives, state institutions also pursued other options related to transitional justice. The Majelis Permusyawaratan Rakyat (MPR, People’s Consultative Assembly) – Indonesia’s supreme law-­making body – passed Resolution No. V in 2000, which later served as the foundation for other measures for transitional justice. The Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat (DPR, People’s Representative Council) – Indonesia’s parliament – also responded to demands for human rights accountability and transitional justice by passing various laws and taking political decisions on some cases of human rights violations. For example, it passed Law No.  39 of 1999 on Human Rights and Law No. 26 of 2000 on Human Rights Court. The judiciary was also active. The Supreme Court accommodated some demands relating to past abuse cases, especially the 1965–1966 violence, when hundreds of thousands of leftists were massacred by the army and its allies, by issuing a letter in 2003 to the president and parliament recommending that they acknowledge and rehabilitate the rights of the victims (Mahkamah Agung 2003). In general, the adoption of transitional justice measures and human rights policies was positive in terms of the promotion of state accountability and human rights protection. However, some assessments suggest that the implementation of these measures was deeply unsatisfactory. KontraS (Komisi Nasional untuk Orang Hilang dan Korban Kekerasan, National Commission for Enforced Disappearance and Victims of Violence), an NGO based in Jakarta, and the International Center for Transitional Justice (ICTJ) conducted an assessment in 2011 in which they acknowledged that during the 13 years of political transition to that point, especially in the early years of democratization, Indonesia had taken positive steps to bring about legal reforms and create institutions for state accountability for past human rights abuses. However, they noted that there was a period after the 2006 annulment of the Law on Truth and Reconciliation when all of these mechanisms stalled or stagnated (ICTJ and KontraS 2011). Ehito (2015) relates the failure of transitional justice

Transitional justice in Indonesia   163 to the many ways by which the political elite contrived to obstruct efforts for justice by civil society groups. He explains that transitional justice in Indonesia ‘illustrates some of the larger and continued problems of governance in post-­Suharto Indonesia where the rules of the game have changed, but many of the players remain the same’ (Ehito 2015, 88). Elsewhere I argue that the state and political institutions chose to adopt transitional justice policies and mechanisms in an attempt to distance themselves from the Suharto regime (Wahyuningroem 2018a). Learning from the ‘tactical concessions’ adopted during Suharto’s time (Jetschke 2011), these leaders viewed transitional justice as a concession that could offer in order to gain political legitimacy in the new democratic era, both from the international community and from the domestic public. Tactical concessions here refer to Risse and Sikkink’s (1999) understanding of governments’ rhetorical response to domestic and international pressure groups demanding adherence to human rights norms, while at the same time miscalculating the impacts of the concessions or response they made (Risse and Sikkink 1999, 66). Indonesia’s transitional justice process was thus, from the start, politically superficial, as transitional justice was adopted only to respond domestic and international pressures for the accountability of the repressive regime. Today, political elitism has been consolidated, and transitional justice is no longer within the political agenda. Indonesia has now had regular political succession through four democratic elections. The results gave strong legitimacy for political elites, despite the fact that many candidates have come from the old regime. The new legitimacy resulting from the election re-­formed the political distinction of old and new (supposedly) democratic elite. Human rights issues are used during campaigns to delegitimize candidates who was named as perpetrators of past abuses. Eventually, once the candidates won the election, they broke their promises to promote human rights, justice for past abuses, and accountability. The current president, Joko Widodo, for example, won against former general Prabowo Subiyanto, who was accused of masterminding kidnappings of some activists in 1997–1998 and violence in Mapenduma, Papua. Widodo prioritized a programme for his leadership called the Nawa Cita, which includes settling cases of past human rights abuses including the 1965 mass violence. However, instead of settling the past abuses, Widodo stoked civil society’s initiatives for truth and justice in his attempts to counter the opposition’s accusation of his affiliation to communism. Under his leadership, persecutions and repression against freedom of expression increased. Between January 2015 and July 2016, SafeNet (Southeast Asia Freedom of Expression Network) recorded 42 cases of repression of freedom of expression and association in Indonesia, with an average of four to five incidents every month (Wahyuningroem 2016). The solidarity among political elites has also disregarded Komnas HAM’s investigation of seven cases of past human rights abuses. Government,

164   S. L. Wahyuningroem both the executive and legislature, has also ignored the recommendations of various transitional justice mechanisms that took place previously. An example is the Supreme Court’s 2003 recommendation for the rehabilitation for victims of the 1965 mass violence, and the 2012 parliament’s recommendation to establish an ad hoc human rights court for the enforced disappearance of activists in 1997–1998. In addition to the recommendations, some victims have won individual cases against various state departments under the civil law. However, there has not been any execution of these verdicts. Out of this stagnation, in 2013 a permanent TRC was established at provincial level in Aceh by local bylaw. Mandated in the peace agreement between the Indonesian government and the Aceh Freedom Movement (GAM) in 2005, the drafting of the TRC bylaw (Qanun KKR) was initiated by human rights groups in Aceh. Since the annulment of the national TRC Law by the Constitutional Court in 2006, the idea to have Aceh’s TRC resulted in conflicting opinions from NGOs, local government and elite members of GAM, as well as the national government, partly owing to its mandate to investigate past conflicts involving the signatories to the peace agreement (Aspinall and Zain 2013). After several years of delays, the Aceh’s government under Governor Irwandy Yusuf, former GAM commander, passed the Qanun KKR with insignificant resistance from the national government.

‘Mencicil keadilan’: the roles of civil society in Indonesia’s transitional justice After President Habibie took the office, replacing Suharto, he opened up the political space and granted basic freedoms of expression and association in 1998; the civil society sector grew in size and in scope (Antlöv, Ibrahim, and van Tuijl 2005). The Indonesian Bureau of Statistics (BPS) noted a massive growth in the number of NGOs, from 10,000 in 1996 to 70,000 in 2000. Human rights groups set the democratic agenda by popularizing the idea of transitional justice during the early years of political transition and kept the agenda alive throughout that time. They tried to push for a reform of government practices so that it would have amounted to regime replacement. The groups did this by advocating for the achievement of what the Suharto regime had always managed to avoid by way of tactical concessions: human rights accountability. Human rights groups believed that reformasi should mean ensuring state responsibility for past human rights abuses by way of adoption and implementation of transitional justice. Achieving transitional justice seemed possible after Habibie allowed a referendum in East Timor and established a joint inquiry team on the 1984 Tanjung Priok massacre. International communities, most notably

Transitional justice in Indonesia   165 the United Nations, strongly demanded that Indonesia investigate cases of mass violence that took place during and after the referendum. In the midst of political instability in the early years of transition, Indonesia had to comply with such pressure, allowing an opportunity for prosecution for the case. The East Timor investigation instigated domestic demands for a similar investigation into the 1984 Tanjung Priok massacre. In contrast to the weak political, domestic, public, and elite support for the East Timor process, there was wide support for investigations and trials for Tanjung Priok. This support was possible because of the common interests of human rights groups that demand state accountability and elements of the new political elite who needed legitimacy for power. Even though these new elite groups were fundamentally interested in short-­term goals and gaining political legitimacy, their support became a push factor for the government to adopt some transitional justice measures. These included the establishment of the Law on Human Rights and the Law on Human Rights Court, with the latter needed to pave the way for trials in both of these cases, and the Law on Truth and Reconciliation. Human rights groups worked independently and voluntarily in pushing for a reform agenda through a ‘dual-­track’ strategy – lobbying the upper political elite to influence them to adopt a reform agenda and working independently of any elite group to empower grass-­roots communities (interview with Galuh Wandita in Jakarta, 12 March 2012). On the one hand, NGOs actively engaged with the state and articulated their interests to the state openly, rather than being estranged from formal political processes, especially at the national level. Aspinall highlights this approach as a main feature of civil society groups in the post-­Suharto period, most of which shared a consensus that the state and social order after 1998 were fundamentally legitimate, and that ‘the primary aims of politics were conceived as pressuring, lobbying, or otherwise influencing the state to achieve desirable policy outcomes’ (Aspinall 2004, 75). On the other hand, some of these organizations avoided working with government institutions and chose to be watchdog organizations as an expression of their distrust of the new regime. They preferred to build solidarity with, and mobilize, victims or the grass roots, ignoring representative political bodies including political parties (Priyono, Samadhi, and Tornquist 2007; Farid and Simarmata 2006). Human rights groups saw this common interest with the new political elites as an opportunity to promote and ensure state to adopt transitional justice mechanisms. The majority of human rights groups pursued a strategy of working with government and the new political elite by lobbying for the formal adoption of human rights and transitional justice measures into law and to otherwise take action on past abuses. In some cases, such as the 1984 Tanjung Priok massacre, this strategy was successful. However, the success was mostly depended on other factors, which are based on the political interests of the new political elite. KontraS had had

166   S. L. Wahyuningroem coalition with organizations affiliated with the new political elites at the time such as the Asosiasi Pembela Islam (Islamic Defenders Association, or API, led by Hamdan Zoelfa of the Crescent Star Party or PBB, a member of parliament) and Aliansi Pengacara untuk Demokrasi Indonesia (Advocate Alliance for Indonesian Democracy or APRODI, an organization consisting of figures affiliated with Islamic political parties). The coalition succeeded in raising the Tanjung Priok case to the national agenda, and even got trials going. It was successful mostly because of the commitment and involvement of political elements of the Muslim groups, most notably the political parties, and involving prominent political figures, such as A. M. Fatwa, among the victims. However, such success cannot be claimed for other cases, for example the Trisakti, Semanggi I, and Semanggi II (TSS) shootings. From June 1998 to June 2003, the military court prosecuted 14 officials involved in the three incidents. However, these military court cases did not satisfy the families of victims, mainly because they only prosecuted low-­ranking officers and did not target the main perpetrators higher up the chain of command (interview with Maria Sumarsih in Jakarta, May 2012). The families, assisted by human rights NGOs, paid visits and lobbied state institutions including Komnas HAM, the Jakarta Military Command, the Ministry of Defence, and Presidents Habibie and Wahid, seeking their support for proper justice processes on behalf of the victims. They also lobbied the DPR through some individual members, a strategy that was also adopted in the Tanjung Priok case. After a mixed response from parliamentarians during the lobbying, in 2001 the parliament’s special committee on the cases agreed to set up a special committee to investigate the three cases. However, at the parliament’s general meeting, parties that voted against the recommendation won, and thus the cases were declared closed. There are two reasons for the failure of this lobbying strategy. The first and most obvious was that members of parliament lacked interest in these cases partly owing to ignorance and the lack of a human rights perspective among most members of parliament. The second factor was indeed political. The parliament’s special committee (Panitia Khusus, pansus) worked between January and July 2001, a period when Wahid’s leadership as president was undergoing a crisis as he had lost support in the parliament and opposition to him was mounting. He had to deal with opposition not only in parliament but also within his own ministries. He was impeached by the parliament, and Megawati of the PDIP would replace Wahid as the fifth president of Indonesia. The political landscape changed significantly after Megawati took over the presidency. Under her leadership, military elements consolidated with the conservative elements of the former semi-­opposition. At the same time, Indonesia’s new ruling elite was increasingly consolidating its position through the distribution of patronage and power-­sharing arrangement in cabinet and elsewhere. Most of its members saw little value in a

Transitional justice in Indonesia   167 confrontation with the security forces over abuses that had occurred during the transition that had elevated them to power. Human rights groups failed to recognize or acknowledge this shift. Unfortunately, there was not much agreement among human rights groups on which issues they should prioritize in their advocacy work. They did not establish a platform for working together to achieve their transitional justice goals, nor did they pause to analyse and evaluate the processes and outcomes of their activities. This is a feature identified by Mikaela Nyman (2006), which reflects the fragmentation of Indonesian civil society. The disunity within civil society made it difficult to cooperate on day-­to-day issues on democratic reform, even though the call to remove Suharto’s regime united them towards a movement. When it came to prioritizing goals and activities, NGOs set up their expectations separately, and their goals and strategies sometimes clashed with each other. The most notable example was the competing emphases on trials and prosecutions versus truth and reconciliation. On this critical strategic choice, the perspectives of two of Indonesia’s most important human rights NGOs diverged: the first approach was advocated by KontraS (Commission for the Disappeared and Victims of Violence) and the latter was articulated by ELSAM (Institute of Policy Research and Advocacy). KontraS believed that prosecutions were the best way to settle past human rights abuses, despite their scepticism about the corrupt and inept legal system in Indonesia, to put into effect an international standard of criminal justice system that could increase possibilities of punishing high-­ ranking generals and decision makers by taking the command responsibility and crimes of omission into account (Suh 2015, 134; Farid and Simarmata 2006). Furthermore, KontraS saw an opportunity for human rights courts to be effective owing to the weakening of the military and the strengthening of demands for human rights accountability (Fernida, email on 1 August 2017). Meanwhile, ELSAM argued that truth-­ seeking was the first step towards justice, and thus a national TRC was needed. ELSAM’s former director, currently serving as special staff of President Widodo, Ifdhal Kasim, argues that such a mechanism is more realistic considering the strong political influences of the old regime such as the Golkar party and the military (interview, 20 September 2014). Even though human rights groups failed to work out a consensus on their strategies and priorities, they did over time maximize their ‘dual-­track’ approach by intensifying their ‘bottom-­up’ work, encouraging initiatives for transitional justice within communities at the local level, including strengthening collaboration with and involvement of communities of victims. Human rights groups were blocked from making significant progress at the national level, but found they could move forward at the local level. Such opportunities were much greater in the context of the far-­reaching decentralization of political power brought about by Habibie’s reforms at the start of the reformasi period.

168   S. L. Wahyuningroem Local organizations have worked with victims and grass-­roots communities. Syarikat in Central Java, for example, successfully organized what they called ‘cultural reconciliation’ between the 1965 victims and some perpetrators from their communities, including religious leaders from the Nahdlatul Ulama (NU). Between 2001 and 2004, Syarikat held gatherings in 18 cities and districts around Central Java and Yogyakarta. Members of Syarikat were mostly santri (students and young leaders of the NU). Their main reason for organizing these events was the involvement of many NU members and leaders in the 1965 mass violence (interview with Rumekso Setyadi in Jakarta, 10 May 2012). The gatherings were well attended, as participants, both individuals involved in perpetrating violence and victims, shared decades of trauma and potential tension within their communities. Some NGOs also collaborated with the local governments. Palu City, in Central Sulawesi Province, has been documented nationally and internationally as a success story of local government’s sponsored transitional justice. Local NGO SKP HAM Palu (Solidaritas Korban Pelanggaran Hak Asasi Manusia Palu, or Solidarity for Victims of Human Rights Violation in Palu) worked with victims of the 1965 mass violence in documenting victims’ testimonies and approached local government for reparation programme. The major, Rusdy Mastura, formally delivered an apology to the victims and their families, and launched the programme (Wahyuningroem 2014, 2018b). The success story of Palu did not take place in some of other areas, however. I identified three factors that determine the outcomes of these local initiatives: the nature of violence, the leadership of the local government, and the organizational capacity of the initiator NGOs ­(Wahyuningroem 2018b). Victim groups also made important contributions to NGOs’ efforts to establish transitional justice. Since 2000, victims’ organizations have not only been involved in the human rights groups’ initiatives; they have also been very active in documenting their own stories and in organizing or getting involved in various truth-­seeking and reconciliation initiatives alongside NGOs. After the fall of Suharto, the opening of political space allowed victims of past human rights abuses, including the 1965–1966 mass violence that took place throughout the country in an anti-­ communist purge, to form a variety of associations. Victims’ organizations, as well as individual victims, took some initiatives in conjunction with other civil society groups, including human rights activists, researchers, scholars, teachers, and community leaders (Farid and Simarmata 2006). These bottom-­up initiatives by civil society groups resulted in positive, yet limited, outcomes. The positive outcomes have been on widening local acknowledgement on cases of past human rights abuses and acknowledgement of victims’ experience of injustice. In some cases, the initiative shifted local understanding of the event took place in their areas in the past. For example, the memorialization of Rumoh Geudong (grand

Transitional justice in Indonesia   169 house) in Pidie, Aceh, in 2016 attracted wide attention from local people in the area as well as Aceh province on the untold stories of torture and sexual violence against women during the conflict in Aceh in the house, which was burnt down by an unknown party after the 2005 peace agreement between the Indonesian government and the Aceh Freedom Movement (Gerakan Aceh Merdeka, GAM). Other than working at the local level with victims, human rights groups also adopted a more comprehensive approach by combining both advocacy and campaigns at national and local levels. A coalition of NGOs called KKPK (Koalisi Keadilan dan Pengungkapan Kebenaran, Coalition for Justice and Truth-­Seeking) is an example. The coalition was set up by activists and NGOs in 2008 to advocate on, and monitor, processes then taking place in the government in relation to the drafting of the Law on Truth and Reconciliation Commission, the ad hoc tribunal for Timor Leste, and the establishment of the Commission for Truth and Friendship. The coalition expanded its mandate in 2011 not only to truth-­seeking but also promoting various initiatives for justice, both retributive and restorative justice. The coalition consists of more than 50 national and local organizations, including NGOs, victims’ rights groups, and individuals concerned with human rights issues. In 2012, the coalition launched a truth-­seeking and reconciliation project called the Year of Truth. This initiative sought to document 100 cases of past human rights abuses in Indonesia, ranging from civil rights violations to economic and sociocultural rights violations by the state. One of the activities held during this year was what they called Dengar Kesaksian, or testimony hearings, which was also intended to promote public education. These hearings were inspired by and modelled on the truth commission philosophy and involved hearings organized in open spaces so the public would have the chance to listen to the personal histories, or testimonies, of victims. They were widely covered by the national and local media. Prominent public figures facilitated the process as ‘commissioners’ organized in what were called ‘people’s councils’ or Dewan Warga. These testimony hearings were organized in three locations: Palu, Solo, and Kupang. Annie Pohlman (2016, 74) refers to this activity as similar to what states around the world have been practising: the testimony-­based media initiatives created and used by individuals and organizations for political goals that attempt to ‘bring testifiers and witnesses together through an ever-­growing range of audio-­visual interfaces’. Such practices are produced, disseminated, and circulated rapidly, and with few knowable or measurable effects. Even though we cannot see the effects of the event on the wider support from the national government, what has been obvious is that this initiative succeeded in widening its involvement to youth groups and local figures including religious leaders, academics, and even individuals from military institutions (Agus Widjojo, a retired army general and currently

170   S. L. Wahyuningroem the director of National Defense Institute who has been active in promoting reconciliation among families of the main elite involved in the 1965 political conflict, was among the members of the commissioners). Similarly, the regular weekly peaceful protest ‘Kamisan’ (Thursday gathering) in front of the Presidential Palace by families of victims of various cases of past human rights abuses, inspired by the Argentinian Las Madres movement, has also been successful in widening the movement to other places in Indonesia by involving many youth and student organizations. Based on the Year of Truth, the KKPK launched an approach the called Satya Pilar (six principles) as a framework for settling cases of past human rights abuses, much adopted from the transitional justice measures. These are the rule of law, truth and acknowledgement for the cases and victims, reparation for victims, public education and dialogue towards reconciliation, policy and institutional reform, and wider participation of victims (KKPK 2015). Recently, the coalition also expanded its strategy by including affirmative policies for victims and their families, advocacy for civil cases that involve individuals of victims, and the fulfilment of cultural rights through cultural expressions and memorialization. Meanwhile, another significant movement on settling the 1965 mass violence case took place even wider, reaching the international community. Various parts of civil society in Indonesia and other countries organized a civil society human rights tribunal called the International People’s Tribunal on Indonesia’s 1965 Crimes against Humanity (IPT 65) in the Hague, 10–13 November 2015. The tribunal was set to probe mass violence that took place throughout Indonesia, following the previous investigation by Komnas HAM in 2012 on the issue. It aimed at encouraging the government to follow up on Komnas HAM’s investigation and to acknowledge the case as well as providing reparation for victims. The tribunal also involved high-­profile judges from various backgrounds, including former United Nations officials, and well-­respected prosecutors. The verdicts from the judges were very political: the Indonesian state is responsible for crimes against humanity and genocide that took place in Indonesia during the authoritarian period. The judge also found the involvement of other countries: the United States, the United Kingdom, and Australia, in facilitating the crimes (see Wieringa 2017). Hundreds of researchers, activists, and students from at least seven countries participated voluntarily in the preparation and organization of the tribunal. The event was broadcasted live, and was widely accessed electronically on five continents. It was also widely covered by national and international media, and successfully got the attention of the political elite in Jakarta. The IPT 65 was not the only civil society human rights tribunal. Back in 2000, there was series of tribunals in Tokyo to probe sexual violence against women by the Japanese soldiers during the Second World War. Indonesia was also included since thousands of young Indonesian girls were victims. One of the prosecutors for the tribunal was Nursyahbani

Transitional justice in Indonesia   171 ­ atjasungkana, the leading figure who initiated the IPT 65. Other than K the Tokyo Tribunals, there was also a citizens’ tribunal in Sydney, Australia, for the 1998 Biak Massacre. The tribunal was organized by human rights groups and Papuans living in Australia, to try the crimes against humanity that took place in Biak, Papua, the easternmost province in Indonesia, at a time when Jakarta was politically heated at the end of the New Order regime in 1998. Unlike these two tribunals, the IPT 65 had much more impact, especially in Jakarta. The Indonesian government’s responses to the event had positive impact to the case itself (Wieringa 2017, 131). The coordinating minister for political, law, and security, former general Luhut Panjaitan, was concerned about the ‘internationalization’ of the 1965 case. Together with his colleague, Agus Widjojo, they organized a public discussion in April 2016 on reconciliation for 1965 to compete with the success of IPT 65 in getting public attention and at the same time to counter human rights discourse on the 1965 mass violence (Wahyuningroem 2016). However, instead of gaining the attention and sympathies of the public, the event was met with fury from the extreme nationalist army elite, who strongly rejected IPT 65 and any efforts to promote truth and justice for the case. Supported by right-­wing mass organizations, they also organized an event to negate both IPT 65 and the event held by the government. Since then, persecutions and repressions against human rights groups and victims have increased. A major incident took place in October 2017 when Muslim groups violently attacked a discussion organized by groups of human rights activists and victims organized in the Indonesian legal aid office, a place known for the symbol of human rights movement in Indonesia, in Jakarta. Today, when national election is a year ahead, human rights groups are more cautious of risks that can backlashed their movements, and especially can negatively impact the victims.

Analysing the roles of civil society in transitional justice in Indonesia As explained above, civil society in Indonesia played important roles in transitional justice beyond supporting the state-­sponsored transitional justice mechanisms as noted in various literature on transitional justice. Led by human rights groups, which mostly include victims’ groups, civil society groups have adopted a ‘bottom-­up’ approach that is working for truth and justice initiatives at local and community levels, and working with wider international communities, aiming to bring justice for the victims and breaking of impunity. I note two points that arise from these roles. First, Suh’s (2012) thesis on NGOs as the norm entrepreneurs of transitional justice does not hold entirely. It is true that the human rights NGOs were the main factors that influenced the government to adopt  human rights measures and policies, including the ratification of

172   S. L. Wahyuningroem international human rights laws and the drafting of domestic laws related to transitional justice mechanisms. However, pushing for the agenda at the state level is only one of the approaches. Parallel to the processes were their initiatives to build networks and initiatives at the community level, including the empowerment and mobilization of victims’ groups. NGOs’ roles as norm entrepreneurs was not successful as they failed to drive changes by pushing the state to change its behaviour. On the other hand, they successfully set the examples of articulating local language and practice of human rights into international acknowledgement, where some kinds of justice can also be achieved at the local levels. Second, the creative initiatives and approaches used by the human rights groups broke the politics of containment and the strict separation of state and civil society. The politics of containment refers to experience in the past, under the New Order regime, where civil society was co-­opted into the state-­monitored system while increasingly repressing any groups opposed to the government. (Harney and Olivia 2003). When more political space opened after the 1998 reform, there were arguments over whether civil society had to be in opposition to the state or maintain some degree of cooperation with some potential to oppose the government (Nyman 2006, 41). In the case of transitional justice, human rights groups work independently with some degree of collaboration with both national and local governments. However, what is important from all these initiatives is the processes that emphasize wider participation of other elements in civil society and, mostly, the victims of past human rights abuses. Major challenges faced by these groups are the diversity of civil society and the weakness of existing government institutions. Indonesian civil society is so diverse that it includes elements of ‘uncivil’ society that promote intolerance, anti-­democratic values, and violence (Beittinger-­Lee 2009; Hadiwinata 2007). These groups are the transformational elements of the old regime. In some cases, these elements of the New Order support identity-­based (religious or ethnic) groups run by vigilantes. These are the elements that often mobilize the masses to persecute or rally against human rights groups initiatives, accusing the human rights groups and their activities of being pro-­communist or PKI. Other challenge is the weakness of government institutions in dealing with the potential of disorders of civil society (Budiman 2001, 39–40). The combination of the weakness of political institutions and high participation in civil society will result in political instability. In particular, the state through its political institutions has to be strong enough to deal with the increasing intolerance and anti-­pluralism movements.

Conclusion Human rights groups have been part of a much larger civil society which  played a significant role on transitional justice during the political

Transitional justice in Indonesia   173 transition in Indonesia, especially by putting key issues at the heart of the reform agenda including human rights accountability. The failure to meet the desired outcomes from the processes and to implement state-­sponsored transitional justice led human rights groups to adopt different strategies by strengthening and intensifying advocacies at the grass-­roots level. The ‘dual-­track strategy’, working both with the political elites and at the local or grass-­roots level, enable them to persistently working for truth and justice. Limited successes in implementing activities within the areas of truth and reconciliation in the communities are considered victories, however small or sporadic they are. Later, they also build international alliances, aiming to encourage the state to fulfil its responsibilities to settle past wrongs. In their term, it is a way to install justice (mencicil keadilan): efforts needed to bring justice for victims in small but meaningful ways that can incrementally take the nation to confront and learn about its dark past. Such persistence reminds us again that transitional justice needs to be understood beyond its formal state-­centred mechanisms, as the Indonesian case shows that many more initiatives, including formal initiatives by local government, have also contributed to the small yet meaningful achievements for justice especially during the time of Indonesia’s journey towards a stronger democracy.

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11 Authoritarian neoliberalism and Islamist civil society in Turkey Zeynep Atalay

Turkey has been steadily retreating into authoritarian politics as civic liberties and freedom of association and speech have suffered sharp declines in recent years. Under 16 years of AKP rule, separation of powers and pluralism have eroded and given way to a political system that is consolidated around one party and its leader. As a result of a series of systematic assaults on democratic institutions and the rule of law, the party is now free to govern the country with few constitutional counterweights. The regime’s gradual exit from democracy culminated in the 2017 presidential referendum, which replaced parliamentary democracy with an executive presidency model, granting the president full control of the government. Turkey’s last decade has also been marked by an unwavering commitment to an extensive neoliberalization program. Starting in its first term, the AKP government fast-­tracked IMF-­dictated market discipline and market reforms, privatizing state industries and natural resources, restructuring social security institutions, and commodifying public utilities and services (Aytac & Onis, 2014; Boratav, 2016). As part of the economic reform program, the government instituted a new labor regime that facilitated the exploitation of flexible and precarious labor through subcontracting and outsourcing. Changes in Turkey’s employment regime, coupled with the gradual dissolution of organized labor, have aggravated poverty, displacement, and social exclusion among the lower classes. The government’s authoritarian drift alongside its commitment to market-­dictated economic governance suggests that the regime has transitioned from a tutelary democracy to an authoritarian neoliberalism where the centralized authority reconfigures the state and mobilizes its constituents in order to implement certain policies and institutional practices at all costs (Bruff, 2014). In its efforts to exercise socioeconomic hegemony and consolidate the authoritarian neoliberal regime, the government has restructured the state apparatus and incorporated loyalist nonstate actors, such as Islamic segments of civil society, into governance. In the process, all political opposition and social dissent that bore the risk of causing disruption to the course has been met with increased securitization and criminalization (Özden, Akca, & Bekmen, 2013; Yesil, 2016).

Turkish authoritarianism and civil society   177 This chapter analyzes the concomitant rise of Islamic civil society, the key nonstate actor in Turkey’s current sociopolitical landscape, throughout the AKP’s rule in power and argues that this large section of civil society in Turkey assists the central authority in consolidating its hegemony rather than functioning as a self-­governing force restraining state power. In the last 16 years, nongovernmental organizations and trade unions have increased in number and capacity while the space for oppositional civil society has gradually shrunk. Enjoying the full support of the government, Islamic charities and nongovernmental organizations have taken on key roles in managing the social welfare consequences of neoliberal restructuring. Loyalist trade unions have been systematically disciplining the already-­precarious workforce and facilitating the flexibilization of labor. Islamic civil society actors typically engage in information politics that reinforce the government’s conservative moral framework, which is built upon pan-­Islamic solidarity, neo-­Ottomanism, and nationalism. Loyalist civil society actors enlist their efforts leading up to general elections and referenda, campaigning among their constituents and canvassing in voting districts and factories. The objective of this study is to reveal the complexities of civil society’s role in nondemocratic contexts by delineating the labyrinthine alliances between the state, the party, and nonstate actors in Turkey. The chapter is divided into three sections, beginning with a discussion of civil society’s trajectory in scholarly literature. The section critiques the normative value attached to the term and argues that civil society, as an analytical tool, has explanatory power only if defined in neutral terms. The section’s critical discussion of associational activity in nondemocratic contexts suggests that characterizing civil society in teleological terms diminishes the concept’s explanatory power. The second section overviews Turkey’s authoritarian drift, focusing on the erosion of the country’s democratic institutions. The third section analyzes the concurrent rise of Islamic segments of civil society. Focusing primarily on formal nongovernmental organizations and trade unions, this section highlights the intermediary role of Islamic civil society actors between the party, Islamic capital, and the electorate. The section then extends into the ways in which Islamic civil society organizations and trade unions have built clientelistic relationships with the government to boost their position within state bureaucracy and, in doing so, contributed to the consolidation of an authoritarian neoliberal politico-­ economic regime.

Civil society in hybrid and authoritarian regimes Since the democratic transitions in Eastern Europe and Latin America during the 1980s and 1990s, scholars, researchers, policymakers, and international development agencies have lauded civil society as the cure-­all remedy for democratic deficits in the developing world (Diamond, 1994;

178   Z. Atalay Feinberg, 2006; Linz & Stepan, 1996; O’Donnell, 1999; Toepler & Salamon, 2003). Almost 20 years later, the popular uprisings of 2011 across the Arab world gave the term another boost and cemented its status as a key explanatory variable in democratization and transitology scholarship. Civil society, according to the mainstream perspective that has dominated the literature for over two decades, is the realm of self-­organizing, autonomous, and voluntary social life where individuals, groups, and organizations pursue collective goals beyond the pressures of the state and the market. As a normative project to be realized, civil society ensures active citizenship, good governance, state accountability, transparency, and responsiveness (Clark, 1991; Diamond, 1999). Therefore, civil society is argued to have the potential to restrain state power, strengthen and promote democratic institutions, serve as a counterweight to extremism, and facilitate democratic transition (Hann & Dunn, 1996; Keane, 1998; Putnam, 2000). Since its heyday in the immediate post–Cold War era, civil society as an analytical concept has not lost its popularity in the literature, however its once-­presumed democratizing capacity has come under heavy criticism (Bermeo & Nord, 2000; Edwards & Hulme, 1996; Encarnacion, 2006; Mendelson & Glenn, 2002). Scholars have extensively questioned its scope, capacity, political function, and analytical value (Cohen & Arato, 1994; Kaldor, 2003; Kumar, 1993; Walzer, 1997). The nascent scholarship on authoritarian resilience, in particular, has suggested that civil society, far from restraining state power, may indeed reproduce authoritarian regimes. The empirical studies in authoritarianism literature (Armony, 2004; Berman, 1997; Giersdorf & Croissant, 2011; Jamal, 2009; Lorch & Bunk, 2016) have shaken the foundations of ‘civil society as a democratizing actor’ narrative that has dominated the scholarship for more than two decades. The most salient criticisms in this vein focus on the positive value attributed to civil society actors and activism, and its capacity to transform politics. A closer look at the composition of the public sphere reveals that civil society is not an inherently democratic force. The democratization paradigm has attached to the term a liberal normative value, yet civil society is not a homogenous sphere of liberal-­progressive action. The early civil society literature’s predominant emphasis on the democratizing potential of civil society obscures some of the most vibrant segments of civil society, namely nonliberal actors who promote nonliberal norms. In the words of Carothers (2002, p. 20), civil society is a warm and fuzzy concept if ‘you like snuggling up to the Russian mafia and militia groups from Montana as well as your local parent-­teacher association.’ A vibrant civil society, as a sphere of political action, includes nonliberal actors that promote isolationist, essentialist, and fundamentalist values as well as liberal ones that espouse pluralism, transparency, and dialogue (Atalay, 2016).

Turkish authoritarianism and civil society   179 Furthermore, civil society is not an inherently democratizing force. On the contrary: civil society may contribute to legitimating authoritarian rule instead of bolstering democratic institutions and civic engagement (Giersdorf & Croissant, 2011). State behavior and political institutions shape the nature and function of civil society in any given context. In authoritarian regimes, corporatism, co-­optation, and securitization determine the limits of civil society. In other words, the level of power abuse, use of repression, and the degree of impunity draw the contours of the state–civil society relationship in the state system (Armony, 2004). Thus, in the absence of strong prodemocracy institutions, civil society may sustain and reinforce authoritarian norms (Berman, 1997). In authoritarian contexts, where resources are controlled by corporatist and clientelist networks, civil society organizations, particularly those who have close ties to ruling parties, draw material and social advantages from their affiliation. Therefore, civil society activity produces social capital among members but does not necessarily foster democratic habits (Jamal, 2009). Taken together, there is no intrinsic reason why nondemocratic political regimes and vibrant associational activity cannot coexist (Abdelrahman, 2004; Cavatorta, 2012; Heydemann, 2007). After all, authoritarian states tend to repress oppositional discursive activity rather than voluntary associations that can be controlled and co-­opted. By creating dependent segments of civil society, the regime depoliticizes social discontent and controls the associational sphere while maintaining a façade of democracy (Lorch & Bunk, 2016). For instance, in many of the nondemocratic states of the Middle East and North Africa, there has been a rapid growth of associational activity in the forms of membership-­based professional groups, nongovernmental organizations, public interest associations, and think tanks since the mid-­1980s. Authoritarian regimes in these regions have tolerated civil society and provided opportunities to organize in order to claim legitimacy in the international arena and to nullify dissent at home. NGO density looks impressive on paper but organizations are often bogged down in debilitating bureaucratic detail and legal codes (Wiktorowicz, 2004). Contemporary Turkish civil society is a salient case. In the AKP’s Turkey, civil society is a colonized and co-­opted sphere of controlled action. Throughout its tenure, the government has repressed oppositional civil society actors using a variety of intimidation tactics, ranging from seemingly innocuous yet interminable bureaucratic procedures to sweeping anti-­terrorist measures and executive orders that summarily shut down scores of nongovernmental organizations. In contrast, it has nurtured and empowered Islamic civil society actors that have organic links to the party cadres. In the 15 years of AKP rule, Islamic charities and civil society organizations have become essential instruments of state machinery. The following sections discuss the ways in which the carefully cultivated Islamic civil society actors forward and facilitate the government’s sociopolitical

180   Z. Atalay agenda. As the country has drifted from a fragile democracy to a regime where monopolizing power and consolidating neoliberal hegemony matter above all, Islamic charities and NGOs have steadily assumed key roles in welfare distribution, resource allocation, information politics, and electoral control. Intertwined with the state and market in a quasi-­institutionalized spoils system, Islamic civil society actors have co-­constituted the current regime as partner-­clients of the ruling government.

Turkey’s transition from tutelary democracy to authoritarian neoliberalism Turkey’s political system has always operated under the shadow of intrusive-­authoritarian and tutelary institutions (Somer, 2016). Since the first multiparty elections, in 1946, the country’s democratic trajectory has been interrupted by a number of military interventions. The military, claiming to be the guardian of secularism, modernization, and democracy in Turkey, intervened against what it perceived as threats to the system in 1960, 1971, and 1980. While the military resumed multiparty elections by its own volition after each intervention, its intrusive tutelage has become the defining character of Turkey’s already-­patchy democratization efforts. Early in its tenure, the AKP government took steps to dismantle the civil-­military bureaucracy and pacify the veto players in the system (Esen & Gumuscu, 2016). In 2003, in parallel with the European Union accession process, the government implemented a series of legal reforms that bolstered civilian oversight of the armed forces. Most significantly, it altered the composition and executive authority of the National Security Council, a military organ established in 1960 to direct the country’s national security and foreign policy, yet which has largely served as the dominant decision-­maker in civilian politics since. By the end of the AKP’s second term in office, the EU accession agenda had all but vanished. During this period, the party effectively ended the military’s clout over the state system. Two high-­profile investigations in 2008 and 2012, which resulted in accusations, arrests, and lengthy detentions of a number of high-­ ranking military officers, lawmakers, and journalists accused of plotting against the government, irreparably damaged the military’s image and reputation. The judiciary, the second vanguard of the republican establishment and one of the most powerful components of checks and balances in the system, went through a similar process of dismantling and colonization. In 2010, the government held a constitutional referendum to change the composition and role of the Constitutional Court and the High Council of Judges and prosecutors. The constitutional amendments expanded the size of the High Council to include representatives from lower courts elected by the judiciary, and therefore broke the long hold of secularist judges in the institution (Özbudun, 2014). Moreover, the amendments

Turkish authoritarianism and civil society   181 limited the power of military courts and opened the way to prosecute active and military officers in civilian courts. Alongside the changes to the military and judiciary, the government revised the makeup of the state bureaucracy, replacing key actors of the Kemalist administrative machinery with loyalists. The AKP’s efforts to consolidate power by dismantling the Kemalist state system has been facilitated by its electoral success since its first term in office. In fact, the party’s leader, Erdogan, is yet to lose an election. However, the elections are far from being undertaken on a level playing field. Framing each election as an ‘existential threat to the nation’ and picturing its political opponents as traitors and enemies of the state, the party shrewdly polarizes the electorate and turns general elections and referenda into votes of confidence in the government (Akkoyunlu & Öktem, 2016). In the absence of checks and balances in the system, the AKP has had free rein to mobilize state institutions and tilt the electoral process in its favor. In each election and referendum, the party has exploited the entire state apparatus to ensure electoral victory, using methods such as campaigning unofficially at public events, enlisting appointed state officials and public employees to campaign for the party, accessing private voter information, securing uneven ad shares and campaign coverage in the progovernment or state-­owned media, using public funds for campaign finance, and activating patronage networks to receive donations from loyalist businessmen who routinely receive government contracts (Esen & Gumuscu, 2016). While the AKP consolidated its mandate, the country experienced some of its gravest democratic deficits in its history, the most alarming of which is the clampdown on the freedom of expression and media. Media freedom has deteriorated at an unprecedented rate as the government increased controls on the mainstream media and created a progovernment media bloc. The AKP government has been buying off or forcing out the owners of private media companies via its economic and political loyalists and Erdogan’s family members. Critical outlets face lengthy tax investigations and large fines. They are routinely passed over in bids for lucrative public contracts. In addition to financial intimidation tactics and red tape, the government has muzzled the free press by using the criminal justice system. Mass detentions and arrests on terrorism and ‘crimes against the state’ charges have become routine, particularly since the failed coup attempt on July 15, 2016. In the aftermath, the government announced a state of emergency and started to govern the country through executive decrees. The government’s declared efforts to persecute those behind the coup attempt has morphed into an extensive assault on all opposition in civil society, media, and politics. Authorities have been using sweeping national security laws to silence all critical media, including Kurdish, secularist, and left-­wing journalists and editors. In this period, more than 150 media

182   Z. Atalay outlets have been closed down under executive decrees, 2,500 journalists have been dismissed, and 150 journalists and media workers have been detained pending trial. The crackdown on freedom of expression has not been limited to mainstream media outlets. The Turkish government regularly blocks access to websites, blogs, news sites, and social media accounts without prior court approval. In late 2016, the government introduced more elaborate controls to block access to VPN providers, tools that social media users in Turkey have relied on in order to circumvent social media shutdowns and internet blackouts. Thousands of social media users have been arrested for criticizing the government or public officials on social media.

State, market, and Islamic civil society in Turkey: connections, transactions, and linkages The state–civil society relationship in Turkey has a checkered history. The strong state tradition and repeated military coups in the country’s history have taught its citizens that participation in associational life is fraught with grave risks. Since the early days of the Republic, the state has sought to govern, control, and curtail civil society space as deemed necessary. The 1980 coup in particular had a decimating effect on civil society. The 1982 Constitution, drafted by the military administration, banned all associational activity, including NGOs, labor unions, voluntary associations, and professional organizations. While the civil society sphere started to show signs of recovery in the late 1980s and 1990s, the state’s continuous stronghold on associational life has deterred Turkish citizens from civil politics to a large extent. Today, according to Ministry of Interior statistics, less than 15 percent of Turkish citizens have formal membership ties to voluntary associations.1 The total number of nonstate organizations, including NGOs, foundations, and associations, is just above 280,000. Of these, 30 percent are professional associations, 21 percent are sports associations, and 18 percent are religious organizations. The next largest areas in associational life are organizations that work in education, humanitarian aid, and culture, with approximately 6,000 members each.2 The clampdown on organized civil society has dealt one of the most serious blows to Turkey’s already fragile democracy. The government’s severe response to the failed coup attempt has further debilitated civil society. Hundreds of NGOs and associations, including left-­wing organizations, pro-­Kurdish social and political organizations, women’s rights groups, lawyer’s associations defending human rights and civil liberties, and humanitarian groups were shut down without a judicial ruling. The climate of intimidation, harassment, and coercion on civil politics has become pervasive even inside organizations that have historically been in the government’s favor. In the early months of 2017, Mazlumder, a human rights organization with Islamic credentials, went through a major internal

Turkish authoritarianism and civil society   183 purge, shutting down its branches in predominantly Kurdish cities and expelling thousands of members who hold critical views of AKP politics. In March 2017, tight government controls over civil society groups extended to international humanitarian aid organizations that operate in Turkey. Several international relief organizations that work with Syrian refugees in the southern Turkish border were ordered to re-­register to continue working in the country. The operations of the Mercy Corps were shut down altogether and its relief workers were asked to leave the country. The AKP’s relationship with civil society has always been strategically clientelist. Rather than quashing organized action as a whole, the government chose to colonize the civil society sphere. All trade unions and civil society organizations have experienced increased pressure and supervision. However, while loyalist or compliant segments of the civil society were rewarded and incorporated into the state machinery, those that refused to be co-­opted were repressed, marginalized, and criminalized. The government has labeled critical voices in the civil society arena, such as left-­wing, socialist, Alevi, and Kurdish organizations, extremists and radical agents of provocation. In contrast, it has boosted the power and visibility of like-­minded NGOs by extending state resources. In the syndicalist sphere, the AKP has openly supported the socially conservative, progovernment trade unions over socialist unions that have an established organizational history in the country. Islamic charities and nongovernmental organizations In the AKP era, Islamic civil society organizations have become key actors in social welfare, information politics, and community-­level organizing. Working primarily in charitable aid, welfare distribution, and poverty alleviation, Islamic charities and nongovernmental organizations cooperate with the state in managing the social welfare consequences of neoliberal economic policies. In the process, the implied connections between charities and the government allow the latter to take credit for organizations’ services and enjoy the electoral gains. Social welfare system in Turkey is characterized as an informal security regime where the capitalist mode of production is combined with informal labor markets and kin connections. Political relationships in such welfare environments are based on interpersonal obligations and patron–client dynamics (Gough, 2013; Wood, 2004). In this economic and political context, formal and informal charity networks and Islamic civil society organizations of various sizes function as a component of the institutional machinery that implements the government’s welfare and development vision. Turkey, much like the rest of Muslim majority societies in the Middle East, has a well-­established philanthropy tradition. For centuries, Ottoman vakifs—pious endowments for charitable purposes—have served as key

184   Z. Atalay institutions of welfare and development. Innumerable vakifs in Ottoman society funded a wide range of public goods and services, including hospitals, schools, mosques, and soup kitchens (Cizakca, 2000). Throughout the Republic’s history, Ottoman vakifs have played various political, economic, and social roles, depending on the ruling governments’ political ideology and developmental strategy (Zencirci, 2015). The AKP government’s welfare and development strategy was to incorporate charitable nonstate actors into the neoliberal state apparatus. A series of legal reforms between 2004 and 2008 cleared the way for an intricate network of funds transfers between the state, local administrations, the private sector, nongovernmental organizations, and beneficiaries. First, the changes to the Public Procurement Law enhanced public authorities’ discretionary power in granting public contracts (Bugra and Savaskan, 2012, p.  35). As a result, entrepreneurs who have close ideological and religious ties to the party could be favored in contract awarding decisions. Second, the revisions to the Law of Associations lifted various restrictions and preapproval requirements for starting and operating charitable organizations. The 2008 amendments allowed organizations to collect donations from abroad without preapproval from state authorities and to broaden the range of in-­kind aid distribution from foodstuffs to clothing, heating fuel, and household cleaning supplies. Third, a series of changes to the income tax legislation granted tax exemptions to businesses that make donations to charitable organizations. The end result of this legal infrastructure is complex relationships of clientelism and patronage between the party, business, and the electorate within which Islamic civil society organizations act as intermediaries (Eder, 2010; Morvaridi, 2013). Businessmen who have close ties to the state apparatus and expect to benefit from party connections in state bids and public tenders make sizable in-­kind or cash donations to local municipalities or directly to the NGOs. The NGOs identify the needs of local communities, select the ‘deserving poor,’ and deliver social aid (Isik, 2014). The organizations’ public connections with Islamic politics correctly or incorrectly suggest to the beneficiaries that the source of much-­needed aid is the party. The lack of transparency in deciding who ‘deserves’ the aid fortifies the clientelist relationship between the party and citizens. Welfare distribution by Islamic charities often relies on personal networks and informal ties at the local neighborhood level and the beneficiaries understand that there are no long-­term guarantees in receiving aid. In that respect, the charity-­based social welfare model ultimately functions as election control in which Islamic civil society organizations strengthen clientelist networks and function as the field operators of the government. In addition to supporting the government in social welfare management, Islamic charities and nongovernmental organizations have been essential in reinforcing the AKP’s sociocultural agenda. Throughout its tenure, the AKP government has complemented its neoliberal economic

Turkish authoritarianism and civil society   185 program with a conservative communitarian morality built on family values, tradition, and Islamic solidarity. Over the years, the party’s leadership and spokespeople have become increasingly vocal about what they consider the ‘true Turkish society.’ Concerned about the damaging effects of top-­down Westernization and secularism, the government has concentrated its efforts to ‘reinstating the traditional Turkish values’ into the social conduct. Consequently, it has structured much of its social policy agenda to ‘dress the wounds of Turkish society’ and to ‘restore its moral backbone.’ The discourse and practices of Islamic NGOs complement the government’s efforts to ‘mend the moral codes of the nation.’ The organizations address socioeconomic problems within an Islamic framework and therefore routinely invoke a duty-­oriented language of Islamic values and moral principles. Their mission statements explicitly identify Islamic doctrine or tradition as the normative framework and they run projects that aim to weave traditional collective values into all aspects of social life. At the center of state–Islamic civil society collaboration is the Turkish family. For both the government and Islamic organizations, the increase in nuclear family patterns in urban areas, alongside the rising marriage age and the decreasing fertility rate, threaten the moral fabric of the Turkish society. According to their perspective, the social and economic core of the nation ought to be the three-­tiered extended family unit where grandparents are tasked with safeguarding tradition and providing moral guidance to the children in the family. In the words of the former family and social policies minister Fatma Sahin, for instance, one of the solutions to the rising divorce rate is revamping the family institution to return to the dynamics where family elders have increased authority over the well-­ being of the unit.3 The traditional Turkish family, according to the government and Islamic organizations, is the essential economic and safety net in the modern world. The family unit is expected to take over the state’s responsibility in providing institutional care and shoulder the care of the children, disabled, and the elderly (Acar & Altunok, 2013; Kiliç, 2008). The ‘Return to the Family’ project of 2008, implemented by social services and the Children Protection Agency, promotes foster care as a policy solution to the shortcomings of state’s institutional care of children. In 2011, the Ministry of Family and Social Policies expanded its family-­oriented programs to include direct cash and in-­kind transfers to families in need, education seminars, and counseling services to ‘families at risk.’ In order to strengthen the moral rectitude of the society, the organizations run a wide range of events, including national and international symposiums and conferences to community-­level socialization and moral education programs for children, young adults, and families. Concerned about the spiritual well-­being of the family unit, many organizations offer Qur’anic and moral education classes. Women’s organizations carry out socialization and moral education projects for children and teenagers, such as picnics,

186   Z. Atalay art and culture trips, book clubs, tea times, and movie hours, in order to promote a greater connection with the community. Larger organizations with more funds and resources publish magazines and organize conferences and workshops on topics including ‘the Islamic family,’ ‘communication in the family,’ and ‘childrearing practices.’ In sum, the organizations not only support the government’s sociopolitical agenda but also strengthen it by providing theopolitical legitimacy. Islamic trade unions Trade unionism in Turkey, much like all other spheres of organized activism, has historically suffered from low membership rates due to restrictive trade union legislation as well as probusiness governments and a statist political economy. During AKP rule, the labor movement’s problems became acute. Turkey’s trade union legislation has long been criticized by the International Labor Organization and the European Union for violating the international norms and conventions concerning labor rights and collective bargaining (Dinler, 2012). The government’s 2012 Act on Trade Unions and Collective Labor Agreements made organized action even more difficult by introducing higher thresholds for collective bargaining and further restrictions on the right to strike. Furthermore, the Act mandated sectoral restructuring and imposed controls on membership and thus has produced an essentially centralized and state-­controlled trade unionism (Uçkan, 2013). The legal environment that limits unionizing activity has allowed employers to continue violating workers’ rights, largely with impunity. Employers use various union-­busting methods, including laying off, demoting, threatening, harassing, and blacklisting union members (Çelik, 2015). Since the penalties for wrongful dismissals are  minimal, employers often choose to pay compensation rather than reinstating the union members. Having weakened union resistance to a large extent, the party could implement the intensive neoliberal agenda, the most significant of which is reorganization of labor. Starting with the 2003 Labor Act, the government has institutionalized new forms of flexible employment. The law was pivotal in changing the labor environment by providing flexibility to small businesses. It exempted establishments that employ fewer than 30 workers in the industry and 50 workers in agriculture from employment security stipulations. Given that the Turkish economy is composed predominantly of small employers, the law leaves 85 percent of the labor force with no job security (Adaman et al., 2009). In 2016, a second round of changes to the labor law relieved employers from further responsibilities and obligations. Labeled as the ‘Slavery Act’ by labor unions, the 2016 Private Employment Offices Bill threatens already-­vulnerable labor rights such as insurable, workplace security, and a regular wage. The bill stipulates that companies hire temporary workers through ‘private employment bureaus.’ Workers

Turkish authoritarianism and civil society   187 who sign up to the bureaus will not have a permanent workplace or an employer but will be ‘dispatched’ as needed. Since the companies themselves will not hire workers directly, they will not have employer status, nor will they be responsible for wage levels and social security. The precarious nature of flexible work, as written into law, poses the risk of lowering working conditions, subordinating workers to minimum wage employment, and making unionizing more difficult. Taken together, AKP governments’ labor policies have been decidedly probusiness. The government has taken a hostile stance against the labor movement, postponing large-­scale strike actions and frequently criticizing the demands of labor unions. However, rather than fully dismantling the sphere of trade unions, the government instituted an environment of symbiotic unionism using a carrot and stick approach (Gurcan & Mete, 2017). In its relationship with trade unions, the party has followed a systematic co-­optation strategy through which ideologically conservative unions were turned into government-­controlled organizations (Celik, 2013). The AKP has colonized the trade union sphere by suppressing left-­wing unions that resisted co-­optation and establishing relationships of patronage with those that support its economic and political agenda. As a result, at a time when unionization is in decline across OECD countries, progovernment unions in Turkey have increased their membership at unprecedented rates thanks to apparent support and patronage from the ruling party. MEMUR-­SEN, for instance, the civil servants’ union known for its socially conservative Islamic ideology, has increased its membership an improbable 2,183 percent, while the left-­wing KESK has shrunk 16 percent. MEMUR-­SEN, established in 1995 as an alternative to secular nationalist and Marxist unions, suffered from low membership rates until Table 11.1 Unionization statistics of public sector employees’ confederations Union confederations (public sector)

2002

2016

Number

%

Memursen (progovernment/ Islamist) Kamusen (rightwing/nationalist) Kesk (left-wing) Others Unionized employee (total)

  41,871

  6.43

956,032 54.42

+2,183%

329,065

50.56

420,220 23.91

+28%

262,348   17,486 650,770

40.32   2.69

221,068 12.58 159,613   9.08 1,756,934

–16%

Number

%

Increase/decrease in membership

Source: Calculated from Ministry of Labor and Social Security Statistics.1 Note 1 Public Sector Employees’ Union Membership Statistics www.csgb.gov.tr/home/contents/ istatistikler/kamugorevlilerisendikauyesayilari/ last accessed: June 2017.

188   Z. Atalay the AKP’s rise to power in 2002. In the last 15 years, it has become the leading union in the public sector and has formed close relationships with the government. In the public sector, which constitutes one-­third of all unionized employees in the country, membership in MEMUR-­SEN has come to mean job security, potential promotion, career advancement, and even a position in the government. Similar patterns of patronage and clientelism are prevalent among workers’ trade unions. While left-­wing unions that are critical of the government’s labor politics are marginalized, dismissed from public office, raided and harassed by the police, and incapacitated by lengthy bureaucratic battles and court cases, the progovernment HAK-­IS receives support from various state agencies and progovernment employers. Employers invite HAK-­IS affiliates to organize, transfer other unions’ members, and thus push out the combative union from the workplace. Furthermore, by making HAK-­IS as the largest and only authorized union in the workplace, progovernment employers are able to keep tabs on their workers’ voting behavior, particularly in peripheral Anatolian cities. For instance, both MEMUR-­SEN and HAK-­IS campaigned in favor of constitutional changes put to a vote in the April 2017 referendum to transfer all executive powers to the president.

Conclusion This chapter examined the symbiotic relationship between state and civil society in nondemocratic contexts and highlighted the ways in which authoritarian regimes govern the associational sphere by cultivating loyalist segments of civil society while repressing oppositional actors. Turkey, where the political system is suffering deepening democratic deficits, has a very vibrant civil society, when measured only in NGO density and grassroots reach. The number of Islamic charities and formal nongovernmental organizations has increased at an exponential rate since the early 2000s and they have achieved prominent success in shaping the economic, political, and sociocultural circumstances of grassroots constituencies. As de facto welfare and development partners of the state, they have been taking on greater responsibilities in resource allocation and poverty alleviation. Moreover, they shape the moral landscape and lay down the ideational infrastructure for the party’s conservative communitarian sociocultural agenda. Their intermediary position between the government, progovernment businesses, and local communities allows them to discipline the voting behavior of aid recipients. In that respect, the most vibrant segment of the civil society has a reciprocal relationship with the state. To the organizations and their members, collaboration with the government means material rewards and career advancement. To the government, collaboration with civil society means legitimacy for the regime and further instruments to consolidate its hegemony in all corners of social life.

Turkish authoritarianism and civil society   189 Civil society as a concept has enjoyed a life that is unparalleled in social science scholarship. Since early 1990s, civil society has come to be seen as essential to ensure active citizenship, strengthen civil liberties and human rights, cultivate social capital, and achieve democratic stability. During the 1990s, the United States and many countries in Western Europe allocated millions of dollars to ‘democracy assistance’ in Eastern Europe, the vast majority of which went to organized forms of civil society. Soon, civil society was prescribed as the ‘magic bullet’ for democratic transitions in the authoritarian regimes of the Middle East and North Africa, as well as the rest of the developing world. While much of civil society literature has attributed a positive normative value to civil society and argued that it has the power to restrain and shape state behavior, the analysis of ‘actually existing civil societies,’ such as robust Islamic civil society in Turkey, reveals that civil society itself is very often shaped by the surrounding political regime, legal system, and, ultimately, state institutions. Constitutional, accountable, and transparent political systems produce pluralist and robust civil societies. Political systems in which the rule of law, civic liberties, and democratic institutions are at risk, however, are more likely to produce environments where civil society is co-­opted, colonized, and dependent.

Notes 1 Ratio of the Numbers of Association Members to the Population of Turkey, T. R. Ministry of Interior, Department of Associations, last accessed February 2018. www.dernekler.gov.tr/en/home-­links/Ratio-­Numbers-Association.aspx. 2 Distribution of Active Associations According to Their Types, T.  R. Ministry of Interior, Department of Associations, last accessed February 2018. www.dernekler. gov.tr/en/home-­links/Distribution-­Active-Associations.aspx. 3 BILSAM Center for Education, Culture and Social Research Symposium, last accessed January 12, 2018. www.bilsam.org/index.asp?do=haber&hid=277.

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12 Symbolic power and Brazilian civil society in an age of globalism and populism Vinícius Rodrigues Vieira

As the optimism associated with neo-­liberal globalisation faded in the 2000s, nationally based reactions to political-­economic integration gained traction. In Latin America, such reactions often dovetailed with the ascent of centre-­ left governments—the so-­called “pink-­tide left”. An example is Brazil’s Workers’ Party (PT) administrations led by presidents Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva (2003–2011) and Dilma Rousseff (2011–2016). Having an affinity with populism (Grigera 2017), those governments took advantage of the commodity boom prompted by the rise of China (Rodrigues Vieira 2014a) to advance an agenda combining redistribution and economic liberalisation. Civil society segments that used to criticise the “neo-­liberal devils” therefore fell prey to the state and refrained from fighting against structural limitations to the expansion of citizenship (broadly understood as the assurance of both collective and individual rights under the rule of law). Out of those limitations, patrimonialism—which blurs the distinction between the public and private spheres—is key for understanding the limits of civil society in an age when globalisation goes hand-­in-hand with populism. This is the case when patrimonialism—which is commonplace in postcolonial societies— weakens the autonomy of societal actors vis-­à-vis the state. I unfold these processes by exploring the relations between the state and the labour and landless movements in Brazil under PT governments. I argue that, reflecting the strategy of the pink-­tide left in Latin America, the state under the PT captured collective actors, incorporating them into the federal administration at the expense of their autonomy. Therefore, civil society as a whole lost “voice” vis-­à-vis the state. The pinnacle of these development was the emergence of liberal-­conservative movements amid the 2013 protests against corruption and the improvement of public services, which culminated in Rousseff ’s controversial impeachment in 2016 and the election as president of the far-right candidate Jair Bolsonaro in 2018. To reach such conclusions, I triangulate public opinion perceptions on non-­state actors with archival sources, including documents from those actors and press reports. The findings, however, do not merely speak to the literature on civil society in Brazil. To generalise my conclusions, I frame the analysis using

194   V. Rodrigues Vieira the concepts of doxa, fields, and (more crucially) symbolic power, conceived as the capacity of transforming perceptions (Bourdieu 1991). Using this theoretical toolkit, the key to understanding Brazilian civil society during the transition from the 2000s to the 2010s lies in identifying how left-­leaning governments and their non-­state allies became increasingly identified with the values upholding the status quo—that is, doxa. Those organisations and movements therefore lost the symbolic power necessary to mobilise the population against state power, despite the maintenance of their social capital (understood as the depth of associational ties within society). For this reason, the same organisations and movements lost strength and opened space for right-­leaning groups to emerge as legitimate contestants in opposition to the established order. This chapter, therefore, challenges conventional assumptions in the literature on civil society, and not only in Brazil. That is the case as the argument challenges the classical division between civil and political society. With specific reference to the Brazilian case, the findings complicate the claim that left-­wing parties—notably the PT—fostered the emergence of an autonomous civil society in parallel to the consolidation of democracy after the end of military rule in the mid-­1980s (e.g. Avritzer 2006; Nylen and Dodd 2003). In addition, to highlight the effects of patrimonialism in blurring the distinction between state and non-­state actors, I focus on civil society organisations (CSOs) and organised social movements (OSMs). CSOs are “organisations that advocate issues on behalf of individuals and other collective actors without an explicit mandate from those vindicated. OSMs do the same, although are networks of CSOs, with the eventual contribution of interest groups” (Rodrigues Vieira 2016, p. 351). By contrast, interest groups explicitly advocate issues for a defined constituency, such as labour (Baur 2011; Smith 2008). With the distinction between CSOs/OSMs and interest groups, I intend to make it clear that, at least in patrimonial contexts, the state has the power to capture the civil society through collective actors who claim to pursue the common good. I begin the chapter by defining what I mean by civil society within a patrimonialist environment. Rather than emphasising the capacity of association, I conceive of civil society by its ability to remain autonomous vis-­à-vis the state. I then develop an analytical framework to explain how strategic action enables the emergence of new CSOs and OSMs as they build symbolic power to contest doxa. By focusing on labour and landless movements, I provide an overview of how the PT administrations co-­opted part of civil society. Lastly, I analyse the rise of the liberal-­conservative Free Brazil Movement (MBL) to explain how the 2013 protests can be conceived as the climax of a long duration process that culminated in civil society discontent with state co-­optation. The conclusion argues for generalising the findings to other emerging market democracies by briefly citing the cases of India and South Africa.

Symbolic power and Brazilian civil society   195

Making sense of civil society Civil society is a much-­disputed concept. As an analytical unit, it usually corresponds to the space of social life, open and autonomous from the state, in which actors share a set of values that enable them to act collectively (Diamond 1999, p.  221). Some, however, use the expression “civil society” to describe the place where all interest groups (either economic or non-­economic) are located (Moravcsik 1998, p.  22). Gramsci (1971, p. 208), in turn, conceives of civil society as standing “[b]etween the economic structure and the state with its legislation and its coercion”, thus serving as the locus of both resistance and legitimation of the established order. It is therefore logical under a Gramscian perspective to understand civil society as one of the dimensions of the state along with political society (Gramsci 1971, pp. 262–263), which comprises political parties that seek power by leading the government. Yet, those assumptions have been revealed to be excessively reductionist in current times. Civil society itself has become more sensitive to foreign influences than during the interwar period, when Gramsci wrote his Prison Notebooks. Moreover, while civil society is not always open and may be vulnerable to market forces, it certainly retains a degree of autonomy vis-­à-vis both political and economic forces. This is the case owing to the ungovernable aspects of individual life that escape the control of the state and its eventual totalitarian pretensions. In Brazil, however—a society historically pervaded by authoritarianism and patrimonialism—the borders between the political-­economic arena and the public and private spheres are blurred. For this reason, civil society overlaps strongly with other domains of social life, including the market, the state, and even political society. Without clear boundaries between what a liberal-­democratic perspective often defines as entities seeking state control (i.e. parties) and entities that simply want to influence it (i.e. CSOs), civil society is therefore expected to be vulnerable to state capture. Yet, the fact that the state itself lacks autonomy owing to the blurred distinction between the public and the private constitutes the flip side of the coin. This contradiction enables civil society to react and constrain state power not just because of individual action but also because of the very nature of state–society relations. Indeed, state and society are mutually embedded (Evans 1995), and isolating one from the other does not yield virtuous results in promoting economic development and consolidating democracy. This is why civil society should be understood as autonomous from the state and the market, but not as an independent sphere. The degree of autonomy in civil society is usually correlated with the degree of democracy. The theoretical roots of such a claim lie in Tocqueville’s Democracy in America, which establishes a causal link between independent/autonomous association among people and the strength of

196   V. Rodrigues Vieira democracy and government accountability (Tocqueville 1835). Nevertheless, thanks to patrimonialism, the state/non-­state frontier is de facto unclear. For this reason, one can expect that civil society is able to resist state co-­optation by supporting collective actors emerging from uncharted social spaces that escape from legitimate authority control. As the state is weak owing to its vulnerability to private (but not necessarily economic) interests (see Rodrigues Vieira 2014b for the distinction), co-­opting civil society is doomed to fail. Individuals do not foresee state authority as enjoying sufficient levels of legitimacy to speak on their behalf, even when in close association with CSOs and OSMs. These, in turn, once co-­opted by those who control the state, are understood to have embraced patrimonial principles that, in theory, limit civil society action. This is why co-­opted CSOs and OSMs lose strength in civil society, even when they retain social capital (understood as the degree of trust and the density of networks among societal actors that enable co-­ordinated actions: Putnam 1993, p.  173). In other words, co-­ordinating capacity does not necessarily imply autonomy vis-­à-vis the state. I therefore define civil society less in terms of association, focusing on the ability of non-­state actors to retain a sphere of action autonomous vis-­ à-vis the state and its controllers, and thus to resist eventual tyranny (Foley and Edwards 1996). Interestingly, amid patrimonialism, the pursuit of civil society autonomy tends to arise more because of the lack of state legitimacy than because of co-­optation by power holders. This conjecture reduces the analytical validity of the concept of social capital. For building independence—or, to be more precise, autonomy—from the state, social ties matter less than the ability to mobilise the people against authoritarian temptations. Discontent from within civil society, however, targets not only the state’s heavy hand, but also market excesses—particularly in a context in which private economic actors are able to capture the government and, hence, the state. This is the case under the context of neo-­liberal globalisation, a process that Burawoy (2017, p. 34) classifies as a wave of marketisation that started in 1974 in the aftermath of the first oil shock. Marketisation (adherence to neo-­liberal globalisation through opening trade and financial market, as defined in Rodrigues Vieira 2014a) is of utmost relevance for our analytical goals. This is the case because, like the state, the economic arena either hinders or stimulates the autonomy of civil society. Consequently, globalisation matters for understanding domestic civil societies, not just because transnational actors have gained strength amid economic interdependence. In societies where patrimonialism has been hindered thanks to the emergence of bureaucratic-­rational modes of governance, marketisation actors prompt society reaction in a Polanyi-­like countermovement of society against markets ([1944] 2001). What this narrative misses is the

Symbolic power and Brazilian civil society   197 question of whether markets also generate the same type of reaction amid patrimonialism. I claim that, instead of promoting a level playing field by reducing market and social distortions, neo-­liberal globalisation arguably increased those asymmetries. This process turned crucial whenever it dovetailed with patrimonial trends, hindering collective action from within existing organisations. It happened because, by becoming entangled with the state through personal connections, market actors also limit the actions of CSOs and OSMs. This triangular relationship between mutually embedded arenas in the domestic level—the market, civil society, and the state—becomes more complex in contexts pervaded by so-­called “dual transitions”, when economic reform parallel democratisation (Haggard and Kaufman 1995).1 That was the case in the Latin Amer­ican countries—Brazil included. The country transitioned from a military regime to a democratic one during the late 1980s, while embracing principles of economic liberalisation. As neo-­liberal globalisation did not trigger an “eclipse of the state” (Evans 1997), CSOs and OSMs sought nationally based responses to their demands. OSMs gained strength as a series of economic crises in the 1980s and subsequent market reforms that gained momentum in the aftermath of the Cold War hindered class-­based collective action (Arce and Bellinger 2007). CSO and OSM support of leftist parties willing to play according to the rules of the third wave of democratisation (Huntington 1991) that swept through Latin America emerged as the most feasible strategy for civil society to limit the reach of economic reform. Leftist parties, however, moved towards the political centre, as market reforms seemed irreversible. In lieu of remaining committed to the “alternative globalisation” project, CSOs and OSMs, along with their partners in party politics, de facto embraced a logic of reform from within. This conjectural change left within a civil society a vacuum in the task of taming the state and the market as well as their patrimonial linkages. Even if a few left-­leaning CSOs and OSMs have managed to avoid state capture, those collective actors as a whole faced the distrust of dispersed actors within civil society. These actors, in turn, then begun searching for new power contenders who had not yet been subjected to the patrimonial logic that blurs the boundaries between state and non-­state actors.

Building a state–society balance through symbolic power What does the state capture of CSOs and OSMs imply for the autonomy of civil society and people’s ability to engage in collective action in the global South? To answer the question, let us first bear in mind that market-­ related globalising pressures are no longer the main challenge faced by civil society in the developing world. With the improvement of living standards in the global South amid the transition of power between the declining West and the rising East, economic growth in the so-­called

198   V. Rodrigues Vieira emerging markets has prompted millions to move from poverty to the ranks of the middle class (Kharas 2017, pp. 13–14). Rising living standards, however, do not automatically expand civil, political, and social rights. Governments located anywhere on the political spectrum cannot avoid the temptation of capturing civil society, particularly if historical legacies such as patrimonialism reiterate this trend. Left-­ leaning governments have proven keen to align themselves with market actors interested in expanding commodification while capturing CSOs and OSMs. Detailing the micro-­level mechanisms necessary for capture and resistance through symbolic power (Bourdieu [1989] 1996, p.  41) requires much more than a chapter on a single case. Being aware of such a limitation, I therefore focus on explaining how civil society builds strength to counter and react to the lack of autonomy vis-­à-vis the state and the vested interests that dominate it. A starting point for accomplishing this task consists of revisiting the concept of social capital. As explained above, association capacity does not imply the hindrance of state (and market) capture. The puzzle therefore consists of unfolding how collective actors challenge the status quo and, hence, the civil society segments that, having moved towards the state orbit, have lost their autonomy. For this reason, I now turn to work with the triad of doxa, field, and symbolic power. It is worth highlighting that Bourdieu himself worked with the notion of social capital. According to him, “[s]ocial capital is the aggregate of the actual or potential resources which are linked to possession of a durable network of more or less institutionalised relationships of mutual acquaintance and recognition” (Bourdieu 1986). Yet, as Burawoy (2008, p. 7) reminds us, Bourdieu had no notion of civil society, failing to distinguish it from political society or even the state. Instead, he worked with the so-­called field of power, in which people struggle over “the dominant principle of domination” (Bourdieu [1989] 1996, pp. 264–265). In turn, such a principle establishes the doxa. Amid the entanglement between the public and the private spheres, leaders of CSOs, OSMs, and interest groups tend to pursue benefits for themselves at the expense of the common good, compromising the autonomy of civil society. The flip side of the coin is that, if civil society loses autonomy, people can only be represented again if they engage in collective action. This in turn depends on building symbolic power, or the capacity “of constituting the given through utterances, of making people see and believe, of confirming or transforming the vision of the world and, thereby, action on the world and thus the world itself ” (Bourdieu 1991, p.  170). The legitimacy of collective actors within patrimonial contexts is weaker than expected in environments with a clearer state–society divide. Hence, the ability to make new collective actors—an essential feature of symbolic power in Bourdieusian thought (Eagleton-­Pierce 2013, p.  64)—is compromised. In any case, however, the state implicitly sets the limits to such a

Symbolic power and Brazilian civil society   199 process by defining what orthodoxy and, hence, stability mean (Eagleton-­ Pierce 2013, p.  52). That is, the state legitimises the taken-­for-granted, consensual values that uphold the status quo (Bourdieu 2012, p. 164). Bourdieu ([1989] 1996, p. 41) originally emphasised the link between symbolic power and language in producing doxa. I deliberately leave such an emphasis aside in favour of a macro-­level analysis that seeks to identify which actors—be they CSOs and/or OSMs—successfully challenge the status quo. In this regard, it is useful to bring in Fligstein and McAdam’s (2012) concept of strategic action fields (SAFs). SAFs are: a constructed meso-­level social order in which actors (who can be individual or collective) are attuned to and interact with one another on the basis of shared (which is not to say consensual) understandings about the purposes of the field, relationships to others in the field (including who has power and why), and the rules governing legitimate action in the field. (Fligstein and McAdam 2012, pp. 24–31) They also introduce the concept of social skill, broadly corresponding to the capacity of a given actor to reach an objective. We can apply these concepts to understand the transformations of civil society once we reconcile them with Bourdieu’s notion of doxa. In other words, building a SAF is a precondition for constructing symbolic power and, hence, the necessary mobilisation for challenging doxa. In turn, what constitutes doxa is always dependent on state legitimation (Bourdieu 2012, pp. 275–278). Within this framework, however, civil society does not stand between the market and the state, as in Gramscian thought. Nor is it independent, as the scholarship inspired in Anglo-­Saxon societies suggests. As discussed above, civil society is a distinctive, autonomous arena that nonetheless is in constant interaction with the state. These arenas, however, may become deeply enmeshed, as happens within patrimonial contexts. As a result, individuals and collective players lack the social capital necessary to hinder the state. Yet, as argued above, such a scenario also leaves the state vulnerable. As the public–private distinction is weak, so is state authority, reducing the efficacy of its acts of legitimation (Bourdieu [1989] 1996, p. 383) and the acceptance of doxa. Contradictorily, but logically, declining levels of state legitimation empower civil society against patrimonialism. In perceiving the state as illegitimate, dispersed actors have a rationale to build strategic action to contest through social skill the status quo/doxa—that is, patrimonialism and the consequent state capture of CSOs and OSMs that have affinities with those in power. Hence, if members of a given polity think that existent CSOs and OSMs are falling prey to the government, these organisations and movements tend to lose legitimacy within civil society. Pursuing or preserving civil society autonomy thus becomes a value in

200   V. Rodrigues Vieira

Legitimates

Challenges

Doxa

Increases

Symbolic power (non-state actors)

Government Impacts

Social skill

Weakens

Strategic action field (SAF) Civil society

State

Figure 12.1 Strategic action and production of symbolic power. Source: author’s elaboration.

itself, rather than a means for advancing a government agenda that reflects private interests over public demands. In sum, should these new collective actors retain their autonomy in the long run, they therefore have the potential to subvert patrimonialism by building an autonomous space that can eventually spread out to the entire civil society. If these non-­state actors move towards the state orbit, however, they will replicate the fate of CSOs and OSMs captured by the government. They lose legitimacy to contest doxa and, hence, the ability to channel demands from civil society to the state. The point is therefore less about the substance of the positions defended by CSOs and OSMs and more about their action as watchdogs working on behalf of the silent majorities. Not necessarily, however, will the new CSOs and OSMs work on the behalf of society. Moreover, in the case of patrimonial environments, those organisations and movements may ignore the civil society demand to challenge the vices that arise from the lace of distinction between the public sphere and the private one. Having said this, in the short term, people’s support for new organisations and movements opposed to the governing coalition re-­empower civil society as whole. This is possible if new CSOs and OSMs reaffirm the need to construct an autonomy vis-­à-vis the state and the private interests it represents.

When civil society embraces doxa In line with the anti-­globalisation spirit that contested neo-­liberalism at the transnational level in the late 1990s, left-­leaning CSOs and OSMs enthusiastically supported Lula’s election as the president of Brazil in 2002. Supporters of those organisations envisioned his administration as a counterbalance against the dominance of private interests over the state. Between 1995 and 2003, Brazil’s presidency was in the hands of the Party

Symbolic power and Brazilian civil society   201 of Brazilian Social Democracy (PSDB), PT’s centre-­right major opponent (Rodrigues Vieira 2014a). However, reality turned to be more complex once the PT reached power. From a leftist standpoint, Lula’s government can be summarised as a “passive revolution” that combined “market imperatives and social demands” through compensatory mechanisms (Bianchi and Braga 2005, p.  1757), like conditional cash transfers to mitigate inequality. The PT embraced PSDB’s commitment with macroeconomic stability via inflation control, even by setting high benchmark interest rates and, hence, hurting economic expansion. The Janus-­faced character of Lula’s government was epitomised by the Council for Economic and Social Development (CDES). Created in 2003, the CDES comprises both interest groups from labour and business on the one hand, and CSOs on the other. The goal was to open the state to direct inputs from non-­state actors, thus conferring more legitimacy on policymaking. Yet, as Doctor (2007, p.  43) says, “some council members were growing increasingly frustrated with their limited room for influencing policy as well as the government’s lack of commitment to implementing their decisions”. Legitimacy, therefore, was merely procedural (Rodrigues Vieira 2016): the government collected inputs from civil society but hardly considered all them seriously. In fact, “legitimation and democratisation of policymaking … can hardly flourish unless CSOs and OSMs effectively shield themselves from state co-­optation and instrumentalization” (Rodrigues Vieira 2016, p.  377). An example of these limitations consisted of the labour-­ related reforms Lula tried to implement. Having come from the labour movement, the president was thus expected to reform the system of workers’ representation by updating the laws regulating unions. This legislation had not changed since 1943, when then-­dictator Getúlio Vargas decreed the Consolidation of Labour Laws (CLT). Despite providing protection to labour and having a corporatist logic, the CLT limited unionisation by prohibiting the same category of workers from having more than one union in a given geographical area. To fund unions, the law also imposed a mandatory tax on all workers regardless of their unionisation status. Such rules benefited unions at the expense of workers. According to Hall (2009, p.  157), “[u]pon taking office in 2003, the new government hoped to secure a sufficiently broad consensus among workers and business interests to give labour law reforms a good chance of approval by the Congress”. Yet, the Unified Central of Workers (CUT)—the largest Brazilian federation of unions and PT’s historical ally—was ambiguous vis-­à-vis the government’s proposal for reforming social security. The CUT thus faced defections, as factions inside the organisation created their own federation of unions. At the beginning of Lula’s second term as president, in 2007, divisions among the CSOs, OSMs, and labour unions that had once formed PT’s backbone became evident (Galvão 2009, p. 196). OSMs—the Landless Workers’ Movement

202   V. Rodrigues Vieira (MST) included—created the National Forum of Mobilisation against Reforms, while federations of unions—including the CUT—supported opening channels to negotiate with the government.2 The willingness of the CUT and other CSOs and OSMs to compromise with liberalisation contrasts with the positions defended by PT-­leaning OSMs before the party came into power. In 2002, the Rede Jubileu Sul (the South Jubilee Network), which counted the MST among its members (Rede Jubileu Sul Brasil 2017), organised an informal referendum on whether Brazil should join the Free Trade Area of the Americas (FTAA). The FTAA is an ill-­fated proposal to establish a US-­led liberalising economic agreement encompassing all states in the Americas but Cuba. The referendum was inspired by a similar initiative carried out two years before on whether Brazil should repay its foreign debt (Rede Social 2017). On the one hand, the reach of the mobilisation was evident in the number of voters—ten million, against six million in the 2000 referendum, corresponding to almost 9 per cent of the Brazilian electorate at that time (Sander 2006). On the other, results were clearly biased in favour of the leftist position of repudiating the FTAA, as 98 per cent voted against the agreement and 95 per cent supported Brazil’s withdrawal from negotiations (Pastoral Social/CNBB 2002),3 reflecting a self-­selected electorate. It is worth noting that the PT, the CUT, and the left-­dominated National Union of Students (UNE) only gave external support to the referendum (Cruz 2002), and were not directly involved in its organisation. Despite being more independent than the labour movement, the MST and other landless people’s movements were also subject to government co-­optation. Land reform figured among PT’s political priorities in the 2002 presidential campaign manifesto. Yet, as compensatory policies— including cash transfers for the poor—gained momentum, the government’s political agenda moved away from the OSMs. Instead of breaking with the PT, the MST remained a de facto supporter of government. Part of the co-­optation strategy implied granting more powers to the Ministry of Agrarian Development, with a focus on projects targeting the small peasantry. Thanks to this, Lula left the Ministry of Agriculture to focus on agribusiness and retained the political support of both commodity producers (which focused on exporting) and those dependent on small-­scale farming (with the domestic market as a priority). Co-­optation processes became more relevant in the aftermath of the Mensalão scandal, which affected Lula’s government between June 2005 and the beginning of his re-­election campaign a year later. Mensalão was a reference to the monthly payments made to legislators by the executive in exchange for support in crucial votes. This governing strategy clearly signalled PT’s adherence to patrimonial practices in Brazilian politics. Elected through a direct vote, the Brazilian president has no guarantee of support in the bicameral parliament, which is divided between a lower house that represents the people (the Câmara dos Deputados) and an

Symbolic power and Brazilian civil society   203 upper house (the Federal Senate) representing the states. Hence, depending on the executive’s positions and the issues voted on, the government’s coalition varies in size, prompting presidents to seek support following pork barrel logic. To complicate Brazil’s “coalitional presidentialism” further (Abranches 1988), there is no threshold for representatives and parties to enter parliament. The legislative thus tends to be fragmented, which in turn complicates the formation of stable majorities to support the president. The MST in fact had reason to criticise Lula’s government more than it did. Official data compiled by Mattei (2012, p.  319) reveals that, under Fernando Henrique Cardoso’s government (1995–2003), 425,975 families received land. By contrast, under Lula, only 413,471 families entered the agrarian reform programme. It is no wonder that, in 2009, João Pedro Stedile—MST’s main leader—recognised that Lula’s achievements in land reform lagged behind that of Cardoso (Balza 2009). Yet, from 2003 to 2009—for seven out of the eight years of Lula’s administration—43 CSOs linked to landless OSMs received about 152 million Brazilian real (about 70 million US dollars in current values) from the federal government (Salomon 2009). For civil society in general, however, the cost of the co-­optation of critical OSMs like the MST was high. There is evidence that, even for those not sympathetic to leftist ideas, OSMs acted as the government’s watchdogs until the PT reached power. Such a perception changed under Lula’s government. Data collected for Brazil by the Latin America Public Opinion Project (LAPOP) (Figure 12.2) demonstrates that, between 2006 and 2008, the proportion of people who did not trust the MST at all increased from 35 per cent to 45 per cent (LAPOP 2006, 2008). The proportion of interviewees with the highest level of trust (seven, the maximum measure on a scale starting at one) remained relatively stable during those two years. As for labour unions, the percentage of people who did not trust the MST at all also remained stable. Nevertheless, during the same period, the proportion of people who selected levels of trust of between two and four increased. A strategy to assess whether the levels of trust on organised labour (which can be understood as an OSM) and the MST did not significantly change regardless of political ideology consists of breaking down the data presented above according to interviewees’ positioning in the left-­right spectrum. In the Brazilian case, LAPOP does not collect direct information on the topic. For this reason, I tabulated the same data on trust according to the vote in the 2006 presidential elections. As mentioned before, in that year Lula secured re-­election despite the recent Mensalão scandal. His opponent in the run-­off was former São Paulo state governor Geraldo Alckmin, the PSDB candidate for the presidency and reputed to be more rightist than the average political leaders from his party. As Figure 12.3 shows, the level of trust in labour unions and the MST did not vary significantly according to

1 = No trust 2 3 4 5

6 7 = Highest trust 0%

5%

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2006

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(a) 1 = No trust 2 3 4 5

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(b) Figure 12.2 Levels of trust (2006 and 2008). Source: author’s elaboration based on data from LAPOP (2006 and 2008). Notes Labour Unions (a) and Landless Movement (b).

45%

50%

1 = No trust 2 3 4 5

6 7 = Highest trust 0%

5%

10%

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Lula

20%

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Alckmin

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(b) Figure 12.3 Trust according to presidential vote (2006). Source: author’s elaboration based on data from LAPOP (2006). Notes Labour unions (a) and Landless Movement (b).

40%

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206   V. Rodrigues Vieira presidential vote. In the case of the MST, the lowest level of trust was higher among Alckmin/PSDB voters. The same was true for the labour movement, for which there was also a relevant difference in the scores at the top tier (level seven). In intermediary ranks, however, distribution of preferences was the same between the two candidates. As the aftermath of the financial crisis of 2008 made evident, however, the PT and the Brazilian left in general had become so much associated with doxa, including the patrimonial logic that pervades the state–society relations. Consequently, left-­leaning CSOs and OSMs lacked the symbolic power necessary to engage civil society in the struggles that emerged in the following years from the limitations of Lula’s “passive revolution”.

Contesting the “new” doxa through strategic action As demonstrated above, left-­leaning CSOs and OSMs embraced doxa once the PT reached power. This is the origin of the ability of right-­wing segments to build symbolic capital to contest the established order. In constructing a narrative to portray the PT and its partners in civil society as part of the patrimonial doxa, right-­wing movements built symbolic capital to organise a SAF to contest the left with broad civil society support. This process culminated in Rousseff ’s controversial destitution in 2016 after impeachment proceedings. Rather than an elite coup, her impeachment was the climax of civil society’s reaction against the PT’s patrimonialism in power, although vested interests also benefited from her fall. Despite this, it would hardly have happened without the strategic action of new right-­ leaning CSOs and OSMs. To understand the context in which right-­wing social movements emerged amid rising discontent against governments in all levels (federal, state, and local), it is worth analysing whether CSOs and OSMs remained trustworthy vis-­à-vis other non-­state actors in the aftermath of the 2008 financial crisis. Lula retained high approval rates, thanks to countercyclical policies that boosted Rousseff ’s election in 2010. Yet, the effects of these policies declined over time. The ICS, an index of social trust surveyed by IBOPE (2015) (the largest Brazilian public opinion company), measures people’s confidence on both state and non-­state institutions. In 2009, 61 per cent trusted CSOs (including OSMs)—the same index reached by business companies and banks. Three years later, in 2012, trust in all non-­ state actors had dropped. Nevertheless, banks (which in Brazil tend to be associated with greedy procedures put forward at the expense of the population) scored just 1 percentage point below CSOs/OSMs and business companies (57 per cent each). In 2013, when street demonstrations were spreading throughout the country, trust in CSOs/OSMs declined even further, falling about 20 per cent between 2009 and 2013. In relation to 2012, the reduction was 14 per cent—only lower than the contraction of the degree of trust in labour unions.

Symbolic power and Brazilian civil society   207 In the meantime, churches (understood as organisations representing any religious affiliation) retained top position in the rankings as the most trustworthy non-­state actor in Brazilian society. They were closely followed by the media—often blamed by leftist segments for the ill fate of Rousseff ’s administration. Companies also started ranking slightly ahead of CSOs/OSMs (51 per cent against 49 per cent). Interestingly, these three non-­state actors are arguably associated with values opposed by the leftist movements: companies are market actors par excellence, tending to demand less state intervention in the economy, and churches usually express conservative values in a country like Brazil, which is almost 90 per cent Christian and has a growing evangelical population. Hence, the ground for the emergence of right-­leaning CSOs/OSMs for contesting “PT’s doxa” could not have been more fertile. Ironically, the 2013 protests that culminated in Rousseff ’s impeachment in 2016 after a fierce re-­election campaign in 2014 began under the leadership of the radical left Free Fare Movement (Movimento Passe Livre). This is a student-­based, non-­partisan organisation that (since at least the early 2000s) has demanded free public transport for all. Passe Livre claimed the reversal of a bus fare increase from three to 3.20 Brazilian real in the city of São Paulo (Saad-­Filho 2013, p.  658). Protests soon spread to other major urban areas. Dissatisfaction with public service delivery and government expenditure in the organisation of the 2014 FIFA World Cup and the 2016 Summer Olympics (not to mention the harsh police reaction to initial protests) attracted more people to the demonstrations. As Mendonça and Ercan (2013) argue, the FIFA Confederations Churches/religion Business companies Political parties Labour unions CSOs (including social movements) Media Banks 0

10

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30 2013

40

50

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Figure 12.4 Index of social trust in non-state actors. Source: author’s elaboration based on data from IBOPE (2015).

60

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208   V. Rodrigues Vieira Cup also taking place during June that year in Brazil opened the door for such protests. As discussed above, marketisation and commodification prompt civil society to react against the lack of social protection (Burawoy 2017, pp.  26–27). Yet, in environments pervaded by patrimonialism, such a countermovement reclaims the construction of a new doxa rather than the reestablishment of socially focused policies that existed before neo-­ liberal globalisation. In the case of Brazil, the reaction was against the PT government’s emphasis on consumer welfare, with consumption incentives, at the expense of providing universal social protection. Most protesters, however, came from the traditional middle classes rather than the marginalised strata. Indeed, the demonstrations were far from representing a sample of Brazilian society. For instance, only 15 per cent of the protesters earned up to twice the minimum wage (G1 2013). In 2013, the minimum wage was roughly equal to 600 dollars per month. According to another survey, conducted in November 2013, about 46 per cent of all Brazilians fell into that income stratum (Datafolha 2014). Rather than understanding protests as a middle-­class reaction against a supposed loss of privilege during Lula’s years (Saad-­Filho 2013, p. 661), I consider them as representing the height of discontent with the country’s political forces’ inability to react against opposition of patrimonialism. This, in turn, hindered the state’s capacity to satisfy the demands for effective social protection against the hurdles of globalisation. As Singer (2013) remarks, a “new proletariat”—low-­paid, young, and facing poor working conditions—also participated in the demonstrations. Regardless of the protesters’ profile, their causes advanced collective interests, particularly the fight against patrimonialism. Indeed, despite not being a PT original sin, patrimonialism clearly gained salience once the party reached power. A survey conducted in the capital cities of the seven most politically relevant states of Brazil (São Paulo, Rio de Janeiro, Minas Gerais, Rio Grande do Sul, Pernambuco, Ceará, and Bahia) asked what led people to attend demonstrations (G1 2013). The most popular response by protesters was discontent with the political environment, including corruption (65.0 per cent). Dissatisfaction with public transit was only in second place (53.6 per cent). In third place was health care problems (36.7 per cent). The costs of FIFA’s Confederations Cup in 2013 and the World Cup in 2014 ranked only fourth (30.9 per cent) among all concerns, followed closely by concerns about the quality of public education (29.8). Out of the new OSMs, the MBL is a paradigmatic case for analysing the long-­term consequences of civil society co-­optation in the 2000s. The movement led to the first manifestations against Rousseff and pushed for her impeachment by establishing connections with right-­leaning politicians who opposed her government. In addition, the MBL received supported from right-­wing foundations based in the US, particularly the Atlas Network, comprising 11 CSOs linked to the Koch foundation, including

Symbolic power and Brazilian civil society   209 the Charles G. Koch Charitable Foundation, the Institute of Human Studies, and the Cato Institute (Amaral 2015). Some claim that the MBL originated from the Students for Liberty network, which has had a Brazilian chapter since 2012. It was a year before the MBL emerged on the public scene. In addition, as manifestations against the president gathered more participants, parties that opposed Rousseff—including the PSDB and the Brazilian Democratic Movement Party (PMDB), which came to power after her fall—gave financial support to the MBL (Lopes and Segalla 2016). Despite Atlas’s libertarian orientation, the MBL espouses conservative values. At best, MBL’s rise in the political scene indicates the emergence of an illiberal civil society, understood as an autonomous sphere pursuing self-­defeating goals. Illiberal values satisfy a short-­term conservative agenda in line with classical liberalism, but sow the seeds for an authoritarianism that contradicts liberal principles themselves. Under such a logic, liberal-­conservative movements tend inevitably to assume an authoritarian face. That happens because, in the long term, the contradictions between conservative values and liberal ones lead the first to prevail over the latter. In that case, political liberalism becomes simply the means and not the end of collective action. Hence, like left-­leaning governments, the right-­wing OSMs surrendered to temptation and, apart from making alliances with political parties, started to defend authoritarian social practices while retaining a liberal view of the economy. Such a dual face was clearly reflected in the list of proposals approved during the MBL’s first national congress in November 2015. On the one hand, the  movement wanted to introduce Amer­ican-­style vouchers to mitigate the shortcomings of Brazil’s primary education system (MBL 2015). On the other, it supported the imposition of legal limits on what instructors could teach in the humanities and social sciences at primary and secondary schools. Recent facts thus suggest that the same movements that brought fresh air to Brazilian politics by rebalancing the civil society–state nexus have fallen under the influence of the same temptation that weakened their left-­wing counterparts. Despite strong evidence of corruption involving President Michel Temer (Rousseff ’s vice president, from the centrist, oligarch-­dominated PMDB), the MBL has not called for his resignation. Its members are close to parties that support the government. In the meantime, the movement has engaged in a sort of cultural war by mobilising people to oppose art exhibitions that supposedly praise pornography. Lastly, MBL leaders supported Bolsonaro for president. All this suggests that the next battles between civil society and the state in Brazil will not take place around economic/material issues, as during the globalisation age. Instead, disputes tend to privilege cultural matters/post-­material political concerns.

210   V. Rodrigues Vieira

Conclusion This chapter has demonstrated that the participation of CSOs and OSMs in the PT-­led governments in Brazil between 2003 and 2016 happened at the expense of downplaying the demands of those who, despite not being active in organisations and social movements, perceived them to be a counterbalance to the state’s heavy hand against society. State co-­optation of CSOs and OSMs represents the triumph of patrimonialism, even under a government that initially hinted at establishing a clearer separation between public and private domains in Brazil. This, however, would have meant enhancing the autonomy of civil society, which could in turn have jeopardised the short-­term goal of retaining power. For this reason, CSOs and OSMs that had aligned with leftist parties lost legitimacy, despite remaining critical of the PT’s policies at the rhetorical level. To fill the representation vacuum left by these CSOs and OSMs, liberal-­conservative movements gained popular support, even though they had not emerged spontaneously. In addition, centre-­right political parties took advantage of their growing strength and popular discontent against the PT to successfully push for Rousseff ’s impeachment. The experience of non-­state actors in Brazil in an age of globalism and populism suggests that civil society only retains strength if CSOs and OSMs remain autonomous vis-­à-vis both the coalition that forms the government and controls the state, on the one hand, and foreign influences, on the other. This lesson applies not only to Brazil but also to other sovereign states, where conservative social movements have emerged at the same time. It is, however, worth examining whether this “unvirtuous” chain is not unique to Brazil. Other large democracies in the global South seem to be moving along similar trajectories. India’s Anna Hazare anti-­corruption movement against the centre-­left, Indian National Congress-­led United Progressive Alliance emerged in 2011, expressing middle-­class grievances. This electoral cycle, however, ended with the Hindu-­nationalist majority of the Bharatya Janata Party in 2014. A further example is South Africa, where protesters demanding the resignation of President Jacob Zuma opposed corruption and state capture by vested, usually market-­based interests. Like Lula’s PT in Brazil, Zuma’s African National Congress (ANC) raised society’s hopes in the 1990s for better days amid economic globalisation and post-­apartheid democratisation. Those hopes, however, vanished with the co-­optation of CSOs and OSMs by the ANC and are unlikely to remerge even after the party forced Zuma’s resignation in favour of Cyril Ramaphosa’s ascension to power in February 2018. Once parties with political affinities with a given set of CSOs and OSMs reach power, the leaders of such organisations face an inevitable dilemma: either they continue contesting doxa (arguably the ultimate goal of civil society) or they move towards reform and subsequently prop up the status quo (the state’s main objective). “All political lives, unless they are cut off

Symbolic power and Brazilian civil society   211 in midstream at a happy juncture, end in failure, because that is the nature of politics and of human affairs”, Enoch Powell, a conservative British politician, once said. The same logic seems applicable to CSOs, OSMs, and eventually all civil society: all contestation eventually fails if the state captures its rebel spirit. For societies pervaded by patrimonialism, such capture is more problematic, as it reproduces the patterns that entangle the public and private spheres, state and non-­state actors, and thus collective and specific interests. This entanglement weakens civil society itself, leaving it vulnerable to a never-­ending cycle of the adherence of new collective actors to the established order. The substantive traits of the doxa that regulate the state–society relationship therefore remain constant. Instead of serving society (or the majority of people) as a whole or empowering those who might benefit from structural transformations, social skill serves only those thirsty for power. In other words, the dynamics of political society (the realm of party politics in a democratic polity) subordinate whatever happens in civil society, and this constrains state and governmental power. Fighting ­patrimonialism and the consequential (re)construction of civil society autonomy then becomes a false promise. Earlier I claimed that, contradictorily but logically, patrimonialism opens a space for the emergence of CSOs and OSMs free of state strings. This is the case insofar as the state is as weak as society, owing to the lack of distinction between both. Yet, autonomous CSOs and OSMs only thrive in the mission of constructing an autonomous civil society if they do not fall prey to the vested interests of party politics. In the case of Brazil, MBL’s agenda and support to Bolsonaro election exemplify these risks more than anything else. Parties are neither the incarnation nor the cause of the patrimonial devil. They nevertheless fulfil their mission better if key civil society actors retain the autonomy to challenge to the established order. Only a practical distinction between civil and political society (a difference this chapter has, ironically, complicated in theoretical terms) can offer new CSOs and OSM the chance to avoid falling prey to the interests entangled in the state.

Notes 1 For a discussion of cases in which civil society did not successfully pressure for redemocratisation despite ongoing economic liberalisation, see González (2008). 2 Galvão (2009, pp. 196–197) considers that CUT pragmatism arose in the 1990s, well before Lula’s government. 3 Even Cardoso was sceptical of the FTAA’s benefits for the Brazilian economy. Lula, however, adopted the deliberate strategy of delaying negotiations up to the point where they were de facto carried out without any agreement in 2005 (Rodrigues Vieira 2014a, pp. 151–153).

212   V. Rodrigues Vieira

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214   V. Rodrigues Vieira Moravcsik, A. (1998) The choice for Europe: Social purpose and state power from Messina to Maastricht. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Nylen, W. and Dodd, L. (2003) Participatory democracy versus elitist democracy: Lessons from Brazil. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Pastoral Social/CNBB (2002) Plebiscito sobre a ALCA: resultados e manifesto. Available from: https://midiaindependente.org/pt/green/2002/09/36431. shtml [Accessed 1 November 2017]. Polanyi, K. ([1944] 2001) The great transformation: The political and economic origins of our time. New York: Beacon Press. Putnam, R. (1993) Making democracy work: Civic traditions in modern Italy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Rede Jubileu Sul (2017) Quem somos. Available from: www.jubileusul.org.br/ quem-­somos [Accessed 1 November 2017]. Rede Social (2017) Cartilha: O plebiscito sobre a ALCA no Brasil. Available from: www.social.org.br/cartilhas/cartilha002/cartilha016.htm [Accessed 1 November 2017]. Rodrigues Vieira, V. (2014a) Is politics behind trade? The impact of international trends and diplomatic action on Brazil’s exports during globalisation. Bulletin of Latin Amer­ican Research. 33 (2), 140–157. Rodrigues Vieira, V. (2014b) Public and private: change and continuity in economy through two meta-­fields in society. Cambridge Review of International Affairs. 27 (1), 21–38. Rodrigues Vieira, V. (2016) When procedural legitimacy equals nothing: Civil society and foreign trade policy in Brazil and Mexico. Contexto Internacional. 38 (1), 349–384. Saad-­Filho, A. (2013). Mass protests under “left neoliberalism”: Brazil, June–July 2013. Critical Sociology. 39 (5), 657–669. Salomon, M. (2009) MST multiplica entidades para não perder repasses. Folha de S. Paulo. 29 March. Available from: www1.folha.uol.com.br/fsp/brasil/ fc2903200904.htm [Accessed 1 November 2017]. Sander, L. (2006) Eleitorado cresce 9.25% em relação a 2002. Folha de S. Paulo. 8 July. Available from: www1.folha.uol.com.br/fsp/brasil/fc0807200606.htm. [Accessed 1 November 2017]. Singer, A. (2013) Brasil, Junho de 2013: Classes e ideologias cruzadas. Novos Estudos. 97. 23–40. Smith, J. (2008) Social movements for global democracy. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Tocqueville, A. (1835) Democracy in America. London: Saunders and Otely.

13 Postcolonial perspectives on civil society in Mozambique Towards an alternative approach for research and action Abdul Ilal, Tanja Kleibl and Ronaldo Munck 1  Introduction: civil society and development Public and civic participation in development and policymaking processes is an essential aspect of democratic governance and sustainable development. Civil society actors, in particular Western-­style non-­governmental organization (NGOs), are promoted as important vehicles through which citizens can participate in the policymaking process, thus, in theory, contributing towards accountability, transparency and good governance. There is not currently, in our view, a robust and reliable understanding of the wider civil society context of countries in the global South in the postcolonial era, including traditional civil society actors’ various roles and potential for enacting social change. Even basic information about its composition, structure, areas of activity, sources of funding, and historical, political and operational environment is not readily available, organized and updated. Thus, there is an increased interest in the critical evaluation of civil society, along with governance and political economy analysis, which many Northern donors nowadays mainstream into their policy and operational frameworks. Civil society actors, such as the international NGOs themselves, have increasingly become interested in civil society evaluations. This seems to be part of their search for practical frameworks and tools with which to assess their own and local partners’ capacity to improve delivery of results as well as accountability to their constituents (Ilal, Kleibl and Munck 2014). What seems to be rarely studied or reflected upon are internal Southern civil society dynamics and their linkages to government and donor agendas, which, from a Gramscian perspective, would lead the civil society debate towards a reflection on the construction of the political role of civil society actors in the development process and the emergence of cohesion, contestation and conflict. In the current development context, “uncivic” civil society activism, which from a Gramscian perspective could include a wide range of actions outside the donor- and government-­created civic participation forums, is seen as something outside the contemporary civil society conceptualization. The latter is influenced by the North Amer­ican

216   A. Ilal et al. perception of civil society, which either allocates civil society the role of promoting democracy through the “art of association” (see Alexis de Tocqueville, in Fukuyama 2000, p. 7) and/or a “civil repair function” (Alexander 2006, p. 266). Both roles however keep civil society within the current postcolonial neo-­liberal system and do not envisage a decolonizing or systemic transformational role to it. More important is the fact that this conceptualization of civil society ignores the struggle over Southern citizens’ representation and voice or, as Chatterjee (2006, p. 3) puts it, the “politics of the governed”. In a globalized world that continues to be controlled by small groups of national political elites and global economic players, citizen action outside institutionalized, democratic governance structures, such as multi-­ stakeholder policy dialogue forums between government, the private sector and NGOs, is rarely recognized. The crisis of representational democracy certainly affects the dynamics of civil society while global powerful economic actors such as multinational companies call into question the independence of the nation state and its role as regards governance. This weakens the possibility of creating accountability between the state and its citizens through the promotion of civil society strengthening programmes (Kleibl 2017). Gramsci’s historical analysis and perspective about the worsening “hierarchy of exploitation” (Gramsci, cited in Young 2012, p.  19) in the context of global capitalism puts further emphasis on the critical global power dynamics between “colonizers” and “colonized” and facilitates the use of his concepts as part of contemporary postcolonial subaltern studies. This perspective can be best articulated by using Gramsci’s own words: In this way the colonial population becomes the foundation on which the whole edifice of capitalist exploitation is erected. These populations are required to donate the whole of their lives to the development of industrial civilization. For this they expect no benefit in return; indeed, they see their own countries systematically despoiled of their natural resources. (Gramsci in L’Ordine Nuovo; SPW 1, p. 302, cited in Young 2012, p. 19) Gramsci’s engagement with the “subaltern” and subaltern social groups, as well as questions of spatial power relationship are further articulated in his exploration of the “Southern Question” as outlined in his “Notes on Italian History” in the Prison Notebooks (1971) and in various references in letters to his family.1 Young (2012) concludes: This contemporary emphasis on the subaltern has nevertheless come a long way from Gramsci himself, who remains firmly anchored to the political possibilities offered by the construction of hegemony through the articulation of the subaltern classes. (Young 2012, p. 32)

Postcolonial civil society in Mozambique   217 Our own case study of Mozambique exemplifies how the process of colonization and postcolonial economic power relationships affect the contemporary potential of civil society actors to play a transformational role within society and consequently raise questions on the way civil society has been conceptualized, investigated and supported in an African context. Section 2 provides an overview of the country’s economic, social and political context, while Section 3 outlines the historical background of civil society in Mozambique, from the colonial period till today. Section 4 refers to the specific roles that Western-­type NGOs occupy within Mozambican civil society, while Section 5 outlines the effect this NGO–civil society model has for defining civil society in a postcolonial context and the conceptual issues this raises. Section 6 concludes that postcolonial perspectives can help to deconstruct discourses and practices articulated by liberal democracy and underlines the need for a reinterpretation of the historical and philosophical connotations of civil society in Africa.

2  Country context Mozambique has experienced strong economic growth rates and investment since 2001, mainly in the extractive industry (gas, oil and mineral resources), construction, transport and communications, and financial services sectors. The country is widely regarded as a “success story” on the basis of annual growth rates of over 7 per cent in the last decade. The International Monetary Fund until very recently considered Mozambique one of Africa’s best-­performing economies (IMF 2014a). These developments hold great promise, but also present considerable challenges in terms of balanced economic development, citizen and human rights and social inclusion. Bearing in mind that nearly 70 per cent of the population live in rural areas, the majority of whom are dependent on agriculture for their livelihoods, the efforts for improving production and productivity in the agricultural sector and ensuring food security are patently insufficient. The proportion of public investment in agriculture is low and there is no significant increase in terms of access to credit in this sector and rural extension services (IMF 2014b). Despite its strong past economic growth, the Mozambican economy overall has undergone minimal structural transformation since the country’s independence in 1975. FRELIMO (Frente de Libertação de Moçambique, Liberation Front of Mozambique) regime’s agenda changes from a Marxist–Leninist to an open market economy have not changed the exclusionary nature of the economy. The economy’s productive base remains dependent largely on natural resources (e.g. coal, gas, minerals) focused on a few megaprojects lead by multinational companies. The impact of this outward-­oriented extractivist policy of economic growth does not prioritize local employment creation and economic diversification remains very low. There is growing evidence that there is not a broadly based

218   A. Ilal et al. inward-­oriented growth of the economy based on the internal market and human capital is not developing as fast as is needed. Hence, despite strong economic growth figures, Mozambique remains very poor, even compared to other countries in the region (Brynildsen and Nombora 2013; World Bank 2014a, 2014b). The country’s structural dependency on aid is still high, as these resources accounted for about 37 per cent of the total revenue in 2012 (IMF 2014b). In terms of the Human Development Index (HDI), Mozambique still ranks 181st out of 188 countries (UNDP 2016) and since independence has experienced ongoing conflicts, including a brutal 16-year-­long civil war (1976–1992). During our field research many respondents referred to the brutal strategies of the first civil war between the governing party, FRELIMO, and the rebel movement at the time, RENAMO (Resistência Nacional Moçambicana, Mozambique National Resistance), such as summary executions and group rapes of women, are again the practice of the current conflict (see also Verdade Editorial, 2016). In terms of poverty, although there has been a reduction of the incidence of absolute poverty in the last 15 years, there are still big concerns around food security in rural, but also in urban, areas, and income poverty remains high. This demonstrates that the current growth model is socially not sustainable insofar as it cannot guarantee an upward trajectory of popular incomes and some reduction of inequality levels. Questionable progress in terms of the good governance agenda, and the at-­times-violent battle between the government and the main opposition party, RENAMO, fuels fears that economic growth and stability in the country is being jeopardized. What are widely regarded by donors as Western civil society’s main key actors, namely the NGOs, were promoted by many as a panacea for developing more broadly based and internal market-­focused economic development in the global South. In this context, the NGOs role was seen as improving basic service delivery to the poor as well as strengthening internal state accountability through pro-­poor policy monitoring, also called “NGO-­watchdog” activities. However, citizen engagement has so far only had limited success, as both service delivery and policy monitoring roles do not address fundamental failures in the political and economic processes that have affected Mozambique since its colonization. These are the issues we now need to turn to before we explore the concrete way in which these global debates played out in Mozambique.

3  Historical background of civil society in Mozambique Poverty and inequality in Mozambique are rooted at least as far back as the sixteenth century, and they increased dramatically as a direct consequence of Portugal’s imposition of colonial capitalism. Out of this colonial experience, a certain definition of its peoples’ ethnic composition and reproduction dynamics as well as language diversity emerged (Newitt 1995).

Postcolonial civil society in Mozambique   219 These formations still influence the feelings of belonging and the relationship and dynamics between the modern state structure, its administration, civil society actors and citizens. It also caused the division between the “primordial” and “modern” publics (Ekeh 1975) and the much-­debated and contested “public sphere(s)” in which civil society activities take place in the broader African context (Osaghae 2003). Rejecting the usefulness of conceptualizing civil society following a Western analytical approach in Africa, Fatton (1995) points to the necessary interplay of collective solidarities with ethnic, religious and class formation processes in Africa. These arguments can be deployed along with those of Cabrita (2000), who thoroughly investigated what he called the “culture of conflict” surrounding FRELIMO and concluded that the 16-year-­long civil war in Mozambique was inevitable, based on the prevailing economic, political and social inequalities, as well as ethnic conflicts, which the country was facing during and after colonization. Internal conflict, according to his analysis, encompassed FRELIMO initially as a peaceful political civil society movement and, later on, as an armed decolonization movement that after independence turned into a ruling party (Kleibl 2017). Hence, when looking at postcolonial internal state conflict and civil society development in parallel, it is important to go back to colonial times when analysing civil society and its relationship with the state in Mozambique. During the colonial period, associativism arose in a context of opposition to the colonial regime and was influenced by the international context of pan-­Africanist ideals, negritude and socialism. Around 1880 and later, some civic expressions were made in the context of the emergence of the first newspapers.2 These were the voices of independent civic groups3 (Newitt 1995). However, as part of the Estado Novo (New State) philosophy propagated by the Portuguese dictator Antonio de Oliveira Salazar, the colonial regime started to instrumentalize non-­governmental entities to conduct state propaganda and gain adherence to state policies. Later, in the 1950s, several new civic groups4 emerged, creating space for mobilizing resistance. Within these organizations, reformist as well as radical ideas in favour of armed struggle for independence were generated (Negrão 2003; Francisco 2010). With independence in 1975, the national liberation movement FRELIMO, with the massive and enthusiastic support of the Mozambican people and the international solidarity movement, took over the leadership of the state, with absolute control of power, which included control over the public sphere and the civic arena. In this context, the so-­called organizações democráticas de massa5 (democratic mass organizations) have been established. Only a few organizations such as Concelho Cristão de Moçambique (CCM, Christian Council of Mozambique) and Caritas (from the Catholic Church) could operate outside state control. Therefore, there was very little space for a democratic and pluralist process with full freedom of expression, rights of association and political or civic rights.

220   A. Ilal et al. The brutal civil war from 1977 until 1992 deteriorated the living conditions of the Mozambican people so that humanitarian assistance was needed. The integration into the International Monetary Fund (in 1983) and the introduction of the structural adjustment programme (Programa de Reabilitação Económica, PRE), as well as the subsequent liberalization of the economy led not only to the expansion of the informal sector but also to the formation of organizations in the area of humanitarian assistance. They occupied the space where the state could not provide services necessary for the survival of its citizens. This was supported by neo-­liberal arguments postulating that the state should withdraw from service delivery. The Mozambican government and the Development Assistance Committee (DAC) cooperation partners, as well as international and national NGOs themselves, saw the role of NGOs merely as service providers, implementing projects and activities initiated, designed and financed by government or cooperation partners. The view that civil society merely plays an intermediary role in service provision was widespread. In the 1990s, a new phase of the country’s history emerged, characterized by the end of the civil war and a broadening of the democratization process. The new constitution approved in 1990 resulted in the development of a multi-­party system and formally introduced freedom of association. International donors initiated various programmes and projects to improve “good governance” and channelled their technical assistance and funds through international NGOs, knowingly circumventing the government and the state whose financial, human, technical and organizational capacity to deliver services to the population was extremely limited. The country witnessed the accelerated creation and expansion of national NGOs, which rapidly increased in number and influence. In addition, we observed the establishment and consolidation of several NGO networks.6 During that time, the country also formally created democratic instruments for civil society participation in public life, e.g. platforms for dialogue between government and civil society at various government levels.7 However, citizens participating in these participation mechanisms needed to be empowered so that real participation leading to policy changes could be achieved. Only then could this space be useful to boost citizen participation and civil society engagement. With civil society still fragmented and given the weak coordination and cooperation among NGOs, the participatory project of decentralized government linked to civil society coordination did not bring about substantial changes in poverty reduction or policies that could change that situation (FDC 2007; Ilal 2008; Hodges and Tibana 2005; KEPA 2011). The political environment deteriorated again following the third general elections in 2004 and the political scene, including the public sphere, continued to be dominated by the two large parties, FRELIMO and RENAMO. Consequently, civil society’s space for action within government-­created public spaces has been reduced and there is a perception that NGOs are

Postcolonial civil society in Mozambique   221 nowadays less critical of the government led by the ruling party, FRELIMO. The latter occupies a dominant position in Mozambican society, a situation that is supported by the co-­optation of critical civil society actors into government and ruling party structures. There is now a shrinking political space for Western civil society actors to play a substantive role in the development process (Francisco, CIVICUS and JOINT 2015), particularly at district and locality level, due to the intolerance of governmental authorities, political leaders and co-­opted traditional community leaders (KEPA 2011; Macuane et al. 2010). In this context, counter-­publics,8 linked to the primordial sphere, or spiritual witchcraft dynamics, are often the last resort of excluded citizens to voice their concerns or secure their livelihoods (Kleibl and Munck 2016). There are currently no donor strategic approaches for supporting informal groups and traditional social structures and their self-­ help mechanisms; these dynamics remain under-­researched and invisible for development cooperation actors. Different technical assistance and alternative funding would be essential to enable Western civil society actors at provincial and local levels to engage with other social actors such as spiritual and traditional leaders in the democratization process. Today, ongoing disputes within FRELIMO indicate the existence of an active Mozambican civil society expressed through citizens and the members of FRELIMO that wish to participate in the country’s key social and economic decisions: on issues ranging from the form of democracy governing the country to the distribution of its wealth. These disputes, many of which initially originated in colonial civil society, should be considered part of civil society’s struggle for participation and hence some form of co-­determination of the increasingly authoritarian political system governing the territory of Mozambique. From a Gramscian perspective, they form part of a political and civil society that cannot be ignored in a complexity-­informed civil society analysis, which from a Western liberal perspective would be limited to actors, mainly NGOs, working outside the governing political party sphere.

4  Specific roles of NGOs within Mozambican civil society Within the wider development debates, NGOs can play different roles in the policy process, namely: monitoring, advocacy, innovation, service provision and capacity building. This impacts on the policy process in terms of agenda setting, policy development, implementation, monitoring and evaluation (Najam 1999). NGOs can encourage social change and can protect individual rights by monitoring and criticizing government and market actors, by influencing public policies, and by providing services in certain areas where government and market actors fail to do so. NGOs can also build the capacity of various development actors. In Mozambique, Western-­oriented civil society actors are technically proficient and receive substantial donor support (Topsoe-­Jensen et al.

222   A. Ilal et al. 2012). However, research such as the EU-­funded Mapping Study of Civil Society Organizations in Mozambique (Topsoe-­Jensen et al. 2015), and our own research findings (Kleibl and Munck 2016) show the limitations of this sector insofar as most Western-­type NGOs have their headquarters in the capital city Maputo; they rarely carry out advocacy activities outside the capital and struggle to “translate” the technical language of their projects and studies into locally understandable concepts or meanings. Hence, they are weak in terms of influencing real political decision-­ making processes, in particular when it comes to influencing policy processes that affect the majority of people living in rural areas. Western NGOs do however play a crucial role in the humanitarian and service delivery areas. Many of the donor-­supported “good governance” programmes were assisted and also funded through international NGOs, currently supported by a growing number of “domesticated” national NGOs (Negrão 2003; Topsoe-­Jensen et al. 2015). Many of these NGOs have however very little or nothing to do with the majority of the population, except that they address themselves to the population during the implementation of a number of externally funded development projects (Kleibl 2017). These organizations are set up from above, as it were, driven by the capital’s urban elites, who are seeking roots in the broader population. In this respect, they are similar to FRELIMO’s earlier attempt to create “democratic mass organizations for women and youth” (Abrahamsson and Nilsson 1995, p.  181). However, while mass-­based organizations do represent certain population strata, through their broad member base, NGOs in the early 1990s and partly until today have usually been composed by urban elites without a membership base (Topsoe-­Jensen 2015). Indeed, in post-­socialist Mozambique, many of the former leaders of mass-­ based organizations opted to set up NGOs. One person interviewed during our civil society research project expressed that clearly: State officials used to establish NGOs after having left mass-­based organizations that had lost some of their financial support. They close their NGO’s offices at the end of the day in order to inform the government about their civil society work. Nothing has really changed. (Interview with the director of a Mozambican NGO, 19 August 2015) Despite the “instrumentalization” of the Western civil society agenda from some FRELIMO party elites, some civil society actors have certainly attempted to have a stronger transformational role within electoral processes in the 1990s and influential civil society campaigns such as the Land Rights Campaign and the Campaign against Domestic Violence emerged during that time (Fiege 2014; Topsoe-­Jensen 2015). Each campaign was characterized by the collaboration and coalition of mainly membership-­ based and religious organizations that worked at national, provincial and district levels and thus had considerable potential and power to mobilize

Postcolonial civil society in Mozambique   223 their constituencies. Both campaigns managed to influence key policy decisions in Mozambique and as such are examples of successful broad rights-­based advocacy processes that not only monitor the implementation of laws and regulations but also influence its content and direction (Kleibl 2017). The spirit of both campaigns is still alive and the implementation of the two influenced laws, Lei da Terra (land law) and Lei da Família (family law) and their respective regulations are still under close observation of those actors that initiated the campaigns. The return to civil war in 2014 and the co-­optation of many NGO actors show that we are a long way from civil society in Mozambique becoming a united, dynamic, vibrant and strong driver for positive social and political change (Pereira 2011). Recent ad hoc hunger protests, including the so-­called “bread riots” on the streets in major cities of Mozambique in 2011 (Foller and Johannson 2012), and the ongoing presence of armed conflict would indicate that donor-­supported NGOs have not managed to create civil society cohesion or a bottom-­up process of peaceful democratic participation in political affairs. Based on our research, carried out during the return of civil war in Mozambique in 2014–2016, we find that the limitations of civil society are on the increase or, put another way, the theory and practice of civil society in Mozambique are poles apart. This renewed conflict dynamic is seriously undermining the successful implementation of the peaceful, dialogue-­ oriented consensual civil society model promoted by most of the Development Assistance Committee (DAC) donors in Mozambique and many other African countries. This does not mean that the provincial, national and international strands of civil society are not relevant. But we arguably need to make the local dynamics more visible, seeking to understand how these dynamics influence outside actors through their social-­spiritual and kinship connections and, thus, make a considered contribution towards a more holistic understanding of the postcolonial societal, political and economic realities in a country like Mozambique. We found that community trust is largely deposited in religious and spiritual actors, and not in politicians, the private sector or Western NGOs (Kleibl and Munck 2016). Hence, the struggle to improve our conceptual understanding and promotion of civil society continues.

5  Implications for defining civil society and conceptual issues There is no consensual definition of the liberal civil society concept and an increasing number of practitioners and researchers question the usefulness of the concept in a non-­Western context, considering it a manifestation of Western liberalism (Anheier et al. 2011; Behr and Aaretti 2013; Brouwers 2011; Lewis 2001; Maina 1998; Makumbe 1989; Mosse 2003; Munck 2002; Obdare 2004; Seckinelgin 2002; Sogge 2004). Although

224   A. Ilal et al. many authors recognize the fact that liberal civil society always operates in a specific social, economic, political and cultural context, the concept continues to be applied without much reflection on its appropriateness for the specific context where it is being applied. At the same time, the wider community of policymakers, practitioners, researchers and other development actors continue to stress the need to have a solid understanding of the complex context in which civil society operates (EC 2012a, 2012b; Mansuri and Rao 2013; OECD 2012; UNDP 2011; WEF 2013; Zinecker 2011). The challenge as we understand it from our own research and work experience in Mozambique is rather to understand the various conceptions of civil society in development discourse and social theory and to be aware how their various definitions and frameworks are used to establish a certain political order in diverse contexts and over time. To move the broader debate around civil society in the global South forwards we, at this point, make several propositions derived from our research but also on our broader research and practice in Africa and Latin America. We will thus be pointing towards issues we think are crucial for the next stage of engaged research around civil society in the South, which need to be debated and tested out empirically: •

•

•

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Because of the historical impact of colonialism on civil society development and the discourses of power linked to them, our epistemological and methodological research approach is closer to poststructuralist perspectives on civil society and governance than to neo-­liberal discourse. In order to better capture and assess the complexities inherent in civic dynamics and civil society, taking into account the specific country context, researchers will have to deconstruct the concepts of civil society, democracy and governance based on specific country contexts (Negrão 2003; Francisco 2010; Kleibl 2017). The Western-­normative civil society framework is not appropriate for civil society research in many countries of the world. In our opinion, the concept of civil society is a political concept. We believe that civil society can support positive social, economic and political change if their actors include social movements, both peaceful and “uncivil”. We recognize that civil society is not per se democratic. Civil society actors, in particular Western institutionalized NGOs, can collaborate with powerful elites to further entrench and consolidate authoritarian and undemocratic regimes. From our research experience, we find that civil society can therefore be either a progressive or a reactionary force. We recognize civil society as a public arena where various actors from different spheres of society (state, markets and family) converge into a common sense, play out their individual and private interests and ultimately lead citizens for collective action towards positive but also negative social and political changes.

Postcolonial civil society in Mozambique   225 •

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The challenge is to struggle for positive change (both civil and uncivil) that makes society more tolerant, inclusive, democratic and equitable in a postcolonial context that is characterized by the reproduction of violence against and exclusion of citizens rather than the further development of economically and politically independent nation states that can improve their citizens quality of life. The struggle for positive change can be facilitated if the decolonization of the mind and of social relations is taken forwards from the bottom up, in a political civil society project that provides the subaltern with voice and resources. Fanon (1967) and Gramsci (1971) both assigned a central role to intellectuals, urging the intellectual to return to the people and articulate their revolutionary project through the construction of new national-­popular literature (see Srivastava 2012). As researchers or practitioners, from either a Western or Southern background, we need to be increasingly aware of social forces such as religious beliefs and practices, language and the establishment of cultural products and political concepts, including intellectual revolutionary and moral leadership, as well as political alliances and mobile forms of cultural hegemony, as core processes for the production of hegemony within civil society. It means that we shall think in a public arena that promotes civil society engagement, citizenship, and postcolonial state-­building that can truly contribute towards democratic state-­building and the well-­being of the people. Thus, all spheres and arenas (state, markets, family and civil society) are needed to balance one another and create a virtuous cycle (Mansuri and Rao 2013) (see Figure 13.1). It is important to have contextualized and adequate concepts and approaches in order to improve practice and to draw relevant conclusions and explanations from civil society assessments in the global South. In this line of thought, the concept of “civil society” should be distinguished from the concept of “society”. We should also distinguish the concept of “civil society” from the concept of “civil society organizations” or NGOs (Keane 2009), which are a sub-­set and not the whole. Civil society, from our research experience, constitutes an arena where various actors and processes, individuals, formal and informal, modern and traditional, registered and not registered groups, organizations, networks, movements and platforms and other non-­formal and spontaneous organization forms (including those facilitated by new social media and mobile phone technology) are involved and establish relationships for collective action. Civil society in Mozambique contains a mixture of modern and primordial practices, organizations and institutions. Thus, it is important to address the relationship between “modern Western civil society” and “traditional social structures” and involved practices, institutions and organizations

226   A. Ilal et al.

The State Parliament

Presidency

Society

Central Govt.

Local Govt.

Tribunals

Formal economy Modern CS

Ad hoc networks & alliances

The Family

Tradi�onal social structures

The Market Informal economy

Civil Society Figure 13.1 Spheres of society in relation to the arena of civil society.

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that set the agenda for the policymaking process and structural social transformation at all levels. It is important that civil society actors clarify their role in the development process as agents of change that at no time should substitute for the state but rather influence and change exclusionary discourses and practices emerging out of the postcolonial context. The ambivalence involved into the relationship between civil societies, the state and other influential powers (including political parties and economic agents) in the country increases the complexity of the research context. It is hence crucial to analyse the implications of instrumentalization and co-­optation for the role and capacity of civil society actors. The mapping of civil society must take into consideration the degree of decentralization and democracy in which the relationship between state and civil society takes place. For instance, it is important to reflect about the decentralization efforts of the central government to increase engagement and dialogue with civil society in the country and identify the difficulties in cascading down these efforts to local and district levels.

Overall, we would argue that there is a continued need to reconstruct and/or redefine the concept of civil society and to take into consideration the specific reality of countries such as Mozambique. However, one should

Postcolonial civil society in Mozambique   227 not forget that Mozambique is an integral part of the postcolonial capitalist system that continues to reproduce social inequality and top-­down control mechanism, both economic and political.

Final thoughts and conclusions Postcolonial perspectives on civil society can help to deconstruct discourses and practices hitherto constrained by liberal democratic ideology during research phases, including literature reviews and field data collection. Alvarez et al. (2017) have recently raised issues in relation to civil and “uncivil” society in Latin America that point in a similar direction to our research in Mozambique. The struggle, mobilizations, collective actions, and organizations of people that emerged in the era of neo-­liberal capitalist globalization can be: productively analysed through the lens of the coloniality of power by focusing on the coloniality of modern citizenship (i.e., de facto exclusion and second-­class citizenship of ethnical-­racial others) on the one hand, and on the patterning of subaltern spaces of social and cultural life as counterpublics for collective action and politics, on the other. (Alvarez et al. 2017, p. 14) Our own interview data uncovered the contradictory meaning of civil society and the potential misuse of “buzz words” and concepts such as NGOs, participation and equality in a context of deep political and civil society exclusion of many citizens living in rural areas in a postcolonial context. We are aware of the pitfalls of simply contrasting a “bad Western” civil society project (well-­known from our own work experience) with a romanticized “good indigenous” and localized concept (influenced from field research) and simply promote the latter as the authentic place for resistance against global neo-­liberalism and the often-­criticized corrupt and exploitative state. Hence, in order to uphold research robustness we recommend focusing future research on analysing the dominant and subaltern definitions of civil society in a postcolonial situation, focusing on its complex dialectic of inclusion and exclusion rather than its role and function from a purely Western analytical approach. It is furthermore important to be conscious of the fact that the researchers’ own presence in the field influences the situation of enquiry and, vice versa, that people in the postcolonial era might develop “new” expectations, but also concerns, about how information will be used to “voice” their problems and to whom. As the interaction between people involved in social movements, NGOs and traditional social structures are not fixed but, as with many other interrelations, are always in motion and transformation, issues of fear and anger9 need to be considered as influential factors in civil society research in a Southern context.

228   A. Ilal et al. Forms of agency linked to traditional social structures, religious beliefs and sorcery are often silenced and rendered invisible in the debates about civil society and development in Mozambique and as such this constitutes a danger, as the focus is then solely on the effects of power and not on its control or transformation. Our attempt to integrate historical analysis and our separate study of contemporary dynamics of witchcraft (see Kleibl and Munck 2016) into the deconstruction of civil society in Mozambique shows us the difficulties of conceptualizing the Western civil society concept in a postcolonial African context. More attention needs to be paid to the ethical positioning and appraisal of violence and exclusion as part of many civil society research projects. Piquemal (2001) points out that in research with cross-­cultural participants there is often a power imbalance that is rooted in colonialism and Hettne (see 1995) underlines that “academic imperialism” is still a major problem for knowledge production. Spivak (1998, p. 271) describes the inevitable power imbalance clearly: An understanding of contemporary relations of power, and of the Western intellectual’s role within them, requires an examination of the intersection of a theory of representation and the political economy of global capitalism. A theory of representation points, on the one hand, to the domain of ideology, meaning, and subjectivity, and, on the other hand, to the domain of politics, the state, and the law. Certainly, no one is able to escape their own subjectivity, which for most academically qualified researchers from the global South or North is undoubtedly influenced by Western education. However, our experience and engagement with postcolonial theory have helped us to find a research niche, outside the Western-­dominated theories, in order to criticize and review them (for an elaboration see Munck 2016). Therefore, the search for a local concept and meaning of civil society in today’s “developing” world needs to consider the real tension between a Western consensus-­oriented civil society concept and the complex conflictual reality in which most civil societies given their unique context reside (Kleibl 2017). We endorse Mbembe’s (2001) call for the urgent reinterpretation of the historical and philosophical understanding of civil society in Africa, which deserves urgent attention: The notion of civil society cannot, therefore, be applied with any relevance to African postcolonial situations without a reinterpretation of the historical and philosophical connotations that it suggests: the indigenous categories used for thinking political about conflictual and violent relations, the special vocabularies in which the political imaginary is expressed and the institutional forms into which that form is translated, the anthropology that underlies both issues of representation

Postcolonial civil society in Mozambique   229 and issues of unequal allocation of utilities, the negotiation of heterogeneity, and the refinement of passions. (Mbembe 2001, p. 39)

Notes 1 For example, Gramsci’s comments on H. G. Wells’s History of the World, included in a letter to his brother Carlo: It is interesting because it tends to break with the prevailing habit of thinking that history only existed in Europe, particularly in ancient times; Wells discusses the ancient history of China, India, and the medieval history of the Mongols with the same tone he adopts in speaking of European history. He shows that from a world standpoint, Europe should not be regarded as anything more than a province that considered itself the repository of all world civilization. (Gramsci in Capuzzo and Mezzadra 2012, p. 49) 2 For example, Clamor Africano (in 1886), O Africano (in 1806), O Brando Africano (1808). 3 For example, O Grémio Africano, União Africana, Associação Africana da Colónia de Moçambique, Instituto Negrofílio. 4 For example, Associação dos Naturais de Moçambique, Conselho Cristão de Moçambique, cooperatives of African farmers and others. 5 For example, Organização da Mulher Moçambicana (OMM, Mozambican Women Organization), Organização da Juventude Moçambicana (OJM, Mozambican Youth Organization), Organização dos Trabalhadoes Moçambicanos (OTM, Mozambican Workers’ Organization) and strictly controlled socio-­ professional organizations such as Organização Nacional dos Professores (ONP, National Teacthers’ Organization) and Organização Nacional dos Jornalistas (ONJ, National Journalists’ Organization). 6 For example, Organização Rural de Apoio Mútuo (Rural Organisation for Mutual Support, ORAM), Fundação para o Desenvolvimento Comunitário (Foundation for Community Development, FDC), Grupo Moçambicano da Dívida (Mozambican Debt Group, GMD), G20 – the Mozambican platform of CSOs participating in the formulation, monitoring and evaluation of macro-­ economic policies such as the poverty reduction strategy in the contexto of the Development Observatories (G20), Cruzeiro do Sul, Fórum Mulher (Women’s Forum), União Nacional dos Camponeses (National Peasants Organization, UNAC), Liga dos Direitos Humanos (Human Rights Organization, LHD), Fórum Moçambicano de NGOs TEIA (Mozambican NGO Forum TEIA), faith-­ based organization such as Conselho Cristão de Moçambique (Mozambican Christian Council, CCM), Igreja Católica/Comissão de Justiça e Paz (Catholic Church/Justice and Peace Commission) and Conselho Islâmico de Moçambique (Mozambican Islamic Council), research institutions such as Centro de Integridade Pública (Centre for Public Integrity, CIP) and Instituto de Estudos Sociais e Económicos (Institute of Social and Economic Studies, IESE), and others. 7 For example, Conselhos locais/consultative local councils at the distrito, posto administrativo, localidade, povoação and comunidade levels. 8 According to Fraser (1990, p. 67), “counter publics are parallel discursive arenas where members of subordinated social groups invent and circulate counter-­ discourses to formulate oppositional interpretations of their identities, interests and needs”. This conceptualization comes close to Gramsci’s understanding of civil society.

230   A. Ilal et al. 9 In particular, the impact of fear, pressure and perceived intimidation, as well as the patriarchal nature of the public and political arena in the society are rarely questioned when research into civil society is carried out in Mozambique (see Mattes and Shenga 2007).

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14 Civil society in Mexico From theory to practice Alberto J. Olvera1

Introduction Contemporary debate on civil society has been inspired by two main historical and global developments: the fall of the socialist regimes and the spread of democracy in the late twentieth century. The concept of civil society has been at the heart of a dispute over political projects. Academic networks, international development institutions, and Amer­ican and European private foundations have all played a role in the global adoption of the category and in the definition of its present-­day meaning. A number of concepts that analyze democratic innovation in the world have an elective affinity with the notion of civil society: participation, deliberation, public space, social accountability (Isunza and Gurza, 2010). While competing understandings of these concepts were and are available in the public arena, it is important to understand both the conceptual differences and their political implications for both empirical analysis and political action.2 The global sociopolitical framework within which the concept of civil society was recovered in the eighties has changed dramatically.3 The recent understandings of civil society are more realistic, less utopian, and more nuanced after 30 years of experience. Civil society’s conceptual history in Mexico, on the one hand, is closely related to the national political democratization process, and on the other to the international public arena, from which concepts and meanings were borrowed.4 This chapter, on civil society in Mexico, offers an opportunity to think on the changing meanings the category has adopted in recent decades and the role it still plays in the struggle for democracy in Latin America.5 With these concerns in mind, we analyze in this chapter the recent conceptual and political history of civil society in Mexico. Civil society actors were instrumental in the recent Mexican transition to democracy (2000 onwards). However, the entire process was weak in terms of both the destitution of the authoritarian regime and the institutionalization of a democratic one. This is because the old regime’s party, the Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI), retained veto power over constitutional reforms, institutional innovations, and even the overhaul of

236   A. J. Olvera state-­owned enterprises; the governors and mayors of all parties reproduced the PRI’s practices in the exercise of government and became the main beneficiaries of the fragmentation of political power. Main parties lacked alternative political projects; civil society was weak and its working-­ class and peasant sectors suffered important defeats. However, civil society managed to introduce in the political agenda the need to develop democratic innovations. New institutions for the promotion of rights were created, including autonomous electoral institutions, institutes of transparency and access to information, women’s institutes, public policy councils, and pro-­accountability programs. A process of reform of criminal justice was launched after years of neglect. It is envisaged in this chapter that these modest democratic innovations ended up being controlled by political parties, as long as they appointed the “citizen representatives” in the new institutions (and even their staff ). This massive political “colonization” of the institutions and spaces in which civil society should have some capacity to control the exercise of public policies can only be explained by the weakness of all sectors of civil society and the effective monopolization of politics by political parties (Olvera, 2010a). In the following pages, I first analyze the theoretical problems plaguing the very concept of civil society and other concepts that constitute the field of democratic participatory politics. Then I move onto a historical description of the uses of the idea of civil society in Mexico. Finally, I offer brief conclusions about both the contemporary potentials and limitations of the idea of civil society.

The concept of civil society and political theory At the end of the last century, there was some criticism about the theories of transition to and consolidation of democracy. These were originated in the South, regions of the world where democracy was limited to an often-­ precarious electoral competition. The shortcomings of democratic theory, especially its incapacity to deal with both inequality and the absence of operative rights, led to new forms of understanding of the processes of consolidation and deepening of democracy.6 A whole family of concepts was developed over the last three decades to analyze these processes from the vantage point of political sociology, especially within the realms of civil society, participation, social accountability, and democratic innovation (Dagnino et al., 2006). These concepts were supposed to offer analytical tools to understand the “social input” of democratization processes (Whitehead, 2002). The simultaneity of democratization and neoliberal implantation in Latin America was especially harmful in terms of debilitating the organized working-­class and peasant sectors of civil societies, while the middle classes grew and a vast urban underclass became the social base of populist political actors. The new concepts were unable to appropriately interpret

Civil society in Mexico   237 these social changes and their political implications. The consolidation of democracy as a mere electoral competition in the context of weakness of both social actors and state institutions led to the political fragmentation and pluralization of civil society, which became a “field of conflicts.”7 It was not easy to fit this recognition within mainstream theories on civil society. The most elaborated of them was developed in J. Cohen and A. Arato’s book Civil Society and Political Theory (1992). From their perspective, civil society has two main components: on the one hand, the set of institutions that define and defend citizens’ individual, political, and social rights and facilitate their free association, creating the legal conditions for citizens to protect themselves from the strategic action of power and money. On the other hand are the social movements that promote new principles and values in the public sphere, while also watching over the effective application of already granted rights. In this sense, civil society consists of both an institutional element basically defined by the structure of rights in the contemporary welfare states, and an active, transformative element constituted by new social movements. Given this, the empowerment of civil society depends on: (1) the development of voluntary associations and social movements that constitute its social fabric and materialize new forms of solidarity; (2) the existence of a public sphere in which matters of collective interest can be discussed; and (3) the availability of institutional means to create bridges between civil society and the representative political entities. Cohen and Arato developed the concepts of “economic society” and “political society” to situate and analyze the intermediary institutions and actors that connect civil society and the economic and political systems. A first critique of such framing of civil society is a counterfactual empirical argument: how is it possible that a civil society could exist at all in the almost complete absence of effective rights, as was the case in Eastern Europe before 1989 (socialist totalitarian regimes) and in Latin America during the period of dictatorship (and in most of Asia and Africa and parts of Latin America even today)? How can civil society push forward the struggle for democracy when the material-­legal-institutional conditions for its very existence are absent? This “sociological deficit” in Cohen and Arato’s conceptualization of civil society becomes even more serious if one considers that in several Latin Amer­ican countries, as well as in most of Asia and Africa, the very precondition of modernity (and of civil society), namely the systemic differentiation between market, state, and society, and the concomitant emergence of the modern, rights-­holding individual, has not been completed or has been carried out in a highly deformed manner. Here the rule of law is still a pending political project, at least for the majority of the population. Broad areas of the economy are dominated, within the capitalist market, by informal networks, and as much as half the workforce is unemployed, or employed in the informal sector, without operative labor

238   A. J. Olvera rights (Olvera, 2012a). Proportions varying from 20 to 60 percent of the population live in illegal slums, without effective rights over their precarious homes and without access to basic services. Access to justice for the majority of the population is denied or conditioned by the government. Social action carried out by people living under these conditions is oriented most of the time toward drawing the government’s attention to their basic needs, always in particular settings, without claiming universal rights. They want and need “to be governed,” as Partha Chatterjee (2004) puts it. In most parts of the world, then, civil society lacks its fundamental preconditions (at least for a vast proportion of the population), the creation of which is a fundamental task for the advancement of democracy (Olvera, 2012a). This means that civil society, in its composition, reflects the inequalities of society at large. The formal associations, institutionalized organizations, and even social movements that characterize civil society require certain amount of organizational capabilities, leaders, connections, material and financial resources, and both horizontal and vertical political alliances to exist. There is another problem in this conceptualization. The social actors who rescued the concept of civil society in Eastern Europe and Latin America in the early eighties established in practice two principles of action: self-­limitation and autonomy, both studied by Cohen and Arato. “Self-­limiting” social movements do not seek to occupy sites of power but rather to control them. “Autonomy” refers to a classical liberal separation between state and society, a necessary symbolic and political move in situations of dictatorship and/or of authoritarianism (in its different versions), as well as in socialist and some populist regimes. However, in practice in all the democratic transitions there have been overlaps between civil and political society, mainly through the personal trajectories of the only available opposition leaders, who have acted as carriers of different political projects already present in society. The practical effect of this process has been the sudden rise of the already-­existing political plurality contained in the very actors of civil society. The formal but artificial unity of civil society in the struggle against the authoritarian regime disappears as soon as political parties organize the democratic struggle for power (Arato, 1996). In Latin America, the neoliberal project of development pushed forward by the so-­called “Washington Consensus” (Drache, 2001) promoted not only the privatization of extensive areas of government services but also a new relationship between society and the state, in which “citizen participation,” civil society–led accountability, civil society partnerships, and similar concepts were the axis of both a neoliberal vision of the state and a liberal-­democratic role attributed to society. Indeed, multilateral agencies such as the World Bank, the Inter-­Amer­ican Development Bank, the United Nations, and many others helped to make civil society a fashionable concept in the early 1990s (Olvera, 2008). This international

Civil society in Mexico   239 process brought enormous popularity to a liberal concept of civil society, based on the separation between state and society. Evelina Dagnino, Aldo Panfichi, and I (2006) argued that a fundamental task was to get rid of the paradoxes that were created in analyzing civil society during the transition to and consolidation of democracy. We located three main problems, the first being the homogenizing idea of civil society, which nurtured the image of civil society as a “pole of virtue” opposed to a state conceived of as the “embodiment of evil” (Dagnino, 2002). Against this reductionist interpretation, we proposed the recognition of the heterogeneity of civil society in social, political, and cultural terms (Dagnino et al., 2006: 31–42). Indeed, within civil society multiple and diverse social actors coexist, as do opposing political projects, cultural values, and forms and practices of relationship with the state. Civil society actors adopt varied institutional formats (urban, professional, cultural or sports associations, unions, networks, coalitions, forums, clubs, etc.), defend different political projects, embrace multiple religions, and develop distinctive cultural practices. Such heterogeneity is an expression of the political, social, and cultural plurality of contemporary societies. Essential to this argument is the recognition of the separation between an “integrated modern civil society” and the “disintegrated society,” which consists of the vast informal economy, illegal foreign immigrants, recent internal immigrants, victims of forced territorial expulsions (be it for racial, religious, political, or delinquency-­related reasons), structurally unemployed people, and the vast groups discriminated against for race, gender, sexual orientation, or religious factors. Moreover, there exists in Latin America and most of the world an “uncivil society” formed by all sorts of delinquent groups, mafias, “guerrillas,” juvenile gangs, etc. This is the real complexity of society, with which we have to deal. Notwithstanding the obviousness of these considerations, in the cultural imaginary of an entire generation of civil activists and in some of the current conceptualizations of civil society there still persists a vision of the “civil society sphere” as something homogeneous and characterized by some sort of shared civic virtue (Alexander, 2006). The idea of a homogeneous civil society usually goes hand in hand with that of a homogeneous state. The reductionist version of both civil society and state was linked to a second problem. As mentioned above, the success of democratic consolidations coincided historically with the emergence of neoliberalism in most of Latin America (and other parts of the world). The old confrontational notion (society against the state) was turned around and a new imaginary of depoliticized relationships was constructed (Dagnino et al., 2006: 32). In Latin America, there was a surprisingly fast change from the liberal differentiation (and opposition) between state and society to a liberal concept of integration and collaboration between “sectors.” The “third sector” theory, developed in the early 1990s and popularized in Latin America through international networks and generous external financing

240   A. J. Olvera of local and comparative research, emerged from a peculiar diagnosis of our time: in modern societies, the government is retreating from community life, the market cannot provide all of society’s needs and, as a consequence, society is organizing itself to create the services and products it requires. The public sector, the private sector, and the “third sector,” that is, self-­organized civil associations, complement each other (Salamon and Anheier, 1994). The notion of the third sector helped to legitimize the transition from a concept of civil society organized around rights (that is, citizenship) and public spaces to another concept of civil society organized by private actions, in which the very practice of politics vanishes. The concept of the third sector gained momentum in Latin America because it complemented another prevailing idea in the public discourse of the time: the reduction of civil society to the sphere of civil associationism. Indeed, since the end of the 1980s, in the lexicon of international development agencies, national governments, and international foundations, the notion of civil society was narrowed down to the network of associations (more specifically, NGOs) with the capacity to cooperate with governments in the implementation of public policies (Tussie, 2000). This interpretation was hegemonic in Mexico, where nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) and some social movements saw themselves as the “only” civil society. Simultaneously, in the international public arena a language of citizen participation was emerging (Cunill, 1997). Participation was understood as cooperation between citizens and governments in the implementation of public policies. Multiple governments around the world adopted the discourse of participation and even instituted some mechanisms that appeared to meet this claim (Hevia, 2006). There was yet another version of the liberal project: citizens are seen as a “client” of public services. The World Bank in particular encouraged this vision in the early 1990s. Thus, citizens were understood as “clients” and government as “service providers” (Fox and Brown, 1998; Tussie, 2000). The rights of the citizenry were of no concern. There was no talk of rights and obligations, only a liberal-­corporate vision of the functions of the state. Both liberal perspectives of civil society, namely the third sector and the World Bank’s, shared a problem: neither was grounded in rights. Pluralist participation and client satisfaction are concepts that have no legal means of enforcement. The neoliberal project for the participation of citizens, in its various versions, lacks a suitable legal and institutional anchor and is based explicitly on the depoliticization of the relationships between governments and citizens. However, the historic coincidence between the neoliberal implantation and the processes of redemocratization in most of Latin America also opened space to reconsider the themes of civil society and citizen participation in a distinct manner. The analysis of transitions to democracy included an evaluation of civil society as a promoter of the struggle for

Civil society in Mexico   241 political rights and as a moral opponent to authoritarianisms of all types. The role of civil society in the transition had a liberal reading, but also a republican one that stressed the participative and cogenerating dimension of a new democratic power that emanated from below (Dagnino, 2004). This is precisely the third thematic area that the concept of civil society has helped to open up in the 1980s and 1990s: who were the actors who drove democratization in Latin America, and what was the real scope of processes of democratization? In one interpretation, civil society was the driving force, the synthesis of good causes and innovation. In another, civil society played only an instrumental role in a process in which political elites held command. If anything, “the debate on the role of civil society in the construction of democracy should be seen as a symbolic struggle over the place, actors and agenda of the dispute between distinct political projects” (Dagnino et al., 2006: 26). Within this framework a new discourse of “social accountability” was developed (Peruzzotti and Smulovitz, 2006). Understandably, disenchantment and frustration with limited concepts and practices of participation led to strong demands for real citizen control over governments. Certainly, this discourse was adopted by international development agencies in order to attain the desired effectiveness of their programs (Tussie, 2000). But the discourse of accountability was also a reaction of civil society actors to both the continuity of widespread practices of corruption and the preservation of bureaucratic secretiveness, both of which are the basis of politicians’ and bureaucrats’ discretionary power (Peruzzotti and Smulovitz, 2006). The struggle for accountability can also be understood as a social movement that defends the broadening of the concept of human rights in order to encompass the rights of information and participation (Olvera and Isunza, 2006). Certain civil society actors, and some intermediate institutions, such as the media, develop a capacity to oversee the performance of state institutions and to act as “sensors” of state failures and/or government disregard of social demands. However, as Arato (2006) and Peruzzotti and Smulovitz (2006) have convincingly argued, in this kind of process civil society actors mainly perform the task of forcing the political system to activate its own internal mechanisms of control, ultimately helping classical horizontal accountability to work. This last consideration connects with another field of debate in Latin America, albeit one that is not directly related to the civil society tradition (but which in fact complements it). Guillermo O’Donnell (O’Donnell et al., 2004; O’Donnell and Mariani, 2008), one of the greatest Latin Amer­ican political scientists, pushed for a reconsideration of the role of the democratic state in the construction of an effective citizenship and more generally in the deepening of democracy in the region. By concentrating on the analysis of the “weak, anemic states” of Latin America, O’Donnell demonstrated that democracy (and civil society) needs a strong state to prosper (in terms of performance and respect for the law). The homogenizing vision of

242   A. J. Olvera the state, typical of both the period of transitions and consolidations and of most liberal understandings of democracy, is deconstructed in order to explain the correlation between weak states and weak citizenship. This problem is not only related to formal rights, laws, and constitutions but also has to do with institutional, cultural, and representational deficits of actually­existing states. A strong civil society and an empowered citizenship need a strong state, and vice versa. This mutual construction is, in this perspective, the real clue to democratic deepening. The developments in democratic theory in Latin America, most of which have been inspired by the concept of civil society, arrived by different ways to the same hypothesis: democracy is always in construction, and its deepening depends on cooperation between civil and political actors. Democracy is a process of co-­construction in which those actors collaborate in an institutional framework in which conflict over political projects is permanent. The mutual empowerment of a democratic state and of a democratic civil society is not a common result of actual political processes. It happens under certain historical conditions, and only if democratic actors are present at both levels (Avritzer, 2010).

The case of Mexico The genealogy of the idea of civil society in Mexico can be traced back to the second half of the 1980s, when it became fashionable thanks to both the Solidarity movement in Poland and the human rights movements that resisted military dictatorships in South America. These antiauthoritarian actors recovered the notion of civil society to differentiate themselves from the world of formal politics, that is, to emphasize their autonomy and self-­ limitation (Olvera, 1999). In Mexico, as in Brazil, the recovery of the idea of civil society had a marked Gramscian leaning in the academic world. In those years in which different strands of Marxism dominated the social sciences in the academic world in Latin America, the Gramscian separation of civil and political society seemed to be useful. From this perspective, civil society was a terrain of ideological struggle within society, a kind of large public space where social actors disputed ideological hegemony. This was constituted by formal organizations, such as trade unions, entrepreneurs’ organizations, professional associations, and institutionalized social movements. In Mexico the most important author of that time, Carlos Pereyra (1990), assumed that civil society was constituted by union and peasant corporations, controlled by the authoritarian regime, and by political parties, which in the pretransition era were basically instruments of the regime. Such an interpretation seemed to correspond to the fact that the regime of the Mexican Revolution, in power since the 1920s, maintained a remarkable political hegemony throughout the country, despite the multiple acts of resistance of peasant and trade union movements. In contrast,

Civil society in Mexico   243 in Brazil, the decade of the 1980s was characterized by a gigantic pro­ democratic social mobilization, so Brazilian intellectuals located a civil society composed of social movements, which disputed the hegemony to the traditional oligarchical elites (Chaves et al., 2002). In Mexico, throughout the 1990s, a prolonged process of political liberalization culminated in the year 2000 in a successful electoral transition to electoral democracy. For the first time in 70 years, an opposition party won the presidential election. That was the result of a decade of intense social mobilization, in which a nationwide prodemocracy social movement grew and exerted important influence over the process, and whose centerpiece was the Civic Alliance (Olvera, 2010b). At the same time, the number of nongovernmental organizations multiplied and the Zapatista Army of National Liberation (EZLN) emerged (Olvera, 2003). The movement of a sector of the indigenous people of the state of Chiapas would acquire enormous symbolic relevance at the international level by placing a marginalized and discriminated social sector at the center of political protagonism (Harvey, 1998). In this anecdote, the research on civil society in Mexico took off. At societal level, there was a dispute over the appropriation of a notion that was loaded with positive values. Indeed, intrinsic benefits were attributed to civil society, such as autonomy, the search for the common good, and a kind of democratic horizontality in its internal organization. The dispute over the appropriation of the idea of ​​civil society had two main protagonists: on the one hand, the leaders of nongovernmental organizations, who in those years created several national networks;8 on the other, grassroots activists, who claimed the title of civil society for union, peasant, and indigenous peoples’ movements, that is, as a modern substitute for the concept of pueblo. Especially emblematic was the declaration of Subcomandante Marcos, the leader of the Zapatistas: “civil society is us, and civil society should govern” (Olvera, 2003: 35). However, in the academic world, most empirical research, influenced by Western hegemonic scholarship, differentiated out the study of working-­class, peasant, and indigenous peoples’ social movements from the analysis of networks of nongovernmental organizations. Most of the investigation focused on the description of these networks, whose fight in defense and promotion of rights constituted a liberal agenda (Olvera, 1997, 1999, 2003, 2004). In those years, a research program based on the concept of the third sector was promoted in Mexico by the Mexican Philanthropy Center, which received external funding from various international organizations. In Mexico, this program was carried out by non-­specialized academics, who limited themselves to replicate the methodology created by Salamon and Anheier (1994). The aim was to measure the importance of the “third sector” in the economy of each country, trying to demonstrate that beyond the market and the state there was a robust, solidary, nonprofit sector. The hypothesis was that the “third sector” was already building an alternative way of everyday life, whose

244   A. J. Olvera e­ conomic importance as a labor market was substantial.9 The study on the third sector in Mexico (Verduzco, 2003) contradicted these hypotheses. It found that the nonprofit sector was economically very small and politically not quite autonomous from the state. As demonstrated in Olvera (2003), the decade of the nineties was ­characterized by a notable increase in the number and quality of ­nongovernmental organizations, which began to receive important international and national funding. Despite this growth, in Mexico the number of NGOs was very small compared to other Latin Amer­ican countries, largely owing to the historical weight of the state in all fields, and also to the weakness of the private sector and the Catholic Church (which lacked assets and wealth in Mexico). Despite its small size, this sector began to play an important role in the democratization process by promoting and organizing the struggle for citizenship rights. Especially important was the national coalition called Civic Alliance, which from 1993 until 2000 played a fundamental role at pushing the democratic agenda (Olvera, 2003, 2010b). However, the working-­class, peasant, and indigenous peoples’ sectors of civil society, somewhat forgotten by the academy, remained under the control of authoritarian corporations, even after the first democratic elections.10 The transition to electoral democracy created a new scenario for civil society actors. Most NGOs’ leaders joined in the new democratic governments, both Mexico City’s and the federal one. A phenomenon already experienced in Eastern Europe occurred in Mexico as well, namely the rapid transformation of civil society leaders into government officials. So, a new scenario of cooperation between civil and political actors was created. Both the research agenda and the political program of NGO-­type civil society actors changed radically (Olvera and Isunza, 2006). The agenda of citizen participation and creation of state–society councils in several areas of public policy and citizen-­led transparency institutions became hegemonic; the lobby in defense of human rights intensified, and important legal and institutional changes were pushed forward. The NGO networks created in the 1990s lost their former centrality and new “think tanks” specialized in certain fields of public policy emerged, which had a more technical and professional profile and were less oriented toward activism. FUNDAR, México Evalúa, and CIDAC11 were created, as well as other research-­oriented NGOs that assumed a leading role in the struggle for legal and institutional democratic changes (Olvera, 2017). Research on civil society did not immediately recognize this change in the composition of civil society actors. Academic investigation continued to focus mainly on NGOs (Suomano, 2011; Girardo, 2007) but new research started to deal with experiences of citizen participation and evaluation of the performance of the new democratic institutions. At both the federal and state levels, electoral institutes, human rights commissions, institutes of access to information and transparency, and women’s institutes have

Civil society in Mexico   245 been analyzed in the last ten years (Olvera, 2010a). The institutional performance was in general very poor and did not live up to citizens’ expectations. The new research agenda tended to privilege case studies. Many experiences of citizen participation in local governments were analyzed, as well as experiences of cooperation between institutions and civil actors in some fields of public policy, such as environmental policy (Tetreault et al., 2012). The concept of “social accountability” (contraloría social) was also widely used as a central element of an agenda of citizen participation (Gómez-Álvarez, 2009). The first democratically elected federal government (2000–2006) encouraged cooperation with civil society organizations, albeit timidly. A Law to Support Activities Developed by Civil Society Organizations was passed in 2004, but it did not create any operating institution or propose a specific public policy (Olvera, 2010a). There has since 2003 been more fruitful cooperation between the new Federal Institute of Access to Information and certain civil actors. However, the limited results of the participation of NGOs in legally established public policy councils and the lack of applicability of the newly created subnational citizen participation laws (Olvera and Cilano, 2009) led to growing frustration in the organized sectors of civil society and decreasing participation of citizens in the instances created for that purpose (Olvera, 2010a). Besides, the impossibility of setting in motion the new laws of direct democracy that legalized the plebiscite, the referendum, and the popular initiative of law were another blow to democratic expectations (ibid.). In 2006, the presidential election resulted in a virtual tie between the candidate of the left party and the candidate of the right-­wing party. The results were rejected by the losing candidate of the left, and this situation led to polarization in the political sphere. Paradoxically, the active political resistance of the left forced the new PAN government to negotiate with the PRI in order to preserve the governability of the country. This situation empowered the PRI and debilitated the left. Serious social conflicts emerged in several states, especially in Oaxaca in the south of the country. Some of these conflicts ended up in the repression and defeat of the most radicalized social movements (Olvera, 2007). Both the electoral left and the social left suffered a strategic defeat, which allowed the old official party, the PRI, to recover its lost power gradually. Since 2010, there has been a clear regression in an already-­weak process of democratization (Olvera, 2012a). The government of Felipe Calderón (2006–2012) tried to legitimize itself by means of an aggressive and violent policy to recover the control over territories taken over by increasingly powerful drug cartels. Thus he initiated a “war” against these criminal groups, which soon became a sort of “civil economic war” (Schedler, 2015: 45–50). Criminal violence spread to many regions of the country and led to serious human rights violations. Paradoxically, at the same time the federal and state governments agreed

246   A. J. Olvera to carry out a reform of the justice system (2008), which failed badly. This new situation changed the profile of Mexican civil society once again. New organizations emerged, many of them oriented toward the investigation and denunciation of human rights violations, the promotion of the reform of justice, and more recently the investigation of corruption of state and federal government officials. Cooperation between civil society actors and the government was dramatically reduced, and a new political hiatus between the actors of organized civil society and the state as a whole opened up (Olvera, 2016). This situation worsened with the return to the federal government of the old authoritarian party, the PRI, in the presidential elections of 2012. Although the government was willing to carry out important legal and institutional reforms in the areas of justice, transparency, corruption, and human rights, in practice none of the reforms resulted in operational institutions (Olvera, 2017). The great paradox of this period of government has been that, on the one hand, major legal reforms claimed by civil society have been passed by Congress but, at the same time, the violation of human rights has worsened, criminal reform has failed, criminal violence has increased, and corruption has reached levels never seen before (Olvera, 2016, 2017). The civil society sector constituted by nongovernmental organizations, think tanks, networks of civil organizations, and new civil groups of the middle and upper classes is again confronting the government, in alliance with both institutional and civil international human rights organizations. The activism of this civil society sector has been extraordinarily intense in recent years, including public demonstrations, lobbying, legal action, and national and international denunciation campaigns. In addition, a new sector of civil society has emerged: organizations of relatives of victims of enforced disappearance, which have given visibility to the terrible consequences of widespread violence in the country (Olvera, 2017). The study of these new manifestations of civil protest has been carried on by specialists on social movements. Under these conditions, theories of the third sector have been understandably forgotten. The concept of civil society has adopted again the meaning of a civic front in defense of citizenship rights. Given the authoritarian and corrupt nature of the current regime, the return of the original agenda of civil society does not come as a surprise. However, today, as it was 25 years ago, the working-­class, peasant, and indigenous peoples’ sectors of civil society are absent from the political arena, notwithstanding the hundreds of movements of resistance to mining and infrastructure megaprojects (Pleyers and Garza Zepeda, 2017) and the numerous local movements that reject and resist criminal violence. Sadly, these fragmented social movements have not been able to achieve political unity, without which their potential is lost in disperse battles (Olvera, 2016). The fragmentation of civil society is, on the one hand, the result of a crisis of political representation. The new party of the left, Movimiento de

Civil society in Mexico   247 Regeneración Nacional (MORENA), is an alliance of professional political militants who have no relationships with civil society activists. The PAN is attempting to get closer to the elite NGOs that are struggling against corruption and impunity, but only for electoral strategy. The PRI has never had an interest whatsoever in civil society, and it’s losing control of its debilitated corporative unions. On the other hand, there is almost no trust between the different sectors of civil society. Most social movements and local organizations are very sectorial and their focus is in local issues. Middle- and upper-­class NGOs are concentrated in Mexico City and have not developed a strategy of alliances with local movements. Lack of leadership, scarcity of trust, and organizational weakness characterizes the civil society arena in a time of crisis for the old regime.

Conclusion I intended in this chapter to present, first, the contours of the theoretical debate on the notion of civil society, which has been of paramount importance in Mexico in particular and in Latin America in general in the past 30 years. Then I moved to a historical narrative that combined empirical analysis and conceptual history, which are closely intertwined in social practice. In the academic realm, we have learned that civil society is not a homogeneous macro-­subject characterized by civic virtuosity, but indeed a heterogeneous set of quite diverse and plural actors: that civil society encompasses only a part of society and not all of it. There is a growing awareness of the fact that material, political, and cultural inequality conspire against the development of autonomous social and political actors, and experience has demonstrated that the “occupation of the state” is not enough to further an effective access to citizen rights. It is clear that both the very preservation of democracy and the chances of democratic deepening depend on a complex process of interaction between civil and political actors, the construction of democratic institutions, and the continuous mobilization of organized citizens (Olvera, 2013). The global debate on democratization has demonstrated that the construction of democracy has a holistic nature (Whitehead, 2002). It is about the simultaneous construction of both the state and the citizenry. We know that much. But we don’t know how this simultaneity can be produced. We know the actors, the spaces, the processes, and the institutions needed. But we do not know how their virtuous combination happens or how it can be induced. Our intuitions have not yet materialized in a grand theory. As for the case of Mexico, the challenges civil society faces are formidable. There is no unity in action, or constructive relationships with political parties. Dialogue with the PRI government is broken, and electoral democracy, so hard-­won, is at risk in the 2018 elections. Mexico, like most

248   A. J. Olvera Latin Amer­ican countries, is an extremely unequal society. Old political practices and traditions based on links of personal or collective dependence (clientelism, corporatism, patrimonialism) coexist with the formally democratic regime and with modern forms of political participation and representation. In this kind of society, political actors have a high degree of structural autonomy from society. Neoliberalism worsened an already terrible social situation. That is the main cause of democracy’s failure to improve public life and create a more just society. Regrettably, the concept of civil society cannot explain the sociological and political limits that democracy faces in actual life.

Notes   1 Instituto de Investigaciones Histórico-Sociales, Universidad Veracruzana, Mexico.   2 For a through discussion on this matter see Dagnino et al. (2006).   3 On the meaning of this category in the eighties, see Cohen and Arato (1992), Chapter 1.   4 I’ve had the privilege of being an actor of this process, both as researcher and as activist.   5 The global reach of this debate is well presented in Jobert and Kholer-­Koch (2008).   6 For a systematization of the concepts and methods applied in this field see O’Donnell (2010). For a critique, Dagnino et al. (2006).   7 On this, see Olvera (2013). This idea is directly opposed to the radical republican concept of civil society as a realm of peaceful and solidary coexistence (Alexander, 2006).   8 Such as the Network of Human Rights Organizations, Convergence of Civil Organizations for Democracy, and the Mutual Support Forum, in addition to thematic networks of feminist and environmental groups (Olvera, 2003).   9 An exception to this simplification is Levy (1996). 10 The research agenda on civil society from a broader and more inclusive perspective was promoted in Mexico and other countries by international private institutions, such as the Ford Foundation, the MacArthur Foundation, and the Inter-­Amer­ican Foundation, among others. 11 The three think tanks were financed mainly by Amer­ican foundations and by the Amer­ican Congress’s National Democratic Institute.

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Index

Page numbers in bold denote tables, those in italics denote figures. Abdulfattah, Rana 134 academic imperialism 21n2, 228 Aceh Freedom Movement 164, 169 ACORAB (forum of citizens’ participation) 81 active citizens 71, 97, 110, 125, 127, 140, 178, 189 adult literacy 107 Adulyadej, Bhumibol 41 African civil society, theorising of 89–90 African National Congress (ANC) 140, 210 Alckmin, Geraldo 203, 206 alliance building, importance of 8 All India Vanvasi Kalyan Ashram 112; objectives of 112 “alternative globalisation” project 197 Amasamuha (mother group) 79 American Congress’s National Democratic Institute 248n11 Anglo-Saxon societies 199 anti-corruption movement 210 Ardoyne Commemoration Project, Northern Ireland 161 Aristotle’s Koinonia politike 1 Armenian civil society 54–68; Apostolic Church and 56; boom of NGOs after collapse of the Soviet Union 67; civic initiatives 57, 58–62; contemporary 62–66; development of 54; ecosystem of 54, 55; environmental protection, issue of 57; establishment of first NGO 57; Genocide of 1915 56; history of 54, 55–57; mutual perceptions 65; Nagorno-Karabakh– Armenia unification 57; NGO– activism interaction 63; NGO’s and civic activists 63–64; process of

restoring diversity 54; Public Services Regulatory Commission 61–62; resurgence of 57; Sardarapat, battle of (1918) 56; strengths and weaknesses of 65–66; theoretical framework of 54–55 Armenian Helsinki Watch 56 Asian Development Bank 73, 77, 79, 83 Asosiasi Pembela Islam (API) 166 associational: activities 20, 177, 179, 182; life 4, 6, 10, 14, 28, 55, 106, 182; realm 35, 36 Association for Building and Nurturing Initiatives (Syria) 130 Astha 11, 109–112, 116; Milan Mela 11, 111 Atlas Network 208 authoritarian state 14, 88, 89, 179 banking industry 77 Baogang, He 30 Berman, Sherry 105 Biak Massacre (1998) 171 Bidayyat 127, 129, 133 Bolsonaro, Jair 193, 209, 211 Bourdieu, Peter 15, 194, 198, 199 bourgeois liberalization 32 Brazilian civil society 15, 193–211; “alternative globalisation” project 197; contesting the “new” doxa through strategic action 206–209; Council for Economic and Social Development (CDES) 201; doxa, concept of 15, 194, 200–206; dual transitions 197; Free Brazil Movement (MBL) 194; index of social trust in non-state actors 207; labour movement 202; labour unions

Index   253 206; Landless Workers’ Movement (MST) 201–202; levels of trust 204; liberal-conservative movements 209; living standards in 197–198; making sense of 195–197; Mensalão scandal 202; Ministry of Agrarian Development 202; National Forum of Mobilisation against Reforms 202; National Union of Students (UNE) 202; organised social movements (OSMs) 194; passive revolution 201; pink-tide left, strategy of 193; primary education system 209; social capital 194, 196, 198; South Jubilee Network 202; state–society relations 195, 197–200, 211; status quo between left-leaning governments and their non-state allies 194, 199, 210; strategic action and production of symbolic power 200; strategic action fields (SAFs) 199; trust according to presidential vote 205; Unified Central of Workers (CUT) 201 Brazilian Democratic Movement Party (PMDB) 209 bread riots 223 Bretton Woods institutions 92 bureaucratic secretiveness 241 Calderón, Felipe 245 Campaign against Domestic Violence (Mozambique) 222 captive organizations 26 Cardoso, Fernando Henrique 203 CARE 80 caste associations 106 Catholic Commission for Justice and Peace (CCJP) 91 Cato Institute 209 channels of communication 131 charity-based social welfare model 184 Charles G. Koch Charitable Foundation 209 Chatterjee, Partha 216, 238 Chaturvedi, Ruchi 114 Cheng, Joseph 31 Children Protection Agency, Turkey 185 Chinese civil society 25–33; applicability of 25; concept of 25–27; contemplation of 26; critical review of 30; democratization prospect of 32; dynamics of 25; emerging trends 32–33; formations of 27–29; future

prospects of 32–33; gongmin shenui 26; gong, si, and guan 26–27; governed development 7, 30; governed participation 7, 30; Mao era (1949–1976) 7, 27–28; market liberalization 25; mutuality, reciprocity, and cooperation, principles of 26; ongoing transformations in 32–33; participatory governance 7, 30; Republican Era (1911–1949) 28; role and function of 25; scholarly debate and intellectual deliberations 29–32; shemin shehui 26; state corporatist framework of 31; status quo of 30; Tiananmen Pro-democracy Movement (1989) 29, 32; usefulness of 25; variations of 26; wenming shehui 26; Zhou Dynasty (1100–256 BC) 7, 27 Chinese Communist Party (CCP) 28 Christian Council of Mozambique 219 Christian missionaries 112–113, 115 Cicero’s societas civils 1 cisgender 155n6 citizen participation, agenda of 100, 140, 220, 238, 240, 244–245 citizenry, rights of 7, 29, 71, 240, 247 citizenship, idea of 17, 88, 97, 109–110, 122, 123, 127–128, 178, 189, 193, 240–242, 244, 246 Civic Alliance 243–244 civic initiatives: of Armenian civil society 57, 58–62; difference with NGOs 58; Electric Yerevan 58, 61–62; Let’s Preserve the Afrikyan Club Building 58, 60–61; Save Teghut Civic Initiative 9, 58, 59–60, 63; Stop Changes in Maternity Leave Law 58, 60 civil associationism, idea of 240 civil economic war 245 civil education campaigns 96 civil government 1 civil morality, ideals of 26 civil rights violations 169 civil society (CS): as anti-hegemonic force 3; Chinese see Chinese civil society; coalition of 14, 18, 94, 169, 170, 200; concept of 1, 26, 235; co-optation/co-opted 14, 16, 17, 21, 40, 172, 179, 183, 187, 189, 194, 196, 201, 202, 208, 221; definition of 5; as democratic force 105–106; European

254   Index civil society (CS) continued origin of 17; features of 2; glamorisation of 49; Gramscian perspective of 3, 215; Habermas view of 3–4; NGO-isation of 54; nonliberal ideology of 2, 14, 16, 19, 37, 91, 108; in non-Western countries 3, 6; North American perception of 216; overview of 2, 3–7; Phatharathananunth’s concept of 42; Prawase’s concept of 41; professionalization of 124; pro- or anti-government 99; resurgence of 25; sociopolitical conflict 6; strengthening programmes 216; Tocqueville idea of 4; traditional and modern 6; value of promoting 37 civil society coalition 14 civil society co-optation 208 civil society–donors relationship, accountability of 90 civil society ecosystem: Armenian 55–56, 63; diversity of 57; elements of 54 civil society engagement 220, 225 civil society movement 72, 88, 97, 100, 219; in Zimbabwe 95 civil society networks 19, 97 civil society organisations (CSOs) 5, 7, 37, 39, 48, 70, 197; in Brazil 194; definition of 88; Islamic 177, 183–184; Law to Support Activities 245; in Mozambique 225; in Nepal 72; proliferation of 71; trans and gender-diverse CSOs in South Africa 140, 147 civil society participation, in public life 220, 236 civil state 106 claim-making, movement for 109–112, 116 clientelism 110, 184, 188, 248 clientelist network 179, 184 clientelist relationship 184 Coalition for Justice and Truth-Seeking 169 collective identity, sense of 47–48, 145, 146 common property resources 74 common resource management 9 Communism 57, 163; in Eastern Europe 37; fall of 37; fight against spread of 50n3 Communist ideology 56

communitarian democracy 45–47, 51n14 community-based development projects 45 community-based organizations (CBOs): Amasamuha, Nepal 79; concept of 76; in Nepal 82–83; in South Africa 141; value of 73 community culture: characteristics associated with 40; school of thought 39 community development 39–40, 50n3, 108 community households 75 Community Organisation Development Institute (CODI), Thailand 8, 36; activities of 45; allocation of funds 45; anti-Thaksin movement 45; case study of 44–47; community-based development projects 45; Council of Community Organisations (CCO) 46; development vision of 45; features of 47; founding of 44; ideas and practices of civil society 46–47; mobilisation against the government 46; origin of 45; reformist elites and 45; relationship between state and civil society 45–46; stance against Thaksin 44; support to COs and NGOs 44–45 community organisations (COs) 39–40 community user groups 72 compulsory volunteering, phenomenon of 56 Concelho Cristão de Moçambique (CCM) see Christian Council of Mozambique Confucianism 26 Consolidation of Labour Laws (CLT) 201 constructive social work, Gandhian idea of 107, 115, 117n3 consultative authoritarianism 31 consumers of services 110 contemporary civil society: in Armenia 62–66; concept of 215; discourses and practices of 16; growth of 10; version of 6, 36, 37, 239; in Zimbabwe 10 contemporary social movements 150 Convergence of Civil Organizations for Democracy 248n8 Council of Community Organisations (CCO), Thailand 46

Index   255 Crimes against Humanity 170–171 criminal justice system 167, 181 culture-specific organizations 83 da Silva, Luiz Inácio Lula 193 democracy promotion 2, 104, 105 democratic civility, idea of 105 Dengar Kesaksian (testimony hearings) 169 Deng, Xiaoping 29 de Tocqueville, Alexis 55, 216 Dewan Warga (people’s councils) 169 Dhikuti (informal people’s bank) 9, 74, 76, 84n6 disintegrated society 239 domination, principle of 15 doxa, concept of 15, 194, 200–206 East Timor: human rights abuses in 161; referendum for independence 162, 164; Tanjung Priok massacre (1984) 164–165 economic and safety net 185 economic liberalisation, principles of 193, 197 economic society, concept of 237 electoral democracy 43, 45, 243, 244, 247 Electric Networks of Armenia (ENA) 61 Electric Yerevan movement 9, 58, 59, 61–64, 66, 68n4 elite: civilian authorities 28; corruption 43; democratic 163; elite clubs 89; elite power 224; gong 27; oligarchical 243; political 8, 13, 14, 17, 20, 42, 46, 49, 162, 163, 165, 166, 216, 241; political conflicts 170; political elitism 163; preference for 42; reformist 42, 45, 46; reform agenda 165; relation with civil society 46, 48; state dominance and status quo of 42; in Thai civil society 40; urban 222 embodiment of evil 239 emerging markets 194, 198 employment-generating programmes 109 Estado Novo (New State) philosophy 219 EU–China Civil Society Dialogue Programme 33 European Convention for the Protection of Architectural Heritage 61 European Peace Institute 130 European Union 92, 180, 186

exploitation, hierarchy of 216 external developmental partners 81 faith-based civil society 14 Fallist student movements 12, 150–153 Family Planning Association of Nepal 79 Federation of Community Forestry User Groups, Nepal 70, 80 #FeesMustFall movement (South Africa) 146, 150 food security 92, 111, 217–218 Ford Foundation 248n10 Forges, Des 27 founder member syndrome 10, 19, 89, 98–101 Free Brazil Movement (MBL) 194 freedom of conscience 114 Free Trade Area of the Americas (FTAA) 202 Frente de Libertação de Moçambique (FRELIMO) see Liberation Front of Mozambique Gandhi Charkha Parcharak Mahaguthi 79 Gandhi, Mahatma 110 Gay and Lesbian Organisation of the Witwatersrand (GLOW) 142 Gay Association of South Africa (GASA) 141 Gender DynamiX (GDX) 142, 146, 147 gender identity 142–143, 147, 149 gender imbalance 147 genetically engineered civil society 57 Gerakan Aceh Merdeka (GAM) see Aceh Freedom Movement global capitalism 216; political economy of 228 global gay community 143 globally organised networks 122 global North 13, 141; gender and sexual practices in 144; LGBT movement in 144; trans participation with global South 145–146 global power relations 2 global privatization revolution 77 global South 5, 123; civil society assessments in 225; gender and sexual diversity movements in 140; large democracies in 210; living standards in 197–198 gong, concept of 26–27 gongmin shehui (citizens’ society) 7, 26

256   Index good governance, principles of 6, 41, 78, 81, 92, 104, 178, 215, 218, 220, 222 governed development 7, 30 governed participation 7, 30 government-controlled organizations 187 Government of Zimbabwe (GoZ) 91–92 Grameen bank 77 Gramscian leaning 242 Gramsci, Antonio 36; engagement with “subaltern” and subaltern social groups 216; perspective of civil society 215; Prison Notebooks (1971) 195, 216 Gram Vikash Committee (GVC) 108–109, 111 grass-roots democratization 110, 112 grass-roots movements 90, 123 growth through participation 7, 30 guan, concept of 26 Gukurahundi atrocities 91 guthis (Nepal) 74; chut guthis 84n5; guthiyars 84n5; niji guthis 84n5; raj guthis 84n5 Hadiz, Vedi 105 Halliso, Fadi 126, 130 Hazare, Anna 210 Hegel, G.W.F. 3, 106 hegemony 177, 188; in civil society 5, 14, 36, 154, 225, 243; construction of 216; cultural 3, 225; global 2; ideological 3, 17, 242; neo-liberal 14–15, 180; political 242; socioeconomic 176 Hindutva, ideology of 11, 114–116, 118n8 Historical Memory Project, Guatemala see Recuperación de la Memoria Histórica (REMHI) HIV and AIDS education 143 homogeneous civil society, idea of 239 homosexuality, decriminalising of 142 Human Development Index (HDI) 218 human rights 123; concept of 241; defense of 244; ‘dual-track’ strategy 165; in Indonesia 165, 169; violations of 246 human rights abuses: civil rights violations 169; in Indonesia 13, 158, 161–164, 167–170, 172; in Syria 131 human rights organization 182; Gender DynamiX (GDX) 147; Iranti-org 147;

Social, Health and Empowerment Feminist Collective of Transgender Women in South Africa (SHE) 147; Transgender Intersex Africa (TIA) 147 human trafficking 78 imperialism see academic imperialism Indian civil society 11, 104–117; All India Vanvasi Kalyan Ashram 112; anti-conversion bill 114; Astha 109–112, 116; Bharatya Janata Party (BJP) 114, 210; conceptualization of 106; contributions of 106–107; as democratic force 105–106; Gram Vikash Committee (GVC) 108; Indian National Congress 210; Milan Mela 11, 111; movement for ‘claimmaking’ 109–112; National Rural Employment Guarantee Act 110; politicization of 105; Rajasthan Vanvasi Kalyan Parishad (RVKP) 112–115; Religious Freedom Bill (2008), India 114; Right to Information 110; Seva Mandir 107–109; United Progressive Alliance 210; village development committee 108 Indian National Congress 210 indigenous peoples’ social movements 243 Indonesian civil society 158–173; Aceh Freedom Movement (GAM) 164, 169; Asosiasi Pembela Islam (API) 166; Bureau of Statistics (BPS) 164; Crimes against Humanity 170; cultural reconciliation 168; Dengar Kesaksian (testimony hearings) 169; Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat (DPR) 162; Dewan Warga (people’s councils) 169; human rights abuses 158; Human Rights Court 162; human rights norms 162; ‘Kamisan’ (Thursday gathering) 170; Law on Human Rights 165; Law on Human Rights Court 165; Law on Truth and Reconciliation 162, 165; Majelis Permusyawaratan Rakyat (MPR) 162; Mencicil keadilan 164–171; Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) 168; National Commission on Human Rights (Komnas HAM) 161; New Order 161, 172; post-transitional justice 159–161; reformasi period 167; roles of

Index   257 159–161; state-centred mechanisms 159; Talangsari massacre (1989) 161; Tanjung Priok massacre (1984) 161, 166; transitional justice policies in 161–164, 171–172; TRC Law 164; Trisakti, Semanggi I, and Semanggi II (TSS) shootings 166; Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) 158, 162 Institute of Human Studies 209 institutionalized social movements 242 integrated modern civil society 239 Inter-American Development Bank 238 Inter-American Foundation 248n10 International Center for Transitional Justice (ICTJ) 162 International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development 80 international development agencies 37–38, 73, 177, 240, 241 international humanitarian aid organizations 183 International Labor Organization (ILO) 186 International Monetary Fund (IMF) 217, 220 international organizations (INGOs) 72–73, 78, 80, 243 International People’s Tribunal on Indonesia 170 invasive species 9, 18, 55, 68 Iranti-org 147, 149 ISIS 128 Islamic charities 14, 179–180; informal networks of 183; and nongovernmental organizations 183–186; social welfare model 184 Islamic Defenders Association see Asosiasi Pembela Islam (API) Islamic NGOs, discourse and practices of 185 Islamic trade unions: labor rights 186; legislation regarding 186; membership rates 186; private employment bureaus 186; in Turkey 186–188 Islamist civil society, in Turkey 176–189; Act on Trade Unions and Collective Labor Agreements 186; AKP’s relationship with 183; AKP’s rise to power and 188; anti-terrorist measures and executive orders 179; Children Protection Agency 185;

civic liberties and freedom 176; complexities of 177; Constitutional Court 180; EU accession agenda 180; freedom of expression 182; government’s welfare and development strategy 184; High Council of Judges and prosecutors 180; in hybrid and authoritarian regimes 177–180; information politics 177; Islamic charities and nongovernmental organizations 183–186; Islamic trade unions 186–188; Kemalist state system 181; labor policies 187; labyrinthine alliances 177; Law of Associations 184; loyalist civil society actors 177; Mazlumder (human rights organization) 182; MEMUR-SEN (civil servants’ union) 187–188; military courts 181; National Security Council 180; patron–client dynamics 183; political system 180; Private Employment Offices Bill (2016) 186; Public Procurement Law 184; public sector employees’ confederations 187; public utilities and services 176; ‘Return to the Family’ project 185; rise of 177; Slavery Act 186; social welfare system in 183; sociocultural agenda of 184; state–civil society relationship in 182; state–Islamic civil society collaboration 185; state, market, and 182–188; Syrian refugees and 183; transition from tutelary democracy to authoritarian neoliberalism 180–182; welfare distribution by 184 issue-based activism 110, 112 Jbaai, Al 127 Jianxing, Yu 30 Jun, Han 31 Jun, Zhou 30 ‘Kamisan’ (Thursday gathering) 170 Kansakar, Daya Bir 79 King Mahendra Trust for Nature Conservation 79 kinship ties and patronage 4 Koalisi Keadilan dan Pengungkapan Kebenaran (KKPK) see Coalition for Justice and Truth-Seeking Koch foundation 208 Komnas HAM 161–163, 166, 170

258   Index labour movement 95, 202, 206 labour unions 201, 203, 206 Landless Workers’ Movement (MST), Brazil 201–202 Land Rights Campaign (Mozambique) 222 Latin America Public Opinion Project (LAPOP) 203 legitimacy/legitimisation 8, 15, 20, 21, 26, 43, 44, 46, 116, 130, 163, 165, 179, 186, 188, 196, 198–201, 210 lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT): African trans lives 143; constitutional gains for 143; emergence of 141–145; #FeesMustFall movement 146; Gay and Lesbian Organisation of the Witwatersrand (GLOW) 142; Gay Association of South Africa (GASA) 141; gender-diverse invisibility 145; in global North 144; global North– global South trans participation 145–146; identity-related movement 143; identity strategies 146; including T in the LGBT movement 144–145; legal protection 140; Pride marches 142; racial division 141; rights of 140, 143; sexual orientation 142; social movement 12, 141–142; in South Africa 140–155; transphobia 149–150 Let’s Preserve the Afrikyan Club Building 9, 58, 60–61 liberal-conservative movements 193, 209–210 Liberation Front of Mozambique 217, 219–221 local civil society 42–43, 96 MacArthur Foundation 248n10 Mao era (1949–1976) 7, 27–28 Maoist insurgency, in Nepal 75 Mapping Study of Civil Society Organizations in Mozambique 222 marginalized ethnic groups 78 marginalized people, needs of 109 market liberalization 25, 77 Mazlumder (human rights organization) 182 medical care, for the poor 79 medical distribution systems 79 Mehar, Tulsi 79 Mehta, Mohan Singh 107 MEMUR-SEN (civil servants’ union), Turkey 187–188

Mensalão scandal (Brazil) 202–203 Mercy Corps 183 Mexican civil society 235–248; concept of 235, 236–242; criminal justice 236; Federal Institute of Access to Information 245; global sociopolitical framework of 235; idea of 242–247; Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI) 235, 245; political “colonization” of the institutions 236; political theory of 236–242 Mexican Revolution 242 micro-credits 78 Middle East 20, 136, 179, 183 Milan Mela 11, 111 military coups, history of 14, 44–45, 182 military courts 166, 181 modernity, notion of 5–6, 106, 237 movement-oriented organization 116 Movimiento de Regeneración Nacional (MORENA) 246–247 Mozambican civil society 215–229; armed struggle for independence 219; bread riots 223; Campaign against Domestic Violence 222; Christian Council of Mozambique 219; civil war (2014–2016) 223; conceptual issues regarding 223–227; in country context 217–218; deconstruction of 228; democratic mass organizations 219; democratic state-building 225; Development Assistance Committee (DAC) 220, 223; donor support 221; Estado Novo (New State) philosophy 219; historical background of 218–221; impact of colonialism on 224; Land Rights Campaign 222; Lei da Família (family law) 223; Lei da Terra (land law) 223; Liberation Front of Mozambique 217, 219–221; limitations of 223; mapping of 226; Mapping Study of Civil Society Organizations in Mozambique 222; Mozambique National Resistance 218, 220; “NGO-watchdog” activities 218; peoples’ ethnic composition and 218; policymaking processes 215; Portugal’s imposition of colonial capitalism 218; poststructuralist perspectives on 224; poverty and inequality, issue of 218; power imbalance 228; public and civic participation in development

Index   259 215–217; religious and spiritual actors 223; roles of NGOs within 221–223; spheres of society in relation to 226; strengthening programmes 216; structural adjustment programme 220; wellbeing of the people 225; Westernnormative civil society framework 224; Western-type NGOs 215, 217, 221, 223 Mozambique National Resistance 218 Mugabe, Robert 93–94 mutuality, reciprocity, and cooperation, principles of 26 Mutual Support Forum 248n8 national awakening 67 National Forum of Mobilisation against Reforms, Brazil 202 National Socialist Party (Nazis) 105 National Volunteers Association see Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) nationhood, idea of 113 neo-liberal globalisation 193, 196–197, 208 neo-liberal ideology, rise of 37 Nepal Bar Association 78 Nepal Children’s Organization 79 Nepalese civil society 70–84; background of 70–71; banking industry, restructuring of 77; civil services, development of 74; “community-based” initiatives 78; Community-based organizations (CBOs) 82–83; community radio stations 81; community user groups 72; cultural-religious heritage 74; development of modern NGOs in 76–78; Dhikuti (informal people’s bank) 74–75; donor-funded NGOs 82–83; establishment of a Western style of democracy 75; Federation of Community Forestry User Groups 70, 80; foreign aid 76; formalization of 70; fragmentation of 75; government politics and 81–82; guthis 74, 76, 84n5; human trafficking 78; Lichhavi period 74; Maoist insurgency and 75; medical distribution systems 79; micro-credits 78; National Conservation Strategy 80; National Coordination Body 70, 76; NGO networking 70–71; proliferation of NGO in 72; public service delivery

77; Registration of Societies Act (1959) 70, 76; roles of NGOs in 71, 79–81; social problems, solving of 75; social service delivery 79; for social welfare 74; Social Welfare Act (1992) 70, 77; Social Welfare Council 77; splinter groups, rise of 75; sustainable development goals 80; Terai Arch landscape development 80; transboundary biological corridor development 80; trust funds, formation of 74; USAID projects 76; voluntary social institutions 74–76; women’s property rights 83 Nepal Red Cross Society 79 Nepal Trust for Nature Conservation 79 Network of Human Rights Organizations 248n8 New Jerusalem Church missionaries 115 “NGO-watchdog” activities 218 Nkoli, Simon 142–143 non-employment-generating programmes 109 non-governmental organisations (NGOs) 2, 121, 141, 177; areas of expertise 58; capacity to resolve social problem 73; and civic activists 63–64; versus civic initiatives 58; CIVICUS report on 71–72; development of modern 76–78; development projects of 40; donor-funded 83; in India 104; involvement in civic activism 64, 64; Islamic charities and 183–186; in Mexico 240; mission statements 58; modus operandi of 58; mutual perceptions 65; in Nepal 79–81; NGO–activism interaction 63; origin of the modern form of 75; proliferation of 72; quality of 244; registration of 75; role in nation building 72; role of information providers 64; service delivery projects 109; strengths and weaknesses of 65–66; Teghut case 61, 63; voluntary social institutions 74–76; Westernstyle 215, 217 nonprofit organizations (NPOs) 31, 141 non-violent movements 120 Nyman, Mikaela 167 Occupy Africa Unity Square movement 11, 97

260   Index O’Donnell, Guillermo 178, 241 oil shock of 1970s 196 open market economy 217 organized social movements (OSMs) 194, 197, 202, 203 organized dependency, culture of 109, 115, 117n4 Ottoman vakifs 183–184 parochial associations 6, 89 Paropakar Sanstha 79 participatory governance 7, 30 participatory management, of protected areas 79 Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI), Mexico 17, 235, 245 Party of Brazilian Social Democracy (PSDB) 200–201, 203, 206, 209 patrimonialism 15, 20, 193–200, 206, 208, 210–211, 248 patron–client dynamics 183 People’s Alliance for Democracy movement (Thailand) 43 People’s Democratic Reform Committee (PDRC), Thailand 43; stance against electoral democracy 43 people’s organizations (POs) 110–111, 116 People’s Power Party (PPP) 46 people’s right to life 111 personal havens 10, 98 Phatharathananunth, Somchai 42 pink-tide left, strategy of 193 Planet Syria 131–132 pluralism/plurality 1, 3, 178; antipluralism movement 172; of civil society in India 107; cultural 7, 239; political 20, 238; separation of powers and 176 Pohlman, Annie 169 political liberalization, process of 115, 243 political representation, crisis of 246 political society, concept of 1, 3, 78, 194–195, 198, 211, 237, 238, 242 politicization of civil society 105 postcolonial: capitalist system 227; economic power relationships 217; internal state conflicts 219; neoliberal system 216; societies 193, 217, 223, 227; state-building 225 poverty alleviation 80, 183, 188 Prachakom project (Thailand) 42–43, 51n8

private employment bureaus 186 Private Employment Offices Bill (2016), Turkey 186 Programa de Reabilitação Económica (PRE) see structural adjustment programme public communication 3 public interest litigation 111, 117n6 public organisations 42, 44, 51n13 Public Procurement Law (Turkey) 184 public sector employees’ confederations 187 public service delivery 70–71, 73, 77, 207 public utilities and services 176 pueblo, concept of 243 Putnam, Robert 4, 37, 55 Qing Empire 28 Rajasthan Vanvasi Kalyan Parishad (RVKP) 11, 21; development activities 114; Hindu nation, idea of 112; ideological agenda of 114; mobilization against the ‘culturally alien’ 112–115; objectives of 113; portrayal of tribal victimization 113; stand on religious conversion 113–114; stories depicting Christian missionaries and Muslims 113; on tribal welfare 113; tuberculosis centres in tribal areas 114; violence against Muslims 115 Raje, Vasundhara 114 Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) 112 Recuperación de la Memoria Histórica (REMHI) 161 Rede Jubileu Sul see South Jubilee Network “Red Shirts” movement (Thailand) 43 registration of NGOs: legal framework for 75; monitoring of 76; process of 77 Registration of Societies Act (1959), Nepal 70, 76 religious conversion 112, 113–114 Religious Freedom Bill (2008), India 114 religious trusts 79 representational democracy, crisis of 216 Resistência Nacional Moçambicana (RENAMO) see Mozambique National Resistance

Index   261 resource allocation 180, 188 ‘Return to the Family’ project (Turkey) 185 #Rhodes movement 152 rights-based activism 109 right to food 111, 117n6 Right to Information 110, 111 Rousseff, Dilma 193, 206–210 Rudolph, Lloyd 106 rural credit delivery 77 SafeNet (Southeast Asia Freedom of Expression Network) 163 Sahin, Fatma 185 Said, Edward 127, 134 Salazar, Antonio de Oliveira 219 Saleh, Al Haj 120, 126, 135 same-sex couples, marriage rights for 142 Sardarapat, battle of (1918) 56 Satyagraha (non-violent struggle) 110 Save Teghut Civic Initiative 9, 58, 59–60, 63 self-determination, culture of 40, 142 self-governing village communities 11, 107 self-help groups 79 self-help organisations, importance of 37 “self-limiting” social movements 238 self-organised groups of citizens 123 self-organized civil associations 240 self-sufficiency, culture of 8, 40–41, 50 service delivery 10–11, 18–19, 21, 78, 100, 110, 116, 155, 220, 222; in cities 97; by civil society organisations (CSOs) 140; depoliticized 112; NGOs established for 81, 109, 218; professionalized 22n7, 57, 70–72; public 73, 77, 207; rural development 107; and social 79; social accountability 97; social reform and 115; top-down approach to 109 Seva Mandir (India) 11, 107–109, 115; Gram Vikash Committee (GVC) 111 Shekhawat, B.S. 114 shemin shehui (townspeople) 7, 26 Shu-yuan, Ma 29 si, concept of 26 significant others, friends, family, or allies (SOFFAs) 147 Slavery Act (Turkey) 186 social accountability 97, 100, 236; concept of 245; discourse of 241

social capital 4; in Brazil 194, 196, 198; concept of 37, 196; in Turkey 189 social development, for rural communities 77, 80 social equity and justice 82 Social, Health and Empowerment Feminist Collective of Transgender Women in South Africa (SHE) 147 socialist totalitarian regimes 237 social justice 20, 111, 154 social problems, solving of 37, 71, 73, 75, 84 social services, idea and value of 74 social services delivery 79, 110; in Zimbabwe 92, 93 social skill, concept of 199 social transformation, process of 25, 226 social welfare: civil society for 74; Social Welfare Act (1992), Nepal 70, 77 Social Welfare Council (SWC) 70, 76–77 sociological deficit 237 sociopolitical conflict 6, 8, 12 solidarity movement (Poland) 219, 242 South African civil society: African trans lives 143–144; Alteration of Sex Status and Sex Descriptor Act 49 of 2003 142; anti-sodomy laws 146; civil society organisations (CSOs) in 140; Fallist student movements 150–153; #FeesMustFall movement 146; Gay and Lesbian Organisation of the Witwatersrand (GLOW) 142; Gay Association of South Africa (GASA) 141; human rights organisation in 147; institutions of higher learning 152; key trans and gender-diverse CSOs in 147; LGBTI people in 140, 141–155; Northern trans and genderdiverse movement 143; postapartheid 155; racial and class struggles 141; sexual- and genderminority 155; struggle against apartheid 140, 145; timeline of key events and milestones for 148; trans activism in 141, 150–153; trans and gender-diverse 146–150; trans intersectionality of 146–149; transphobia in 149–150 South Asia Partnership, in Nepal 83 Southern African Development Community (SADC) 93 South Jubilee Network 202

262   Index Soviet bloc countries 29 Soviet Union: boom of NGOs after collapse of 67; civic activism 54; collapse of 1, 29, 56, 67; impact on Armenian civil society 55–56, 61, 67; non-liberal values 2; opening-up of 57; pre-Soviet civil society 9; taking over of Afrikyan Club building 60–61 spheres: associational 188; autonomous 196, 209; of civil associationism 240; of civil society 224, 226, 239; of organized activism 186; political 245; primordial 221; private 193, 195, 198, 200, 211; public 193, 195, 198, 200, 211, 219, 220, 237; of trade unions 187 state capture 18, 20, 195, 197, 199, 210, 211 state–civil society relations 48, 94, 179; in Turkey 182 state corporatism 7, 26, 28, 30 state socialism 2 state–social organisation relationship 7, 31 state–society councils, creation of 244 state-sponsored civil society, concept of 8 Stop Changes in Maternity Leave Law 9, 58, 59, 60 strategic action fields (SAFs) 199 structural adjustment programme 220 subaltern social groups 216 sufficiency economy, concept of 20, 41–43, 50n5 Suharto, General 161–165, 167–168 sustainable development 59, 78, 110, 215; goals of 80 symbolic power 15, 194; building a state-society balance through 197–200, 206 Syrian civil society (SCS) 11; Association for Building and Nurturing Initiatives 130; building of transnational support 131–132; changing nature of 121; conceptualizing of 121–125; displacement of 120–121; fundamentals of 122–124; future research 134–136; human rights abuses 131; idea of rebuilding and return 128–131; Local Coordination Committees 120; Planet Syria 131; reflections and prospects of 133–136; spaces for 132–133; struggles in exile

133–134; as transnational 121–122; transnational networks of 121, 125–133 Syrian uprising, emergence of 125, 130 Tajamuka 11, 97 Talangsari massacre (1989) 161 Tanjung Priok massacre (1984) 161, 164–166 Teets, Jessica 31 Temer, Michel 209 Thai civil society 8, 35–50; case study of the CODI’s network 44–47; changing nature of 39; community culture approach of 40; community culture school of thought 39; Community Organisation Development Institute (CODI) see Community Organisation Development Institute (CODI), Thailand; concept of 36; co-optation of 40; current vision of 37; and democracy 35, 43–44; emergence and proliferation of development NGOs 39; emergence of 36–37; framework for reconsidering 36–39; identification with NGOs 38; influential network of 35; internal culture of 44; landscape before changes 39–40; local civil society 42; mass protest against the military 41; military coup (May 2014) 44; national development agendas 41; People’s Alliance for Democracy 43; Phatharathananunth’s concept of 42; “political aspects” of rural problems 40; political conflicts 40; Prachakom project 42–43; Prawase’s concept of 41; reconsidering 47–49; “Red Shirts” movement 43; reinterpreted concept of 41; relationships between state and civil society 42–43; rise of 37; state’s turn towards 41–43; on Thaksin’s policies 43–44; transformations in context and conditions 39–44; transformed concept of 41–42; types of 41; United Front for Democracy against Dictatorship 43; value of promoting 37; “Yellow Shirts” movement 43 Thailand Health Promotion Fund 42 Thaksin, Shinnawatra 43; anti-Thaksin movement 45; domination of Thai politics 45; military coup against 45; policies of economic liberalisation

Index   263 and privatisation 51n9; pro-poor “populist policies” 44 third sector, notion of 17–18, 239–240, 243–244, 246 #ThisFlag movement 97 Tiananmen Pro-democracy Movement (1989) 29, 32 Tocqueville’s Democracy in America 195 Tokyo Tribunals 171 trade unions 177, 242; Islamic 186–188; left-wing unions 187; MEMUR-SEN (civil servants’ union) 187–188 traditional civil society 6, 76, 84, 215 trans capture 152 Trans Collective protest 150–151, 153 Transgender Intersex Africa (TIA) 147 transmisogynoir 151, 154, 155n7 Transnational Advocacy Networks (TAN) 121, 124–125; foundation of 125 transnational civil society (TCS) 121 Transparency International 64 transphobia 13, 149–150, 151 Trans Wellness Project 147 tribal welfare 113 trust funds, formation of 74; guthis 74 Turkish civil society see Islamist civil society, in Turkey uncivil society 115, 172, 239; in Latin America 227 United Front for Democracy against Dictatorship (Thailand) 43 United Nations 114, 159, 165, 170, 238 universal common good, idea of 4 University of Cape Town (UCT) 150; Trans Collective protest 151, 153 urban development 100 Vargas, Getúlio 201 victims, of enforced disappearance 246 victims’ rights groups 169 village development committees (VDCs) 75, 83, 108 voluntary associations 3–5, 28, 32, 37, 54–55, 88, 106, 179, 182, 237 voluntary social institutions 36, 73; community-driven social service movements 76; evolution and transformation of 74–76; importance of 37; in Nepal 74–76; philanthropic 75; role of 75; service-based 74 votes of confidence 181

Wahid, Abdurrahman 161, 166 Washington Consensus 238 Wasi, Prawase 41 welfare rights discourse 110 wenming shehui (civilised society) 7, 26 Western civil society agenda, “instrumentalization” of 222 Western concept, of civil society 18, 26 Western construct 4 Western liberalism 5, 221, 223 Western society, evolution of 6 Widjojo, Agus 169, 171 Widodo, Joko 163, 167 Worker’s Party (Brazil) 15, 193 working class, in capitalism 17–18, 36, 236, 243–244, 246 World Bank 55, 238, 240; developmental activities in Nepal 73; Operations Policy Department 83 WWF 80 Year of Truth project 169 “Yellow Shirts” movement (Thailand) 43–44 Yusuf, Irwandy 164 Zapatista Army of National Liberation (EZLN) 243 Zhao, Ziyang 32 Zhou Dynasty (1100–256 BC) 7, 27 Zhu, Xi 26 Zimbabwe African National Union Patriotic Front (ZANU-PF) 92, 93, 99 Zimbabwe, civil society in 88–101; in 1995–2008 91–93; in 2008–2013 93; in 2013–2018 93–94; challenges and prospects of 98–100; civil education campaigns 96; civil society movement 95; Constitutional Reform Commission 94; Constitution Select Committee (COPAC) 96; continuity and change 94–98; discovery of diamonds 96; donor-driven 91; Economic Structural Adjustment Programme (ESAP) 91; ESAP programme 94; Fast Track Land Reform Programme (FTLRP) 91, 92; foundation of 89; future of 89; gratuities to war veterans 91–92; growth of 88, 90, 99; Gukurahundi atrocities 91; Movement for Democratic Change (MDC) 91, 92; National Constitutional Assembly (NCA) 91–92, 94; objectives of 89;

264   Index Zimbabwe, civil society in continued political objective of 89; pre-1995 91; resentment against the government 91; restoration of public services 93; scope of 88; securitisation of diamond mining 96; social services delivery 92, 93; in socio-economic and political context 90–94; strategies of 88; struggle for democratisation 89; theorising of 89–90; war veterans’ agitations 92

Zimbabwe Congress of Trade Unions (ZCTU) 95 Zimbabwe Council of Churches (ZCC) 91 Zimbabwe Democracy and Economic Recovery Act (ZIDERA 2001) 91, 92 Zimbabwe Project Trust 91 Zoelfa, Hamdan 166