Islamist Radicalisation in North Africa: Politics and Process 0415588065, 9780415588065

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LWW KLAN Islamist Radicalisation in North Africa Politics and process

Edited by George Joffe

390F1LNOY

History and Society in the Islamic World

Digitized by the Internet Archive In 2023 with funding from Kahle/Austin Foundation

https://archive.org/details/islamistradicali0000unse

Islamist Radicalisation in North Africa

In the current climate of political extremism and violence, much attention has been directed towards “radicalisation” as the reasons behind such courses of action, along with a conviction that those who are radicalised represent an irrational deviation from the conventionally accepted norms of social and political behaviour. This book focuses on the current issues and analytical approaches to the phenomenon of radicalisation in North Africa. Taking a comprehensive approach to the subject, it looks at the processes that lead to radicalisation, rather than the

often violent outcomes. At the same time, chapters expand the discussion historically and conceptually beyond the preoccupations of recent years, in order to develop a more holistic understanding of a complex individual and collective process that has represented a permanent challenge to dominant political, social and, on occasion, economic norms.

With contributions from academics and policy-makers within and outside the region, the book is a comprehensive investigation of Islamist Radicalisation. As such, it will be of great interest to academics and students investigating North Africa and terrorism, as well as specialists in radicalism and extremism. George Joffé teaches the international relations of the Middle East and North Africa at the Centre of International Studies at the University of Cambridge. His primary interests are in North African affairs and he runs a research centre at the Centre, devoted to these issues, which also produces a journal, the Journal of North African Studies, which he founded and now co-edits.

History and society in the Islamic world Series editors: Anoushiravan Ehteshami University of Durham

and George Joffe Centre for International Studies,

Cambridge University

Contemporary events in the Islamic world dominate the headlines and emphasise the crises of the Middle East and North Africa, yet the Islamic World is far larger and more varied than we realise. Current affairs there too mask the underlying trends and values that have, over time, created a fascinating and complex world. This new series is intended to reveal that other Islamic reality by looking at its history and society over the ages, as well as at the contemporary scene. It will also reach far further afield, bringing in Central Asia and the Far East as part of a cultural space sharing common values and beliefs but manifesting a vast diversity of experience and social order. French Military Rule in Morocco Colonialism and its consequences Moshe Gershovich Tribe and Society in Rural Morocco David M. Hart North Africa, Islam and the Mediterranean World

From the Almoravids to the Algerian War Edited by Julia Clancy-Smith The Walled Arab City in Literature, Architecture and History

The living Medina in the Maghrib Edited by Susan Slyomovics Tribalism and Rural Society in the Islamic World David M. Hart Technology, Tradition and Survival Aspects of material culture in the Middle East and Central Asia Richard Tapper and Keith McLachlan

Library University of Texas at San Antonio

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Lebanon The politics of frustration — the failed coup of 1961 Adel Beshara Britain and Morocco during the Embassy of John Drummond Hay, 1845-1886 Khalid Ben Srhir The Assassination of Jacques Lemaigre Dubreuil A Frenchman between France and North Africa William A. Hoisington Jr.

Political Change in Algeria Elites and the balancing of instability Isabelle Werenfels The Trans-Saharan Slave Trade

John Wright Civil Society and Political Change in Morocco James N. Sater War and Peace in Qajar Persia

Implications past and present Edited by Roxane Farmanfarmaian The Creation of Saudi Arabia Ibn Saud and British Imperial Policy, 1914-1927 Askar H. Al-Enazy Islamist Radicalisation in North Africa Politics and process Edited by George Joffé

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Islamist Radicalisation in North Africa Politics and process

Edited by George Joffé

Routledge Taylor & Francis Group LONDON AND NEW YORK

First published 2012 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

© 2012 George Joffé for selection and editorial matter; individual contributors: their contributions The right of the George Joffé to be identified as the author of the editorial material, and of the author for his 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 ofthis 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 Islamist radicalisation in North Africa: politics and process/edited by George Joffé. p. cm. — (History and society in the Islamic world) “Born out of aconference held in June 2009 under the auspices ofthe Middle East Centre of the Faculty of Asian and Middle Eastern Studies

and the Centre of North African Studies in the Department of Politics and International Studies, both in the University of Cambridge.” Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Africa, North—Politics and government. 2. Islam—Africa, North. 3.

Islam and politics—A frica, North. 4. Islamic fundamentalism—A frica, North. 5. Radicalism—A frica, North. I. Joffé, George.

JQ3198.A58185 2011 320.5'570961—dc22

2011005477

ISBN: 978-0-415-58806-5 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-203-80633-3 (ebk) Typeset in Times by Wearset Ltd, Boldon, Tyne and Wear

MIX Paper responsible sources

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Printed and bound in Great Britain by TJI Digital, Padstow, Cornwall

Contents

List of contributors

1

Introduction: antiphonal responses, social movements

and networks GEORGE

2

ix

|

JOFFE

Islam in Libya ALIA BRAHIMI

9

3 Social change, regime performance and the radicalisation of politics: the case of Libya ZAHI MOGHERBI

28

4

Tunisia: the radicalisation of religious policy MEHDI MABROUK

48

Radicalisation in Tunisia

al

5

ALISON

PARGETER

6 The causes of radicalisation in Algeria ZINE MOHAMED BARKA

7 Trajectories of radicalisation: Algeria 1989-1999 GEORGE

8

95

114

JOFFE

Morocco’s radicalised political movements RACHEL LINN

138

Vill

Contents

9 Salafism in Morocco: religious radicalism and political conformism ABDELHAKIM ABOULLOUZ, WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY MOHAMED TOZY 10

160

The paradoxes of Islamic radicalisation in Mauritania ZEKERIA OULD AHMED SALEM

179

Index

206

Contributors

Abdelhakim Aboullouz: Université Cadi Ayyad, Marrakesh; Centre Marocain de Recherche en Sciences Sociales, Casablanca, Morocco.

Zine Mohamed

Barka: Department of Political Science, Florida State Univer-

sity, USA; Université de Tlemcen, Algeria. Alia Brahimi: Centre for Global Governance, London, UK.

London

School of Economics,

George Joffé: University of Cambridge, Cambridge, UK. Rachel Linn: University of Cambridge, Cambridge, UK. Mehdi Mabrouk: Université de Tunis, Tunis, Tunisia.

Zahi Mogherbi: Garyounis University, Benghazi, Libya. Zekeria Ould Ahmed Salem: University of Nouakchott, Mauritania. Alison Pargeter: University of Cambridge, Cambridge, UK. Mohamed

Tozy:

Université

Provence, France.

Hassan

II, Casablanca,

Morocco;

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1

Introduction

Antiphonal responses, social movements and networks George Joffé

This book was born out of a conference held in June 2009 under the auspices of the Middle East Centre of the Faculty of Asian and Middle Eastern Studies and the Centre of North African Studies in the Department of Politics and International Studies, both in the University of Cambridge. It formed part of a project on radicalisation in North Africa, funded by the ESRC which was designed to elucidate the causes of the phenomenon in the region in terms of the role played by the social and political environment there.' The contributions in this book are drawn from the conference and seek to provide an overview of radicalisation in North Africa. The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary defines radicalisation as the process of becoming politically radical, whilst a political radical is defined as someone “advocating thorough or far-reaching change” or someone “supporting an extreme section of a party”. In either case the process is one of challenging an established order,

a hegemonic

discourse, and this was the real focus of the

project. Extremism, on the other hand, is defined as the condition of “‘advocating drastic or immoderate measures”. The distance between the two concepts seems very small yet, as this book makes clear, it can reflect a crucial divide. For the purposes of this book, radicalisation is treated as the process of alienation from a hegemonic discourse — usually that associated with the legitimisation of the state but also those of dominant political elites within it — and extremism as the active adoption of an ideology and associated praxis to challenge the state and its elites, usually through violence. When violence is involved, such a confrontation is usually expressed through asymmetric warfare —a condition which often allows the state to characterise such behaviour as aberrant and criminal. Radicalisation itself, however, is concerned with dissent over

normative and hegemonic assumptions about the nature of the state and, when it expresses the views of a significant minority — or even a majority — within the society that inhabits the state, it can become the ideological driver of a social movement which is not necessarily violent.’ Movements and networks It is clear, nonetheless, that the two concepts of radicalisation and extremism do

approximate to each other, such that one could be the genesis of the other.

2 G. Joffé Indeed, this is frequently the dominant normative view such that states feel justified in penalising both in similar terms. Yet it is argued here that there is a useful analytical distinction to be made between the two concepts, not least because

radicalisation usually expresses itself not simply at the individual level but, as suggested, through social movements in which the mechanisms through which alienation is articulated resonate to shared interpretive schemata which also become prescriptive in nature. Such frames, which reflect not only the objective factors engendering demands for change but also the shared cultural values that may legitimise them, also inform the mobilising structures of social movements and help to shape the political environment in which the social movement can flourish and, perhaps, transform itself into an organised political vehicle of contention with the state. Political extremism, on the other hand, tends to be the concern of minorities,

often marginalised by social movements as well as the state, and deriving much of its vehemence from the fact of its exclusion from competing political discourses. The exception to this, of course, occurs when the state or its enabling

elites repress the slightest sign of opposition or challenge, thus forcing any social movement contending its discourse into a position of either submission or confrontation. As expressed through such a marginal movement, political extremism raises significant questions over its organisational and mobilisational mechanisms. Indeed, it is usually expressed through a network, not a movement, implying horizontal interlinkages between nodes that represent a very restricted number of people, because of their fear of repression if identified. Usually, too, they operate in clandestinity, through violence, and are directed towards the specific purpose of challenging the state’s monopoly of “legitimate violence”, indeed, of challenging the state’s very existence as well. Membership raises other questions of recruitment and ideological justification, whether through peer pressure, psychological preference or ideological commitment. On the face of it, however, there would appear to be an obvious correlation, if not interlinking, of the two concepts. But this, in itself, raises a series of further

questions, both over the nature of the interlinkage and over the mechanisms by which it occurs, if indeed it does take place. The questions themselves have been transformed by politicians into a series of given assumptions, particularly in the wake of the events of September 11, 2001, and they have also been reified into visions of existential and systemic threat. Yet those assumptions need to be constantly questioned, for a consideration of the available evidence does not necessarily suggest that they are valid. Are social movements necessarily the progenitors of political extremism, so that both are inevitably associated with political violence and terrorism, or are the two phenomena completely independent, despite their similarities? Or is extremism an antiphonal response to the failure of social movements confronted with the intransigence of the state or its leading political actors? It is not clear that a dispassionate analysis of radicalism and extremism necessarily supports any particular conclusion, as the chapters which follow demonstrate.

Introduction

3

North Africa as a laboratory The states of Libya, Tunisia, Algeria, Morocco and Mauritania provide a convenient environment in which these possibilities can be further examined. All five countries have experienced significant political violence during the past two decades which has been paralleled by social and political unrest expressed through social movements which framed their contestation of the state through Islamist paradigms. The temporal coincidence of such radicalism and extremism has also been such that it should be possible to determine the linkages between the two phenomena as well. In reality, however, such interlinkages appear to have been far more complex than conventional policy assumptions would predict. This is the arena that the contributors to this book are seeking to address. Many of them come from North Africa itself, thus providing a unique insight to the problems of radicalism in the region. Libya and Tunisia

Thus, in Libya where the state implicitly lays claim to an hegemonic discourse of political supremacy legitimised by “popular democracy”, enshrined in the Jamahiriyah, that excludes any other political model, the late 1990s produced movements directly challenging the Qadhafi regime, as Alia Brahimi describes. These movements, often derived from salafi-jihadism and the experiences of Afghanistan, sought to replace the Jamahiri model despite its claimed consonance with Islamic principle. They were primarily located in Cyrenaica, a region noted for its hostility towards the tribally based normative political system. They operated in parallel with social movements within Libya derived from the Muslim Brotherhood and from secular paradigms which had long been in contention with the regime, but there were no obvious antiphonal links between the two types of movement in terms of personnel or ideology. Zahi Mogherbi makes it clear that secular paradigms also generate radical responses within the circumstances of contemporary Libya as well. In Tunisia, on the other hand, social movements rooted in Islamic precepts and challenging the predominantly secular legacy of the political system developed by Habib Bourguiba reached back to the 1970s. They had all formally sought to share the political arena in order to contest the normative discourse of the state that had emerged at independence through established mechanisms of political engagement, despite the state’s refusal to concede their right to do so. In the wake of the replacement of Habib Bourguiba by Zine El-Abidine Ben Ali they had even sought, unsuccessfully, to establish themselves as political parties within these mechanisms, despite their marginalisation by the regime. By the start of the 1990s, however, the Ben Ali regime labelled them extremist and forced them underground. Yet, in reality, there was no real evidence that any of them, particularly not the dominant movement, an-Nahda, had espoused extremist objectives. That is not to say, however, that small extremist movements did not emerge, particularly at the start of the 1990s. They, however, had no obvious links to the

4 G. Joffé social movements that had preceded them. Nor did such movements gain much purchase within the population in the decades that followed, even though violent evidence of them was to emerge in 2002 and between the end of 2006 and the beginning of 2007. Such extremism seems to have been linked to far wider paradigms, reaching back to the experience of Afghanistan in the 1980s, although the transnational dimension of violence that emerged there in the 1990s and in this decade also seems to have been absent in Tunisia, except for the bombing of the synagogue in Djerba in 2002. Alison Pargeter examines the consequences of official repression in generating such extremist responses whilst Mehdi Mabrouk reflects on salafism, an alternative, formally non-political, Islamist vision which the Tunisian regime had been prepared to tolerate in trying to diffuse Islamist dissent, but which seems to have also promoted the extremism it wished to prevent. Algeria

It is in Algeria that, superficially, the most obvious pattern of interlinkage appeared to have taken place during the 1990s. The banning of the Front Islamique du Salut (FIS) in 1992, after all, led directly to the appalling violence of the Algerian civil war between 1992 and 1999. There also seems to be little doubt that both the FIS itself and its successors in the Armée Islamique du Salut (AIS) and the Groupes Islamiques Armés (GIA), or in today’s Groupe Salafiste du Predication et du Combat (GSPC), transformed since September 2006 into alQa’ ida in the Islamic Maghrib (AQIM) represent Islamic social movements and their extremist counterparts. That is, after all, the narrative upon which the Algerian government has based its own counter-insurgency strategies and that has

been largely accepted in Europe since the start of this decade, as Europe itself securitises its own relationship with its Mediterranean periphery. Yet it is by no means clear that these assumed linkages operate or that the primary motivation for the decade-long crisis in Algeria was rooted in an Islamic contestation of the state or in a violent confrontation rooted in Islamic precept to replace it. This is not to deny that there was an attempt to challenge the Algerian regime’s self-definition at the end of the 1980s and the beginning of the 1990s, nor that the state’s repression of such a movement led to an extremely bloody confrontation by groups seeking to replace the state structures upon which it was based or even that such initiatives sought legitimisation through recourse to Islamic paradigms. It is, however, to question whether the movements were interlinked and antiphonal in nature, in that the suppression of the one led to the emergence of the other, and to raise the issue of what the real justifications argued for such movements really were. This is the topic that Mohamed Zine Barka seeks to address. Behind the formal Islamist framing adopted by the FIS lay a very different narrative, one of the failure of the Algerian revolution to honour the promises made during the revolution itself. In other words, the legitimacy of the social movement from which the FIS emerged was based as much on this sense of a revolution betrayed as it was on the Islamic rhetoric through which it was

Introduction

5

expressed. And it was to this that the institutions of the Algerian state reacted when, in 1991, it aborted the electoral process which the FIS was poised to win. The FIS itself had always endorsed political engagement and, despite its obvious origins in the longstanding Salafiyyist traditions that had informed the political process throughout the long years of colonialism in North Africa, had also endorsed a democratic tradition that excluded it, as a movement, from endorsing

a violent alternative of confronting the state rather than contesting its political behaviour. It is this narrative that George Joffé addresses in investigating the aspirations of the Djaza’iri faction within the FIS leadership, now in exile. Even the violent movements that did emerge betrayed this political bifurcation, for the AIS really sought to force the Algerian state to reinstate the formal political process that it itself had interrupted. Eventually, when it could not do so, it compounded with the state and withdrew from the contest in October 1997. The tradition of violent confrontation with the state with the explicit intention of destroying it and replacing it with an intolerant alternative based on a very specific interpretation of Islamic constitutional doctrine was reserved for the collection of autonomous groups within the coalition known as the GIA. Yet, even here, it was not always clear to what extent the normative objectives reflected the real objectives of these movements, as criminality partnered religious conviction and as counter-insurgency techniques became interspersed with extremist violence. Nor was there significant interlinkage in terms of chronology, ideology or personnel with the FIS which had preceded them. This is not to deny, of course, that the rhetoric of such movements did not increasingly reflect Islamist paradigms as time passed. But it does raise the question of the extent to which origins of their political action were solely a product of such ideologies and to what extent such justifications were adopted to legitimise a much more classical kind of struggle against what was perceived as a repressive state, a struggle which would have occurred whether the Islamist trope for political action had emerged or not. Even the activities of the GSPCAQIM today fall within the same strictures. And it needs to be remembered the extent to which “al-Qa’ida” has become a branding that legitimises political violence in much the same way as occurred with the Marxism-Leninism of the New Left in the 1960s and 1970s. Morocco and Mauritania

In Morocco, the direct causality implied by the conventional assumption that Islamic social movements inevitably generate Islamist violence appears to be even more obscure. One reason for this is the peculiar relationship of the institution at the core of the Moroccan state, the monarchy, to the control of public space. It is of course the case that normative assumptions about the institutions of the state and the relationship of the state to the public arena — in which it exercises its monopoly of legitimate violence — are suffused throughout the Islamic world with presuppositions about the Islamic vision of social and political order at both the normative and the demotic level.

6

G. Joffé

However, in Morocco, the engagement of the central institutions of the state in this domain are based on the conscious assumption that such public space is not merely conditioned by Islamic precept but is sacralised by the nature of the institution itself, for the monarchy is also a caliphate and, as such, can claim a

peculiar, specific and absolute justification for its right to condition public debate and action, even as it formally encourages political participation. This has meant that it has been particularly difficult for social movements of contestation based on Islamic precept to find a purchase within the Moroccan body politic, as Rachel Linn describes. One consequence of this has been the tendency for challenges to the state, whether secular or religious in inspiration, to have been violent, for contestation of the control of the public space has always been trumped by the monarchy’s absolute claim of moral and political right. Another consequence has been the ability of state to co-opt groups normatively opposed to it or to marginalise those groups which refuse to be co-opted. Thus the violent Shabiba Islamiyya of the 1960s and 1970s was either forced into exile or co-opted to re-emerge as a legitimate political party in the 1990s and during the following decade — the Parti de Justice et du Développement (PJD). On the other hand, a movement that did contest the legitimacy of the king’s control of the public space, ‘Adl wa Ihsan, and whose leader, Abdeslam Yacine, committed the egregious offence in the 1970s of challenging the king’s right to dominate the sacralised public arena in his open letter, “Islam aw Tufan”’, has always rejected co-option and is denied political legitimacy in consequence. It is only in the last decade, starting with the violent incidents in Casablanca in May 2003, that the moral and religious status of the Moroccan state has been openly challenged through violence, derived from salafi-jihadi traditions. The subsequent discovery of clandestine networks of violent opposition in Casablanca, Fez and Tangier, the rumours of discrete groups training in the Middle Atlas and the evidence of links abroad, into Europe — the Madrid bombings and the Belliraj conspiracy, often intermixed with criminal networks as well — and elsewhere seem to recall the violent rejection of the Moroccan state in the 1960s and 1970s. Yet there has been no evidence of a linkage between such political extremism and the social movements that have increasingly become integral features of the formal Moroccan political scene. And, furthermore, these Islamic social move-

ments, one co-opted and the other still outside formal political engagement, have moved further and further away from the Islamic roots and more and more into political engagement revolving around political paradigms involving democracy and human rights. In other words, here there seems to be a complete split between social movement and political violence. And, furthermore, it seems that the inspiration for the latter is rooted outside the Moroccan political tradition, in the transnational ideology of salafi-jihadism and in the experience of emigration to Europe. Within Morocco itself, as Abdelhakim Aboullouz describes, salafism is now tolerated by the state because of its ostensibly non-political character, despite its potential for transmuting into more political alternatives — a parallel to the situation in Tunisia.

Introduction

7

Mauritania represents a unique example of the difficulties facing the integration of Islamic radicalism within the state. As Zekeriya Ould Ahmed Salem demonstrates, Mauritania’s long tradition of Islamic learning protected it from the gusts of political Islam drifting across North Africa. In recent years, however, such a movement has developed to challenge the state but it, in turn, has been outflanked by salafi-jihadism. As a result, Islamist radicals have had to rethink their relationship to the Mauritanian state, as the state itself has had to face both radical and extremist challenges. Outcomes

The patterns of social movement and political violence outlined above do not, it seems, really justify the conventional assumption of an interrelationship between the two phenomena. Instead each seems to develop out of different factors and experiences, even if they formally share common principles of legitimisation — in fact, of course, they do not for the principles themselves are a matter of interpretation from a common corpus which had originally little to do with their political objectives, even if it did engage with the social environment. And the factors and experiences involved have much more to do with specific contemporary political realities than with doctrinal verities. In other words, if we wish to securitise the issue — the dominant approach today — we should devote far more attention to understanding the techniques of political violence and asymmetric warfare, whether secular or religious in inspiration, than to addressing its religious provenance. And, if we wish to intellectualise it, a more fruitful field might be to examine the motivations of such movements in principle, whatever their intellectual provenance, rather than looking to the minutiae of religious doctrine. Politics, not religion, explains the relevance of these phenomena today. In many respects, in short, it might be worth adopting David Rapoport’s long view of political violence in his argument of the four waves of terrorism,’ with Jeremy Kaplan’s addition of a fifth based on chiliastic epiphenomenal violence," as a better paradigm for the contemporary world. Beyond this, however, lie other areas that might generate fruitful outcomes. The distinction between the collectivist nature of social movements as compared with the individualist choices involved with political violence or the real motivations for choosing violence over contestation might be one such area, for, in the last analysis, both have

much more to do with politics than with Islam and both long predate their alleged association with political Islam itself. This book was written before the events of 2011, which have changed the face of North Africa, took place or were even anticipated. Nonetheless, the

events it describes and analyses are crucial to any attempt to evaluate the significance of what has now occurred. Even though it is primarily concerned with Islamist radicalisation and extremism — and political Islam has been notable during recent events by its absence — there is no doubt that Islamist movements will play a significant role in the political outcomes of recent events. Against

8 G. Joffé that background, its contents will be essential for a proper understanding of the future of North Africa itself. Notes 1 2 3 4

“Radicalisation in North Africa”, ESCR Reference RES-181—25—0022. Tarrow, Power in movement; 10. Rapoport, “The four waves of modern terrorism”. Kaplan, “Terrorism’s fifth wave: a theory”.

Bibliography Kaplan, J. (2008), “Terrorism’s fifth wave: a theory. A conundrum and a dilemma’, Perspectives on terrorism, II (2). Rapoport, D.C. (2004), ‘The four waves of modern terrorism’, UCLA, Burkle Center for International Relations, in Cronin, A.K. and Ludes, J.M. (eds), Attacking terrorism: elements ofa grand strategy, Centre for Peace and Security Studies, Georgetown University, Washington; 67—95. Tarrow, S. (1998), Power in movement: social movements and contentious politics, Cambridge University Press.

2

Islam in Libya Alia Brahimi

According to one commentator, the advent of militant Islamist dissence in Libya during the mid-1980s was surprising to external observers and Libyans alike. ‘Common wisdom’, Yehudit Ronen argued, ‘had presumed that the deeply Islamic-oriented regime of Qadhafi was immune to an Islamist threat, notwith-

standing its aggressive presence among Libya’s neighbours’.' Yet, if one disputes the premise that Mu’ammar al-Qadhafi’s regime was ‘deeply Islamic-orientated’, the emergence of a militant Islamist opposition to Qadhafi becomes less surprising — expected, even. Indeed, while Qadhafi asserted that ‘the Libyan revolution alone carries the banner of true Islam’, his pro-democracy opponents charged that he was ‘not a practicing Muslim’,’ and the extremists which sought to overthrow him during the 1990s described their struggle as ‘a creedal fight between truth and falsehood’.* In constructing the hegemonic political discourse, Qadhafi abandoned Islamic orthodoxy in a way which made challenges to the hegemonic discourse almost inevitably Islam-centric. Qadhafi dispensed with the ulema (the traditional clerical establishment) as custodians of religion and the hadith (the Prophetic traditions) as a source of law. The authority vacuum resulting from the

former policy, coupled with the doctrinal attack embodied by the latter, made an Islamic challenge predictable. As Dale Eickelman and James Piscatori have pointed out, ‘Islamist authority to remake the world derives from a selfconfident appropriation of what they believe to be “tradition”’.* As such, Qadhafi’s unabashed assault on tradition left him open to a response couched in the Islamist idiom. This is not to say that the Islamist confrontation in Libya was reducible to irrational and fanatically held religious beliefs. On the contrary, the Qadhafi regime’s heterodox interpretation of Islam was but one symptom of the social and economic failures of the revolution (despite an oil boom), the iron fist of Qadhafi’s rule, the mismanaged confrontation with modernity, and the pursuant crisis of legitimacy. Just as the hegemonic discourse broke down, so did the contract between the state and its subjects. Not only has ‘Libyan political life and political debate ... been in a state of suspended animation since soon after the coup of September 1, 1969’,° but Qadhafi’s regime was unable to deliver on the economic promises of his grandiose vision. Ultimately, the Islamist rejection of

10.

A. Brahimi

the state’s normative power reflected the wider political, social and economic implosion of Qadhafi’s revolution. This chapter will begin with a brief overview of the historical relationship between religion and politics in modern Libya. It will then explore the construction of the hegemonic discourse in Libya since 1969 and Qadhafi’s interpretation of Islam, before examining Islamist challenges to it.

Religion and politics in modern Libya Religion and politics have been intimately entwined in Libya’s modern history, on the landscape of which ‘religion and religious sentiment have been unusually significant’.° Lisa Anderson points out that the identity provided by Islam has been far more important for Libya than for the other Arab successor states of the Ottoman Empire.’ Elsewhere in the Muslim world, the strength of European influence had done much to secularise both government and politics.’ As opposed to Islam, the traditions of both Arab and Libyan nationalism have been considerably weaker, reflecting the special character and timing of the modern Libyan encounter with Europe.’ Indeed, the political order from which Qadhafi seized the reins had been at the forefront of the resistance to the Italian colonial invaders, just as it had deftly combined religious with political legitimacy. The Sanusiyyah was a Sufi order founded by the Algerian scholar, Sayyed Muhammad bin Ali al-Sanusi, and based in the east of Libya (Cyrenaica). AlSanusi’s aim was to restore what he conceived to be the original life of the Prophet. As Evans-Prichard observed, the faith and the morals which the Prophet preached to the Bedouin of his day, and which they accepted, were equally suited to the Bedouin of Cyrenaica who led a life similar to that of the Bedouin of Arabia in the seventh century.'? Unlike earlier missionaries, however, the reformist al-Sanusi managed to establish himself as head of an organised order and the leader of a national movement. Conditions in Cyrenaica were especially conducive to the growth of a political-religious movement such as the Sanusiyyah became: ‘it was cut off by deserts from neighbouring countries, it had a homogenous population, it had a tribal system which embraced common traditions and a strong feeling of community of blood, the country was not dominated by the towns, and the Turkish administration exercised very little control over the interior’.'' Starting in 1843, al-Sanusi built on the complex social organisation of the Bedouin tribes to attain a de facto state which provided an elaborate socioeconomic and legal organisation for the tribes and the Sahara trade routes. Its network of lodges (zawaya) served as an alternative communicational and administrative structure which rivalled the Ottoman state bureaucracy.'? This unity became key to mobilisation for the anti-colonial resistance. In turn, that resistance contributed to the consolidation of the Sanusi state. As the Order spread throughout North and Central Africa, force was not once resorted to in order to back its missionary labours (the Sanusiyyah even turned down requests for help against the British from al-Mehdi in Sudan). However, when the French attacked its Saharan territories and the Italians invaded

Islam in Libya

11

Cyrenaica, ‘the Order had no choice but to resist’.'’ In fact, Sanusi leaders had

always been cognisant of, and preoccupied with, the colonial threat to the region.'* When that threat materialised in Libya with the Italian military invasion in 1911, the Sanusiyyah fought alongside the Turks until the Ottoman Empire fell in 1913, upon which the Sanusi officially declared their own state. Riven with factionalism among notables, the Tripolitan resistance was next to crumble in 1922, but the resistance in Cyrenaica would continue for another decade. For this reason, ‘Libyans experienced anti-imperialism as a Muslim, not an Arab or local, cause.’!> The hero of the anti-Italian jihad was the Order’s military commander, Umar al-Mukhtar. While some Sanusi leaders (including the future King Idris) were willing to negotiate with the Italians, al-Mukhtar and his companions refused to surrender. As Idris fled into exile in Egypt, al-Mukhtar and his men banded together to mount a guerrilla campaign which used hit-and-run tactics and relied upon a well-mobilised population as well as a network of spies within Italiancontrolled territory.'° In response, the Italians deployed uniquely brutal tactics which saw rebels dropped from planes, wells sealed, the construction of a fence along all of Libya’s borders with Egypt in order to cut off the supply route and the consignment of 85,000 tribespeople from their homes to concentration camps in the desert (only 35,000 souls were to survive).'’ When al-Mukhtar was eventually captured and hanged in 1931, the fascist government in Italy finally announced the complete conquest of Libya after twenty years of resistance. Italian dominion came to an end in World War Two, during which the Cyrenaicans fought alongside the Allies. Idris returned to Libya and, under the auspices of the United Nations, unified the country under a single monarchy (full independence was attained in 1951). Not only did independence formally institutionalise the linkage between religion and politics in Libya (since Libyans were to be ruled by a Sufi King), but the process by which it was attained was heavily reliant on religious networks, deeply dependent on faith-based symbols, and effectively rendered the political vocabulary of modern Libya an Islamic one.

Qadhafi’s Islam and the construction of a hegemonic discourse Under the leadership of Mu’ammar al-Qadhafi, a group of junior military officers unseated King Idris on 1 September 1969. From the so-called ‘Free Officers’ who had enacted it to the single party, the Arab Socialist Union, which replaced the monarchy, the coup d’état bore the hallmarks of Nasserism. Idris’ failures were said to emanate from the liberal, pro-Western stance of his administration, which permitted, among other things, prostitution, the sale

and consumption of alcohol, a secular legal code and the presence of British and Americans military bases on Libyan soil in exchange for subsidies. The moral degeneracy associated with Idris’ reign was made more pronounced with the discovery of oil in 1959:

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When the country had been poor, the confusion of public funds ard private earning had served to attract people to administrative positions that otherwise would have gone unfulfilled. As the country became wealthy, the same confusion led to massive corruption that the king and his associates, many

of whom were not blameless in the scandals, proved unable to stem." Accordingly, Qadhafi immediately instructed British and American forces to evacuate their bases, the Italian community was forced to leave the country and, alongside the Arab nationalist and socialist themes which were promulgated, Qadhafi quickly began a drive to re-Islamise Libya. Courting the religious establishment — the u/ema, who had been side-lined under the dominance of the Sufi Sanusiyyah — Qadhafi asserted the supremacy of the sharia. The revolutionary regime closed down churches, flew the green flag of Islam, adopted the Muslim calendar, banned alcohol, gambling and nightclubs, and even equated the sporting of the western-style tie with wearing the emblem of the cross.'? In 1972, several Islamic laws were reintroduced, includ-

ing the ban on banking interest and the hudud penalties for crimes such as theft and adultery (it is worth noting that ‘despite the rhetoric and activity, however, their implementation was limited’).”? Nonetheless, Qadhafi clearly surpassed Nasser in legitimating his leadership with Islamic symbols. Indeed, the attempts to merge Libya with Egypt in 1972-3 failed partly because of Qadhafi’s insistence on adhering to the sharia as the source of all legislation in the new state.*! Though Qadhafi was renowned for his personal piety, his reliance upon Islamic legitimacy was necessitated by the historical interplay between religion and politics in Libya and by the fact that the mass of Libyans ‘were by no means convinced Arab nationalists’.*” But the invocation of Islam was additionally aimed both at challenging the religious authority of the Sanusiyyah and guarding against the emergence of an Islamic opposition movement. As Francois Burgat and William Dowell note, ‘the fundamentalism of the state thus occupied virtu-

ally the terrain that might otherwise have been taken by a fundamentalism of protest’.”’ Nevertheless, within a few years of seizing control of Libya, Qadhafi’s legitimising discourse began to dramatically change. In 1975, the price of Libyan crude fell for the first time since exports began in 1961, bringing with it questions about Qadhafi’s management of the economy. That same year, political opposition to Qadhafi began to emerge and organise, and two members of the Revolutionary Command Council launched an attempted coup. Qadhafi’s response was ‘to embark on a program of revolutionary transformation of Libyan society to undermine both politically and socioeconomically the growing opposition and all potential challengers’.”* He seized the opportunity to put forward his revolutionary agenda. The theoretical base for this agenda was his Third International Theory, a ‘homespun ideology, heavily influ-

enced by his personality’.*» While capitalism and communism- were both condemned as monopolistic systems, the former a monopoly of ownership by capitalists and the latter a monopoly of ownership by the state,”° the Third Universal Theory invoked Arab nationalism, anti-imperialism and Islamic socialism

Islam in Libya to present an alternative vision. Expounded between

\3

1973 and 1979, his theory

called for direct democracy through popular congresses and committees and the implementation of socialism as the optimal economic order, with the ultimate aim for the country to be directly governed by its citizens, unimpeded by political parties and bureaucratic institutions.’ Codified in The Green Book, Qadhafi

sought to maintain that his ideological framework was consistent with Islamic principles. Yet, by the late 1970s, it became clear that the Colonel planned to abandon religious orthodoxy altogether. This process involved a shift in the locus of sovereignty, from God to the people. The sharia, as a guide to social and political organisation, was eventually supplanted by The Green Book. Increasingly vocal in their concerns about the inconsistencies between the revolutionary reforms and Islamic tradition, the ulema were dealt a heavy blow when the wagqfs were abolished in response. Not only did these religious endowments provide financial support for many of the ulema, but their appropriation by the state constituted an attack on the sanctity of private property. Though the move was certainly in conformity with his radical programme of establishing an egalitarian state, there can be no doubt that Qadhafi aimed at crushing the authority of the religious establishment. Indeed, Qadhafi argued that the u/ema’s authority contravened the popular authority privileged by The Green Book. His response to their criticisms was to instruct the masses to ‘seize the mosques’. He accused the u/ema of paganist tendencies and of ‘propagating heretical tales elaborated over centuries of deca-

dence and which distort the Islamic religion’.** At the same time, he asserted that, in Islam, there was no need for intermediaries between man and God: ‘The

Qur’an is in the Arabic language and we can therefore comprehend it ourselves

without the need for an imam to interpret it for us’.?? That is, Qadhafi shut out the ulema by arguing that they were superfluous, at a minimum, and a contravention of the Islamic message, at a maximum. At the same time as he undermined the agents of Islamic doctrine, Qadhafi launched an attack on its sources. Arguing that the Prophetic traditions (the hadith) were beset with contradictions and doubts over their authenticity, Qadhafi called for a ‘return to the Quran’. Whereas the Quran was perfect, the hadith were subject to the errors of mortals and therefore not binding. Usually considered an authoritative source of revelation second only to the Quran, the hadith are used in Islamic jurisprudence to contextualise the Quranic revelations and form an integral part of the sharia. Yet to Qadhafi’s mind, ‘religion is the Quran and nothing else. Anything other than the Quran is heresy’.*° In dispensing with the w/ema and undermining the authenticity of the hadith, Qadhafi’s aims were twofold. In the first place, he could arrogate to himself the

right to interpret the sacred text (ijtihad) in accordance with his distinctive view of socialism. Hence, The Green Book. The slogan on one billboard well captured the marriage of Qadhafian socialism with his uniquely reductionist view of Islam: ‘The Glorious Quran is the Shariah of Our New Socialist Society’.*' Second, he sought to break the authority of Islamic law which was based on the hadith, and of which the u/ema were

custodians,

and implement a virtually

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unsupervised revolutionary court system. This was staffed by Revolutionary Committee members who were not bound by the country’s penal code — unsurprisingly, a series of well documented abuses ensued.” Though the end result was an unorthodox interpretation of Islam widely regarded as heretical, Qadhafi’s worldview shared certain characteristics with the nineteenth-century modernist strain within Islam, known as the Salafiyyah movement. First, both approaches sought to awaken Muslims to the threat of western domination and to encourage resistance to European encroachment. Second, both Qadhafi’s theory and the Salafiyyah argued for the compatibility of Islam with science and technology. To restore the former glory of Islam, Muslims had to modernise and embrace scientific and technical advancements. Finally, both denounced the slavish acceptance of past authority, and asserted the importance of using individual judgement, ijtihad, to reconcile Islam with the modern world (it is worth noting that al-Sanusi, too, called for the renewal of theology and free scholarship with the use of ijtihad). However, the salafis accepted the hadith as part of divine guidance and maintained that individual reason was to be used for matters not explicitly treated in the Quran and hadith. Qadhafi, as we have seen, shunned the hadith altogether and argued that they cannot ‘serve as the law of society’.** Interestingly, the Salafiyyah’s ideas would inspire the formation of Qadhafi’s arch-rivals, the Muslim Brotherhood. In Qadhafi’s assault on Sunni convention, the Muslim calendar, in place for 1,400 years, was also subject to reinterpretation. Instead of dating from the hijra, the Prophet’s flight from Mecca to Medina, Qadhafi decreed that the calendar should begin with the Prophet’s death, ten years later. In addition, Qadhafi decided that one of the pillars of the faith, the Hajj to Mecca, was no longer an obligation. His attack on Islamic orthodoxy culminated in a 1979 interview with an Italian journalist. The Green Book, Qadhafi told Oriana Fallaci, is the new

gospel.** In this way, and in constructing the hegemonic political discourse, Qadhafi himself challenged a hegemonic discourse: Islamic orthodoxy. While Qadhafi characterised the Libyan revolution as ‘rectifying Islam, presenting Islam correctly, purifying Islam’,** the Libyan ulema regarded him as a heretic. In 1979 an organisation in Cairo calling itself ‘The Revolutionary Council of the Prophet of God’ announced that Qadhafi had been sentenced to death.*° The following year, the Saudi religious establishment excommunicated him for the kufr, blasphemy and apostasy inhering in his views and King Khaled labelled him ‘a spearhead against Islam’.*’ The Muslim World League also declared Qadhafi an enemy ofIslam.

The Islamist challenge Just as King Idris had been terrified of Arab nationalism in general and Gamal Abdel Nasser in particular, so Qadhafi was deeply suspicious of independent religion in general and Islamism in particular. The growth of Islamism in neighbouring Egypt, Algeria and the Sudan resulted in fierce challenges to the status

Islam in Libya

15

quo. As early as 1973, and after the famous Zuwara speech in which Qadhafi announced the Popular Revolution, members of Islamic fundamentalist organisations were among the 400 potential opponents arrested by the regime.** Qadhafi launched a double-pronged offensive against political Islam: ideologically, by claiming Islam as the territory of the regime and politically, through a firm no-tolerance policy to individuals suspected of involvement with Islamism. Nevertheless, the threat from Islamism was eventually to lead to the declaration of a state of emergency in eastern Libya in 1996. This section will consider the development of an Islamist challenge to Qadhafi’s regime in the 1980s. Underlying that challenge was a spiralling economic situation. ‘The Revolutionary Council of the Prophet of God’ which had sentenced Qadhafi to death in 1979 based their charges on his mishandling of the country’s funds by purchasing obsolete and defective arms from the Soviet Union.*’ Indeed, as the regime sought to buy off the population by making itself the principal source of income for most households, short-term consumption was prioritised over long-term development. Dirk Vandewalle notes that ‘Libya in fact became a centrally unplanned economy as the maintenance of patronage and a distinct social contract that relied heavily on economic distribution led to the skyrocketing of spending which took precedence over efficiency and regulation’.*° In implementing the directives of The Green Book, Qadhafi’s regime eliminated the private sector and all private initiatives and entrepreneurship, ‘in effect consigning the country’s citizens to unproductive, rent-seeking activities’*! (Qadhafi labelled Libyan entrepreneurs ‘parasites’ on | September 1980). The regime confiscated and destroyed property, nationalised oil and land, and asserted the monopoly on imports and exports. At the same time, Lisa Andersen described a situation in which ‘bureaucratic ineffi-

ciency has been raised to an art’. She noted that in the agricultural sector, the ‘misguided encouragement of mechanization’ led to over-irrigation, lowered water tables and a drop in production. Services were also distorted by the government’s wage, price and employment policies, as almost 75 per cent of the labour force worked in the ‘public’ sector, while foreign nationals staffed more than half of the managerial and professional positions in the economy.* No genuine industrial development occurred outside of the petroleum sector — and even there, the oil slump of the 1980s cut Libyan revenues dramatically. Virtually every Libyan family found itself involved in the black market. The revolution was as imposing on the social and political realms as it was on the economic one. Civil society was eradicated — ‘from the retailers associations to the sports clubs, from the suqgs to the cafes, the regime has shut down the institutions and places where people might gather outside government supervision’. In accordance with the notion of ‘popular authority’, the country was to be governed by Popular Congresses and Committees. These formal structures of power were quickly eclipsed by informal ones, and especially the Revolutionary Committees, whose existence was not called for or theorised in The Green Book. Initially charged with encouraging greater popular participation in the Popular Congresses (which was very low), the Committees consisted of ‘young, carefully selected individuals who were responsible directly to Qadhafi’.** However,

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their role quickly developed and diversified, with responsibilities including supervising the implementation of The Green Book's directives, running the Libyan media, officially propagating, guiding and controlling the revolution, establishing a parallel justice system through revolutionary courts, and defending the revolution at all costs. In this latter mission, the Revolutionary Committees were given the power to pursue, hunt down, and physically liquidate all ‘enemies of the revolution’, at home and abroad. At the same time, Qadhafi himself made all important policy decisions.*® With the disappearance of civil society and the top-down monopoly of all outlets of political participation and expression, Islam became the predominant framework of protest throughout the 1980s. Abdullah Ahmad, a member of an Islamist paramilitary group, observed that in the early 1980s ‘many young people became more devout, going to the mosque regularly and immersing themselves in the study of Islamic law and theology’.*’ Of course, the religious establishment had been eviscerated, so this Islamic challenge would increasingly take the form of an Islamist one. In 1986, George Joffé outlined the various forms of Islamic opposition that had been developing against Qadhafi’s regime. First was the Sanusiyyah, whose traditional élites had been destroyed in Cyrenaica and replaced with Popular Committees. Next was urban Islam, including not only traditional groups of the al-Azhar school, but religious leaders who were steeped in the Islamic revivalism of the Salafiyya movement. According to Joffé, ‘they increasingly articulated the aspirations of many young people in urban centres who also rejected the precepts of the Jamahiriya and sought, in mosques frequented by such modernising religious leaders, a viable alternative’.** Among these leaders was the hugely popular Tripolitan preacher, Sheikh al-Bishti, who continued his famous sermons in defiance of a ban on the public discussion of politics by religious bodies, and who eventually disappeared. Third, the National Salvation Front for Libya (Ingat), an umbrella group for opposition groups in exile which had an Islamist wing, launched two failed coup attempts against the regime in 1980 and 1984. The Muslim Brotherhood constituted a fourth and especially grave form of Islamist threat to the Qadhafi regime because it represented a political movement within the overall body politic. Accordingly, ‘the Ikhwan was virtually eliminated from Libya. Those accused were imprisoned and often disappeared without trace after the late 1970s, while others were executed in public, apparently pour encourager les autres.”” Fifth, offshoots of the Brotherhood known as anquds privileged more radical theologians such as Sayyid Qutb and Abu Aala alMawdudi over the Brotherhood’s founder, Hasan al-Banna, and espoused much harsher and more rejectionist doctrines. These small, autonomous fundamentalist

organisations developed in Libya (though not nearly to the extent as they did in Egypt), but details of their existence and activities was hard to come by given the nature of the regime. Finally, the Hizb al-Tahrir al-Islami was

a violent

branch of the external Islamic opposition to Qadhafi and which aimed to infil-

trate the armed forces in order to stage a coup d’etat.*°

Islam in Libya

\7

It is worth noting that the core of the Islamist opposition in Libya was focused primarily around the eastern cities of Benghazi, Derna and Ajdabia, where public sympathy was highest. Alison Pargeter makes the important observation that radicalisation should be considered within the broader historical context of political and cultural resistance by certain peripheral regional elements to a delegitimised and stagnated central authority. Not only was Cyrenaica the home of the Sanusiyyah, it was also the region which was identified in the collective imagination with the resistance to the Italian colonial invaders. Culturally, the eastern

regions of Libya are known for their insularity and social conservatism, thus Qadhafi’s ‘revolutionary’ ideas may have been especially difficult to swallow. Indeed, ‘Qadhafi’s seizing power from a monarchy that had its roots in the Sanusi was perceived as a direct attack on the eastern regions. So too was Qadhafi’s attempt to wipe the collective memory and to impose his own highly personalised ideology based upon Arab nationalism, socialism and his particular brand of Islam’.’’ As a result, the rank and file of the Islamist movement

in

Libya mostly came from Cyrenaica. Qadhafi’s response to Islamist agitations, alleged and otherwise, was characteristically iron-fisted. In the spring of 1982, twenty-one alleged members of Hizb al-Tahrir were indicted for plotting against the regime, and eight of them

are believed to have been executed a year later.” The first public hangings of two Islamists occurred in 1984 on the campus of El-Fateh University in Tripoli, for having tried to set fire to an amphitheatre where Qadhafi had made some of

his important speeches. In 1987, Tripoli Television broadcasted the execution of nine men accused of treason, bombings, assassination attempts against Soviet military advisers, and ‘hostility to the people’s authority’.°’ The six civilians among them were hanged, while the three soldiers were killed in a field by firing squad. The condemned men were also believed to have executed a senior _member of the Revolutionary Committees who was in charge of enforcing restrictions on private agricultural commerce.” Reports frequently emerged of dozens of young men, from students to small businessmen, being rounded up and held incommunicado by the regime. In 1988, two factors seem to combine to persuade Qadhafi to relax his stance towards political prisoners as well as loosen the state’s hold on the economy. The first of these was the crisis occurring within the army, owing to the nineyear war in Chad which had cost thousands of conscripts their lives and which ended in defeat. Not only were the authorities forced to conduct large-scale city searches to hunt down defectors and draft dodgers, but there were also reports of

attempts on Qadhafi’s life.°’ Second, the limits of loyalty to the regime were also revealed with the US bombing of Tripoli and Benghazi in 1986, whereupon rumours surfaced of an uprising at a military camp in Misrata and of the death of Qadhafi in the rubble of his villa.°° About fifty members of the Revolutionary

Committees were believed to have fled, burning documents attesting to their

involvement in the service of the regime.” In a dramatic turnaround, Qadhafi’s response to the brewing crisis was, first, to encourage private trade and, second, to launch a new campaign to ensure civil

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liberties. Qadhafi began this drive with initiatives ranging from the adaptation of the Great Green Charter of Human Rights, to a personal visit to the emigration office where he allegedly destroyed lists of Libyans forbidden to leave the country.*® In addition, and after declaring that he was tormented by the very idea of people behind bars, Qadhafi released 400 political prisoners from Furnaj prison and personally drove the bulldozer which destroyed its walls. He then made a ‘coruscating verbal attack from the prison’s tower against those who abused the revolution for their own purposes’.°° Nevertheless, within a matter of months, the prisons were to be spectacularly refilled. For ‘Muslim student activism became more noticeable in 1989 with greater numbers of women wearing head scarves on campus, student demonstrations at Tripoli’s al-Fateh University that were attributed to the Muslim brotherhood, and a resumption of political discussions at mosques’.® As early as January clashes broke out between members of the Revolutionary Committees and worshippers in Tripoli’s mosques. Shortly thereafter, a cancelled football match between Libya and Algeria (the official explanation being that the future pan-Arabist

union between

the two countries made

them,

in fact, one team)

sparked a riot in downtown Tripoli. Pouring into the streets, the crowds of spectators chanted ‘Laa ila-ha ila-Allah’ and ‘Qadhafi is the enemy of God’.®' The security forces persisted with their clampdowns, raiding a mosque in Benghazi for publicly criticising Qadhafi’s religious views. Again, protests erupted in Benghazi and Tripoli. The demonstrators ‘decried deteriorating economic conditions and the limited job opportunities for recent graduates as well as the attacks on religious leaders and institutions’.® Islam furnished a vocabulary for the rejection of the state’s normative power, and this in turn reflected the wider

political, social and economic implosion of Qadhafi’s revolution. Armed skirmishes in the east of the country, in Benghazi, Ajedabia and Misrata, gave rise to a new wave of repression by the regime. Moving beyond small groups of activists, the clampdowns extended to touch a full sector of the population.® The prisons were refilled with thousands of Islamist activists and sympathisers arrested in Cyrenaica. While slogans often denounced Qadhafi as the enemy of God, Qadhafi attempted to delegitimise his Islamist opponents as atheists, agents of imperialism and Zionism, and ‘hashish-smokers’. In an interesting parallel, the Isma’ili rebels, who waged a campaign of targeted killings against the Sunni authorities between the eleventh and thirteenth centuries, were similarly referred to by their enemies as hashish-smokers. This derogatory label gained traction to the extent that the English name by which these Shia millenarians are now known, the Assassins, has its roots in the Arabic for ‘the hashishsmokers’ (al-hashaashin). Moving beyond rhetoric, in a speech on 7 October 1989 Qadhafi compared the Islamists to ‘cancer, the black death and AIDS’ and sought a law enabling Revolutionary Committees to ‘eliminate’ them.™ Letters pinned to the doors of mosques called for the physical elimination of the Islamist ‘atheists’. Qadhafi also invited the population at large to ‘decapitate the Islamist and throw [the head] into the street as if you had found a wolf, fox or a scorpion. This is a

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poison. This is a devil. This is a heretic’.°° Later, as the challenge from the Islamists persisted into the early 1990s, the Colonel again urged Libyans to take matters into their own hands: If you know anyone who is one of those heretics then he should be killed and liquidated just like a dog. Without trial. Do not be afraid. Nobody will arrest you or put you on trial if you kill a heretic.”

Throughout his confrontation with the Islamists during the 1980s, and even though attacks were conducted by a range of related and unrelated groups, Qadhafi repeatedly made a point of denouncing the perpetrators as ‘the Ikhwan’. This is because, as a social movement, the Muslim Brothers posed the most wor-

rying threat to the Qadhafi regime. Possessing an in-built, authentic and coherent challenge to Qadhafi’s hegemonic narrative (pan-Islamic as opposed to Arab nationalist, sharia-based as opposed to socialist, divinely-sanctioned as opposed to populist), the Muslim Brothers in Libya offered a counter-narrative which was also gaining in momentum worldwide. Yet, as Joffé indicates above, the Brothers were crushed in Libya relatively early on, and the Islamists which took on the regime were only able to do so in sporadic bursts of violence. The regime’s response was uncompromising. By the early 1990s, there was nowhere left in Libya for Islamism to go but deeper underground.

Extremism and beyond As thousands of Islamists and their associates were rounded up in the late 1980s, the founding members of the Libyan Armed Islamic Fighting Group (LIFG: AlJama’a al-Islamiyyah al-Mugatilah) were cutting their teeth as fighters in Afghanistan. Constituting a significant part of the Arab presence in the antiSoviet jihad, and even controlling their own bases in outposts such as Gardez (‘we had our own separate camps and no one could gain access to these establishments without our authorisation’),°’ the Libyan jihadists were gaining combat experience that they hoped to transfer into a military battle with ‘the despot Qadhafi’. Indeed, when the LIFG drew up their explicitly jihadist manifesto, Islamists from other movements, including the Muslim Brotherhood, distanced

themselves from the increasingly radical organisation.” Certainly, the emergence of the LIFG in the 1990s well illustrates Joffé’s point, in the introduction, about government repression making dissent part of the process of extremism. As Camille Tawil points out, ‘the LIFG did not appear out of nowhere: it was the product of the jihadist circles that had been suppressed under Gaddafi’s rule’. Martinez, too, notes that the regime’s clampdown led to the radicalisation of the Islamic movement.” One of the LIFG’s founders alluded to the radicalisation process: Qadhafi began from early on to constrict the spirit of the Muslim Libyan youth inside and outside Libya, and began to kill every person who even

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thinks of doing some positive and fruitful work to confine’ his evil and arrests his corruption. It did not matter to him whether these reformers worked in peace or rose in arms against him. ... [His policies] created a realisation amongst the youth of the necessity to fight the armed evil with the armed good. Indeed, scaffolds for hanging Muslims have been erected in parks, university grounds, and various areas since long ago, in order to hang the choicest children of our country. Then elements named revolutionary committees overtook the mosques, the schools, the colleges... Another spokesman explained that Qadhafi ‘suffocate[d] every Islamic activity’.’' In fighting the evil with the armed good, the LIFG’s aim was ‘to overthrow the Qadhafi regime and establish an Islamic state in our country’.”” The pre-cursor to the LIFG was a clandestine organisation led by Emir Awatha al-Zuwawi, who travelled the length of Libya during the 1980s advocating jihad against the regime. A student of Islamic law, Zuwawi managed to attract the loyal following of other students and university-educated young men, including most of the LIFG’s founding members. When he was arrested by the Libyan authorities in 1989, his supporters migrated en masse to Afghanistan ‘where they joined their Arab companions under the banner of Afghani mujahideen groups in fierce battles’.” In that same year, as thousands of Islamists were arrested, the authorities conducted ‘a campaign to liquidate’ Zuwawi’s cells.’ The LIFG was later formed in Afghanistan, between

1990 and 1992, in

the camps of Abdul Rabb al-Rasul Sayyaf” (a Saudi-backed scholar and mujahid leader tasked with promoting Wahabism).’° Back at home, returnees from the war in Afghanistan found themselves under intense suspicion by the regime, and with limited means of subsistence. The regime’s infitah policies had failed,” and deepening socio-economic problems were aggravated by the international sanctions enacted in 1992 over the Lockerbie bombing (Libya had been under unilateral US sanctions since 1979). Invoking the Lockerbie affair as an example of Qadhafi’s confused foreign policy and ‘oblivion to any real political goals’, the LIFG spokesperson also reflected at length on the economic situation confronting his countrymen: As for the economy, it is well-known that the policy of the regime in fighting the private sector still continues. The regime embraces the ideology of government ownership over everything. This has led to the spread of corruption, exploitation, a fall in productivity, a fall in the GDP and an increase in unemployment as the regime finds itself unable to create any work opportunities. The Libyan economy is witnessing a great expansion in the black market, and a monopoly of the regime and its friends over the production of petrol and the wasting of this resource in a manner that does not contribute to any growth in the country. ... Despite possessing great oil resource worth billions of dollars, and despite only having a population of five million, the Libyan population lives a life of poverty, misery and

backwardness.”

Islam in Libya

2)

Alongside the religious challenge inhering in the LIFG’s declaration of jihad (‘(Qadhafi broke] the rules of Islam and its symbols within the minds of the people and in their everyday lives’”) was a strongly articulated platform of socio-economic grievance. ‘Our long-term goal is change’, LIFG leaders often repeated, after outlining the harshness of, and injustice inhering in, daily life. Thus, when Martinez notes that the term jihad identified from the outset the attitude to Qadhafi as one of military confrontation,®*° we must add that a moral

component is equally identified by the term. Jihad, after all, is a multivalent category, which captures various dimensions of dissent from the hegemonic order. Taking a cautious approach to the jihad, the LIFG trained for years in settings as diverse as the plains of Afghanistan, the mountains of Algeria®' and the rough urban quarters of Tripoli (‘we used to send our people to rough areas in the big cities — places infested with gangsters and violent criminals — and tasked them to get into fights and confrontations. We especially encouraged them to get into knife fights and other situations involving extreme and life-threatening violence’).®? As Noman Benotman, a former LIFG shura committee member has stated, ‘the strategic objective at the time was to topple the regime and not just launch sporadic armed attacks here and there. ... The master plan was to secure certain locations, sites and institutions simultaneously. But of course the Group needed the right people and had to wait for the optimum time to attack’. Yet when the LIFG emerged from the shadows in June 1995, the circumstances were less than ideal. The commander for eastern Libya had decided to spring one of his colleagues out of a Benghazi hospital, where he was being held under armed guard. Though the break was successful — indeed, bloodless — all of the involved men were subsequently hunted down by the authorities and either captured or killed. Even more damaging for the group was the fact that properties and documents seized by the security services indicated clearly that the militant cell which perpetrated the hospital break was part of a larger jihadist organisation operating within the country. Upon being discovered, the LIFG had no choice but to go on the offensive. A series of guerrilla attacks and ambushes on security forces were launched around the country, with fighting at its fiercest in the east. Assassination attempts were made on members of Qadhafi’s inner circle (for example, Musa Kusa), as were ‘Algeria-style assassinations of secret policemen’™ and attempts on the life of the Colonel himself (at Sirte in February 1996, at Brak in November 1996 and at

Sidi Khalifa in 1998). At the same time, ‘popular opposition to Qadhafi became more widespread and increasingly volatile’ leading to unprecedented displays of public criticism.** For example, hooliganism turned into political demonstration at a football match in Tripoli in July 1996. When the referee intervened repeatedly and controversially in favour of the team financed by Qadhafi’s son, fans protested with anti-Qadhafi slogans and a pitch invasion. Security officials

opened fire on the crowd, killing fifty.*° While the regime dismissed reports of heavy fighting as clashes with bandits and drug-traffickers, the violence which ensued until 1998, especially in Cyrenaica, gave the impression that the Qadhafi regime was on the verge of collapse.*’

22.

A. Brahimi

One commentator at the time argued that ‘while Western policymakers and the media seem fixated on the Islamic fundamentalist challenge in Algeria, the regime that totters on the brink of imminent collapse is Mu’ammar Qadhafi’s Libya’.* Indeed, in 1996 a state of emergency was declared in Derna. In the heartland of both the Sanusiyyah dynasty and Umar al-Mukhtar’s resistance against the Italians, Qadhafi deployed tanks and helicopters against hundreds of LIFG fighters sheltering in Jebel al-Akhdar. The large-scale aerial bombardment was followed up with thousands of ground troops. The symbolism of this display was not lost on the LIFG, who depicted themselves as heirs to Umar al-Mukhtar’s jihad and crowed that ‘the Libyans have not bombarded their own country since the Italian occupation’*®’ and ‘we are seeing the Libyan air force bombarding the mujahidin positions in the green mountain area which was a gathering place for Libyan mujahidin against the Italian occupation’.” Perhaps of equal symbolic interest was the fact that army roadblocks in the east were often jointly manned by civilian militiamen.”! Reflective of Qadhafi’s crisis of legitimacy, the average soldier was suspected of sympathising with the Islamist rebels. Nonetheless, by 1998 the security services had managed to dismantle most of the group’s cells and liquidate many of its senior leaders.” A ceasefire was finally declared in 2000. The remnants of the LIFG leadership decamped to Afghanistan where, it appears, the group came under considerable pressure to merge with al-Qaeda.*’ Notoriously close to the Taliban leadership, which had its own tensions with Osama bin Laden’s organisation, the LIFG were (and remain) among the most outspoken critics of al-Qaeda’s global jihad. Perhaps vindicating their opposition to the 9/11 attacks, the LIFG leadership became a casualty of the ensuing ‘war on terror’. After the US-led invasion of Afghanistan, important leaders, like Abu al-Mundhir

al-Sa’idi and Abu Abdullah

al-

Sadiq, were arrested while on the run and handed over to Qadhafi. Their imprisonment ‘created a power vacuum which the members who remained at large failed to fill’.** Within a few years, the LIFG leadership based at Abu Salim prison was conducting secret talks with the regime, which culminated in the release of 200 Islamists in March 2010. Freedom for these former militants came in exchange for a renunciation of violence, which was codified in a 417-page document known as the ‘Jihad Code’. Invoking important concepts from the Islamic jihad tradition, such as non-combatant immunity, right authority and last resort, the theological tract delegitimised jihadi violence and sounded the death knell of the LIFG. Islamic opposition lives on in Libya today, albeit mostly in a different form. As Pargeter noted: The regime has been unable to prevent the growing religiosity that has taken hold among the Libyan population in recent years ... increasing numbers of the population are coming to sympathise with a Brotherhood-type of ideology and to aspire to the kind of Islamic alternative promoted by the Brotherhood in what could be interpreted as a form of passive resistance to the

regime. *°

Islam in Libya

23

The Muslim Brotherhood of Libya’s Facebook page emphasises that ‘we denounce violence and will not resort to violence to settle disputes’ and underlines their commitment to freedom, justice and human rights as part of the core of religion.”® Designed to ‘fill an online media gap’, the Facebook profile indicates the resilience of Qadhafi’s béte noire, the Ikhwan, and the omnipresent

threat from their Islam-based challenges to the injustices and ideological idiosyncrasies of his regime. Extremism too survives, as a number ofjihadi cells have been uncovered in recent years. The regime has followed a deliberate policy of punishing the eastern regions since the violence in the 1990s by keeping them in a perpetual state of underdevelopment” — it remains unsurprising, then, that many of the disrupted cells have been based in Cyrenaica.” Conclusion

Qadhafi repeatedly invoked the language of criminality to denounce his Islamist opponents, dubbing them ‘charlatan groups’ that were ‘like the mafia’ or ‘like the drug bands in Latin America’.”? However, as the introduction to this volume notes, radicalisation is in fact a statement about the legitimisation or rejection of normative power and it involves a process of alienation from a hegemonic political discourse. In Libya, that discourse fused aspects of socialism, nationalism and Arabism with an idiosyncratic interpretation of Islam, and managed to alienate almost all sectors of society. For those Islamic militants who opposed Qadhafi, Islamism became an elective identity which registered opposition to the prevailing order and simultaneously asserted the basis of the ideal one. Qadhafi himself had a hand in creating the forces which banded together in Cyrenaica, bringing his regime to the brink. By abolishing the waqf, side-lining the religious establishment, invoking ijtihad and arguing against the need for intermediaries in Islam, Qadhafi helped to democratise Islam. After all, Islamism

everywhere is a product of a broader democratisation process: the crisis of Islamic authority since the decline of the caliphate, the marginalisation or cooptation of the u/ema by ruling regimes, and the increasing numbers of lay persons who took it upon themselves to interpret Islamic sources (helped along by mass education and broader access to the printed word). In Libya, this democratisation process coincided with suffocating conditions on the social, economic and political realms, the regime’s brutal and indiscriminate attitude to Islamism which forced it underground, and a hegemonic ideology involving major distortions of Islamic tradition. In this light, the Islamist challenge in Libya during the 1980s and 1990s appears almost inevitable. In the twenty-first century, it is likely that Islamic opposition in Libya will take the path of the neo-salafism'”° that is beginning to sweep through the region. Neo-salafism is distinguished from Islamism, by its focus on the individual and

society rather than on seizing the state. It defines Islam as a conservative social and legal attitude and prescribes external indicators of internal faith (beards, ankle-swinging thobes, the burqa). Whereas Islamism views Islam primarily as a political system and an all-encompassing ideology which sets its sights on state

24

A. Brahimi

power, neo-salafism belittles and deliberately diminishes the role*of the state. This post-Islamist Islamisation seeks to reconstruct a true Muslim community by starting with the individual,'°! one Muslim at a time. Thus, at the same time as the Libyan state is liberalising economically and socially and opening its doors to western influences, we can expect a growth in personal religiosity and a greater Islamisation of society. This encounter will shape the next generation of Islamic opposition to the hegemonic order in Libya. Notes l Ronen, ‘Qadhafi and Militant Islamism’, p. 12. 2 Deeb, ‘Militant Islam and Its Critics’, p. 196. 5 ‘Interview with the Spokesperson for the Fighting Islamic Group in Libya — Brother Omar Rasheed’, first published in Nida’ul Islam, April-May 1999, available online at www.fas.org/irp/world/para/docs/fig-interview.htm [accessed 7 May 2010]. Eickelman and Piscatori, Muslim Politics, p. 45. Anderson, ‘Qadhdhafi and His Opposition’, p. 226. Anderson, ‘Religion and State in Libya’, p. 71. Ibid., p. 65. Anderson, ‘Qaddafi’s Islam’, p. 146. Anderson, “Religion and State in Libya’, p. 65. Evans-Pritchard, The Sanusi of Cyrenaica, p. 4. Evans-Pritchard, The Sanusi of Cyrenaica, p. 10. Ahmida, The Making of Modern Libya, p. 93. Evans-Pritchard, The Sanusi of Cyrenaica, p. 26. Ahmida, The Making of Modern Libya, p. 88. Anderson, ‘Religion and State in Libya’, p. 66. Ahmida, The Making of Modern Libya, p. 138. In 1931 alone the guerrillas engaged in 250 attacks on and ambushes of the Italian army. Ibid., p. 139. Anderson, ‘Religion and State in Libya’, p. 68. Burgat and Dowell, The Islamic Movement in North Africa, p. 153. Esposito, /slam and Politics, p. 159.

The union was agreed with the Tubroq-Benghazi declaration of 1972 and, in order to force Sadat’s hand, Qadhafi ordered a march from Libya to Cairo, where a representative demanded the complete and integrative unity of Libya and Egypt. See Deeb and Deeb, Libya Since the Revolution, pp. 131-132. Joffe, “Islamic Opposition in Libya’, p. 621. Burgat and Dowell, The Islamic Movement in North Africa, p. 153. Deeb, “Militant Islam and Its Critics’, p. 193. El-Kikhia, Libya’s Qaddafi, p. 1. St John, Libya, p. 158. See Al Gathafi, The Green Book. Anderson, *Qaddafi’s Islam’, p. 143. Quoted in Deeb, ‘Militant Islam and Its Critics’, p. 192. Quoted in Ronen, ‘Qadhafi and Militant Islamism’, p. 2. Wright, Libya, p. 163. Vandewalle, A History of Modern Libya, p. 123. Z In Islam and the Third Universal Theory: The Religious Thought of Mu’ammar alQadhdhafi, London: KPI, 1987, p. 81. Fallaci, “An Interview with Colonel Muammar al-Qaddafi of Libya’. Anderson, ‘Qaddafi’s Islam’, p. 144.

Islam in Libya

25

Wright, Libya, p. 276. In John Kifner, “Saudis Break Libya Ties over Attacks by Qaddafi’, New York Times, 29 October 1980, p. A14. Joffé, ‘Islamic Opposition in Libya’, p. 615. Wright, Libya, p. 276. Vandewalle, A History of Modern Libya, p. 137 Ibid. Anderson, ‘Qadhdhafi and His Opposition’, p. 228. Ibid., pp. 227-8. Anderson, ‘Qadhdhafi and His Opposition’, p. 228. Vandewalle, A History of Modern Libya, p. 120. See Vandewalle, A History of Modern Libya, pp. 119-24. Tawil, Brothers in Arms, p. 49. Joffé, “Islamic Opposition in Libya’, p. 625. Ibid., p. 629. Joffé, ‘Islamic Opposition in Libya’, pp. 624-30. Pargeter, “Localism and Radicalization in North Africa, p. 1036. Burgat and Dowell, The Islamic Movement in North Africa, p. 160. “Libyan Television Shows Execution of “Traitors” ’, Associated Press, 18 February 1987. Burgat and Dowell, The Islamic Movement in North Africa, p. 160. Qadhafi was believed to have been targeted over Chad as early as 1981 when a group of disgruntled officers tried to shoot down a jet in which he was travelling. See ‘US-Libyan Hostilities Distract Public’s Eye Away From Libya’s Troubles’, Associated Press, 11 December 1981. The air strikes were ordered by Ronald Reagan in response to the bombing of a Berlin nightclub, in which two US servicemen and a Turkish woman were killed. Burgat and Dowell, The Islamic Movement in North Africa, p. 161, fn. 2. St John, Libya, p. 222. Vandewalle, A History of Modern Libya, p. 143. Esposito, [slam and Politics, pp. 165-6. ‘Gaddafi Faces Wave of Popular Disquiet’, Zhe Guardian, 7 February 1989. St John, Libya, pp. 221-2. Burgat and Dowell, The Islamic Movement in North Africa, p. 162. Darwish, ‘Extremist Suicide Attacks Challenge Gaddafi’. Quoted in Ronen, ‘Qadhafi and Militant Islamism’, p. 5. ‘Colonel Gaddafi: “Heretics” should be “Killed Like Dogs”’, Hobart Mercury, 4 May 1993. Mahan Abedin, ‘From Mujahid to Activist: An Interview with a Libyan Veteran of the Afghan Jihad’, Spotlight on Terror, 3:2, 6 May 2005, at www.jamestown.org/ single/?no_cache=1&tx_ttnews%5Btt_news%5D=178 [accessed 12 November 2008]. Tawil, Brothers in Arms, p. 53.

Tawil, Brothers in Arms, p. 49. Martinez, The Libyan Paradox, p. 59. ‘The Official Spokesperson for the Fighting Islamic Group in Libya: The Libyan Regime is Living in a Situation of Hysteria’, first published in Nida’ul Islam, November 1996, available online at www.fas.org/irp/world/para/docs/IN-LIBY A. htm [accessed 7 May 2010]. Benotman in Abedin, ‘From Mujahid to Activist’. ‘The Roots of the “Libyan Fighting Group”’, 11 April 2006, www.al-borag.com, quoted in Evan F. Kohlmann, ‘Dossier: LIFG’, October 2007, at www.nefafoundation.org/miscellaneous/nefalifg 1007.pdf [accessed 12 June 2010]. 75 Tawil, Brothers in Arms, p. 158. 76 For details of Sayyaf’s strategy of exchanging weapons for support, see Olivier Roy, Islam and Resistance in Afghanistan, Cambridge: CUP, 1986, pp. 134-6.

26

81

82 83. 84 85 86 87 88 89

90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98

A. Brahimi Vandewalle, A History of Modern Libya, p. 166. 3 Omar Rasheed, ‘Interview with the Spokesperson for the Fighting Islamic Group’. Al-Sharif, ‘The Official Spokesperson for the Fighting Islamic Group in Libya’. Martinez, The Libyan Paradox, p. 64. Algeria was operationally important for the LIFG who intended to send its fighters to the jihad there to receive training, but also because they hoped to launch a war on the regime from the Algerian—Libyan border areas. Unfortunately, relations with the main jihadist organisation in Algeria, the Armed Islamic Group (GIA) deteriorated to the extent that LIFG members ended up lobbying key jihadi ideologues to withdraw support for the GIA, which it saw as.excessively extreme. LIFG fighters who travelled to Algeria accused the group of lacking theological expertise, but the main source of contention was the disappearance of fifteen LIFG members in Algeria in 1994. Faced with a GIA leadership that was indifferent to the fate of the LIFG fighters, the Libyans were never able to establish what had happened to their men. The assumption became that the GIA had murdered them. See Tawil, Brothers in Arms, pp. 84-87, pp. 96-97, and pp. 120-25. Benotman in Abedin, ‘From Mujahid to Activist’. Ibid. Sheridan, ‘Libya’s Secret War Pits Islam Against Gaddafi’. St John, Libya, p. 223. Ibid. Martinez, The Libyan Paradox, p. 57. Takeyh, ‘Qadhafi and the Challenge of Militant Islam, p. 159. Abu Bakr al-Sharifin ‘The Official Spokesperson for the Fighting Islamic Group in Libya: The Libyan Regime is Living in a Situation of Hysteria’. Ibid. These were members of the Revolutionary Committees and the Jamahiriya Guard. Martinez, The Libyan Paradox, p. 70. Tawil, Brothers in Arms, p. 139. See Tawil, Brothers in Arms, pp. 170-1. Tawil, Brothers in Arms, p. 196. Pargeter, ‘Political Islam in Libya’. Arfaoui, ‘Muslim Brotherhood of Libya Launches Facebook Page’. Pargeter, ‘Localism and Radicalization in North Africa’, p. 1036. Camille Tawil, ‘The Changing Face of the Jihadist Movement in Libya’, Terrorism Monitor, 7:1, 9 January 2009, at www.jamestown.org/programs/gta/single/ ?tx_ttnews%5Btt_news%5D=34322&tx_ttnews%S5BbackPid%5D=412&no_cache=1 [accessed 12 July 2010].

99 ‘Libya

Qadhafi

Criticises

Muslim

Extremist

Groups

as

“Charlatans”’,

BBC

Summary of World Broadcasts, 11 June 1990, part 4. 100 The term ‘neo-salafism’ is here preferred over ‘salafism’ because it seems important to make the distinction between contemporary advocates of a puritanical and literalist interpretation of the faith and the nineteenth-century modernists of the Salafiyyah movement. Though mobilised for very different ends, the two movements share in common an emphasis on a return to the purity of Islam as practiced by ‘the predecessors’ (salaf), the first three generations of Muslims who were the companions of the Prophet and their followers. 101 Roy, Globalised Islam, p. 99.

Bibliography Ahmida, Ali Abdullatif (2009), The Making of Modern Libya: State Formation, Colonization, and Resistance, Albany: SUNY Press.

Islam in Libya

27

Al Gathafi, M. (2005), The Green Book, Reading: Ithaca Press. Anderson, Lisa (1986), ‘Qadhdhafi and His Opposition’, Middle East Journal, 40:2, Spring. Anderson, Lisa (1986) ‘Religion and State in Libya: The Politics of Identity’, Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, vol. 483, January. Anderson, Lisa (1993), ‘Qaddafi’s Islam’, in John Esposito (ed.), Voices of Resurgent Islam, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Arfaoui, Jamel (2010), ‘Muslim Brotherhood of Libya Launches Facebook Page’, Magharebia, 20 July. Burgat, Frangois and Dowel, William (1993), The Islamic Movement in North Africa, Austin: University of Texas. Darwish, Adel (1989), ‘Extremist Suicide Attacks Challenge Gaddafi’, Independent, 3 November. Deeb, Marius K., (1994), “Militant Islam and Its Critics: The case of Libya’, in John Ruedy, /s/amism and Secularism in North Africa, Basingstoke: Macmillan. Deeb, Marius K. and Deeb, Mary Jane (1982) Libya Since the Revolution: Aspects of Social and Political Development, New Y ork: Praeger. Eickelman, Dale and Piscatori, James (1996), Muslim Politics, Princeton: Princeton Uni-

versity Press. El-Kikhia, Mansour O. (1997), Libya’s Qaddafi: The Politics of Contradiction, Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Esposito, John (1991), /slam and Politics, Syracuse: Syracuse University Press. Evans-Pritchard, E. (1948), The Sanusi of Cyrenaica, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Fallaci, Oriana (1979), ‘An Interview with Colonel Muammar Al-Qaddafi of Libya’, New York Times Magazine, 16 December. Joffé, George (1988), ‘Islamic Opposition in Libya’, Third World Quarterly, 10:2, p. 621. Martinez, Luis (2007), The Libyan Paradox, London: Hurst. Pargeter, Alison (2009), ‘Localism and Radicalization in North Africa: Local factors and

the Development of Political Islam in Morocco, Tunisia and Libya’, /nternational Affairs, 85:5. Pargeter, Alison (2005), ‘Political Islam in Libya’, Terrorism Montor, 3:6, March, at www.jamestown.org/single/?no_cache=1&tx_ttnews%5Btt_news%5D=30148 [accessed 12 November 2008]. Ronen, Yehudit (2002), ‘Qadhafi and Militant Islamism: Unprecedented Conflict’, Middle

Eastern Studies, 38:4, October. Roy, Olivier (2002), Globalised Islam: The Search for a New

Ummah, London: Hurst,

p. 99. Sheridan, Michael (1995), ‘Libya’s Secret War Pits Islam Against Gaddafi’, Independent, 14 October. St John, Ronald Bruce (2008), Libya: From Colony to Independence, Oxford: Oneworld Publications. Takeyh, Ray (1998), ‘Qadhafi and the Challenge of Militant Islam’, The Washington Quarterly, 21:3, Summer. Tawil, Camille (2010), Brothers in Arms: The Story of Al-Qa’ida and the Arab Jihadists, London: Saqi Books. Vandewalle, Dirk (2006), A History of Modern Libya, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wright, John (1982), Libya: A Modern History, London: Croom Helm.

3

Social change, regime performance and the radicalisation of politics The case of Libya Zahi Mogherbi

Until its independence in 1951, Libya’s history was one of intermittent domination by outsiders. Undoubtedly, the socio-cultural structures in Libya were greatly influenced by this past successive domination by foreign powers. However, none ofthe invaders had a more lasting effect than the Muslim Arabs. Their coming resulted in total submission of the old society and Arabisation of the country and alteration ofthe ethnic, religious and cultural composition ofthe population. Now, the dominant ethnic composition of the population is an admixture of Arabs and Berbers, the original inhabitants. There exist also small

ethnic groups. However, the population exhibits a remarkable physical and cultural homogeneity. The first 18 years of independence witnessed the rule of a king whose primary claim to political legitimacy rested on his position as the head of the Sanusi religious order and his reliance on the tribal structure in the country. The revolution of 1969 represented a break with this identification of religion and politics by strongly identifying with Arab Nationalism. However, the secularisation of the regime did not entirely sever the relationship between religion and politics. Indeed, the new rulers were keen to emphasise their adherence to Islam and to point out the organic relationship between Arab nationalism and Islam. The new regime has had, also, to deal with the tribal structure in one way or another. Therefore it is important to understand the role played by tribalism, Islam and Arab nationalism in Libyan politics for the following reasons. First, tribalism and tribal structures played, and still play, a significant role in the social, economic and political processes in Libya. Second, Islam played, and still plays, a very important role in Libya. Indeed, Libya, along with the Arabian Peninsula and the Sudan, represent an area in which three major reformist Islamic Sufi orders had evolved. These orders brought about a religious enlightenment and called for the return to the early Islam and for adherence to the strict teachings of the Qur’an and the Sunna. Furthermore, the Sanusi order was able to establish internal peace and security among tribal communities and played a major role in reducing tribal animosities and strengthening social integration. Third, Libyan society witnessed, during the 1950s and 1960s, an increase in Arab nationalist

feeling and commitments among the population as a result of the process of political socialisation through the educational system and mass media. Also, the

Social change: the case of Libya

29

oil boom in the 1960s resulted in sweeping and major changes in the country’s social and economic situations. This chapter is concerned with examining the effect of the processes of social change and modernisation on the social and political structures in Libya and its relationship with the radicalisation or deradicalisation of politics and the political processes in Libya. Radicalisation is identified here as ‘a process of alienation from the hegemonic political discourse ... it is a statement about the legitimisation or rejection of normative power and about dominant concepts of inclusion and exclusion.’! This chapter proceeds under the assumption that the institutions of the Libyan political systems, before and after 1969, were not able to deal with the problems raised by the process of modernisation, especially in respect to political participation, nation-building and legitimacy, which resulted in the radicalisation of politics in Libya, be it secular or religious. In this sense, the chapter is more concerned with investigating the factors that led to the rise of radicalism in Libyan society and politics, than presenting an account of the radical groups which operated in Libya at one time or another. In other words, it will focus on the causes of radicalisation in Libyan politics, be it the processes of social change and modernisation or the actual performance of the regime and its policies during the monarchical and revolutionary eras. Definitions

Modernisation has been a prominent theme in comparative politics and the literature on political development. For most researchers, modernisation means profound change in social, economic and political relations among the members of a society as a consequence of an historical phenomenon with universal relevance, namely, the onslaught of ‘the age of reason, science, and secularism’ to

displace traditional society. It is commonly seen as a particular kind of change involving both man and his society in all phases of interactions. The starting point for the analysis of this phenomenon is typically the conceptual dichotomy between modernity and tradition, with modernisation conceived as ‘the passing of traditional society’ and the emergence of a modern industrial society in its place.” As the process of modernisation unfolds, attitudes and values, along with the physical and social environment, undergo change.’ Rapid environmental changes (industrialisation, urbanisation, increases in lit-

eracy and communications) and the value changes that tend to accompany, precede or follow them produce what Deutsch has termed ‘social mobilisation’. It is a process by which ‘major clusters of old social, economic and psychological commitments are eroded or broken and people become available for new patterns of socialisation and behaviour.”*

Modernisation and political participation As a natural consequence of the social mobilisation process, the groups and individuals affected by this process will desire and may demand participation in the

30

Z. Mogherbi

political process. Usually, the wants and expectations of newly mobilised people rise faster than the capacity of existing institutions to absorb them. The resulting gap helps to produce political instability and a crisis of legitimacy.” Huntington deals directly with this problem. He does so by examining the relationship between political participation and political institutionalisation, and he suggests that the stability of political systems is determined by the nature of the relationship between those two variables. Political participation is a result of the socio-economic process related to modernisation. The effect of modernisation on political stability is manifested in the interaction between social mobilisation and economic development, between social frustration and mobility opportunities, and between political participation and_ political institutionalisation.° For Huntington, political modernisation — which is the political effects of social, economic and cultural modernisation — is reflected in three variables: the

rationalisation of authority, by which he means ‘the replacement of a large number of traditional, religious, familial and ethnic political authority by a large secular, national political authority’; the differentiation of new political functions and the development of specialised structures to perform those functions; and increased participation in politics by social groups throughout society.’ The ability of the political system to meet these challenges is determined, in Huntington’s view, by the scope of support and the level of institutionalisation. Scope of support relates to the degree to which people are willing not only to abide by their class, tribe or nation’s laws and political procedures, but to support them as well. Levels of institutionalisation deal with the processes by which political organisations and procedures come to be valued in the group or society and are capable of meeting political expectations.®

Another concept, which is related to political participation and the process of modernisation, is political integration. As Weiner points out, the concept of integration is used to describe a wide range of phenomena. He identifies five of these phenomena, all of which are ‘attempts to define what it is which holds a society and a political system together’: the development of a sense of nationality by subsuming various cultural loyalties; the integration of political units into a common territorial framework; the greater linkage of the rulers and the ruled; the integration of citizens into a common political process; and, finally, the working together of individuals for common goals.’ Verba also argues that ‘the development of a clear and unambiguous sense of identity is more than a facilitating factor in the creation of a nation; it may be in some sense the major constituting

factor of a new nation.’'® The

social, economic,

cultural

and political changes

associated

with the

process of modernisation give rise to the crises of horizontal integration building) and vertical integration (state building). Nation building means ation of a new sense of community and a common identity that extends the primordial bonds of tribe, caste, language and religion to enhance

(nation the crebeyond a more

Social change: the case of Libya

31

inclusive national community. State building refers to the capacity of the political system in creating effective institutions to respond to demands of expanding participation and to accommodate the new social groups and forces in the political process.!! Modernisation and legitimacy The inculcation of a sense of legitimacy is probably, as noted by Easton, the most effective device for regulating the flow of diffuse support in favour both of the authorities and of the regime. A member may be willing to obey the authorities and conform to the requirements of the regime for many different reasons. But the most stable support will derive from the conviction on the part of the member that it is right and proper for them to accept and obey the authorities and to abide by the requirements of the regime. It reflects the fact that in some vague or explicit way they see these objects as confirming to their own moral principles and their own sense of what is right and proper in the political

sphere.'* Legitimacy of a political system can be derived from different sources: traditional, social, religious, nationalistic, economic or general capability in maintaining the belief that the present regime is best of all. Easton refers to three sources of legitimacy — ideological, structural or personal — which may characterise support to any political system." Crises of legitimacy may be expected to be associated with rapid social change and the consequent tension between traditionalism and modernity. As Lipset notes, a crisis of legitimacy is a crisis of change. Its roots must be sought in the character of change in modern society as well as the nature of traditionalism. In other words, the heart of the legitimacy problem stems from the fact that the political change involves to a large extent the institutionalisation of new norms and structures that are aimed toward new goals. It is concerned with the compatibility between traditional leadership system and the demands or desires for new institutions and roles.'* Since legitimacy involves the capacity of a political system to engender and maintain the belief that existing political institutions are the most appropriate ones for a society, Lipset also emphasises the importance of effectiveness. By effectiveness he means the actual performance of a political system, the extent to which it satisfies the basic functions of government as defined by the expectations of most members of a society.

Monarchical Libya: modernisation and secular radicalisation The middle of the nineteenth century saw the opening of a new phase in Libya’s social and political development, namely, the emergence of the Sanusi movement. It was difficult at that time to attach any but religious significance to the movement, which ultimately played a very great role in the shaping of modern Libya.'> The movement was described as ‘an Islamic phenomenon, religious in

its fundamentals, social in its effects and political in its consequences.’!® The

32

Z. Mogherbi

movement was based on zawiyah (lodges), an economic and social institution which penetrated the tribal structure. The first Sanusi zawiya was established in the Green Mountain area in central Cyrenaica in 1843. The founder, Mohamed Bin Ali al-Sanusi (the Grand Sanusi),

was a learned Algerian. His order was essentially in the same tradition as other Sufi Orders in Islam, only more adapted to primitive living and imposing fewer demands on a tribal existence.'” It owed its success among the Bedouins to its simplicity and to the fact that it attempted to enlighten them without requiring any drastic change in their way of living. ‘However, while this simplicity appealed to the Bedouins of Cyrenaica and Fazzan, it prevented the order from gaining popularity where older orders were already established, such as in the settled areas of Tripolitania and among the Berbers of the Jabal, whose Ibadi beliefs were at variance with the Sanusiyyah’s Sunni Islam. They grew quickly, however, in Cyrenaica and the Sahara.’'® As the spread of the order was facilitated by its adaptation to the needs of tribal society, so its gradual transformation from a purely religious to a ‘politicoreligious’ movement could not have occurred had it not been based on a wellknit tribal structure. It was the tribal system of the Bedouins that furnished the order with its political foundations. Thus, the monarchical regime’s legitimacy was based on the Sanusi order and its tribal connections. In tribal areas King Idris’ authority was supreme, but in the cities Sanusi leadership was admittedly acknowledged as a political expediency." The effects of social change and modernisation

As a result of the oil boom in the mid-1960s, the dynamics of change accelerated in almost every aspect of life, including economic structures, education, health services, mass communication, transportation, urban population and the value system. Changes came from different directions: ‘nationalism, which overcame the tribal identification; the oil boom, which introduced new concepts concern-

ing the efficiency of human action; increased social mobility, which in turn resulted in increased individualism. All these factors have contributed to changes not only in the urban way of life but also in the Bedouin way of life.’”° The changes that swept Libyan society can be explained by the formula presented by Huntington. The economic growth associated with the discovery of oil was accompanied by drastic changes in the social fabric in Libya. Social mobilisation was widespread. The newly mobilised sought to participate in the social, economic and political processes in the country. But the monarchical regime lacked the will, the desire and the capacity to absorb the newly mobilised groups and individuals. The regime destroyed political activities and banned political parties from the early days of independence. Furthermore, it failed to institutionalise alternative organisations to channel and absorb the demands of the socially mobilised. The result was a crisis of political participation. Another aspect of social change and modernisation in Libya was the vast and rapid expansion in education. In this regard, the political socialisation process in

Social change: the case of Libya

33

Libya, especially through the school system, played a major role in forging an identity shared by most of the newly mobilised and based on the ideas of Arab nationalism and Arab unity. This was accomplished primarily through the school curriculum. The case of Libya represents a very interesting example of the role of curriculum in formulating political ideas and beliefs. After independence, Libya had to depend on Egypt to provide her with school textbooks and other materials. Needless to say, this factor had a very important impact upon the Libyan students. Instead of exerting efforts to create a feeling of a Libyan identity, the textbooks were full of themes and subjects about Arab history and Arab nationalism. They were written and printed in Egypt. They glorified the idea of Arab unity and Arab struggle against imperialism. Every single reader in the elementary, the preparatory and the secondary schools in Libya contained articles and subjects about Arab nationalism and panArabism. In the readers of grades three, four and five there were 18 articles and subjects about general Arab history and countries. None talked about or even mentioned Libya. There were 87 articles and subjects concerning Arab and Islamic history, having information about Arab countries and glorifying Arab nationalism and the unified Arab struggle against imperialism. Only eight of these were devoted to Libya, but even these were linked with and related to Arab

nationalism, Arab unity and Arab struggle.”! The introduction of a seventh-grade reader emphasised the above-mentioned ideas: We are careful to include in this book the elements that make the Arab student feel that a new spirit exists in him, and create in his character the

pride in Arab Language, Arab Nationalism and Arab Nation.” In another part of the same reader, under the title, ‘About the Flags of Arab _ Countries’, one reads:

If your country is your known state, the Arab Nation is your large country. You are an Arab first. Your larger nation stretches from the Atlantic Ocean

to the Arabian Gulf.” This was the prevailing theme in all the readers in the Libyan schools. Everything, even if it was about Libya, was related to Arab nationalism and Arab unity. In the reader of ninth grade, under the title, ‘I Am An Arab “, it is stated:

I am an Arab. Yes, I say it with pride and happiness. I am not alone. Every Arab is my brother in language, religion, feeling and nationhood. ... Yes, |

am an Arab from Libya.” The Libyan students, through their school learning, were oriented toward panArabism and not toward the already weak Libyan identity. Thus, the school was

a most important factor in creating Arab nationalist feeling in Libya, which affected strongly and effectively the political life in Libya.

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Because other segments of the population, especially among ‘labour forces, civil servants and junior military officers, were exposed to the ideals of Arabism through Egyptian media (Radio Cairo and the Voice of the Arabs), it created a sense of ideological and national identity among the newly mobilised groups. This emerging ideology found itself incompatible with the regime’s traditional ideology. As a result, these new groups felt that the regime was unable to translate their beliefs into action. This ideological contradiction created a crisis of legitimacy. Strikes by Nasserist, Ba’athist and Arab nationalist dockworkers and students in the wake of the Six Day War in 1967 illustrate the gulf which separated the ruling elite from much of the popular sentiment, but did little to alter the regime’s policies. The government of Libya drew its support from a narrow political base made up of tribal leaders, traditional politicians and businessmen. The new emerging groups of young army officers, students, teachers and intellectuals were largely excluded from participating in the political process. The old regime was unable and unwilling to modify the conditions that caused their alienation. The government of King Idris became increasingly incapable of meeting the consequences of widespread education, prosperity generated by oil and the rise of Arab nationalism. The increase in education and urbanisation loosened traditional bonds and made the regime vulnerable to attack from the modernised, more politically mobilised, urban elites. Since radicalisation denotes a process of alienation from a hegemonic political discourse and is related to the legitimisation or rejection of normative power and political regime, it is obvious that the newly mobilised and secular groups were radicalised into extra-legal activities against the monarchical regime in Libya including demonstrations, strikes, and forming secret branches of the Ba’ath and Arab nationalist parties, ultimately leading to the overthrowing of the regime in 1969.

Revolutionary Libya: regime performance and Islamic radicalisation The revolutionary regime in Libya after 1969 had to deal with the problem of participation and the inclusion of the newly mobilised groups in the political process. In assessing the regime’s attempts at legitimising its system and institutions, it may be assumed that the success of the revolutionary regime in so doing depends on its ability in securing the active participation of the people in the political system and its institutions — People’s Congresses and People’s Committees. Theoretically, as observed by El-Kikhia, ‘institution building in Libya could have been very successful. On paper, the structures provided the opportunity for a large segment of the population to participate. Moreover, the new institutions could have enabled a wider segment of the population to actively involve itself in local government and even to voice its opinion on national and international issues.’ If democracy is defined as the ‘process of maximising popular political participation’, the Libyan regime would claim that it is the most democratic regime of all because it provides the most direct form of popular political participation.

Social change: the case of Libya

35

However, if other requirements and indicators of democracy were incorporated into the definition, coupled with the actual performance of the regime, then the Libyan experiment falls way short of the ideal. Thus, in evaluating the structures and policies of the Libyan regime after 1969 and their effects on its legitimacy among different groups and individuals in the society, this chapter will examine a number of factors in order to assess their effect on the radicalisation and deradicalisation of certain groups and individuals in Libya. These factors are: 1 2 3.

Freedom of association and the existence of independent, competitive and multiple non-governmental organisations (civil society). Freedom of expression and free access to information. Modalities of conflict resolution.

Freedom of association

Despite the existence of a plethora of voluntary associations, syndicates and unions representing the interests of all professional groups, they are strictly controlled by the state and their interest articulation and interest representation functions are tightly delineated and defined by the state. They depend on the state financially and they are largely extensions of state institutions. They are created and abolished by decrees and the selection of their leadership is supervised and manipulated. Although unions and professional associations are incorporated in the structure of authority in Libya, their role is restricted to their professional concerns. They are not to engage in any activities not related to their professions, and they are not to act as collective-bargaining units vis-a-vis the state and other organisations. It is clear that the interaction between civil society organisations and the state in Libya falls within the ‘State Corporatism Model’. This can be demonstrated by the fact that: 1

2 3.

4 5

Political parties were banned from the early days of the revolution. Forming political parties is considered a crime against the regime, punishable by death (Law 71 of 1972). Trade unions and professional associations in Libya are non-competitive, compulsory and hierarchically ordered. Trade unions, professional associations and other private voluntary organisations are created, organised, reorganised and abolished by governmental decrees. Each trade union or professional association monopolises representation in its particular category. The state controls the selection of leadership of these organisations and how they represent their members, using a variety of control mechanisms.

Organisations of civil society in Libya lost much of their independence and substance and turned into ready tools for controlling the people. Instead of being a

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mechanism for mobilising the people and acting as centres for: checking the authority of the state, these organisations have become a means of control of the people by the state. Freedom of expression and free access to information

Freedom of expression in the sense of the right of individuals and groups to air their views about different social, economic and political issues is severely restricted. The law stipulates that the only venues for individuals to express their opinions are people’s congresses and the state controlled mass media, and only if these views were not against ‘people’s authority’ or the principles of the revolution. The freedom of expression is also restricted in other ways by outlawing strikes and demonstrations. Also, the freedom of assembly outside the structure of organisations and associations licensed by the state is prohibited, and even these organisations are not to discuss any thing beyond their professional affairs. With the absence of free and meaningful ways for expressing views publicly, it becomes very difficult to gauge public opinion and demonstrate directly its influence on governmental decisions and actions. However, public opinion can be measured indirectly through observing the rate of popular participation in the institutions of ‘people’s authority’. The rate of attendance in these institutions, whether they were people’s congresses or professional associations, is very poor most of the time, reflecting to a large degree popular perceptions of the value of these institutions and their ability to direct and influence the decision-making process in Libya. The law provides for freedom of speech ‘within the limits of public interest and principles of the revolution’, but in practice the Publication Act of 1972 severely limits the freedom of speech and the press. However, in August 2007, Saif-al-Islam Mu’ammar al-Qathafi called for greater openness but cautioned that all political speech must stay within four ‘red lines’: Islam, national security, territorial integrity and Mu’ammar al-Qathafi’s primacy in the political sphere. However, the freedom of expression can be put in better perspective if it is related to the problem of press freedom and free access to information. Free access to information for individuals and groups is considered one of the most significant indicators of democracy and the degree of democratisation. One measure that enhances free access to information is the existence of multiple sources of information, in particular, the availability of independent nongovernmental media institutions. Both measures are extremely restricted or nonexistent altogether in Libya. The government owns and controls virtually all print and broadcast media. However, the quasi-official al-Ghad (Tomorrow) Company, a subsidiary of Qathafi Foundation for Development and Charity Organisations, launched satellite television stations, a radio station and two semi-independent newspapers that provided a reasonably free outlet for criticising the government and presenting many views concerning the need for economic and political reforms. However,

Social change: the case ofLibya

37

the experiment did not last long. On 21 May 2009, the General Popular Committee (the Council Of Ministers) issued a decree establishing a national centre for media and information services and nationalising television stations and newspapers owned by the al-Ghad Company. Article 10 of the decree stipulates that all print and broadcast outlets belonging to al-Ghad Company will be the property of this new entity.”° Despite official control of local media, by the mid-1990s the Libyan people were able to reach and get multiple, different and independent sources of information and media. This development is due, mainly, to the spread of satellite dishes and internet services all over the country which transmit different political, economic and social news and views, usually in conflict with what is published and broadcast in the local media. Modalities of conflict resolution

Forms and methods of conflict resolution are considered among the most significant indicators of the process of democratisation in any society. How differences of opinion are approached by the state and its agencies demonstrate the degree of tolerance of opposition in the society. Tracing the political and economic developments in Libya, which resulted in enhancing or hindering the growth of democratisation, would provide good indicators of the modalities of conflict resolution in Libya. These developments can be divided into two distinct periods, one extends from

1969 until 1987, and the other from

1988 until the

present. Each period is characterised with radically different approaches by the regime to economic and political matters which directly effected the margin of freedom for individuals and groups in Libya, and reflected, at the same time, the regime’s changing attitudes in this regard. The economic and political measures taken by the Libyan regime in both periods will be analysed and contrasted in order to assess their influence on the democratisation process.

Economic and political measures: 1969-1987 Although the revolutionary regime’s intolerance for opposition was manifested early on, especially after the announcement of the popular and cultural revolution in 1973, which resulted in the arrest of hundreds of Islamists and Leftists all over the country, starting from 1977, after the proclamation of ‘People’s Authority’, there was a noticeable hardening in the regime’s dealing with its opponents. Also, after the publication of the second part of the Green Book, which dealt

with economic issues, the economic structure in Libya began to witness radical and far-reaching changes. Economic measures

In order to change Libyan society into a socialist one, as envisioned by Qathafi in the Green Book, a series of economic measures and laws were enacted which

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resulted in restricting and eventually abolishing the private sector. All properties and real estate were confiscated by the state resulting in the elimination of a very important source of individual wealth and investment. Next, private sector role and ownership of industry were abolished when Qathafi called upon workers, on 1 September 1978, to take over factories and run them themselves in order to become ‘partners and not wage earners’. By 1984 all forms of private trade and commerce were abolished, making internal and external trade exclusively under the control of the public sector. Also, private professional activities, lawyers and physicians were prohibited. Thus, all forms of private economic activities were eliminated and the budding capitalist middle class was hit hard. Another consequence of these policies was the immense growth of employment in governmental agencies and public sector companies that employed more than 75 per cent of the Libyan

workforce.”’ Political measures

The decade 1977-1987 witnessed a drastic hardening of the attitudes and actions of the regime toward political opposition. On 7 April 1977 four persons, one of them an Egyptian, were hanged publicly in Benghazi for acts of sabotage against the revolution stemming from student disturbances of January 1976. In the same period about 22 army officers were executed after being convicted of conspiring to overthrow the revolutionary system in 1975. Amnesty International, in a message to Colonel Qathafi, expressed ‘profound disquiet’ at the executions ‘in a country where the death penalty has not been applied for twenty three years’. The organisation also stated that, contrary to the human rights guarantees of the Libyan constitution, the Revolutionary Command Council had converted certain prison sentences into life or even death sentences, in particular in the case of some individuals who were convicted of belonging to illegal political groups (Marxist groups and the Islamic Liberation Party). As a result of the economic and political measures taken by the regime in the late 1970s and early 1980s, a growing numbers of Libyans, estimated by 1981 to be around 100,000, left the country and some of them joined actively in forming opposition groups against the regime in exile.”? These groups were given sanctuaries and material and logistical support in Egypt, Tunisia, the Sudan and Chad that were at odds with the Libyan regime and its revolutionary activities. Although these groups were largely ineffectual because of internal bickering and lack of organised support inside Libya, they were a cause of concern for the regime. Starting from 1980, when it was announced in the third conference of the revolutionary committees that the enemies of the revolution abroad were to be physically liquidated, a wave of assassinations and assassination attempts against Libyan exiles in Europe and the USA took place. The revolutionary committees campaign against the so-called ‘stray dogs’ resulted in the assassination of a number of Libyans in London, Rome, Athens and other European cities between

Social change: the case of Libya

39

1980 and 1987. Because of protests and pressures from European countries the campaign was halted. This campaign weakened opposition groups considerably. They were weakened further by not having secure bases because of the shifting regional alliances. Their freedom of movement and action was constrained by the nature of relations between Libya and its neighbouring countries.” The most serious challenge to the regime from opposition groups took place in May 1984, when a number of them infiltrated the country in an attempt to destabilise the regime. However, security forces discovered them, and a number of them were killed in clashes with security forces and revolutionary committees and some of them were arrested. As a result, hundreds of Libyan were arrested in different cities in Libya and about seven persons were hanged publicly in different cities and towns. In 1987, nine people, convicted of belonging to the illegal radical Islamic Jihad organisation and of killing a leading member of the revolutionary committees, were executed publicly.*! By using security forces and revolutionary committees in this period, the regime was able to keep control over the country and to fend off any attempt at overthrowing it. However, these practices resulted in severely restricting the freedom of individuals and groups to voice their views and criticism of certain governmental policies. During that period, the borderline between criticism and counter-revolutionary activities was very thin. People were afraid of expressing their views and thoughts because they were afraid of being accused of treason and reactionary tendencies. The consequences of these harsh measures and of the policy of exclusion practised by the regime were to be felt in the early and mid-1990s, when Islamic groups were radicalised and took arms against the regime.**

Economic and political measures: 1988—2009 After 1987, and as a result of the economic difficulties in the 1980s due to the

failure of the state-run economy, and because of the popular resentment of the military debacle in Chad, a number of economic and political measures were introduced resulting in restructuring of the economy and in easing the restrictions on individual freedom and movement. Economic measures

In order to halt the slide of the Libyan economy, and in response to the growing paralysis of economic activities, the Libyan government introduced economic measures that allowed for gradual liberalisation of the Libyan economy and the return of the private sector in trade, services and light industries. Privatisation

measures also included allowing lawyers, physicians and other professionals to open private offices and clinics.** Economic liberalisation has transformed Libya’s rigidly controlled system of state-owned stores into a reasonably free distribution network. However, these developments pose a dilemma for Colonel Qathafi because they considerably

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hinder his efforts to transform the Libyan economy into a system where partnership replaces employment, barter replaces money and where there is no opportunity for profit-making. Therefore, he continues to resist demands for widening the scope of private enterprise. Revolutionary committees also are in opposition to these economic reforms. Articles in al-Zahef al-Akhder and al-Jamahiriyah, newspapers published by the revolutionary committees, decry the return of the capitalist exploitative society. They constantly demand the re-establishing of the socialist system preached by the Third Universal Theory. Also opposed to these reforms are the heads of public economic institutions who fear the loss of their positions and privileges.”* On the other hand, economic reform is supported by the technocrats at the General Popular Committee (the Council of Ministers) and financial experts in universities and other institutions. Economic and financial realities make it more likely that Qathafi will heed the advice of the technocrats and experts rather than follow his revolutionary instincts, as a matter of necessity if not of conviction.

Political measures

Since 1988, the restrictions on individual freedom were eased and the civil rights in the country improved to a large degree. The changes began with a speech delivered by Qathafi at the General People’s Congress (the Libyan Legislature) on 2 March 1988. In an attempt to appease the growing popular resentment of the abuses of the Libyan security services and the revolutionary committees, Qathafi told the meeting that security services and revolutionary committees were not beyond reproach. Then he announced that he decided to free around 400 political prisoners serving sentences for activities against the regime. A few days later, he announced the lifting of all travel restrictions on Libyans. Thereafter, Libyans were free to travel abroad without being required to obtain exit visas. On 12 June 1988 the General People’s Congress issued the ‘Great Green Charter on Human Rights in the Era of the Masses’. The charter opened by praising the achievements of the Green Book, which eradicated injustice and hastened the dawning of the age of the masses. It also contained a series of guaranties: respect of personal liberty, an end to cruel punishments, such as hard labour and torture, and freedom of movement and association. The charter also

guarantees the right of individuals to seek justice, the independence of the judiciary and the right to a fair trial (Articles 2—9). All these provisions were incorporated in Law 20 of 1991 on the Consolidation of Freedom. However, while these developments increased individual freedom and curbed the activities of revolutionary committees, they did not alter the regime’s attitudes toward political opposition, and did not mean a change in Qathafi’s perceptions and visions of democracy and structure of the political-system. Political parties are still banned and Qathafi does not conceal his aversion and opposition to the party system and political pluralism. Time and again, he attacked multiparty democracy claiming that it would lead to greater disorder and instability.

Social change: the case of Libya

41

The Law on the Consolidation of Freedom stipulates in Article 2 that people’s congresses and committees are the means of governing in Libya. It also states that individuals are free to express their views and opinions but only in the people’s congresses or through the publicly owned mass media (Article 8). Access to information for the general public is still controlled by the state. Civil society organisations are still dominated by the regime. Opposition to the revolutionary regime and to people’s authority is still not tolerated and is dealt with harshly. This is especially true of Islamic fundamentalists who were attacked repeatedly by Qathafi. He described the various Islamic fundamentalist groups, including the Muslim Brothers, Takfir Wal-Hijirah and Jihad as heretics, agents of the CIA and Zionism, comparing them with a disease that must be exterminated. He also said ‘we are determined to carry out the physical liquidation of anyone joining these movements because they subvert Islam

and pan-Arabism, and destroy our ranks and serve the enemy.’*° It is obvious that while economic measures of the late 1980s and the 1990s led to some measure of economic liberalisation and pluralism, the political measures in the same period did not provide the same results. These measures provided a measure of political relaxation, abolished restrictions on the movement of individuals and established some legal and civil rights for citizens. However, they did not lead, nor they are likely to lead, to political pluralism. The forces against political pluralism are very strong, including revolutionary committees and security services, but above all it is resisted and opposed by Qathafi himself,

with the others taking cues from him. Qathafi’s vision of democracy is in total conflict with political pluralism. He sees himself as the creator of a new political order, a teacher guiding his people towards an ideal form of governing which will be emulated, eventually, in other parts of the world.

The politics of exclusion practised by the regime during most of the 1970s _ and 1980s radicalised the Islamic fundamentalists. They, in particular, rejected its political discourse and considered it illegitimate, and they resorted to violence against the regime. In 1989 and 1990 scores of Islamic fundamentalists were

arrested for anti-regime activities.*° In the mid-1990s the cities of Benghazi and Darnah witnessed violent clashes between Islamic fundamentalists and government forces, which ‘used helicopter gun ships in Benghazi, cut telephone, electricity, and water supplies to Darnah’.*’ The Libyan radical Islamists are very active within the Islamic fighters in Iraq. As shown in a recent study, Libyans represent the second largest group of fighters, with 18.8 per cent (121), and they ranked first in per capita of population terms.** Fifty-two of these fighters (60.2 per cent) were from Darnah and 21 (23.9 per cent) were from Benghazi. These two cities, especially Darnah, were considered among the most enlightened, liberal, nationalist and educated cities

in Libya. They both became hotbeds for extremism, largely because of the policies of exclusion and neglect followed by the regime.

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Concluding remarks The previous analysis highlights the difficulties facing any attempt at transforming the system and at the inclusion of opposition groups, especially the radical Islamists, in the political process. However, the economic and political developments of the first decade of the twenty-first century may allude to the possibility for limited political reform. Among these developments: 1

The deepening economic difficulties as a result of the failure of the regime’s economic policies which exacerbated the economic hardship of most Libyans. Generally, the state failed in its developmental project and has had a dismal record in performing its extractive, distributive and regulative functions, with the exception of the security of the regime. The increased ability of the people to access foreign and independent sources of information, through satellite dishes, enabled them to compare their economic situation with that of neigh-

2

3.

4

5

bouring countries which have much fewer natural resources, and with the other oil-rich Arab countries in the Gulf area. These comparisons deepened their dissatisfaction and frustration with state policies and overall performance. The ineffectiveness of the regime’s political institutions because of the constant changes in their structure, composition and functions. The people lost faith in the ability of these institutions as tools of meaningful political participation. Paradoxically, while people’s congresses proved to be effective outlets for popular demands especially in local issues, the institutionalisation and credibility of these institutions were undermined by these constant changes. The emergence of Saif-al-Islam Mu’ammar al-Qathafi, who played an important role in leading the efforts for internal political and economic reform, becoming a rallying point for the supporters of reform inside the country. These developments encouraged reform-minded individuals to discuss openly the economic and political issues, through writing in the newspapers owned by al-Ghad company or holding conferences at Garyounis University in Benghazi dealing with public policies and sustainable development. Most of these writings were concerned with civil society and its independence, the necessity of having a constitution for the country and the need for national reconciliation and inclusion of all segments of Libyan society, inside and outside the country, in the political process. The National Planning Council, which was headed by a supporter of reform, commissioned a group of Libyan intellectuals and academics from Garyounis University to prepare a study on the future of the country. The study was titled ‘Libya Vision 2025’, and it called for sweeping and radical changes in the economic and political structures of the society if the goals of

the vision are to be realised. However, despite of these positive developments, there still exist many obstacles that may derail and hinder any attempt at political reform and reconciliation, among them:

Social change: the case of Libya

1

2 U2

43

The resistance of the so-called old guard to any attempt at economic and political reform that might lead to undermining the structures of people’s authority and the establishment of a pluralist system in contradiction with the principles of the Green Book. Political parties are still prohibited and civil society organisations are still controlled by the state and their activities are severely restricted. There is still no toleration of any organised political opposition. To ensure that, the regime maintains an extensive security apparatus that includes police and military units, multiple intelligence services, revolutionary committees and ‘purification committees’. The result is a multi-layered and pervasive surveillance system that monitors and controls the activities of individuals and groups. The legal basis of security services authority is the frequently cited Law 71 of 1972 on the ‘Protection of the Revolution’, which criminalises activities based on political principles inconsistent with

the revolutionary ideology.*® 4

Another important factor in the new developments in the Libyan political system is related to tribalism and tribal loyalties. From the analysis of the effects of social change and modernisation, it is assumed that one consequence of this process is the erosion of tribal influence and tribal loyalties. While this assumption proved to be true in the case of monarchical Libya, the new developments in the last two decades cast doubt on this assumption, at least in regard to Libya. The regime started with an open hostility to tribalism and exerted great efforts to reduce and eliminate tribal loyalties and attachments. Astonishingly, nowadays, the regime is employing the tribal structures and is promoting their activities. The regime created, in the early 1990s, a new structure — the Popular Social Leadership, composed of tribal leaders whose main function is to rally the tribes in support of the revolution.”° In a sense, the regime came a full circle from a total rejection of the role of tribalism in politics to the employment of these same structures to achieve the regime’s political objectives. As a matter of fact, tribal influence permeates all aspects of social life in Libya, as is very evident in the composition and performance of people’s congresses and committees. Libya is still a tribal society and tribal structures are evident throughout the country. Any attempt at building democracy and institutionalising political participation in Libya must take this factor in consideration and search for the variables responsible for the enduring character of tribal structures and sentiments in the country.

The developments of the last few years in Libya allow us to reach some tentative conclusions. First, it seems that there are two trends of thought and action among individuals and groups who are calling for introducing changes in the country. One group, which is constituted largely of radical Islamic jihadi groups and some radical secularists, sees no hope in dealing with the regime and is willing to take radical actions, including violence, to overthrow the regime which they

consider illegitimate and beyond reform. The other group, which is composed of

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moderate

Islamists, former secular and leftist prisoners, intellectuals and aca-

demics, feels that the best way for reform is to work within the regime and it advocates a policy of national reconciliation. The same trends are to be found among the opposition groups outside the country. Second, the increasing numbers of Libyans going to fight in Iraq is a clear indication

of the degree of despair, frustration,

alienation

and radicalisation

among those young people. Although these feelings are channelled, for the time being, to a far away a place, it does not bode well for the regime’s stability and, indeed, for the future of the whole country, taking in consideration the regional backgrounds of those young people. Third, having said all of that, there is a glimpse of hope for a process of deradicalisation in Libya. The Libyan branch of the Muslim Brotherhood has been having indirect contacts with the Libyan regime over the past two years, and was encouraged to do so by Saif al-Islam. The negotiations are mediated by the moderate Islamist Dr. Ali al-Salabi, who is regarded as being close to the Libyan Muslim Brothers. He is also entrusted with the task of trying to negotiate with other intransigent Islamist groups that took up arms against the regime in the mid-1990s. As a result of these negotiations, scores of members of the Libyan Islamic Fighting Group were set free in the last few months after renouncing violence and pledging not to pursue the jihadi ideology of their group.*' However, the progress and continuity of the process of deradicalisation depend, in large degree, on the conviction of the Libyan regime that the success of the policies of reconciliation and inclusion are very important in the process of deradicalisation, and they will result in securing the stability of the regime and building a prosperous future for the whole country. The current oscillation of the regime in its dealing with opposition groups, especially the radical Islamists, indicates that its actions and positions are taken out of necessity and not of conviction. This means that they are likely to change according to the changes in the regime’s perceptions oflocal, regional and international challenges. To summarise, it can be said that, in both the monarchical and revolutionary regimes in Libya, certain segments and groups rejected the dominant political discourses and the exclusionary policies of both regimes. Thus, both regimes faced crises of legitimacy, along with consequent radicalisation of politics. The crisis of legitimacy was precipitated by the failure of both regimes in the processes of nation building and state building. Regarding state building, both regimes failed to institutionalise meaningful and credible forms of political participation and inclusion. Also, institutions of the state, in both cases, were inefficient and incapable of performing their extractive, distributive, regulative and developmental functions adequately. As for nation building, the political socialisation process in the monarchical regime created a radical Arab nationalist identity, and not a Libyan identity, among most segments of the Libyan population who felt no ideological attachments with the traditional ruling elites. In contrast, the revolutionary regime’s policies and actions resulted in a regression towards more parochial and local sources of identity, with increasing numbers of Libyans clinging more and more

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45

to their familial, tribal and regional identities, and that speaks volumes on the future trajectory of the country. Notes Joffé,*Antiphonal responses: social movements and networks’. Lerner, The Passing of Traditional Society. Tullis, Politics and Social Change in Third World Countries, p. 24. Deutsch, “Social Mobilisation and Political Life’, pp. 493-514. Tullis, Politics and Social Change in Third World Countries, p. 49. Huntington, Political Order in Changing Societies, p. 55. Ibid., p. 34. Tullis, Politics and Social Change in Third World Countries, p. 55. OMmAANINDMNLSWN Weiner, ‘Political Integration and Political Development’, pp. 53-64. 10 Verba, ‘Comparative Political Culture’, p. 530. 11 Bill and Hardgrave, Comparative Politics, pp. 80-81. 12 Easton, A System Analysis of Political Life, p. 278. 13 Ibid., p. 287. 14 Lipset, “Some Social Requisites of Democracy’, pp. 69-105. 15 Rifai, Libya, p. 24. 16 Roumani, ‘Libya and the Military Revolution’, p. 346. 17 Pritchard, The Sanusi of Cyrenaica, p. 13. 18 Anderson, State Peasants and Tribes, pp. 78-79. 19 Khadduri, Modern Libya. 20 El-Hammali, Modernization Trends in Libya, p. 33.

21 22 23 24 25 26 27 ' 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

41

El-Mogherbi, The Socialization of School Children in Libya, pp. 34-35. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. El-Kikhia, Libya’s Qaddafi, p. 54. General Popular Committee, Decree No. 226. Vandewalle, ‘Qadhafi Failed Economic Reform’, pp. 203-225, especially p. 215. Legum, African Contemporary Record, p. B-66. Anderson, ‘Assessing Libya’s Qathafi’, pp. 197-227. Beschorner and Smith, Libya in the 1990s, p. 12. Ibid., p. 11. Pargeter, ‘Qadhafi and Political Islam in Libya’, pp. 83-104, especially p. 97; Martinez, The Libyan Paradox, pp. 60-64. Martinez, The Libyan Paradox, pp. 75-80. Vandewalle, ‘Qadhafi Failed Economic Reform’, p. 209. Quarterly Economic Review of Libya, pp. 8-9; Martinez, The Libyan Paradox, pp. 70-74. Quarterly Economic Review of Libya, p. 9. Felter and Fishman, A/-Qa’‘ida’s Foreign Fighters in Iraq, pp. 11-12. Ibid., pp. 7-9. State Department, Human Rights Report: Libya. Obeidi, Political Culture in Libya, Ch. 5; Obeidi ‘Political Elites in Libya Since 1969’, pp. 105-126. State Department, Human Rights Report: Libya.

46

Z. Mogherbi

Bibliography Anderson, Lisa (1981), State Peasants and Tribes: Colonialism and Rural Politics in Tunisia and Libya, PhD Dissertation, Columbia University. Anderson, Lisa (1984), ‘Assessing Libya’s Qathafi’, Current History, 84(502), May 1985, pp. 197-227. Beschorner, N. and Smith, A. (1991), Libya in the 1990s: Can Its Resources Be Salvaged? London: The Economist Intelligence Unit. Bill, James and Hardgrave, R. (1973), Comparative Politics: The Quest for Theory, Columbus, Ohio: Charles E. Merrill. Deutsch, K. (1961), ‘Social Mobilisation and Political Life’, American Political Science Review, 55(3), Sep. 1961, pp. 493-514. Easton, David (1965), A System Analysis of Political Life, New York: John Wiley. El-Hammali, A. (1979), Modernization Trends in Libya, PhD Dissertation, University of Pittsburgh. El-Kikhia, Mansour O. (1997), Libya’s Qaddafi: The Politics of Contradiction, Gainesville: University Press of Florida. El-Mogherbi, M.Z. (1978), The Socialization of School Children in Libya, PhD Dissertation, University of Missouri, Columbia. Felter, Joseph and Fishman, Brian (2008), A/-Oa’‘ida’s Foreign Fighters in lraq, West Point, New York: Combating Terrorism Centre. General Popular Committee (2009), Decree No. 226: Establishing a National Centre for Information and Media Services. Huntington, S. (1968), Political Order in Changing Societies, New Haven: Yale University Press. Joffé, E.G.H. (2009), ‘Antiphonal Responses: Social Movements and Networks’, paper presented at The Radicalization Conference, 11 June 2009, Cambridge University, Cambridge, United Kingdom. Khadduri, M. (1963), Modern Libya, Baltimore: John Hopkins University. Legum, Colins (ed.) (1979), African Contemporary Record, Vol. 10, New York: African Publishing Company. Lerner, Daniel (1958), The Passing of Traditional Society, New Y ork: The Free Press. Lipset, S.M. (1959), “Some Social Requisites of Democracy: Economic Development and Political Legitimacy’, American Political Science Review, 53(1), March, pp. 69-105. Martinez, Luis (2007), The Libyan Paradox, London: Hurst. Obeidi, Amal (2001), Political Culture in Libya, Richmond, Surrey: Curzon. Obeidi, Amal (2008), ‘Political Elites in Libya Since 1969’, in Dirk Vandewalle (ed.), Libya Since 1969: Qadhafi’s Revolution Revisited, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 105-126. Pargeter, Alison (2008), ‘Qadhafi and Political Islam in Libya’, in Dirk Vandewalle (ed.), Libya Since 1969: Qadhafi’s Revolution Revisited, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 83-104. Pritchard, E.E. (1949), The Sanusi of Cyrenaica, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Quarterly Economic Review of Libya (1991), No. 4, London: The Economist Intelligence Unit. Rifai, N. (1958), Libya: A Study of National and International Factors Leading to Its Unity and Independence, PhD Dissertation, Columbia University. Roumani, J. (1973), “Libya and the Military Revolution’, in I.W. Zartman (ed.), Man, State, and Society in the Contemporary Maghrib, New York: Praeger.

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47

State Department (2008), Human Rights Report: Libya, www.state.gov/hrrpt/2008/htm. Tullis, F.L. (1973), Politics and Social Change in Third World Countries, New York: John Wiley. Vandewalle, Dirk (1996), ‘Qadhafi Failed Economic Reform: Markets, Institutions, and Development in a Rentier State’, in Dirk Vandewalle (ed.), North Africa: Development and Reform in a Changing Global Economy, London: Macmillan, pp. 203-225. Verba, Sidney (1965), “Comparative Political Culture’, in L.W. Pye and S. Verba (eds), Political Culture and Political Development, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Weiner, Myron (1965), ‘Political Integration and Political Development’, Annals of the Academy of Political and Social Science, March, pp. 53-64.

4

Tunisia The radicalisation of religious policy Mehdi Mabrouk

For more than two decades, the countries of the Maghrib have been increasingly confronted with major problems that threaten both their individual stabilities and the stability of the entire Mediterranean region. Illegal migration, unemployment and the spectacular rise of religious radicalism are, perhaps, only the most obvious examples. Indeed, the expression of political challenge in the region in general is not only ‘Islamising itself? but also tends increasingly towards a brutal and violent extremism. Salafism is exploding in popularity by progressively endorsing an excessively radical agenda. Vocabulary, norms and codes — even the most commonplace, such as dress codes — are inspired by reference to models far removed from conventional understanding. The result is that it is no longer surprising to encounter, in the streets of Kairouan, Marrakesh, Tripoli or Algiers, or indeed in any other Maghribi town, youth dressed in clothes inspired by the dress codes of Afghanistan, Pakistan or even elsewhere.' Evidence for this disquieting development in Tunisia comes from the numbers of arrests and deaths during jihad since the 1990s in places such as Afghanistan, Iraq, Somalia or Chechnya, or from the number of jihadist networks unveiled by the security authorities after the clashes between armed jihadi elements and the Tunisian army in December 2006. In order to understand and explain what is currently taking place, many experts increasingly refer to macro-political models which are essentially based on a globalised Islam — an Islamic jihad which, thanks to modern

information

technology, has been able to penetrate and recruit youth alienated by despair.’ According to this approach, this form of globalised Islam is like an influenza pandemic, which can spread because the virus of radicalism can leap over local borders and infect entire populations. By contagion alone — for internauts surf the internet by using their keyboards — youth will be infected by cyberterrorism.* It should be noted, however, that even if this argument accounts for the growing impact of new technologies on the natures of the operational, recruiting and propaganda processes of jihadist networks, it still seems to be unable link external and internal — or exogenous and endogamous — factors together so as to appreciate the specificity of the local environment which provides the true catalyst for the development of radical forms of political Islam. Major factors comprise the nature of the regime, the structure of the national state, the paradigmatic

Tunisia: radicalisation of religious policy

49

structures of the elites and the specificities of the local contexts of each state — amplified of course by the Islamist turbulence which disturbed the states of the Maghrib even before the events of September 11, 2001 — together with the political and socio-economic conditions in each of them. ‘Glocalism” is, in this

context, not simply the intellectual vogue; it is an essential prerequisite for scientific analysis! If local factors are not taken into account or cannot be linked to external globalised issues, this will lead not only to errors in analysis but also in the nature

of decisions taken at both the national and international level which will probably result in disastrous options being adopted. Analysts who are content to explain extreme forms of violence by reference to the image of Islam popularised through modern communications technology often provide phobia-inducing stereotypes which hinder a more subtle and more relevant understanding of the logic governing violent networks and the seductive power they can exercise over intensely disenchanted and alienated youth. A more objective analysis, which captures the complexity of radical movements in the Maghrib, will result from analyses based on the national context of such networks and the strong local specificities within which they operate which, in turn, can make them more susceptible to globalised salafism. Tunisia seems to offer an atypical example of radicalism in the Arab world. Whereas the majority of radical movements in the region are steeped in some way in archaic social structures, such as legal religious associations, religious brotherhoods and communities, the local notability, traditional religious scholars or even those who have been indoctrinated in Afghanistan, radicalism in Tunisia

is a perverse consequence of the generalised drift towards religion in recent years. I would argue, instead, that it is a product of the tense and often conflictual relationship between political Islam and the Tunisian regime. Such a proposal, of course, will require rigorous justification and that is really the subject of this chapter. An understanding of the turbulent proliferation of such radical movements in Tunisia requires an initial excursus into the contemporary history of Tunisia in order to appreciate the complex relationship between the Tunisian state and, first, Islam, as well as, subsequently, with the country’s Islamists. I personally consider that any analysis that does not do this and is limited to a study of the current reality of radical networks or of salafist groups will be unable to capture the nature of radicalism in Tunisia. The transience of radicalism in this country in particular and its current reality there are both closely linked to the pattern of its past. This ‘prehistory’ of radical salafism, leaving to one side exogenous factors, has, I suggest, determined the social production of recent radicalisms. It follows, then, that I would wish to move beyond two approaches to the issue which seem to me to have inadequate explicatory power. The first is the one already described above which particularly emphasises the role of virtual information by closely modelling itself implicitly on a paradigm which sees individuals as simply empty vessels to be crammed with information. The second is a more bookish approach which analyses in detail the discursive differences

50

M. Mabrouk

between a multiplicity of salafi factions where texts and spiritual leaders play a dominant role in the ways in which such groups mobilise and locate themselves. The primacy given to texts and the nuances in differential exegesis conceal the sociological realities facing such groups.

State Islam in Tunisia: monopolistic rejectionism From the first months of independence in 1956, the young Tunisian state mobilised all its resources to ensure its monopolisation of Islam. Making use of its highly modernist and triumphalist ideology, the governing elite headed by Habib Bourguiba cleverly mounted a systematic campaign to this end, making use of two procedures: the ‘Tunisification’ of Islam and the dismantling of religious institutions. ‘Tunisification’

of Islam

Acting simultaneously as both a cultural initiator and engineer, the Tunisian state sought to reduce the universalist dimensions of Islam horizontally and vertically. In the former case, Tunisian Islam was seen as the form of Islam practiced uniquely in this portion of the Maghrib. The Kairouan and the Zaytouna mosques were the two geographic foci which demarcated the unique space of Tunisian Islam. Mahdia, the capital of the Fatimids, a Shi’a dynasty, was almost completely ignored. Official rituals were divided exclusively between Kairouan and Tunis, the cities which housed the two mosques. Obviously, in schools, radio and television, the single political party played a dominant role in this process as did those organisations predominantly controlled by the single party. This official vision underlined the extension of Tunisian Islam as the means by which any infiltration of an Islamic vision originating outside the country could be prevented. This effective geographic separation of Tunisian Islam from the wider Islamic world is an extremely important factor in evaluating the current significance of radical Islam in the Tunisian context because, in fact, it is against this

background that radical Islam works in developing other linkages which can culminate in absorption into and integration with other versions of universalist Islam. The vertical dimension of the actions of the Tunisian state followed a similar pattern. Here the state was insistent that the conventional assumptions of the cultural depth of Islam within Tunisian society must not be allowed to project its basic symbols into the reality of the Tunisian present. President Bourguiba often included acute criticisms — which were sometimes caricatures — of the sahabas and even of the Prophet in his daily and provocative comments on radio and television. The message for the religious elite in the country was clear: Islam, even if its grandeur were to be accepted, is a thing of the past. As things stood, inspiration could be sought from its supreme values in the struggle against underdevelopment. According to President Bourguiba, the real combat — the real meaning of jihad — that faced Tunisians was the struggle against ignorance,

Tunisia: radicalisation of religious policy

51

illness and a whole gamut of disasters. In addition, the most widely used title for the president and the one he most treasured was the mujahid al-akbar’ — the supreme combatant. Quite apart from any purely psycho-pathological explanation, such as megalomania, the Tunisian elite, during the period of the construction of the state, was passionately determined to take over religious terminology to describe every aspect of daily life, no matter how banal. This banalisation of religious terminology had a double objective: to deny to religious discourse any transcendental significance and to demonstrate at the same time that the governing elite entrenched itself on the thousand-year-old traditions of Islam. This continuity was to be guaranteed through state-approved Qur’anical interpretation, often bizarre and sometimes a caricature, designed to reinterpret parts of the Qur’an seen as particularly polemical. This state-dominated process of reinterpretation had nothing to do with genuine religious reform for it had excluded the majority of the religious experts, the ulema, in the Zaytouna mosque from its innovations. All these audacious reforms by the state were effectively imposed without any accompanying intellectual debate. Compared to the three decades of President Bourguiba’s rule, the period of the 1940s which preceded it had been a time of unrivalled intellectual activity. Elites had been more engaged and took part in more open debate, challenging the colonial and national project, on issues such as the status of women, the trade union struggle or minorities in debates that demonstrated a remarkable vitality. In essence, society overall was engaged in exploring a multiplicity of positions and divergences in social interests. The structure of the national state, on the other hand, only sought to listen to its own discourse as part of its modernist project. Everything took place in a terrible and disturbing silence because the state refused to listen to other voices. In short, this deafness of the state

forced society and, in particular, the non-state elites within it to seek other voices and alternative paths. In effect, in this view of the national project, the sovereignty of the state demanded the transformation of religion into a project of the state and every alternative vision would therefore have to be eradicated. Dismantling of religious institutions

Because they were seen as the embodiments of a disturbing continuity which might have hampered the state’s modernist project, the great Zaytouna mosque and its religious foundations, along with other religious establishments, were dismantled. The 1958 educational reforms ended a millennium-long tradition of education and teaching. These were the key stages in the destruction of traditional Islam in Tunisia. On

February

18, 1960, President

Bourguiba,

in a famous

speech which

shocked many Tunisians, called on them to place the moral worth of work above all other values, including religious values. He decided, in consequence, to challenge the fasting tradition of Ramadan because it reduced efficiency and generally had disastrous consequences. ‘Whenever it was difficult to reconcile temporal need to the duty of fasting, the Prophet Muhammad supported the

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M. Mabrouk

demands of the state,’ he claimed. This official absolution of Tunisians from the

duty of fasting provoked a major row in the Arab and Muslim worlds. Bourguiba himself was the target of denigration because, according to his opponents, he had taken on directly one of the five pillars of Islam. It was an act which was unique in the Arab world and which was to have very serious consequences. In 1961, the closure of the subsidiary institutions of the Zaytouna mosque, including that in Kairouan (the fief of an age-old scholarly vision of Islam) forced Shaykh Klif to lead the famous demonstration about ‘Allah Akbar ma yemshih’. That act earned him a death sentence which was later commuted to twenty years hard labour in prison, although he actually served only three years and then retired to teach at Sousse. The president and his leftwing supporters had suspected the shaykh of being a Wahhabist but, nevertheless, he was taken up by the post-Bourguiba regime and elected several times to parliament. The suppression of religious instruction by the Zaytouna as a result of the 1958 reforms and its replacement by a theological faculty at the university in Tunis not only cut the religious elites off from their socio-historical role but also denied them their function as the sole spokesmen of Islam. Now only the mufti of the Republic could act as spokesman and then only as the representative of the new state-dominated vision of Islam and in opposition to the doctrinal diversity, through the legal mathhabs, which Tunisia had known at least since the arrival of the Ottomans in the fifteenth century. This is well demonstrated by an examination of measures taken by the state which led to its administrative monopolisation of Islam: *

The absolute termination of education through the Zaytouna mosque;

¢

The termination of religious endowments;

*

The legal interdiction of all education provided by zawiyas which were to become institutions exclusively dedicated to worship;

¢

The abolition of Qur’anic schools; and

*

The legal prohibition of any activity in mosques other than prayer. Even religious instruction was subject to prior administrative sanction.

These measures demonstrate the Tunisian state’s ability to construct its own version of Islam, but a version which, strangely enough, also removed all symbolical representation of Islamic scholarship! Thus for half a century, the ulemas of the Zaytouna have been almost completely erased from the public sphere except for a marginal involvement in the development of Tunisia’s personal status law — which abolished polygamy and remains an avant-gardist project in the Arab world today. In effect, the Tunisian state, rather than seeking

partners which it could integrate into a reformist partnership, decided to monopolise and impose religious change. This process of monopolising Islam and abusively nationalising it as religious praxis alienated believers and forced them to seek other religious arenas and domains. As a result a crisis of credibility seriously undermined the official version of Islam. The aggressive pattern of modernisation where a remarkable age-old inheritance had been brutally torn

Tunisia: radicalisation of religious policy

53

apart, forced all forms of opposition, even the most docile, towards becoming radicalised. Successors to the Zaytouna — a culture of the orphanage

The 1970s in Tunisia seem to me to have concealed a crucial period in the recent history of the country because that decade both determined the form and encouraged the growth of the changes which were to follow. Social conflict was determined by and became the prerogative of the Union Générale des Travailleurs Tunisiens (UGTT), the sole trade union organisation able to survive in a country that banned pluralism — until, at least, 1981 — and the sole refuge for the political dynamism of the Left after the truce between the state and the union had come to an end. Violent student unrest highlighted the autonomy of the Union Générale des Etudiants Tunisiens (UGET), the only officially recognised student organisation, after what was considered a putsch organised by students from the single authorised political party, the Parti Déstourien Socialiste (PDS; Destourian Socialist Party) with the backing of the authorities, against the legitimate institutions of the UGET itself. Both events certainly irritated the regime which had done all it could to preserve the patriarchal image of the state. Yet the children of independence, now the country’s youth, began not only to rebel against a tyrannical father but even began to reject the idea of such a paternity. This social climate, marked as it was by an increasingly audacious discontent, was ideal for a voice which had been lost in the violent warp and dominant discursive weft of modernity to recover its force. The recovery was marked by a change in the policy of a hitherto clandestine group, the Jama’a Islamiya. The group had been created in 1969 in complete secrecy, seeking only to preach its message and to stimulate ‘moral awareness’. In 1981, it changed its name to the Mouvement de Tendance Islamique (MTI) but, from 1978 onwards, as the most serious social crisis that had faced Tunisia

began to unfold, it began to reconsider its ideological platform towards social and political issues, in both discursive and administrative terms. This key date was to come to represent a decisive development in the history of the movement because, from this date onwards, it was to become one of the most influential political actors during the past four decades. In fact, the radical voice in Tunisian politics, influenced as it was by Marxist and Trotskyist tendencies, had begun to give way to an Islamic alternative from the end of the 1960s as the latter increased its influence. Indeed, the Islamists took over the baton from the extremist Marxist tendency after its long preeminence throughout the 1960s. Leaving aside the wider reasons for this exceptional expansion in influence — an issue which is beyond the bounds of this chapter — some strictly local factors which could explain the retreat of the Left should be emphasised. A major factor was that such left-wing groups only had very weak links with the populist masses, because they were excessively elitist and were composed out of intellectual circles, themselves out of touch with the population.

54.

M. Mabrouk However, apart from these attitudes intrinsic to the Tunisian Left, the failure

of the cooperative model, described as ‘socialist’ within Tunisia, together with the humiliation and denigration of Islam by the governing elite, could also have been important factors in creating a climate favourable to the growth in Islamist support. Some commentators have suggested that they have identified a degree of complicity between Islamists and government at this time, designed to counter the Marxists. However, nobody has been able to definitively establish this to have been the case, despite the fact that biographies of former key ministers are beginning to be published, for they make no mention of this. It seems more likely that this exceptional expansion in influence was a consequence of regime failure because it had concentrated all its efforts on isolating and controlling a minor but noisy Left. In addition in regional and international terms, the crushing consequences for the Arab political world of the 1967 defeat should also be briefly noted. The surprising success of the lost voice of Islam had many causes but the most significant would appear to have been that it knew how to speak in the name of an historical continuity which the state had tried but failed to destroy. This factor will help us to understand the importance of the Zaytouna mosque which was seen as independent of the state. It was also able to give voice to those marginalised by the state, with the tacit support, even complicity of the ulemas, as the experiences of two shaykhs of the Zaytouna, Shaykhs Slama and Neifar, so clearly demonstrate. Even if the older u/emas of the Zaytouna remained sunk in bitterness and refused to oppose the state, they nevertheless did not denounce the political battles in general or, particularly, the growth in Islamism. It has been suggested that this situation was a result of the regime remaining faithful to its secularist principles and preventing religion becoming a significant factor by keeping it out of the political sphere. This explanation is challenged by many commentators. They point to the fact that the regime did call upon religious discourses to justify political projects — the cooperative economic model in the 1960s, family planning or abortion, for example. Thus it seems to have overlooked the way in which its use of a religious discourse in these circumstances legitimised an Islamist voice in others, particularly amongst the marginalised religious elite. Indeed, throughout the long confrontation between the political system — first under Bourguiba and then under his successor, Zine al-Abidine Ben Ali — and the newly politicised Islamist movement, first as the MTI and then as an-Nahda, which lasted for two decades, there was never an occasion when

the state’s mufti or any other senior religious figure condemned an-Nahda. Such silence speaks volumes, once again, for it reflects a certain sense of vengeance (shmata) felt by traditional elites, particularly the religious elites, towards the Tunisian state. In short, in a context marked by the aging of the regime and thus its increasing political weakness and decline, as manifested by the often aggressive disputes between clans within it under President Bourguiba, an-Nahda in Tunisia provided a refuge for hundreds of young people in the 1980s and 1990s where it

Tunisia: radicalisation of religious policy

55

offered them an alternative and more dynamic vision through a version of Islam which was a challenge to, if not a rebellion against, the state. Islam, besieged by a powerfully statist approach to its role within the state, lacking historical roots and scientific relevance, had effectively lost its ability to encompass and direct society. Now an alternative underground Islam, informal in nature and offering a political challenge, began to expand at the margins into Tunisian society, to the disadvantage of the official Islam of the state.

Birth of political Islam in Tunisia Quite apart from the historical and historiographical background to the political Islamic movement in Tunisia, note must be taken of the key dates in its development for they are closely linked to major political changes experienced by the country. They are thus discussed below. Mouvement de Tendance Islamique

In 1969, as was mentioned above, two individuals linked to the Zaytouna and supported by Zaytouna shaykhs, together with some young students, very discreetly created an organisation that later came to be known as Mouvement de Tendance Islamique (MTI).° The home of the famous Zaytouna shaykh, Mohamed Salah Neifar, provided a base for this event. The same year also saw the collapse of the socialist-cooperative experiment which had been the pet project of the minister, Ahmad Ben Salah. In 1981, the MTI decided to abandon operating in secret, as

part of what its founders expected to be a political liberalisation of the regime, given the social and political crisis Tunisia had experienced. Paradoxically, this move led to most of them being consigned to prison! In 1986, in the wake of what _ had turned out to be a mistaken initiative, the regime began a new campaign to imprison the leaders of the movement on the grounds that they were suspected of trying to overthrow it by force. The same accusation was to be made against them in 1991, this time, however, by a different regime in Tunisia. An-Nahda, the political successor movement to the MTI, has always tried to

present its principal objective as defending the Zaytouna, the age-old institution and now a symbol whose property, as has been described above, was subject to continuous threat. It is no accident, therefore, that the major branch of the move-

ment, now in London, calls itself the Zaytouna. The same name has been plagiarised by the son-in-law of the president, Sakher El-Matri, who has launched a

radio station, a television station and an Islamic bank all bearing the same name. The Zaytouna, which was the second mosque built in the Maghrib after the mosque in Kairouan and the first Islamic university in the region, is today the essential touchstone for anybody wishing to create a movement that seeks historical legitimacy. The only exception to this rule is the salafist movement which,

for purely doctrinal reasons, and like Wahhabism, rejects all sanctification for places of worship. Otherwise, the actual name is of considerable importance when issues of appropriate designation are at stake.

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M. Mabrouk

The MTI had tried to establish a degree of kinship with the Zaytouna as well. In its political discourse, it had tried to present itself as the sole legal successor to the mosque-university. Despite its marginalisation, the institution had provided an imaginary refuge for these Islamists. Yet, it seems to me that historical continuity and national identity are not only manifestations of political marketing but are also the theoretical bases of a concept of national Islam. In other words, the Tunisification of Islam, despite all its efforts, had also contaminated the MTI. The movement had developed its own account, in Paul Ricoeur’s terms of narrative as identity. It had tried to present itself as if it had come to the rescue of this elderly widow, the Zaytouna, now perceived as an orphanage, at least by MTI adherents, thus demonstrating the emotional insight that the movement had demonstrated. The essence of the argument here is this tenacious struggle around what are strictly local symbols. Thus the elements used by an-Nahda in constructing its identity and the moral and physical resources it retained for this purpose were exceptionally noteworthy. It rejected the most widely used label for Islamist movements at the time, such as the Muslim Brotherhood or the Jama’a Islamiyya, focussing its discourse instead on strictly locai concerns. There was a complete absence of universalist theses, such as the concept of the khilafa. Yet these were the prerogative of the salafists and, more particularly, of jihadists. Islamists in Tunisia only offered very limited support to foreign Islamist movements. The seductive effects of the Iranian revolution on the student body, after which their discourse was populated with a new vocabulary — al-Ustikbar al-Alami or al-Moustathafoun — had no political or doctrinal consequences. The theoretical difficulties challenging the movement from a defensive Marxist discourse forced it into ideological compromise, an issue that began to decline in importance at the end of the 1990s as Shaykh Ghannouchi sought to fill the ideological gaps in its arguments. Muslim universalism was in reality a moral duty for the MTI, rather than a political engagement. Indeed, it was only after what the movement saw as the challenges of 1991, together with the implosion and fragmentation of the vast universalist edifice, that a few ex-Nahda members actually went to serve on the

frontiers of combat of the period — Afghanistan, Bosnia and Chechnya. The number of Tunisians who took part in the war in Afghanistan was very small in proportion to other Arab nationalities, particularly those from the Maghrib. A possible explanation of this might be that an-Nahda had invested its body and soul in strictly local affairs so that national and even local concerns attracted all of its attention. In general, wherever there are viable political projects, moderate Islamist movements will invest in local issues. They thus create points of reference to which thousands of young people within the mesh of political Islam can attach themselves. The success of such a strategy acts as a significant brake on jihadist ambitions. On the other hand any apparent depoliticisation caused by repression, lack of liberty or closed political systems can only be the first sign of a potentially frightening search for alternatives. The original jihadists who rallied to the Afghani jihad came mainly from countries currently suffering from the most repressive regimes in the Arab world.

Tunisia: radicalisation of religious policy

57

Such strongly nationalist theoretical principles adopted by Tunisian Islamists have provided the basis for strong attacks upon them from supporters of their adversaries, salafists and more particularly, salafi-jihadists. Thus the straightforward salafist movement blames an-Nahda for a highly politicised stance at the expense of its purely spiritual values and doctrinal principles. Salafi-jihadists denounce not only the doctrinal principles of the movement — salafi fatwas consider Rachid Ghannouchi and his followers as kaffarin (unbelievers) — but they also criticise their political cowardice for they claim that the movement has never adopted jihad in order to protect Muslims around the world. Religious cleansing and its perverse effects: the salafi ecosystem

Once the regime had achieved its crushing victory over Tunisia’s Islamist movement, a success due to a range of factors both domestic and external, it developed

a new Strategy. At a congress of the ruling party — in effect, Tunisia’s sole political party — it launched a plan called the ‘Plan for the cleansing of resources’. The launch and the details of the plan were highlighted in the media in order to stimulate popular support. In fact, the plan consisted of a comprehensive programme designed to purify ‘resources’ from political religion. According to this new policy, this was to be achieved by first targeting the ‘sources’ which had fertilised political Islam, as expressed by an-Nahda as the successor movement to the MTI. The drafters and executors of the programme were very precise over these ‘sources’, namely: *

*

Intellectual sources

involved books, school programmes, journals, news-

papers and the mass media. As a result, there was little surprise when school texts were purged of rare phrases describing, for example, an old grandfather waking up early to pray. The minister of education at the time, Mohamed Charfi, was the leading practitioner of pedagogical purification. Moral sources involved personalities, finance and social elements. Imams and similar personalities faced harassment. Financial sources, such as major traditional traders and craftsmen, had provided financial support through zakat, something that the state now addressed. Social sources of support were varied but all received attention. Thus members of an-Nahda were banned from employment, and other measures were taken against them including measures that abused their most fundamental human rights — even traditional head-shawls, which were quite different from the Islamist shawl or headscarf, were banned, as was the growing of a beard. Mosques in all educational establishments were closed, the buildings being used as archives instead.

Islamists and independent commentators consider that this campaign, which was without precedent in even the most despotic of Muslim countries, could only have succeeded because of two additional factors.

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1

First, the dominant political party, now known as the Rassemblement Constitutionnelle Démocratique (RCD), had been massively penetrated, especially in its most important organs by former Leftists. Most had been influenced, since their university days abroad, by the dominant movement within the Tunisian Left, the Perspective movement. Other members of the movement, even if they were not formal members of the RCD, were prepared to be appointed to sensitive ministerial posts, personalities such as Mohamed Charfi, Naceur Smaoui, Ahmed Haj Ali and Moncer Rouissi. The

measures taken, even the strategies adopted by both trends within the RCD for reasons that were usually pragmatic and that also converged, led Islamists to argue that the policy was really one of eradication. In other words, the fact that there was a project amongst the close collaborators of the regime to force Islamists out of political life meant that the country overall was seeing its cultural heritage and its Arabo-Muslim identity being eradicated as well. From the an-Nahda point of view, these new party members and fellowtravellers, whom they described as ‘infiltrators’, had been able to coalesce within the core of the party to carry out a campaign not only against Islamists but also against the most basic Islamic rituals. Without this well-known and undisguised Trotskyist key tactic of ‘entryism’, undertaken by the Left of the governing party, according to the same analysts, President Ben Ali would have never dared to undertake such an extreme eradication of Islam from public life. His secular and atheist collaborators had persuaded him to take such extreme measures. It is hardly surprising, then, that Tunisia’s Islamists now describe their adversaries as ‘radicalists’. It is worth noting that the literal translation of the term ‘radical’ in Arabic has associated with it a botanical metaphorical meaning of root-and-branch extremism that perfectly describes what actually occurred. Irrespective of whether this thesis is correct or not, given the lack of objective evidence, it is nevertheless possible to establish one consideration directly related with what has actually happened in Tunisia, namely that there is a weak degree of popular discontent with what has happened in Tunisia. However, this restrained expression of the popular will could in future be exploited by salafi-jihadists since, with the eclipse of an-Nahda on the political scene, an appropriate climate has been created which will be more than welcoming at both the local and international levels for those groups haunted by the spectre of global plots led by ‘crusaders’ and Zionists. The second major factor has been the widespread support given to President Ben Alli’s initiative by the political class and Tunisia’s intelligentsia. These groups have historically been on the left wing of national politics and consider that the regime is implicitly fighting their own battle. With the exception of an insignificant minority which prefers to abstain, the majority has openly supported the presidential campaign, both implicitly and explicitly, against ‘obscurantism’ (dhalamia), particularly as demonstrated by

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an-Nahda, although others have preferred a revealing silence. The complete abstention of the rest of society, apart from the intelligentsia — businessmen, managers, associations, for example — cannot only be explained by the climate of fear which has paralysed almost all components of the Tunisian Opposition, even its most secular elements. Other explanations are also necessary, such as rivalries or settling of accounts.

Furthermore, in recent

years, several emblematic figures of the past have indulged in a ‘meaculpa’. There was an unreserved support for the Tunisian government from Western powers, particularly from France and Western Europe. Terrorist incidents carried out by the GIA in Algeria and heavily reported atrocities there forced Western countries to provide implicit support to the regime. The regime, furthermore, has used its press to attack the United Kingdom for having been willing to welcome the an-Nahda leadership on its soil as political refugees. The closing of mosques, apart from the brief periods required for the five daily prayers — each period only lasts for about ten minutes — has, it seems, pushed thousands of young people to invent other religious spaces. The secrecy in which they operate in this new context is not a form of political secrecy but rather ritualistic in nature. The whole of the 1990s generation has been socialised into a religious labyrinth. The invisibility of these thousands of young people who pray engulfed by other environments, the decline, in effect, the cleansing of socially recognised spiritual manifestation has created a social vacuum. This vacuum, whether desired or not, has made the space occupied by political Islam far more complex. Its landscape throughout the country has become clouded. Since the end of the 1970s, despite the confrontations between Islam and the state, the state had always preserved a link between the visible and the invisible, the latent and the hidden, the

formal and the informal or the official and the unofficial. As a result the new waves of radical salafists which came after an-Nahda have largely operated in other physical and intellectual arenas. They have created a series of radical micro-societies in parallel with society overall which try to minimise or suppress moral and material contact which could link them with what they consider as non-Muslim social structures. The withdrawal from society (hijra) which is the founding principle of these tiny groups has no precedent in the literature of political Islam in Tunisia. These new locations of religious socialisation and sociability which operate more as sects than as parties or movements are, in short, new and fertile terrains which undoubtedly encourage a disturbing expansion of Jihadist Islam. In addition, so-called shari’a marriages and the forced collection of funds really represent a kind of extortion in the name of religion, described as al-ihtitab.’ The fact that the ordinary citizen is implicitly considered to be a miscreant in this vision of Islam if he or she are not adherents to these sects defines a completely new social culture which differs completely from that of an-Nahda, even if a certain extremism had attended its birth and

even if it had on occasion exploited a double discourse which raised doubts amongst its opponents.

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The regime’s campaign had devastated an-Nahda’s supporters. extending to its sympathisers and even to simple pious Muslims. The events of Bab Souika® marked a very serious turning-point for an-Nahda’s political practices and turned out to be a fatal diversion for the party as it was the excuse for an official campaign to dismantle and fragment it. Several leaders were tried for plotting to seize power; the sentences meted out ranged from several months to death sentences and several party supporters were executed whilst twenty others are believed to have died under torture. The actual numbers involved are in dispute; an-Nahda has claimed up to 15,000 prisoners, quite apart from those now in exile, other sources suggest the figure is only 10,000. The precise number of people imprisoned is not significant for the real point of the campaign was that the party disastrously lost the vast mass of its human resources. The regime’s merciless campaign had, in short, ended by eradicating it almost completely from political life. Two decades later, the party seems to be in enormous difficulty. It consists of two large groupings, one inside the country and the other outside, with the external diaspora in ever greater internal conflict — significant parts of the leadership call for self-criticism and self-blame; there is a growing problem of voluntary individual return from exile; the legitimacy of the leadership itself is also challenged. In addition its ideological positions are now somewhat outdated; when its prisoners were condemned, the fall of the Berlin Wall and the first and second Gulf wars had only just occurred, whilst the events of September 11, 2001, the war in Afghanistan and the popularisation of the internet had not yet occurred. Like every brutal attack, the cleansing process adopted by the state, as described by Rachid Ghannouchi on the occasion of the celebration of the twenty-eighth anniversary of the official declaration of the MTI’s constitution, did not cleanse Tunisia of political Islam, but instead encouraged the blossoming of radical salafism. This was the real and perverse consequence of the cruel and violent cleansing process. The disappearance of an-Nahda from the political scene created an ideal opportunity for this alternative radical culture to propagate itself. From a culture which could potentially have been integrated into the state because, at least according to its public discourse, it believed in the values of the republic, in political parties and elections, there has been a violent transition towards a culture which not only considers that all innovation is banned by shari’a law but also considers all Islamist movements that might adopt such principles as being traitors and even as active participants in the universal plot against Islam. Domestic oppression by authoritarian regimes and atrocities committed by external forces has forced Islamism back by substituting for the culture of ijtihad (legitimate innovation) the alternative of jihad. Religiosity of this kind has undoubtedly been stimulated by political intolerance, unrestrained hostility towards any form of free expression and the absence of a public space which provides a transparent framework for political and religious debate. For at least a decade, the organisational machinery concerned with the recruiting of sympathisers who could have become an-Nahda members has been effectively paralysed and has, in consequence, yielded to jihadist networks which have

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been able to appropriate the space left vacant by an-Nahda members. Faculties where an-Nahda had captured the majority of seats in student councils at the end of the 1980s, particularly in the sciences but also in faculties for the humanities and literature, long considered the historic fortresses of the Left, have now

become the fiefs of jihadists. These fears have been substantiated by the number of salafi students arrested or sentenced for involvement in incidents related to the anti-terrorist law (Law of December 10, 2003). Yet the Left had rallied behind what it considered to be an enlightened regime, thinking that it was really engaging in a national struggle against obscurantism. In so doing, it created an unbridgeable gap between the two dimensions of Tunisian society which will hinder any attempt to create a fruitful alliance between them in the future. The stimulating atmosphere of semi-secrecy had, for two decades, allowed an-Nahda to enlarge the public space, despite its fragility. It created cultural centres, youth clubs, scout troops, cinema clubs and intellectual opportunities, as well as other elements in the associative structure of the time which became places of debate. Despite the rare acts of violence committed here and there, these localities allowed the movement to be integrated into the local dimensions of society. Now, however, radical religious organisations have been able to mobilise and recruit thousands of marginalised young people mired in poverty. By excluding forms of public expression such as Islamist parties, organisations or associations, however moderate, the state has unwittingly abandoned the best defence possible against extremism. Such organisations could have pacifically confronted fundamentalist deformations of Islam. Now that there are no moderate groupings, whether from an-Nahda or elsewhere, the salafists are the only players left on the Islamic scene. This kind of policy has affected in a quite arbitrary manner even the most docile groups which have nothing to do with politics, even when they declare themselves opposed to politics — groups such as ad-Dawa’a wa’t-Tabligh. The authorities claim, however, that they have been infiltrated by salafi-jihadists or by members of an-Nahda. Yet these official suspicions in no way justify the tabula rasa that the regime has created. In reality, such policies give additional arguments to the most radical elements that can present the struggle as one against Islam itself. Into this cleared public field, a wind generated by a victorious Islam will bring a new religious culture, one without social attachment; by dissociating itself from the local environment it will disperse a rebel, even suicidal, wandering Islamic ideology. We must establish the timeline of the key events at a global level which introduced this roaming vision of Islam. They range between 1989, with the Soviet retreat from Afghanistan and the collapse of the Berlin Wall, and 1991 when Kabul fell into the hands of the moujahidins, the first Gulf war occurred, the

victory of the FIS in Algeria was transformed into civil war and the Soviet Union officially disappeared. These events seem to have created a climate favouring this vision of Islam triumphant. As one war dies down, another starts up, generating an environment which creates internationalist fighters who otherwise have only miniscule opportunities at home.

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The excessive, often provocative, secularism adopted by the Tunisian elite since independence had profoundly impoverished the religious field in Tunisia, according to many foreign anthropologists who have studied Tunisian society. Cultural engineering has deliberately reduced the religious domain in the country. Tunisians have rarely known diversity within the Islam they practice, apart from a few brotherhoods (turugq) — al-Qadiriyya, al-Jilaniyya, al-Issawiyya, at-Tijjaniyya and the best known, al-Shadiliyya — together with a few small groups of the nebulous international movement of the ad-Dawa’a wa’t-Tabligh. The country is marked by its doctrinal homogeneity in which the Maliki mandhab (school of religious law) is the universal rite except for a small group of kharijites, known in the Maghrib as ibadites. Whether it be reality or fiction, the makeshift identity constructed by the national elite as a selective narrative had been very successful for half a century to such a degree that even an-Nahda did not challenge its claims to homogeneity, exalting it instead as a divine gift for the country. Since the 1990s, however, there has been a strange and growing multiplicity of small Islamist groups; the policy of religious cleansing adopted by the new regime since its 1991 confrontation with an-Nahda, as described above, has also produced a number of extremely strange phenomena, some of the most important of which are described below. First, the regime has moved in ever more authoritarian directions and its position in a scale of human-rights observance is far below international norms. The regime continues to adopt an approach designed to block the emergence of democratic governance on the pretext that, without the firm hand of the state, it

would be governed by an-Nahda. Political Islam also entrenches itself in an increasingly grave process of radicalisation to the point where Tunisians are trapped within an infernal cycle where oppression provokes a growth in salafism and salafism itself encourages ever greater repression. Second, this cycle leads young Islamists to adopt ever more radical religious tendencies. Third, both developments increasingly fragment the religious domain in Tunisia. This fragmentation, in turn, undermines a religious landscape long known for its homogeneity. Thus the vertical stratification of different layers of Islam is often accompanied by a degree of horizontal fragmentation. Recently, the ministry of the interior issued a circular designed to avoid confusion, in which it requested different religious groups to conform to specific dress codes for each non-political faction, such as the ad-Dawa’a wa’t-Tabligh, the Salafiyya al-IImia, the al-Moudkaliyya or the al-Ahbish. This fragmentation, whether or not it has been encouraged or even manufactured by the regime, was certainly greatly appreciated by it at the start of the 1990s as a means of countering an-Nahda, even before the arrival of radical salafists.

Tunisia’s religious landscape: intensified fragmentation Given the role now played by salafism in Tunisia, it is necessary now to indicate the variety of groups that exist today. The three major groupings are discussed below.

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‘Scientific’ salafism Formally known as al-Moudkaliyya (from rabil al-mudkali) and usually referred to in Arabic as Salafiyya al-Ilmiyya or Salafiyyat al-Mouwalit, ‘scientific’ salafism claims to be only interested in the doctrinal sciences of Islam — the socalled Qur’anic sciences such as the sunna, the hadith, the figh and the Arabic

language. According to salafists, its aim is to propagate these sciences so that they can become the standards for individual comportment. Politics is part of the domain of government which must be obeyed, even if it is unjust or tyrannical. Any challenge to these principles, even the most elementary, is strictly forbidden. Today, al-Moudkaliyya, which was the brainchild of the great Saudi salafist shaykh, El-Baz, who had come from Yemen and who died in 1997, enjoys a degree of popularity. The fatal errors committed by the jihadists and some theoretical modifications introduced by thinkers such as al-Makdasi, the teacher of Ayman Zarqawi, have created the opportunity to recover ground lost to the jihadists in popular esteem. Their adversaries suspect them of being encouraged by the regime and even infiltrated and used by the security services. Activist salafism

These salafists take an active interest in socio-political issues without engaging in political action. They are known as reformist salafists and consider that societies can reform themselves through authentic Islam and sincere Muslims. Their presence is very restricted in Tunisia and they are most numerous in Kuwait where their presence is seen as a prototype of this current of salafism. Salafi-jihadism

This is a combative form of salafism in which jihad (Holy War) is a strictly individual responsibility and a priority, given its urgency. Those who do not respond to the call for jihad are kafir (unbelievers) and Arab societies are therefore entirely composed of unbelievers, with which adherents have an absolute obligation to break off all contact (mufasla). Two enemies head their list — those regimes and countries which form the Judeo-Crusader Front. In other words, they comprise those involved in wars in Iraq, Afghanistan, Chechnya, Palestine and Somalia. Salafi-jihadism thrives on conspiracies and these wars provide a very rich substrate which has been cannily exploited to aid mobilisation and recruitment. Indeed, a complex sense of intense emotional engagement can emerge from this current of salafism. A further component of this religious fresco or mosaic must also be included: Shi’ism. Its adepts are utterly discreet and information about them is very limited but what little we know suggests that there are two currents, one political — ithna-ashara Shi’ism — and the other cultural in nature. The Iranian Cultural Centre and its bookshops, committed exclusively to Shi’a literature, are the most important outlets and there are estimated to be around 10,000 adherents.

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The security machine, of course, has its own patterns of engagement with this religious reality. However, its interactions should be judged with caution for it often operates in blind ignorance, not least because of the legal instruments that govern its approach. The Tunisian anti-terrorism law is often fiercely criticised by international humanitarian organisations, not least for its catch-all nature. Almost certainly, therefore, official anxieties over salafism have caused an inflation in their real numbers. Unofficial and humanitarian organisations in Tunisia have estimated the numbers detained on these grounds at more than 4,000 people. Almost certainly youth is engaged by movements that are the bearers of a cultural lifestyle project allowing individuals the opportunity to express themselves through debate within a free public sphere. Facebook, for example, is really an anchor for thousands of young people who enthusiastically take part in a variety of debates on diverse subjects. This virtual public space, in the sense that the term is used by Jiirgen Habermas, also shows the possibilities of gathering people around issues that do not involve bloodshed. And unconventional organisations are not necessarily synonymous with terrorism — they can also engage youth in debate. A really public space, in the classical sense of the term, could genuinely engage youth around discussions of cultural and political issues which were local and pacific in nature — if only they were tolerated by officialdom. From restricted space to virtual space

After the violent clashes between the state and an-Nahda in 1991, the religious domain

of public life has been deserted, with universities, schools and even

mosques ‘purified’. This politico-religious purification undertaken by the state has certainly encouraged, as we have described, the emergence of new forms of religiosity for the rites, codes and terminology are no longer the same. The perverse consequences of these changes have been very striking, for the physical, very restricted, space abandoned by an-Nahda has now been colonised by new Islamist groups hardly known until now by Tunisians, such as the salafists. Even the Hizb at-Tahrir al-Islami, a rival faction of an-Nahda had been severely affected by the state’s campaign, despite its weakness and its lack of involvement in the original clashes. The recruiting abilities of the two organisations — reformist and salafist — and their responses to repression had also differed vastly. Whereas an-Nahda had preferred a certain exhibitionism in its recruiting style, with massive advertisements to attract attention, in accordance with well-established marketing techniques, the jihadists used a much more restrained approach based on individual engagement. They would first monitor their potential sympathiser before taking him to small gatherings where generally films were used to test his reactions. Modern information technology was vital to this process, for it allowed films like ‘The Russian Hell’ to become a determining factor in this jihadist ascendancy, as police and judicial reports make clear. Jihadists, in response, claim that

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they recruit on behalf of a version of Islam which is targeted by an international plot but is, in reality, an extremely noble cause in its own right. An-Nahda supporters, however, only recruit on the basis of their own values and objectives, not in the name of a martyred global cause. Even if the regime now not only allowed an-Nahda to return but encouraged it to do so, the movement would be able to achieve little in the near or medium term. A whole generation is ignorant even of the name itself, let alone its leaders or its literature. The author often mentions the names of an-Nahda personalities in social gatherings to see what the reaction will be, to be met by a response of complete indifference and ignorance. Even such personalities admit that the new generation of youth that has grown up whilst they were in prison only knows the star salafi preachers who have been given ample access to the airwaves. For these new generations, Amrou Khaled is better known, as a name, than Rachid Ghannouchi or

any other an-Nahda leader, quite apart from his actual influence or his notoriety. Radical salafists — profile and location Even in academic circles, stereotypes and prejudices are commonplace. They often offer no more than a salafist caricature, inspired by simplistic and naive films. The salafist is often portrayed as a youth, having failed at school through mental or emotional laziness, now trapped in unemployment and poverty with a very low educational level and suffering from psycho-social problems of adaptation. How accurate is such a picture?

The typical salafi-jihadi profile The few empirical’ field-studies that exist suggest a very different kind of profile from the imaginary so strongly influenced by cinematic fiction described above. According to a purely descriptive and documentary study carried out by Association Internationale de Soutien des Prisonniers Politiques en Tunisie (AISPPT), in which the author participated, the physiognomy of radical salafists is quite different from these profiles and stereotypes. In a country with the highest level of university education and the largest middle class in the Maghrib, it would be most unlikely to find radical clones of Afghani or Somali jihadists. This study, which was based on an original investigation into 1,200 prisoners in 2007, generated the following profile:

Young males, usually between the ages of twenty-five and thirty years, made up 44.89 per cent of the total — very few minors had been arrested and women and girls were completely absent. Indeed, the first woman to be arrested as a salafist was only taken into custody in May 2009 and she was the wife of a salafist who had also been arrested. She was twenty-three years old and had two children. The detainees came from urban backgrounds; a feature which allowed us to conclude that salafism is an urban phenomenon, particularly from major urban conurbations, for 23.63 per cent came from

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metropolitan Tunis and 10.77 per cent from Bizerta. Then came Medenine with 8.84 per cent of the detainees and then Sidi Bouzid with 8.45 per cent. In terms of educational levels, a significant number of these salafists were students with a relatively high level of education. This evidence made us very sceptical of the stereotypes and generalisations that researchers often blindly reproduce. We also determined that, in terms of geographic dispersion, salafists in Tunisia were gathered in four major districts. The most important was Greater Tunis and the north-east of the country, including Bizerta and Nabeul, with 39 per cent of the detainees alone. Then came the centre and west of the country, including Sidi Bouzid and Kasserine with 13 per cent of the detainees. It should be noted that they included the salafi shaykh, a blind nurse who had been in Saudi Arabia for a dozen years as the result of a technical cooperation programme. He lived in Sidi Bouzid where he gave religious instruction until he was arrested as the result of a clash in the small town of Slimane. The third most important district was the Sahel and the region of Mahdia, Sousse and Monastir, with 13 per cent of detainees as well. The southwest of the country was dominated by Medenine, which alone had 9 per cent of the detainees. Given its location by the Libyan border, it was open to influences from clandestine migrant and smuggling networks. The specific features of Tunisia seem to reside in the local return to religious values which, even though they are located within a wider framework, can also have perverse effects. An excess of modernisation imposed from on high without populist input, as a state-inspired overdose of modernism, has apparently primarily given rise first to Islamism, and then to salafism. The question that now needs to be posed concerns the validity and appropriateness of the magic formula proposed by Arab and Muslim countries to restrain salafism; namely to reform education and to control or even eliminate religious associations. Without attempting to analyse this prescription in detail, two remarks would seem to be appropriate. First, this approach is euro-centrist for, rather than trying to understand the specificities of local conditions within the Arabo-Muslim sphere, it calls on us to adopt the very specific model of the relation between state, education and religion as defined by the French vision. Second, we know that there are alternative models or, better still, the countries concerned must invent models of these relations that respond to the realities they face.

The political management of radicalism in Tunisia

How can the strictly security-inspired approach, particularly towards radicalism in Tunisia, be altered? This is a question that has acquired urgency since the approach itself has demonstrated that it is ineffective, quite apart from the disturbing consequences that it has produced which have threatened fundamental human rights there. The political elite in Tunisia, despite its profound depoliticisation by the regime, has proposed three scenarios to escape from a stalemate that has, ironically enough, generated the radicalism it sought to avoid:

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An-Nahda should be re-integrated into the political landscape of Tunisia. Such a re-integration would have very beneficial effects because: 1

2

It would allow the ‘political beast’ of an-Nahda to be tamed; a process which would make its discourse softer and more in conformity with the most modern form of political behaviour — as the Moroccan and Turkish examples more than demonstrate. An-Nahda, in short, would become ever more docile. It would also allow salafist proliferation to be countered since the moderate discourse of an-Nahda will act as anti-theses to refute salafist theses. The movement would take part in capturing youth and aiding its political socialisation.

It is an approach that considers that Tunisia’s political landscape could, or rather must, absorb and contain an-Nahda. Furthermore, any solution that excludes it is destined, sooner or later, to fail.

*

*

A second scenario would continue the process of draining religion in general and political Islam in particular from the political scene. It considers that any distinction made between moderate Islamists and other radicals would be a fatal error. Even the most moderate forms of political Islam are simply a breeding ground for jihadism, particularly given the very provocative international environment at present. The globalisation of Islam and difficulties associated with strictly national approaches to the management of political Islam necessitate a straightforwardly security-based approach even if this means sweeping fundamental human rights aside. Within this approach, security will always prevail over democracy and liberty. This rejection of any accommodation assumes that Tunisia will reach a point of no return where political Islam in the country would become a ‘pre-history’ of its political culture. The advances the country has made in social policy demonstrate the value of this approach. The banning of polygamy, the introduction of civil divorce and all of modern culture relating to family and personal status, now widely internalised by society, argue for the initiative to be continued to its final conclusion. Secular radicals, together with a large segment of the female and Francophone intelligentsia, lend their breath to the wind designed to sweep away the residues of this Islam. The third scenario calls for a pro-official political Islam to pull the rug from under an-Nahda in order to end criticisms directed towards the regime and to respond to a degree of populist dissatisfaction. It is in this sense that some analysts have understood the launching three years ago of a radio station called ‘az-Zaytouna’, which was recently followed by a television chain with the same name. In a similar fashion, Tunisia has just seen its first Islamic bank. All these projects, it should be understood, were the initiatives

of a young businessman who is related to the president of the Republic! The launching of a radio channel with the full title of ‘Radio az-Zaytouna li’lQur’an’, whose proprietor, Sakher al-Matri, is the son-in-law of President Ben

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Ali, just a few months after several events which were considered’ by liberals as the beginning of a slide towards a dangerous form of Islam, could be seen as the prelude to a series of measures to counter radicalism. Since 2005, in the after-

math of a series of armed and violent clashes with jihadist networks involving Maghribis and linked to the nebulous al-Qa’ida in the Islamic Maghrib (AQIM), the regime began to take corrective and preventative measures, apart from security approaches in view of questions about the viability of a myopic security mechanism and about the damage done to human rights in terms of torture of suspects and unfair trials. They have included relative tolerance of the Islamic veil which had been strictly forbidden since 1981 by a famous administrative circular; the visit to Tunisia of Shaykh Qaradawi and Salman al-Oudha, both

notorious figures of regime dislike, in 2009; the launching of the television chain by Sakher al-Matri in the same year; and the founding of an Islamic bank, which was registered in January 2009, also called ‘az-Zaytouna’ and also by Mr Matri. It is also worth noting that, beyond the reductionism of explanations for many of these events in terms of the personalities involved, in reality the state has delegated its responsibilities for the management of Islam to a single individual, and that this delegation involves an individual who is not only part of the regime but also a member of the president’s own family. In such a relationship, the state can monitor, control and sanction the individual responsible if things go wrong, should there be unexpected outcomes or should the results not achieve the expected objectives. The state, of course,

wishes to minimise

the risks it faces through this

process of privatisation without having to create a scapegoat, such as Selim Chiboub turned out to be, although Matri could always serve as such and it will be far easier for the state to reverse his initiatives, should it be necessary.

Some commentators argue that this initiative really serves twin objectives, going beyond the question of political Islam to provide for the disappearance of President Ben Ali from the political scene. That period will undoubtedly be sympathetic to Islam, in which salafi Islam will have to give way to an enlightened, liberal Islamic vision. To waste an opportunity to do this would be to plunge the country into prolonged salafism but to adopt a secular or Marxist alternative would be costly or, even worse, unrealistic. In mid 2009, the Saudi salafist shaykh, Salman al-Oudha, a former theoreti-

cian of salafi-jihadism, expressed his respect for the spiritual efforts being made by President Ben Ali, at the end of his visit to Tunisia and after he had profoundly revised his views. His declaration severely undermined the position of an-Nahda and led to severe criticism by some of its personalities. The movement had always maintained good relations with emblematic figures of classical Saudi Wahhabism, if not with salafism. Yet the movement itself was anyway caught between two salafi stools, quite apart from the growing discontent of its members or the antagonism of the regime. On the one hand, it was attacked by the jihadists who consider that it represents nothing in Islam, and on the other, by the ‘scientific’ salafists who accuse it of excessive politicisation and, even worse,

forbid all opposition to the regime — total obedience to the governor (hakim) is a religious duty. This is a crisis that will endure and can only benefit jihadists.

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Yet, even if the regime were to move towards a populist version of cultural Islam, it would do nothing to resolve the question of political Islam in the country, given the current state of politics in Tunisia. The current political landscape and the country’s political party map are not credible. It cannot be representative of political sentiment if only the Left, the nationalists and the liberals are represented but the Islamists are absent, so that the official view of politics cannot conform to the reality of politics as it is experienced. This denial of reality and creation of a false alternative can only mask yet another mistake. Society cannot be changed by decree, as Michel Crozier has pointed out, and measures and decisions leave their traces behind. Only a new conceptualisation of politics will be capable of resolving the problem — abandon state control, enlarge the political space, debate real and major problems, freedom of expression and political compromise. Conclusion

Today, an-Nahda is incapable of playing this role, nor could any other Islamist faction. In addition the blinkered security system has ravaged society and has prevented any other moderate Islamic current from emerging. Unlike Morocco or Algeria, the Islamist scene in Tunisia is monopolised by the spectre of anNahda, despite its disappearance two decades ago, thus taking political Islam hostage. Yet it is surprising that, two decades since the confrontation between an-Nahda and the regime, no other Islamist faction has emerged; even independent Islamists have been incapable of creating alternative structures to exploit the potential that exists or of articulating a different Islamist voice. Not everything about this curious failure can be explained by the blinkered security system, angered as it may have been by past experience, or by the consequent societal internalisation of an atmosphere of fear. A plurality within political Islam would ~ have been beneficial; it could, for instance, have restrained an-Nahda’s tendency

to monopolise moderate political Islam in Tunisia and might have stimulated it into becoming a more competitive movement, with greater powers of innovation. Even if Islam in Tunisia can only be managed through the state, given the specific circumstances through which a massive historical legacy involving the state has been accumulated, it is nonetheless time for credible partners to be found for a more participatory process of management. The state must disengage, in proportion to the degree to which it associates in this process of management one or more partners who could integrate thousands of youth within the religious sphere. The social dimension of religion should never be marginalised or repressed. Gradual but real democracy, a rational religious discourse and a social project for material support with dignity and for free speech could certainly envelop and target radicalism, if not bury it for ever.

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Notes See Burgat, L’/slamisme au Maghreb and Lamchichi, Le Maghreb face a 1 'islamisme. See particularly the works of Olivier Roy, especially his study, L’/s/am mondialisé (Globalised Islam), which was published just after the events of September 11, 2001.

No—

Bruno, L ’islamisme radical. Castells, La société en réseaux.

Bourguiba, Le discours du Mouled. Both had begun their studies with the Zaytouna mosque but, once this type of education had been suppressed, they continued their studies elsewhere, one going to Syria where he studied philosophy and the other remaining in Tunisia and studying modern law. 7 The term refers to the amassing of financial resources by force but also includes fatwas, dress codes and religious practices. 8 This was an attack on a RCD party bureau in Tunis at Bab Souika in 1990, in which a guardian was killed in the ensuing fire and was the event used by the Tunisian government to launch a widespread crackdown against an-Nahda. 9 Marret, Les fabriques du Djihad.

HAmr fw

Bibliography Bourguiba, Habib (1960), Le discours du Mouled, Kairouan, 3 September, Publication du secrétariat a |’information, Tunis (In French). Bruno, Etienne (1987), L ‘islamisme radical, Hachette, Paris. Burgat, Francois (1995), L ’/slamisme au Maghreb: Tunisie, Algérie, Libye, Maroc, Payot, Paris. Callies de Salies, Bruno (1999), Le Maghreb en mutation: entre tradition et modernité,

Maisonneuve & Larose, Paris. Castells, Manuel (1998), La société en réseaux, Fayard, Paris. Lamchichi, Abderrahim (1998), Le Maghreb face a l’islamisme: le Maghreb entre tentations autoritaires, essor de l’islamisme et demandes démocratiques, 1’ Harmattan, Paris. Le Saout, Didier and Rollinde, Marguerite (1999), Emeutes et mouvements sociaux au Maghreb, Karthala, Paris. Marret, Jean-Luc (2005), Les fabriques du Djihad, PUF, Paris. Roy, Olivier (2002), L Islam mondialisé, Seuil, Paris.

5

Radicalisation in Tunisia Alison Pargeter

Deadly clashes between erupted in December 2006 beyond that al-Qa’ida was of North Africa. The fact

Islamic militants and January 2007 steadily extending that one group of

and Tunisian security forces that prompted fears in the Maghreb and its reach into this usually quiet part the militants, all but one of whom

were Tunisian and who were dubbed ‘The Suleiman Group’, had crossed the

border into Tunisia from Algeria and that there was a Mauritanian in their ranks only seemed to confirm these concerns. The claims, too, by the Tunisian authorities, who initially asserted that the clashes were related to criminal elements, that the militants had been found with explosives and plans of foreign embassies — seemingly classic al-Qa’ida hallmarks — gave further credence to these claims. Indeed the suggestion of co-operation between militants across the Maghreb’s borders fit with the prevailing narrative in the Western media that held that, through the Algerian Groupe Salafiste pour la Prédication et Combat (GSPC), al-Qa’ida was gradually engulfing nationalist militant groups across the region from the Libyan Islamic Fighting Group to smaller networks in Morocco and Tunisia. As one analyst declared, the clashes indicated that ‘Tunisia has woken up to a grim new reality. Al Qaeda is infiltrating the traditionally quiet and safe European vacation spot.’' The New York Times proclaimed ‘Counterterrorism officials on three continents say the trouble in Tunisia is the latest evidence that a brutal Algerian group with a long history of violence is acting on its promise: to organize extremists across North Africa and join the remnants of Al Qaeda into a new international force for jihad.’ The idea of foreign involvement in the violence also sat well with Tunisia’s self-image. There is a common discourse in Tunisia that promotes the idea that unlike their North African counterparts, Tunisians have no appetite for extremism or violence and that they have always been an open people, used to dealing with foreigners. One Tunisian commentator neatly encapsulated this sentiment when he described,

What is truly notable is the delusional comfort among many, especially among the Tunisian political field. It is automatic for a Tunisian politician, whether from the ruling elite or from the opposition, to express his confidence ‘that Tunisia doesn’t accept extremism’.’

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Of course this sentiment dovetails with the overarching secularism that has been promoted by the Tunisian regime since independence in 1956. However, it is also a feeling shared by many within the country’s Islamist current. As one member of an-Nahda, the main Islamist opposition movement to have emerged in Tunisia, commented, ‘The Tunisian temperament is not militant. Even during the resistance against the French arms were the exception. The Islamic movement in Tunisia established itself among the middle class ... it was keener on thinking than force.’* The fact that Tunisia never really experienced the kind of militant networks that developed in many of its neighbouring states during the 1980s and 1990s would seem to bear this Tunisian exceptionalism out. In addition the militancy that has raised its head in the past decade seems to have had foreign roots. The Djerba synagogue bombing of 2002 that was claimed by al-Qa’ida was clearly an operation planned and largely executed from abroad and the majority of Tunisians who have been associated with high profile militancy or international terrorism since 9/11, such as Sami Ben Khamis or Tarek Maaroufi, have for the most part been residing in Europe. For some the fact that the Suleiman group had links into Algeria only confirmed the sense that it is outside influences rather than anything related to Tunisia itself that has prompted radicalism. As one Tunisian sociology professor declared, ‘Islamic extremes are what came out of Europe. The Djerba attack came from France. The Suleiman Group came from Algeria.’* Yet despite the bid to portray the Suleiman group as part of a new transnational jihadist force rather than something intrinsically Tunisian, the group’s links to al-Qa’ida and even to the GSPC would in fact seem to be far more tenuous than has been suggested. Indeed, rather than the well organised unit trained up by their Algerian counterparts, what emerges from the information available is the image of a group of amateur adventurists acting with little support from any outside force and whose foray into militant action was over almost as soon as it had begun. Furthermore the fact that the group chose to call themselves Jund Bin Assad al-Furat after a medieval Tunisian warrior, suggests that the group may have had more nationalistic goals and localised concerns than has been suggested. Moreover, despite the tendency for the Suleiman group to be portrayed as something alien to the Tunisian national character, its presence clearly demonstrates that Tunisia has not remained exempt from the radicalisation that has taken root across the region in recent years. Less well covered in the international media is the fact that Tunisia has arrested over one thousand young Islamists on terrorist-related charges since it introduced new counter-terrorism legislation in 2003. It is of course wildly improbable that such high numbers of young people were actively involved in terrorism. Like its counterparts in the rest of the region, the Ben Ali regime is clearly engaging in a pre-emptive policy aimed at eliminating the threat of terrorism before it has the chance to develop. However, the fact that the vast majority of those arrested are of a salafist orientation is an indication that Tunisia is no less immune than other countries of the Maghreb to the growth of a rejectionist ideology that aspires to an Islamist

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alternative to the state. It seems that despite its zero-tolerance policy towards its Islamist opposition, Tunisia is experiencing similar patterns of growth in Islamic radicalism among certain parts of its youth to other countries of the region bringing into question the longstanding idea of Tunisian exceptionalism. Tunisian radicalism in historical context

Given the aggressive secularism of Tunisian President Habib Bourguiba and his insistence on building a modern state with the European reference as its model it is surely puzzling that Tunisia never developed the kind of militant movement that emerged elsewhere in the region. Although Bourguiba, like other secular oriented leaders in the region, tried to use Islam to justify and provide legitimacy for his regime, his relegating of Islam to the private and spiritual sphere, not to mention his controversial policies such as dissolving the Zeitouna mosque or famously urging Tunisians not to fast during Ramadan, might lead one to expect the ground to have been more than fertile for the development of a militant Islamist opposition. Yet whilst Tunisia experienced the growth of a populist Islamist movement in the form of the Mouvement de Tendance Islamique (MTI) (which later became an-Nahda), that came within the Muslim Brotherhood reformist tradition and that objected strongly to the secularising policies of the Tunisian state, it was not accompanied by the development of a national militant insurgent group akin to the Libyan Islamic Fighting Group (LIFG) or the Groupe Islamique Armée (GIA) in Algeria. This lack of a Tunisian militant movement is also surprising given that many of the structural macro level conditions that fuelled militancy across the region during the 1980s in particular were no less present in Tunisia. It is true that one of the achievements of the Bourguiba regime was the creation of a vibrant middle class, something that was notably lacking in countries such as Libya or Algeria. However, notwithstanding, the country experienced serious economic difficulties particularly in the 1980s, with violent protests breaking out in December 1983 and January 1984 at the sharp increase in the price of bread. Aside from these economic challenges, the regime’s authoritarian tendencies also ensured that no genuine opposition was ever given real space to breathe, creating a real sense of political marginalisation. These politico-economic challenges certainly gave succour to the MTI at the time. It was in the 1980s that the MTI, initially a middle-class movement focused predominantly on issues related to morality and religious duties, became more politicised enabling it to extend its support base into the lower classes and into the ‘popular neighbourhoods’ around the cities and to become a vehicle of protest against the regime. As Tunisian academic Alaya Allani has commented, ‘A large number of those who were marginalised found in the fundamentalist current the effective and able tool to challenge and to stand fiercely against the authorities.’ Yet whilst the MTI became more radical in response to the prevailing conditions, the Islamist current never developed any meaningful militant movement. That is not to say that Tunisia did not experience any militancy at all. There were a number of jihadist currents and extremist groups that emerged in the

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1970s and 1980s, such as Hizb ut Tahrir al-Islami (Islamic Liberation Party) or the Tunisian Islamic Jihad that were prepared to use violence in order to achieve the immediate establishment of an Islamic state. However, these groups were generally small splinter groups that had broken away from the MTI and they never developed into nationalist movements in their own right and were never able to draw any real popular support. The activities of Hizb ut Tahrir that is believed to have been implanted in Tunisia in the early 1980s were curtailed almost as soon as they had begun, when in 1983 34 of its members were arrested on charges of belonging to an illegal association with a political character. Although the group continued to limp along suffering further attacks by the authorities, such as in 1991 when 80 activists were arrested, the group never achieved any real support or strength inside the country. Similarly Islamic Jihad that claimed responsibility for the bomb attacks against hotels in Sousse and Monastir in 1987 and that were a breakaway faction from the MTI were arrested and sentenced to death, putting an end to the nascent group. It is of course impossible to determine why such a militant movement never really took root in Tunisia and there are variable explanations as to why this might be the case. The most obvious explanation would appear to be the regime’s complete intolerance of anything that might amount to a challenge to its hegemony. Indeed the Bourguiba and Ben Ali regimes have never shied away from using brute force to keep their opponents in check and have arrested, tortured and executed many suspected Islamists over the years. Yet whilst the regime’s uncompromising attitude to its Islamist opposition may go some way to explaining why more radical branches did not develop in Tunisia, their absence cannot simply be explained away by repression alone. In neighbouring Libya that also has a small population and where the Qadhafi regime displayed an even more intolerant attitude towards its Islamist opponents, not even allowing the slightest of space for more moderate currents to even exist, a relatively strong jihadist movement developed. Jihadist networks were operating in Libya as far back as the 1980s and in 1989 the regime arrested thousands of suspected militants in a major clamp-down operation. Yet despite these setbacks Libyan jihadists went on to form the LIFG in the camps of Afghanistan around 1990 and despite Libya’s pervasive security apparatus the group was able to recruit and expand inside Libya during the 1990s. It had grown to such an extent that following its discovery by the regime in 1995 it took until 1998 for the Libyan security services to crush it fully. Therefore whilst the employment of repressive methods may stem broader support for oppositional currents, it does not necessarily equate to their absence. Moreover, although the Tunisian regime periodically gave space to the MTI, offering it amnesties and allowing it to operate at certain times, its overall intolerance towards its opposition and its willingness to employ brutal methods against it did not prevent the movement from developing a strong following. ; Another explanation sometimes proffered for the country’s lack of a militant Islamist opposition is that the Bourguiba regime was successful in implanting secularism in the Tunisian psyche. It is true that Tunisia has the feel of a secular

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society, particularly in the centres of the big cities. It is also true that the Bourguiba regime attained a degree of legitimacy because of the very real successes it scored in building a modern state complete with functioning infrastructure and modern institutions, as well as a modern education system. However, whilst this embrace of secularism has long been apparent, especially among the middle classes, there have always been large swathes of the population who have felt alienated by the state’s secularising and modernising policies. Indeed, given the extremity of Bourguiba’s approach this alienation was arguably even more acute in Tunisia than it was elsewhere in the region. Those Tunisians who had not been educated in French for example were at a distinct disadvantage, and those

who came from more traditionally conservative parts of the country, such as the south, that were excluded from the regime’s development programmes, struggled to come to terms with this new modernity. Bourguiba’s prioritising of Tunisian identity that had now been explicitly linked to progress and secularism at the expense of Arab and Islamic identity was an alienating concept for many Tunisians. As Jennifer Noyon has argued, ‘As Bourguiba took steps to limit the influence of Islam under the rationale of modernising the country, the degree of Westernisation increasingly became a socio-economic marker that divided society.... Upward mobility became synonymous with a secular outlook and French education.’’ It is no coincidence therefore that the MTI originally drew most of its support base and much of its leadership from the sons of rural families from less developed areas and more conservative areas such as the south, who had moved into the popular neighbourhoods in the outskirts of the cities or who had moved to cities to study. As Walid al-Banani, the deputy of an-Nahda, commented, ‘We were all children of the countryside.’* In addition the opening up to mass tourism had a profound impact on certain parts of Tunisian society and there was a direct correlation in some coastal areas between support for the MTI and the arrival of tourism. Therefore for all the state’s secularising policies, it was unable to implant secularism across society as a whole. As one Tunisian professor explained, ‘To set things on fire in Tunisia you have to go to religion. The Islamic feeling is there.’? Another Tunisian academic, went even further, commenting, ‘Islam is the prism that the majority of people look through. It affects even those who are of secular and materialist bent.’'° As such there was a pool of seemingly ripe recruits for a militant response to the militant secularism of the regime.

Tunisia’s Afghan experience An alternative explanation that may go some way to accounting for the absence of a Tunisian nationalist militant group is related to the Tunisian experience in Afghanistan in the 1980s and 1990s. The jihadist movements in Libya and Algeria in particular were nourished by the Afghan jihad. Although as in Libya there had been jihadist networks operating in Algeria from the 1980s, there was an entire current within the GIA led by Qaeri Said that had been nurtured in the

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Afghan jihad. Said had set up his own mujahideen guest house in Peshawar to attract Algerian volunteers, who at that time were scattered among the various combatant fronts, with the aim of replicating the victory against the Soviets in Afghanistan back home in Algeria. Similarly the Libyans set up their own camps in Afghanistan where they established the LIFG, handpicking the most able Libyan volunteers from the front lines with the aim of building the group in order for it to return to Libya to overthrow the Qadhafi regime. For these volunteers Afghanistan was a profoundly radicalising experience. Not only did they come into contact with the kinds of extremist ideologies doing the rounds in the camps, they also believed they were invincible enough to launch armed rebellions against their own rulers. It is notable that the Tunisian experience in the Afghani jihad in the 1980s was far less significant than that of its neighbours. Although there were Tunisian volunteers who joined the battle to free Afghanistan from its Soviet occupiers, their numbers were far fewer than those of other North African nationalities (although not as limited as the Moroccans who were almost entirely absent from the first wave of volunteers in the 1980s and who also failed to establish a nationalist militant movement of any worth). As journalist Camile Tawile has observed, ‘Algerians and Libyans are the most prominent product of the Afghani jihad in North Africa. It is not known whether the Tunisian jihadists formed any organisation. This may be because their number in Afghanistan was few.’'' In fact the Tunisians singularly failed to form their own movement in part because of their limited numbers but also because they were unable to pull together into a single movement. According to former Libyan Afghan veteran Noman Ben Othman the Tunisian mujahideen, who he describes as being ‘very extreme’, were so riven by internal conflict that they

failed to even develop their own training camp in Afghanistan.'? Ben Othman has recounted how the LIFG in conjunction with Afghani leader Abdul Rasul Sayyaf tried to help the Tunisians to establish their own military base but that due to differences between the Tunisian volunteers over strategy, ideology and leadership they failed miserably. There was even a joke that went around the mujahideen at that time that if you put two Tunisians together they end up fighting jihad against each other! It is not immediately apparent why the flow of recruits from Tunisia was lower compared to that of neighbouring states. Some have put the phenomenon down to the fact that living standards were higher in Tunisia at that time than in other countries and hence the drive to join the jihad was less forceful.'? However, as explained above the 1980s were an extremely difficult time economically for Tunisia and this would seem to be an insufficient explanation. Another analyst has asserted that the Tunisian Islamists received less support from Saudi Arabia that was instrumental in facilitating the passage to Afghanistan for many recruits from the region. Furthermore, whilst other states of the region actively supported the jihad against the Soviets the Tunisian state had no official policy towards the Afghan struggle. As one an-Nahda member explained, ‘The state supported the mujahideen but gave no actual encouragement.’'4

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Yet despite these factors there was still a strong degree of sympathy for the volunteers from many within the Tunisian Islamist movement. So much so that members of an-Nahda regularly provided assistance for Libyan volunteers who often travelled through Tunis on their way to Afghanistan, providing accommodation and in some cases helping to facilitate travel arrangements for their Libyan brothers.'° In fact it is surprising that the MTI were not more involved with the Afghan jihad given that many Muslim Brotherhood-linked organisations played a key role in Afghanistan, even if only at the level of providing humanitarian assistance. The Egyptian brothers, with whom the MTI had close links at the time, were for example extremely active in the Afghan conflict not only providing aid, but also mediating between the various mujahideen factions present in Afghanistan. However, this lack of interest on the part of the MTI may have been because it was not keen to shift the main centre of attention away from Tunisia. By the mid-1980s the MTI had undergone a major expansion and seemingly believed that its time to come to power was fast approaching. As such the Afghan jihad may have seemed like an unwanted distraction by the MTI leadership. In addition, the vigilance of the Tunisian regime against returning veterans meant that it was very difficult for those Tunisian jihadists who had joined the Afghani jihad to return home. This meant that after the Pakistani authorities forced out the Arab mujahideen who were residing there in the early 1990s, many Tunisian veterans found themselves displaced, the majority into Europe. Although their numbers were small, Italy became a key centre and some gravitated around the figure of the militant Egyptian preacher Anwar Shaban who was based in Milan. It was through Shaban that some of these Tunisians, along with others who came directly from Tunisia, joined the Bosnian jihad. Other Tunisian veterans settled in Belgium, including Tarek Maaroufi, Dahmane Abd al-Sattar and Bouraoui al-Ouaer who were involved in the killing of Afghani leader Ahmed Shah Massoud in 2001. Yet despite the presence of Tunisian militants in Europe where they had far greater room to manoeuvre, as well as their experiences in the Bosnia conflict, they still were unable to pull themselves together into a single organisation. In 1995 there was a push by Qaeri Said of the GIA to encourage a region-wide front of militant movements that would all take on the same name. It was for this reason that the LIFG, that had originally called itself the Seeray al-Mujahideen (Mujahideen Brigades), decided to change its name in 1995 to the Libyan Islamic Fighting Group. It was also at this time that a group of Afghan veterans established the Moroccan Islamic Fighting Group although for various reasons that are outside the scope of this chapter the group never really developed. The Algerians and Libyans hoped at this time that the Tunisian jihadists would step up to the plate and create the Tunisian Islamic Fighting Group. However, once again the Tunisian mujahideen proved unable to overcome their differences and despite talk in Europe of such a group, it never materialised inside Tunisia.'° Therefore it may be that the limitations of the Tunisian Afghan experience contributed to the lack of development of a militant insurgent movement inside Tunisia.

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Containing militancy — the MTI Another possible explanation for the lack of a separate militant movement in Tunisia was because, whilst on many levels the MTI was one of the more progressive and moderate political Islamist movements to have emerged in the contemporary era, at the same time it had a more radical strand that it chose to contain within its ranks. Whilst these elements did not openly advocate the taking up of arms against the regime and as such cannot be put in the same category as the jihadist groups in Libya, Algeria or Egypt, they certainly displayed a more confrontational approach towards the regime. The MTI that was established in the 1970s under the banner of the Jama’a al-Islamiya (Islamic Group) and that consisted primarily of students and pupils who had gravitated around the figures of Sheikh Rashid al-Ghannouchi and the lawyer Sheikh Abdel Fatah Mouru and who in the words of Ghannouchi himself were brought together by ‘general ideas, thoughts and the trend of preaching about Islam.’'’ However, as the movement developed and broadened its support base three distinct trends crystallised within it. According to one former member these currents comprised: the salafists who wanted to concentrate on dawa and sharia rather than politics and who looked to Mouru; those

who favoured dialogue with the regime who were led by Hachmi al-Hamidi; and those who were ‘pro-political mobilisation and confrontation’ who were

led by Saleh Karkar."* Indeed like all branches of the Muslim

Brotherhood, the MTI was a broad

church that contained more radical strands who objected to the leadership’s willingness to compromise on what it considered to be key Islamic principles.'” In 1981 for example the MTI’s decision to publicly declare its existence and its wish to be recognised by the government as a legal political party met with strong resistance from some of the more hard-line elements within the movement. Karkar in particular objected to this request, refusing to give the regime any legitimacy by asking to be recognised as a legal entity. The decision was also condemned by the MTI’s student component which supported Karkar and formed a strong component of the movement’s more radical wing. Fired up with the verve of youth, these students were impatient with the leadership for what they perceived to be its lack of decisive action against the regime. These more radical elements also objected to Ghannouchi’s increasing willingness to adopt what they considered to be ‘Western’ concepts such as democracy and his more progressive views on the status of women. So much so that Karkar himself accused the movement’s executive bureau of being unable to achieve the ambi-

tions of the rank and file.”° However, in typical Muslim Brotherhood style the MTI did its utmost to paper over these cracks and to contain these more radical currents within its ranks. Despite the acute antagonism between Ghannouchi and Karkar for example, at the movement’s conference in 1984 Ghannouchi was elected to stay on as Emir whilst Karkar was elected as head of the movement’s shura council as if to somehow placate the two currents in the greater interest of unity. Indeed

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for Ghannouchi unity and the ability to present a strong face against the regime seemed to be more important than ideological or strategic differences. That is not to say that the MTI was able to contain all the militant impulses that rose up from within its ranks. As explained above there were a number of elements who moved out of the MTI, including Islamic Jihad that broke away around 1984. The group decided upon a path of violence and carried out a handful of attacks against police centres resulting in those responsible being arrested and sentenced to death in 1986. The group also claimed responsibility for the hotel bombings in Sousse and Monastir in 1987. It was around the same time that another group, frustrated by Ghannouchi’s political programme, moved out of the MTI and established the Islamic Action Front in Sfax. Little is known about this shadowy group although according to some sources the group’s founder Mohamed Ali al-Harrath, who is currently head of the UK-based Islam Channel, is alleged to have taken responsibility for foreign relations and facilitated the front’s members travelling to Algeria and then in some cases onto Peshawar in Pakistan.*! The Tunisian regime has accused various militants of being involved with the group over the years, including former Guantanamo Bay prisoner Abdullah Hajji who was returned to Tunis in 2007. Hajji was tried in absentia in 1995 for membership of the front. It is also alleged that Lassad Sassi the ringleader of the Suleiman Group had links to this front. Yet like other militant splinter groups the Tunisian Islamic Action Front was never able to develop into a meaningful organisation. Yet whilst the MTI did not advocate violence, there have been serious questions raised about whether or not it had a secret military wing along the lines of the Nizam al-Khass (secret apparatus) that was established by the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt at the time of its founder Hassan al-Banna. The Tunisian regime has always accused the movement of harbouring such a unit, as have certain commentators. Analyst Emad Eldin Shahin has argued that the MTI established a secret wing in 1981 that was dominated by Karkar, as well as Hamdi al-Jibali and Habib al-Mokni, and that became the vanguard of the movement, being responsible for ensuring both its secrecy and cohesiveness.” Shahin also raised the question as to whether Ghannouchi was able to exert real authority over this unit, an issue that Hassan al-Banna struggled with in his bid to contain the Nizam al-Khass. The MTI leadership, however, has vigorously denied these accusations, insisting that such claims are simply attempts by the regime to weaken their credibility and to find an excuse to repress them even further. The truth of the matter is still far from clear. However, it is notable that

former MTI member Saleh Eddine al-Jourchi has asserted that there was a group within the movement that was made up of military and security elements and that referred to itself as the ‘National Salvation Group’.” In fact al-Jourchi has argued that one of the most significant organisational and political mistakes made by the MTI was that it failed to absorb the lesson of the Nizam al-Khass, which through its radicalism seriously damaged the Muslim Brotherhood in

Egypt.”4 Similarly other former MTI members have pointed to the development of a secret body inside the movement as a ‘fatal mistake’.

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It also seems likely that some elements of the MTI had planned a coup aimed at bringing down the Bourguiba regime. It was for this reason that from the mid1980s the movement appears to have tried to recruit from within the ranks of the security sector. Al-Jourchi has asserted, ‘Democratic thought was weak inside the movement and that is why some elements in the leadership were thinking of using the military in order to seize power or to save the movement from security risks.’?° He also claimed that the National Salvation Group had developed a plot to stage a coup against the ailing Bourguiba that was to take place on 8 November 1987.2’ It has been alleged that Saleh Karkar, who was in Europe at the time, issued a secret statement to the movement informing them of the imminent coup and how they should control things afterwards. Of course in the event they were pipped to the post by Ben Ali who carried out a coup of his own impeaching Bourguiba on medical grounds. The planning of such a coup was clearly a radical act especially coming from a group that lay within the Muslim Brotherhood tradition. However, it was perhaps unsurprising given the climate inside Tunisia at the time. By the mid1980s the country was boiling; Bourguiba was clearly on his way out and there was talk of coups and plots at every turn. There were almost daily demonstrations by the Islamists, some of whom who held banners accusing the Bourguiba regime of being kafir (heathen) and who were inching ever closer to confrontation with the state. As such the MTI must have felt that the country was almost in its hands. It certainly seemed to capitalise on the public mood presumably hoping to replicate the Iranian experience. In 1986 it issued an internal document which stated,

We have to make the theory of revolution more rooted. At the same time we have to make the political cultural social contradictions explode so the revolutionary climate is there.... Revolution requires that the confrontation is

not just between us and the regime but we have to bring the people in to it.8 It seems as though there was a hope within some parts of the movement that the masses would rise up against the Bouguiba regime whilst an elite group would carry out a coup sealing the future of the MTI as the next leader of the country. As Mehdi Mabrouk, who had been one of the key founders of the MTI’s student wing, explained, ‘We thought a military coup was a normal thing in 1987 — we thought people would support any group that did it — this was the only way to

change the regime.’”” Despite their failure to carry out such a plan the coming to power of the Ben Ali regime who initially chose to deal with the MTI as a political rather than a security challenge was an opportunity that al-Ghannouchi and the movement’s leadership seized. However it did not stop the more militant elements within the movement from continuing to push towards confrontation. Whilst al-Ghannouchi agreed to work within the political framework proposed by the new regime, changing its name to an-Nahda in 1988 as the regime still refused to allow parties based on religion, and choosing to stand for the 1989 elections, the more

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radical elements opposed such an accommodationist strategy. Buoyed up by events in neighbouring Algeria where the FIS looked poised to come to power, these strands began issuing slogans that directly contradicted the more conciliatory statements being put out by the leadership. They also pushed the leadership to stand as independent candidates

in the elections, enabling them to field a

greater number of candidates than had originally been envisaged by the regime. After the elections in which the movement won around 17 per cent of the vote,

the MTI became bolder still and according to al-Jourchi, moved in one jump from a political party that was seeking a legal licence and occupying some seats in parliament to a very central pressurising power that was not satisfied with leading the opposition. Rather it saw in itself the ability and the legitimacy to declare that it had the majority in the parliament. As if power was in its hands and it had to take it like a fruit that was

about to ripen.*° This boldness frightened the newly installed regime who began to pull back some of the space it had afforded to its Islamist opponents. This prompted a counter-reaction on the part of the more militant Islamists, some of whom attacked the local bureau of the ruling party in Bab Souika in Tunis in February 1991, killing one security guard and injuring another. Indeed it was as though the movement had run away with itself and the leadership had completely lost control of its ranks. Although the MTI leadership condemned the attack, this was not sufficient to convince the Ben Ali regime and it responded with a total clampdown, arresting MTI members and essentially putting the final nail in the movement’s coffin. It is clear therefore that whilst Tunisia did not witness the kind of armed Islamist movement that emerged in other North African states, the MTI always contained more militant currents that sought a more confrontational approach with the regime. However, much of this militancy was related to the revolutionary atmosphere and politics of the day and it seems as though the movement developed a momentum of its own. One can say that the MTI’s radicalism was confined more to the realm of opportunism and revolutionary politics than it was to a decision to fight an armed struggle against an impious state in the name of Islam. The violence that did occur was almost a by-product of the escalating conflict with the regime, committed by a minority in a state of intense upheaval rather than an end in itself.

Modern day militants With the suppression of the MTI it appeared as though Tunisia had closed its Islamist file once and for all. The 1990s were quiet and there was little evidence to suggest that Tunisia was seriously struggling with an Islamist current. In any case by the end of the 1990s the time for national Islamist groups seemed to be over, as they had all failed miserably to achieve their objectives. However, the

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events of 9/11 were to change all that, seemingly inspiring a new generation of militants to take on the mantle of armed Islamist activism. Indeed North Africa has found itself facing the threat of a current labelled as ‘salafist-jihadists’ and who appear to be inspired by the kind of wanton destruction promoted by alQa’ida. From the Casablanca bombings in 2003 in Morocco to militants blowing themselves up in the east of Libya to evade capture by the security services, to talk of disaffected urban youth signing up as suicide bombers for the GSPC in Algeria, the region is clearly giving rise to a new and ostensibly more nihilistic generation of Islamist opponents in some cases ideologically or organisationally linked into al-Qa’ida-inspired networks. Whilst Tunisia initially seemed to have escaped such a fate, the affair of the Suleiman Group, who had ties with mili-

tants in Algeria and who were seeking to establish a national jihadist movement aimed at bringing down the regime by force, seemed to indicate that the Ben Ali regime had been unable to stem the growth of such a phenomenon. Even the arch secular regime with its pervasive security apparatus was not ultimately resistant to this contemporary expression of disaffection. Of course the Suleiman Group was not the first manifestation of militancy in Tunisia in the post 9/11 era. In April 2002 a fuel tanker exploded outside the synagogue of Djerba killing 14 German tourists, a French citizen and four Tunisians. The bombing, which was claimed by al-Qa’ida, was carried out by a young Tunisian, Nizar Nawar, who worked in a local travel agency. Yet despite Nawar’s involvement the attack was largely planned and directed from abroad. Christian Ganczarski, a Polish German convert to Islam, who had links to al-

Qa’ ida, was convicted by a Paris court in 2009 of being involved in planning the bombing and al-Qa’ida chief Khaled Sheikh Mohamed was also implicated, as was Nizar’s brother who, along with the rest of Nizar’s family, was based in

France. Moreover, whilst the attack hit at Tunisia’s tourism industry, one of the mainstays of the country’s economy, it was directed against a Jewish target at a time when tempers were raging in the region following Israel’s incursion into the West Bank in March 2002. There were pro-Palestinian demonstrations in Tunisia at the time and there were also attacks on the synagogue at Le Marsa in Tunis and on a synagogue and Jewish cemetery in Sfax, the latter carried out by

a gang of youths who had been demonstrating in the city.*! Thus the Djerba bombing could on some levels be considered within the prism of the age-old conflict over Palestine rather than the more al-Qa’ida type preoccupation with either the ‘far’ or the ‘near’ enemy. However, the involvement of al-Qa’ida in an attack on Tunisian soil was sufficient to awaken serious concern on the part of

the authorities.*” Yet it wasn’t just the Djerba attack that was making the Tunisian authorities nervous. As the world’s spotlight suddenly turned on the activities of Islamist groups from Pakistan to Morocco, Tunisian jihadists began to be arrested in Europe and in some cases accused of having links to international terrorism. The arrests of figures such as Tarek Maaroufi and his associated networks in Belgium, for example, put Tunisia very firmly back on the international terrorist map. Added to this was the fact that it was becoming apparent that Tunisians

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were among the foreign volunteers who had gone to join the jihad in Iraq following the toppling of the Saddam Hussein regime in 2003. Although there is no official estimate of the numbers of Tunisians who signed up to fight in Iraq, the Sinjar records that were compiled by Iraqi insurgents and seized by US forces in Fallujah in 2007, for example, listed 24 Tunisians among the 700 foreign recruits who entered Iraq between August 2006 and August 2007, of whom ten had been

assigned to undertake suicide operations.*? Whilst going to fight jihad in Iraq cannot be equated to turning against one’s own regime, given the religious imperative to fight to defend Muslims under attack from an occupying power, not to mention other drivers such as issues as Arab nationalism, the fact that

young Tunisian men were willing to ‘martyr’ themselves in Iraq rang major alarm bells back home in Tunis. Indeed the appearance of Tunisian extremists in Iraq and other trouble spots around the world seemed to correspond to a growing radicalism that was taking hold within certain parts of Tunisian society.* The regime’s response to this growing radicalism was typically heavyhanded. It engaged in a major pre-emptive arrest campaign, trawling through the popular neighbourhoods in search of potential militants and arresting hundreds of suspects under anti-terrorism legislation. Given the nature of the Ben Ali regime it is of course impossible to assess how many of those arrested were actually involved in any kind of militant activity. In many cases they were accused of simply thinking of joining a terrorist group abroad or of thinking of going to Iraq. However, what is clear is that the vast majority of those arrested were religiously committed and of a salafist orientation. Like the other states of the region Tunisia is experiencing a rise in salafism in its various manifestations, from what is referred to as salafiya alimia (or scientific salafism) to salafism that has a jihadist bent.*° If those arrested are anything to go by it seems that this salafist current is particularly prevalent among the young. According to a list of 1,208 prisoners arrested under anti-terrorist legislation that has been compiled by the Tunisian NGO, the Association Internationale de Soutien aux Prisonniers Poli-

tiques (AISPP), 31.27 per cent of the suspects are aged between 19 and 24 and 50.07 per cent are aged between 25 and 30.*° This is perhaps unsurprising. However, this list also suggests that the salafist current is touching those from across the range of the social spectrum. Whilst 34 per cent of the suspects were students or secondary school pupils, 36 per cent were manual workers, 13 per cent traders and 3 per cent unemployed. As such salafism’s social base would appear to be far wider than that of the MTI. Much as with the response to militancy, many in Tunisia have been keen to portray this expanding salafist current as something imported that has no roots in Tunisian society or culture. This holds true for members of the regime who like other ruling elites of the region are currently engaged in a bid to promote Malikism, the madhab or school of jurisprudence traditionally followed in North Africa, as if to reinforce the sense that salafism is something alien to the country. However, many of those who are part of the moderate Islamist current, including those within an-Nahda, also stress that salafism is something foreign to Tunisia. It may be because some in this current fear that this rise in salafism, especially

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among the young, is at the expense of their own popularity and relevance that they repeatedly dismiss salafism as something imported from the Gulf. It is true that the kind of salafism followed today has been heavily influenced by the Gulf. However, in their bid to prove that they are the true inheritors of the Tunisian Islamist tradition they are surely forgetting that their own ideology was born in the Mashrek!

Moreover,

the Muslim

Brotherhood

was

heavily

sustained

by

Saudi largesse and had strong links to the Saudi establishment to the point where the former Supreme Guide Mehdi Akef once referred to the Brotherhood as a

‘beauty spot on the face of Saudi Arabia’.*” Yet salafism is certainly no stranger to Tunisia. It was present in the country from the nineteenth century and as in the rest of the Maghreb became linked to the struggle for independence. There was a salafist current within the nationalist independence movement that was considered to be progressive at the time through its bid to fight off the colonial yoke whilst preserving a ‘pure’ Arab and Islamic identity. However, this current was marginalised by the secular Bourguiba in the run up to independence, forcing salafism into retreat. Yet salafism reappeared within the MTI. One of the MTI’s founders Sheikh Abdelkader Bin Omar Salama, who ran the movement’s a/-Marifa publication, was salafist for example. In fact there was an entire salafist current within the MTI who increasingly came to feel that the movement was focusing too much on political issues at the expense of religious teaching and commitment. So much so that one group that included Sheikh Abu Abdullah al-Mudhafar and Dr Samira Sheikh broke away from the MTI in the 1980s to focus their efforts on spreading dawa in the popular neighbourhoods in Tunis and Sfax.*® Their message resonated with some parts of the young in particular and according to one prominent Tunisian salafist,

by the end of the 1980s their numbers were multiplying.*° It was also at this time that the salafist current was given a boost by the Front Islamique du Salut (FIS) that was salafist in orientation and that was making great strides in Algeria. In fact it was out of this salafist current that the Tunisian Islamic Front described above emerged, breaking away to form their own group because they sought confrontation with the regime. Whilst the regime was quick to suppress the Tunisian Islamic Front it displayed a much more ambivalent attitude towards non-violent forms of salafism. Given that salafism has traditionally been considered as apolitical, being concerned with individual religious piety rather than politics and that it teaches that it is prohibited to challenge the ruling regime, the Tunisian authorities, like their counterparts across the region were willing to tolerate it to a certain degree, perhaps believing it would detract support for more overtly political Islamist alternatives. During the 1990s in particular the Tunisian regime was willing to turn somewhat of a blind eye to the growth of salafist currents, including on university campuses. According to some sources it also tolerated the presence of a number of preachers who had graduated from Islamic universities in Saudi

Arabia and permitted a number of salafist imams to preach.*° From these roots salafism has also been given a major boost in more recent years through the proliferation of salafist satellite channels that broadcast out of

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the Gulf and Egypt and that are hugely popular across the region. As such like elsewhere in North Africa salafism is experiencing a kind of renaissance in Tunisia. Yet this salafism that has caught the imagination today is different to that of the revivalist salafism of its forebears. Rather than the open, progressive force aimed at renewing society through Islam, the salafism that has captured the public imagination is more akin to the Wahhabism of the Gulf. It is ultraconservative, introspective and seemingly a form of escapism that has buried itself in the past and in the humdrum details of what is halal and what haram. As Tunisian academic Sami Barham has observed, those who follow this current in

Tunisia suffer from a pathological schizophrenia between what is religious and what mundane. They feel alienation and are involved heavily in this culture of alienation with its sentimental intensity which is referred to by one Hadith which reads, ‘Islam began as a stranger and it will finish as a stranger. Long live strangers.’*! Therefore while the salafist current is not politicised in so far as it is concerned with issues of religion not with how to take power, it does represent a profound rejection of the state at the most fundamental level. In addition, it is clear that this salafist current is also giving birth to more radical elements that are translating their alienation and religious sentimentality into violence and Jihad. \t is within this category that the Suleiman Group can be placed, and the group was perhaps the most overt manifestation of the salafist-jihadist current that Tunisia has experienced to date.

The Suleiman Group: a closer look - As noted above, from the media outburst that followed the clashes between the Tunisian security forces and the Suleiman Group, so called after one of the

groups of militants was defeated by the regime in the town of Suleiman south of the capital, one had the impression that Tunisia was in the grip of an organised trans-Maghrebi salafist-jihadist network. The fact that shortly after the clashes in January 2007 the GSPC in Algeria announced that it had changed its name to alQa’ ida in the Islamic Maghreb only seemed to complete the picture of Tunisia finally being sealed into a region-wide jihadist network. However, a closer look at those involved and what actually occurred reveals a somewhat different reality. Court documents containing testimonies and biographical details of those accused in the Suleiman case (as well as of other cells accused of terroristrelated activities) that have not been made public but that have been acquired by the author suggest that whilst the aim of the group may have been to establish a Tunisian jihadist network, the whole project was an unfocused, amateur and

wholly shambolic affair.** Unquestionably, dealing with such documents is contentious given that, as international human rights groups have testified, torture is commonplace in Tunisia. Moreover, many of the key players in the group were

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killed during the clashes with the regime and very little is known about them. In such circumstances it is extremely difficult to ascertain exactly what occurred. However, an examination of these documents, in conjunction with interviews with a number of defence lawyers involved in the case, does allow one to piece

together the events that unfolded and to gain certain insights into those involved in the group, although a note of caution should of course be injected into this analysis. From the documents it is apparent that despite the talk of the new generation of militants, radicalised by the global jihad and the internet, in fact the origins of the Suleiman group lay in a handful of jihadist veterans with a long experience of militancy in various jihadist hotspots. Leading them was Lassad Sassi, a veteran of the Bosnian war, who also spent many years in Italy where he was accused of being involved in a terrorist cell in Milan. Sassi, who was born in 1969 in Carthage to a middle-class family, was charged by an Italian court in absentia with providing military clothing and money to the GSPC while financing and planning suicide bomb attacks in Italy.** Around 2001 Sassi disappeared from Italy and is believed to have gone to Algeria where he is alleged to have fought alongside the GSPC. Two of his compatriots who were also residing in Italy, Ziad and Zuhair Riabi, and who

are both believed to have trained in

Afghanistan, also travelled to Algeria around the same time where the former was killed. By 2006 it seems that Zuhair and Sassi, along with a handful of other Tunisians who were also in Algeria where they had reportedly been training with the GSPC, had determined that it was time to turn their attentions towards their own regime in Tunisia. According to Hatem Riabi, Zuhair’s brother, in April 2006 both Zuhair and Sassi managed to smuggle themselves into Tunisia along with the other Tunisians and a Mauritanian named Mohamed Makam in order to ‘carry out a subversive act’.“* The group clearly entered Tunisia with the aim of establishing an armed Tunisian group that they had decided to call Jund Asad Bin al-Furat (Soldiers of Asad Bin al-Furhat), after the Tunisian scholar and fighter who led a Muslim army against Sicily in 827. It is surely worth noting that for all the talk of globalized jihad, this group had in fact decided upon a very localized name with a specific Tunisian reference. Given that it was around this time that the GSPC was in the process of merging with al-Qa’ida and must have at that point been considering the name change to al-Qa’ida in the Islamic Maghreb, it is perhaps surprising that a group supposed to be part of a transMaghrebi network did not choose a name that reflected more regional or global aspirations or connections. According to some of the statements, this group of jihadist veterans had drawn up a charter for their new movement in which they declared their intention to wage jihad against the Tunisian regime. To this end Sassi, with Zuhair Riabi as his deputy, tasked certain individuals with drawing up-their own cells in various Cities across Tunisia. The aim was for these cells to link up into a single organization with the eventual objective of waging an armed insurrection against the regime. These new recruits appear to have fallen into two main groups that

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87

have been dealt with as two separate court cases by the authorities. The first group consisted of those who were actually involved in the action and who ended up in camp in the mountains with the core members led by Sassi, where they allegedly received weapons training; the second group comprised those who were on the margins, seemingly with connections, albeit often extraordinarily loose ones, to those involved.

The first of these groups comprised 30 individuals, many of whom were from Sousse on the coast or Sidi Bu Zeid in the interior. As Table 5.1 demonstrates,

they were predominantly young and the vast majority of them were in their twenties at the time of the events. Like the wider list of those arrested under counter-terrorism legislation they held a variety of occupations and displayed a range of education levels with their ranks comprising both students and those with the minimum of education (see Table 5.2). Whilst some of these individuals appear to have been involved in militancy before they got entangled with the group, with a small number already having served time in prison for terrorist related offences, most had no history of militant behavior. Unlike the core group, these new recruits were for the most part completely inexperienced and new to the jihadist scene. Their only experience of action appears to have been through knowing someone who had gone to Iraq or through watching DVDs of the jihad in Iraq, Chechnya and Afghanistan. They

Table 5.1 Year of birth

1950s 1960s 1970-74 1975-79 1980-84 1985-90

No. of individuals

1 Sus

Table 5.2

Occupation

No. of individuals

Student Casual worker Worker/tradesman

Unemployed Professional Technician Farmer

OUND WNN =

Note

Data related to age and occupation is not available for all those listed in the documents.

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appear for the most part to have radicalized extremely quickly with many only having adopted salafism in recent years, reflecting the shallowness of their religious knowledge. For many their religious instruction appears to have consisted primarily of coming together to discuss Islam, salafism and sometimes jihad outside of the mosque, in local cafes or in each other’s rooms where whoever had the most religious knowledge would become a kind of mentor. The group came to know each other through the fact that they were living in the same neighbourhood, or that they were working or studying together or in some cases simply sharing accommodation. They became extremely close in a seemingly short space of time, acting as a kind of family to each other, something all the more important given that many of them were studying or working away from their own families. The common experience seems to have fostered their radicalism as they became increasingly introspective, creating their own parallel world of certainty and faith and dreaming of action. The group clearly had limited access to finances, as many of them contributed small sums of their own money in order to support the group and its plan to launch jihad against the state. In addition some of them undertook ihtitab, stealing money from non-Muslims for the greater cause. The sums they net were small, almost pitiful. One defendant recounted how one of their group stole a woman’s handbag, a mobile telephone and 140 dinars and how another pulled a knife on a man, stealing his mobile telephone and 12 dinars. Another sold his computer in order to raise some money. Moreover, their alleged attempts to secure weapons via smuggling networks from both Algeria and Libya proved largely disastrous or were simply prohibitive on account of the costs involved. As such, despite the talk of a trans-Maghrebi terrorist network, there is little

indication to suggest that the group was receiving financial support from outside. Even the group led by Sassi who came from Algeria, presumably with the agreement of the GSPC, had to instruct the others to engage in pretty criminality in order to fund themselves. The suggestion of a disciplined and well trained group akin to the GSPC holed up in the mountains waiting to descend and strike against high profile foreign targets inside Tunisia is also rather questionable. It is true that in November 2006 some of the group moved first to a rented house in Grombalia and then onto another in Ain Tabaranek before heading up to the nearby mountains where Sassi and the hardcore of the group had set up a makeshift camp. However, what prompted this shift to the mountains was the fact that some of the group had realised they were under surveillance by the security services. Twenty-four year old Basreddine Kousouri, for example, confessed that he had moved to the mountains

because he was frightened that the security forces were chasing him because they had closed down his shop. Student Fathi Salehi asserted that he was being chased by the security services because he was ‘very religious and bearded’ and that that was what pushed him to go to the mountains with the others. Indeed, whilst the longer term plan may have been to engage in training in the mountains, what comes across is a seemingly panicked attempt to transfer as many of the group into hiding as quickly as possible in order to evade capture by the authorities.

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Moreover, it appears that upon their arrival in the mountains several of the men were shocked to discover weapons among their number. Ziad al-Said, for example, who was unemployed and who had rented a house with some of the other suspects, claimed that he had thought they were going to the mountains to practice sport. As soon as he saw two Kalashnikovs at the camp he panicked and asked to leave but claimed he was prevented from doing so by the Emir. Similarly Ali Bin Saleh al-Sassi, a student from Sousse, also claimed to have wanted to run away when he realized the group had weapons but was stopped from doing so by other members who feared that letting people leave would pose a security risk. As such whilst there were clearly a number of more dedicated militants who were keen to turn themselves into a force that could challenge the regime, some of them appear to have got caught up in something bigger than themselves. It is not clear exactly how well armed the group were as there are varying accounts of the number of weapons in the camp. The hardcore seems to have provided some weapons and explosives training to the new recruits, although many of the suspects have vigorously denied these charges. According to some of the confessions the men had a number of Kalashnikovs and grenades as well as explosives material. However, given the fact that many of the young men were in the mountains for only a few weeks at most and some for only a matter of days, they can hardly be considered as a competent or trained fighting force. They were clearly not particularly security conscious either given that it wasn’t long before the security services were on to them. By December 2006 the adventure in the mountains was all but over. As security forces moved in on the men, having been tipped off by one of the group who was arrested on one of his trips down the mountain to liaise with a group hiding in a house in the capital and who had revealed everything, they descended from their camp with the order from Sassi to attack. A fierce gun battle ensued during which Sassi ordered the group to divide into four units and to disperse to four different localities across Tunisia. However, the band of jihadists were no match for the security forces and in a series of clashes between 23 December and 3 January in various locations including Suleiman and Hamam al-Anf in the capital, Sassi, along with Zuhair al-Riabi, Mohamed Makam the Mauritanian and at least nine other men were killed. As such the whole debacle appears to have been a shambolic affair

that was poorly planned, ill thought through and doomed to failure from the start, perhaps unsurprising given that the core group had only been in the country for eight months. Yet despite the amateur nature of the group, the Tunisian authorities were taking no chances. The security services began a major arrest campaign, sweeping up anyone who may have been in some way involved with the group. It seems to be within this context that the second group of suspects in the Suleiman case was apprehended. This group comprising 16 defendants shared many of the characteristics of the first group. They were mostly young, with 13 of them in their twenties at the time of the events, and again they displayed a mix of occupations from senior technicians and traders to casual workers and the

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unemployed. Although they are accused of having sought to join jihadist cells, from what one can gather they seem to have been mostly hovering around the margins of the group. Most seem to have had connections to the militants who made their way to the mountain through sharing accommodation with them, or coming into contact with them through work or study or in some cases seemingly unwittingly providing refuge to certain elements whilst they were under surveillance. One of the men, Wajih Risqallah for example, a pharmaceutical trader who had gone to Iraq just prior to the invasion in 2003 because he admired Saddam Hussain and who had served as a human shield for the headquarters of the Electricity and Gas Company in Baghdad for 20 days before returning to Tunisia, went into partnership with one of the main suspects, Moukhlas Amar. According to Risquallah, he had no idea that Amar was involved with a jihadist cell in Sousse. In his first confession he admitted to putting money and his car in the service of the cell, but later claimed this information

had been extracted

under torture and that he had simply given a lift to Moukhlas Amar and another of the suspects. Given these kinds of conflicting versions of events it is difficult to assess the extent to which this group was really aware of the plan to form a national jihadist movement and how involved they were. However, what is clear is that most of them were religiously committed and were of a strong salafist orientation. Like the first group many were brought together by a shared interest in religion and figh and huddled together in the street, in cafes or outside the mosque to discuss these issues. They also displayed an interest in jihad, although this seems to have been limited to watching DVDs about Iraq and other jihadist hotspots. As such Iraq seems to have been more of a romantic idea, an emotive subject to get fired up by. This picture is replicated among some of the other groups arrested around the same time, including one group comprising mostly students who were accused of ‘following the salafistjihadist line’ and of holding meetings in which they labeled the regime as kafir (heathen)’. Most of this group was drawn together through their shared interest in salafism and their primary preoccupation seems to have been with figh and religion. Abdelraouf Farid, born in 1984, who had begun a foundation course in higher engineering but after two years switched to media studies and who began meeting with other religiously committed students around 2003 explained, ‘We discussed figh issues and we started educating ourselves religiously by reading books of salafist sheikhs. That led us to believe in salafist ideas.’ Many of them came to salafism around this time and they clearly adopted the ideology very quickly. Despite the fact that these individuals were studying at university level, one is struck not only by the speed with which some of them radicalised but the often rudimentary way in which they came to adopt salafist ideas. Indeed many appear to have been heavily influenced by certain committed individuals within their circle who seemed to provide the core of their religious teaching. Science student Redwan al-Hamaidi, for example, seems to have taken most of his religious instruction from one of his friends who ‘educated me religiously and in faith’.

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The group also had a link to the salafist sheikh, Khattib al-Idrisi, through one of its members, Khalil Boukhari, who was one of his relatives. Al-Idrisi was a

blind physiotherapist who had gone to Saudi Arabia in the 1980s where he attended an Islamic university and is alleged to have come under the influence of Sheikh Bin Baz. He returned to Tunisia in the 1990s and began giving lessons in his house in the town of Sidi Bu Zeid. Al-Idrisi was imprisoned in 2007 for two years having been accused of giving his blessing to the Suleiman Group. Although he can hardly be considered as a serious scholar, given the paucity of such figures in Tunisia the fact that al-Idrisi had studied in Saudi Arabia was seemingly sufficient for these naive young men to make him their main religious reference and they repeatedly sought out guidance and fatwas from him on Islamic matters. They also looked to the salafist satellite channels broadcast out of the Gulf and Egypt, particularly al-Majd and Iqra. According to one of the defence lawyers involved in the cases, many of those salafists arrested had reduced their lives to dividing their time between the mosque and watching these channels that had become the fountain of all knowledge for them.** Notably, for all the talk of radicalisation on the Internet, with this group, as with the others, the role of satellite channels and DVDs, combined with the influence of certain

individuals among their own number, appears to have played a far greater role in their adoption of salafist ideas than the Internet. Whilst seemingly preoccupied primarily with faith many of this group also displayed a fierce anger against the Tunisian regime for its un-Islamic nature. Several expressed their resentment of the fact that the regime was ‘fighting every manifestation of religiosity’ and was prohibiting the hijab or the wearing of beards for example. However, despite the allegations against them this group appear to have been much more reticent about actually signing up to any jihadist project. For this group, as with the others, their frustration does not translate into any political strategy or vision. This also holds true for those who actually made it up to the mountains. Whilst they may have sought out action there appears to have been no political strategy other than to fight the state. As such these young men appear to be almost apolitical, inspired primarily by religious fervour and in some instances the idea of violence. As one Tunisian academic described, ‘political violence among the young is mainly a practical reflection of a set of ideological convictions and fatawa which have their own principles, references and closed internal logic.’*° In this sense today’s militants are a far cry and a completely different breed from those who engaged in the more radical fringes of the MTI in earlier decades and who through violence were expressing a political vision. Indeed what emerges from all these documents are groups of idealistic and naive young men enamoured with the idea of doing something for the sake of Islam. In many cases they seem lonely, like lost souls who haven’t found their place in society. What is perhaps surprising is that they are mostly from stable backgrounds. Contrary to the picture of militants that has emerged in Morocco in recent years, namely of desperate young men from the shanty towns steeped in extreme poverty and marginalisation, these Tunisian radicals are by no means

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on the margins of society. Yet they seem somehow restless, moving: around from place to place in search of work or a purpose or even just a means of venting either their religious urges or their frustration. So much so that they are willing to risk everything for their ideal, seemingly wrapped up in a kind of transcendent nihilism. As Mexican writer Octavio Paz once declared, ‘the temper of the nihil-

ist is tragic.’ *” Yet what is perhaps most shocking about the whole affair is the large number of recruits willing to go down this tragic path. Although clearly some of those accused had very little to do with the action, the fact that so many were willing to take their chance and join the group in the mountains suggests that the country was somehow ripe for someone like Sassi to come along. Moreover, the fact that beyond the Suleiman Group so many of the country’s youth appear to have swallowed this introspective and rejectionist brand of salafism indicates a deep disaffection among certain parts of Tunisian society that clearly flies in the face of notions of Tunisia’s immunity to extremism. Indeed, whilst the Suleiman Group may not quite have been the trans-Maghrebi threat it was portrayed as, the spread of both salafism and salafist-jihadism inside the country indicates that Tunisia is no exception to the rest of North Africa. It is also further proof that after more than five decades of secularism and ‘progress’ Tunisia is still playing out the ongoing struggle over identity and what it means to be modern, a struggle that the entire region has in fact been grappling with for the past century or more. Notes Olivier Guitta, ‘Terror in the Maghreb: Al Qaeda linked groups are spreading from Algeria and Morocco into Tunisia’, Weekly Standard, 14 February 2007. Available on www.weeklystandard.com/Content/Public/Articles/000/000/013/284norib.asp. N Craig Smith, ‘North Africa Feared as Staging Ground for Terror’, New York Times, 20 February 2007, www.nytimes.com/2007/02/20/world/africa/20tunisia. html?pagewanted=1& r=1&ref=tunisia. WwW Taha al-Aswat, “Notes on the current situation of al-Qa’ida and the factors behind the growth of al-Qa’ida members in Tunisia’, Aglam Online, Issue 21, March 2008. Available in Arabic on www.aqlamonline.com/archives/no2 I/lassoued2 1.htm. Interview by author with Rida Idris, Paris, April 2010. Interview by author with Tunisian sociology professor, Tunis, February 2009. Dun Alaya Allani, Al-Harakat Al-Islamiya bil Watan Al-Arabi: Tunis Namoudajan 1970-2007 [Islamic movements in the Arab Nation: The Tunisian Example —"

1970-2007|, Dar Fater Wichad Natha, Rabat, 2008.

7 Noyon, /slam, Politics and Pluralism. 8 Interview by author with Walid al-Banani, Liége, Belgium, June 2008. For a wider discussion of this issue see Alison Pargeter, ‘Localism and Radicalization in North Africa: Local factors and the Development of Political Islam in Morocco, Tunisia and Libya’, /nternational Affairs, 2009, 85:5. 9 Interview by author with Professor Ali Majoub, Tunis, February 2008. 10 Abdellatif Al-Hermassi, A/-Harakat al-Islamiafi Tunis [The Islamist Movement in Tunisia], Baitam lil Nachar, Tunis, 1985, p. 71. 11 Camile Tawil, Al-Qa’ida wa Hawatia Kasat Al-Jihaideen Al-Arab [Al-Qa’ida and Her Sisters: The Story of the Arab Jihadists], Sagi, London, 2007, p. 50. 12 Telephone interview with Noman Bin Othman, London, October 2010.

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37

38

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Interview by author with Tunisian academic, February 2010. Interview by author with Rida Idris, Paris, April 2010. Telephone interview with former LIFG member Noman Bin Othman, October 2010. Ibid. Quoted in Mohammed Elihachmi Hamdi, The Politicisation of Islam, Westview Press, 1998, p. 22. Interview by author with Dr Mehdi Mabrouk, Tunis, February 2008. Ghannouchi had decided in the early 1980s to link the movement to the Muslim Brotherhood, something that prompted the departure of some of the more liberal elements within the group such as Hmida Ennaifer who favoured a more Tunisian approach that was more tied to the nation rather than the text. Interview with Hmida Ennaifer by author, Tunis, March 2010. Alaya Allani, A/-Harakat Al-Islamiya bil Watan Al-Arabi, p. 162. ‘Mostaqbel Al-Islami Siassi fi Tunis’ [‘The Future of Political Islam in Tunisia’], Aqlam Online, Ali Bin Said Issue, 18 July/August 2006. Available in Arabic on www. aqlamonline.com/archives/no18/bensaid18.htm. Shahin, Political Ascent, p. 98. Sena ala Iktishaf Al-Muamara [A year afier the discovery of the conspiracy], Majallat Al-Majalla, Saleh Eddine Al-Jourchi, 13-19 May 1992. Alaya Allani, Al-Harakat Al-Islamiya bil Watan Al-Arabi, p. 223. Interview with former MTI member, Tunis, March 2010. Sena ala Iktishaf Al-Muamara. Sena ala Iktishaf Al-Muamara. Allaya Allan, 4/-Harakat Al-Islamiya bil Watan Al-Arabi, p. 184. Interview by author with Mehdi Mabrouk, Tunis, February 2008. Sena ala Iktishaf Al-Muamara. The Middle East and North Africa 2004. Just two weeks after the bombing President Ben Ali replaced both his Minister of Interior and his Director of National Security and in August 2002 the Tunisian authorities confirmed to the UN Counter-Terrorism Committee that a comprehensive bill on combating terrorism had been submitted to the Tunisian parliament. This bill was adopted in December 2003. www.ctc.usma.edu/harmony/pdf/CTCForeignFighter. 19.Dec07.pdf. The regime was also deeply concerned by the fact that Tunisians were embroiling themselves in militancy in other hotspots. In August 2005 Syria extradited to Tunisia 21 suspected Islamist extremists it had detained following clashes with security forces in June and in 2007, Tunisians were found among the Fatah al-Islam organisation that fought against the Lebanese army in the Nahr al-Barid Palestinian refugee camp in Lebanon. Indeed there are many currents within salafism, a discussion of which is outside the scope of this chapter. List of prisoners compiled by the Association Internationale de Soutien aux Prisonniers Politiques (AISPP) and supplied to author in 2009. Al-Mushid alam al Ikhwan al-muslimeen: nouayid tershia Mubarak wa atammana aljillous mahahoo [The Supreme Guide of the Muslim Brothers: I support the candidacy of Mubarak and I wish I could sit with him], Akhbar al-Youm, 20 July 2005, www. akhbarelyom.org.eg/akhersaa/issues/369 1/0501.html. Nowfel Al-Maaoui, Harakat An-Nahda Tunisia: Al-Hajma Ala Tayara Salafi, Hal Hiya Adhoun Li harb bil Wakala?! [The Tunisian an-Nahda Movement: The Attack on the Salafist Current, Is it a war by Proxy?] No. 2, Al-Asr, 18 January 2006. Available on www.alasr.ws/index.cfm?method=home.con&contentID=7360. Ibid. Amghar, Le salafisme au Maghreb. Sami Brahem, A/-Salafiya Fi Manakh Tunisie No. 1 [Salafism in the Tunisian Environment, No. 1], Al-Awan, 27 March 2009.

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42 Unpublished court documents relating to a range of terrorist-related cases acquired by author in 2010. 43 The Reach of War; North Africa Feared as Staging Ground for Terror, New York Times, 20 February 2007. 44 Unpublished court documents relating to a range of terrorist-related cases acquired by author in 2010. The information in this section is drawn primarily from these documents. 45 Interview by author with Radia Nasrawi, Tunis, February 2008. 46 Interview by author with Sami Brahem, Tunis, March 2010. 47 Paz, One Earth, Four or Five Worlds, p. 7.

Bibliography Amghar, Samir (2007), “Le salafisme au Maghreb: menace pour la sécurité ou facteur de stabilité politique?’ Revue Internationale et Stratégique, 3, 67. The Middle East and North Africa 2004, Volume 50, Europa Publications. Noyon, Jennifer (2003), /s/am, Politics and Pluralism: Theory and Practice in Turkey, Jordan, Tunisia and Algeria, The Royal Institute of International Affairs. Paz, Octavio (1992), One Earth, Four or Five Worlds, Paladin, p. 7. Shahin, Emad Eldin (1998), Political Ascent: Contemporary Islamic Movements in North Africa, Westview Press, p. 98. Smith, Craig (2007), ‘North Africa Feared as Staging Ground for Terror’, New York Times, 20 February.

6

The causes of radicalisation in

Algeria Zine Mohamed Barka

It is clear that radical Islam' has led to a global sense of threat, particularly in security terms. Many of the sympathisers with this radical tendency, for example, call for the adoption of a rigorous religious discipline to counter the evils that characterise contemporary society and which negatively affect human behaviour. This personal, non-violent strategy, which is based on the literal and precise imitation of the life of the Prophet Muhammad, is designed to share this with others through individual promotion of da’wa — the call for the strict application of Islam. At the same time, rather than turning to violent jihad, based on combat, this

community focuses on peaceful means to recover the purity of Islam and to gradually introduce fundamental changes into society. In other words, peaceful political activism, based on religious principles becomes another strategy designed to restore the declining power of the umma — the global Muslim community. It recalls how, in the nineteenth century, Jamal al-Din al-Afghani, the partisan of the Muslim revival, defended a pan-Islamic movement of solidarity to counter the values and the domination of the West. The different radical Islamic currents and movements share a common faith but embrace different means and objectives. However, when political activists call for the adoption of shar’ia religious law within Muslim states and call on the Muslim community in general and on each Muslim in particular to espouse jihad to achieve this, they become militant combatants. Yet, in the definition of ‘religious radicalism’,* the emphasis is on the way in which a particular category has become ‘radicalised’. It is in this way that they come to accept the justification and necessity to move towards violent jihad against the state and its population or to externalise its effects as is currently the case ever more widely across the world. In essence, any understanding of radicalism requires an awareness of the dominant role of Islamic doctrine within political initiatives because Islam does not recognise the secular concept of separation between state and religion. Political Islam has two objectives which are closely linked: establishing solidarity with the wmma and restoring Muslim political regimes under the authority of the Caliphate.* The remainder of this chapter is devoted to a discussion of the evolution of global militant jihad which will lead to an analysis of the factors that lead to radicalisation, using Algeria as a case-study.

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Political Islam and salafi-jihadism The vast majority of radical Muslims within the framework of political Islam do not argue for violent jihad as the means by which an Islamic form of governance can be established. Some movements — such as the nationalist Muslim Brotherhood, for example, which is present in many countries — now avoid violence and participate peaceably in national political life. Those who support violent jihad for political ends come from a wide range of religious positions but all believe that the power of Islam is located in the values and the practices of the Prophet Muhammad and his pious companions (the salaf). If these ‘men of God’ are taken to be the salafist ideal-type, salafism itself could perhaps be seen as the way in which to achieve the Muslim revival. Salafism itself would then be seen to be compatible with peaceable political activism and non-violent proselytisation. A hard-line faction, dominated by salafists, is based on this ideology and seeks to create an Islamist state through a call to jihad for a violent revolution. They are inspired by the views of a militant member of the Muslim Brotherhood — Sayyid Qutb (1906-1966) — whose ideas, in essence, are as follows: |

Islam is in crisis. Millions of people claiming to be Muslim know, in reality, very little of Islam and are not, therefore, true Muslims;

2 ie>)

A return to the true values of Islam is essential, so that the objective is to reIslamise society; Islam can provide a complete solution to all problems, whether political, economic

or social in nature. On the other hand, Western

influences are

dangerous and harmful. For Sayyid Qutb, neither East (the socialist bloc) nor West (the capitalist world) could be called civilisations. They were instead for him, two different faces of what he called ‘jahiliyya’ (the state of ignorance that afflicts those who have not known God). For Sayyid Qutb, then, jihad was not merely a means of defending Muslims and their territories but was instead an offensive revolution, proactive and permanent in nature against its enemies who had usurped the sovereignty of God, whether from within the Muslim world or from outside.’ By extension, the global salafi jihad today is a ‘worldwide movement of religious renewal which seeks to restore the lost glory of the Muslim world in a vast Islamist state stretching from Morocco to the Philippines’® by using violent jihad to restore true Islam. Salafi jihad attacks not only apostate Muslim rulers (the ‘Near Enemy’) but also Western powers (the ‘Far Enemy’) whose support to Muslim leaders has hindered the creation of truly Islamist states based on shar’ia law. The striking contribution of al-Qa’ida, which heads the worldwide salafi movement, has been

to transform local level, tively close and targets

jihad, which had been limited to a religious national struggle at the into a global war against the United States and its allies. The relalinks between Islamist groups which share the ideology, objectives of al-Qa’ida have allowed it to act throughout the world and have

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given it a reputation at the planetary level. Salafist thought has determined their mission, established their objectives and guided their methods. The sources of radicalisation

Recent events, resulting from the domestic and foreign policies of Western and Muslim governments — which many Western countries, the United States and the Muslim world particularly label as ‘terrorist attacks’ — have had significant consequences on the process of Muslim politicisation. A sense of identification with the ‘umma’ and of resentment against the different forms of repression and humiliation visited upon Muslims throughout the world have had unexpected repercussions. Within the chronology of contemporary history, the Iranian revolution in 1979 has become the starting point of this process. It is immaterial that it was the Shi’a, rather than the Sunnis, who overthrew the secular and autocratic Shah. All

Muslims saw the event as a victory for Islam and the proof that an Islamic state could be created despite corrupt Arab governments, in the pay of the Western masters. This sentiment had a powerful effect on the collective Muslim awareness and sense of shared identity. Revolutionary Iran set Muslim politics alight and thus also gained the support of the Sunni world as well. The fatwa of Ayatollah Khomeini against Salman Rushdie after he had published his novel, The Satanic Verses, furthermore, marked a further stage in the process of becoming aware of the link between religion and politics. It was a turning point that brought about a new sense of power and fed into the active growth of interest in a Muslim renewal. Nor should the coincidence of these events with Soviet intervention in Afghanistan in 1979 be overlooked, for it coincided with the Islamic revolution

in Iran and, in general, with the growth of militant political Islam. Thousands of Muslims from the four corners of the world went to Afghanistan with the precise purpose of chasing Soviet infidels from Muslim land. Religious figures and erudite radicals had approved and encouraged jihad as a means of defence which pitted Muslims against communists as atheist non-Muslims. Afghanistan, in addition, provided jihadists with opportunities for training and for learning, in a secure environment, the skills they would need for the struggle at home. It also allowed religious nationalists, fleeing from Muslim security services, to regroup, so that the victory of the Talibans over the Soviet Union revived salafi-jihadism and transformed it from being a local conflict into one on a worldwide scale. There are now many places — Afghanistan, Algeria, Egypt, Kashmir, BosniaHerzegovina and Chechnya, for example — where radical Islamic ideas are entrenched and where real military abilities have been developed. The massacre of Muslims by Christian Serbs in Bosnia was interpreted as an attack on the umma without the protection of the United Nations despite the country’s supposed status as European. The consequent resentment and the fear of religious persecution everywhere else has proved to have been particularly effective in recruiting Muslims for jihad in order to defend Dar al-Islam — Muslim land and

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Muslim communities. More recently, the sense of resentment and anger against

the West was heightened by the creation of an American operational base in Saudi Arabia from where the Gulf war, designed to force Iraq out of Kuwait, was directed. This ‘profane’ presence of the Americans in the ‘country of the two holy shrines’ was the factor that convinced Bin Ladin to challenge the West and the United States. Radicalisation: complex explanations It is easy to define the socio-political conditions required to create a climate that encourages Islamic radicalism, but only a minority of Muslims exposed to them are actually impelled to support such movements. The conditions often cited to explain and justify such radicalism include social isolation, unemployment and disappointed political and personal ambitions. They certainly contribute something, but the real reasons why some people, rather than others, are prepared to adopt extremist belief systems are undoubtedly much more complex and may not even be amenable to reason. Radicalisation does not depend on some unique process or factor; for each individual, the influences which transform him into a

radicalised figure are different.’ This can be illustrated by considering the methods adopted by jihadist organisations which seek to enlarge their audiences and influence individuals in order to persuade them into the path of extremism.

Recruitment strategies Salafist thought is diffused in various ways, and certain locations and methods are more useful for attaining their ends than are others. We are able to get some insights into the campaigns that are waged to these ends by examining two key mechanisms that serve as tribunes for radical religious preachers. Internet

Al-Qa’ida has been described as a virtual phenomenon. The absence of national frontiers and ethnic benchmarks tallies perfectly with Usama Bin Ladin’s vision when he created it. The internet, discussion groups, videos, audio-cassettes and mobile telephones are used to diffuse the movement’s ideology, ensure recruitment and even to publish communiqués. That was the way in which the events of 11 December 2007 were organised, when two simultaneous attacks by car bomb devastated the offices of the Constitutional Court and the United Nations High Commission for Refugees in Algiers, causing 31 deaths and 177 persons injured. Images of the disaster were broadcast together by the major satellite channels and some

hours

later, the armed

wing of al-Qa’ida

in the Islamic

Maghrib

(AQIM) put out a communiqué on an Islamist website claiming responsibility for the attacks. The terrorist group gave details of the operations and identified the two suicide bombers who had launched the two vehicles, each carrying

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800kg of explosive, against the targeted buildings. They were Abderrahman alAsmi and Ammi Ibrahim Abu Uthman, according to the Groupe Salafiste pour la Prédication et le Combat (GSPC),® which published photographs of the two bombers carrying assault rifles against a green background. For the designers of these sites, the internet has become the perfect means in the contemporary world to launch jihad on the web. According to monitors of such activities, the GSPC has heavily invested in the politics of communication because it also gives it access to jihadi circles elsewhere in the world. As part of the process of marketing itself, the GSPC is prepared to diffuse photographic and video images of its operations, particularly those undertaken in Algeria — ambushes against military convoys in Kabylia, attacks on security vans on the Ain El-Hammam road, sequences of suicide bomb attacks in the capital, Algiers,

or the preparation of a homemade bomb in a rural hideout in Boumerdes province. In fact, throughout the world in general, the internet has become the perfect propaganda tool for terrorists and extremists. Algeria with its 2.5 million internet users seems to be powerless to confront

this wave of subversive sites.” Mosques The religious debate on political Islam is no longer only carried out in traditional institutions and, as a result, escapes the control of religious professionals, becoming, in effect, secularised in the process. Such a secularisation involves

abandoning traditional values so that they can no longer provide a moderating influence nor permit other interpretations which could hinder the radicalisation process. Radical extremists, after all, reject the teachings of experienced ulama. Traditional religious experts, for their part, accuse radical elements of ‘distorting’ Islam to the advantage of their political objectives. Religious radicals make use of mosques to implicitly and even explicitly approve incidents that have shaken other countries, such as the attacks on

11 March 2004

in Madrid, in

Casablanca in May 2003 and in London, Algiers and even in Jordan, Bali and elsewhere. Al-Qa’ida has transformed itself into a diffuse organisation, weakly structured and decentralised, which uses the internet and other communication tech-

nologies to influence and direct a network of other Islamist terrorist organisations committed to the worldwide salafi jihad. The radicalisation process has required new strategies and technologies to propagate and exploit old complaints. Even if the transformation process has been gradual and different for each individual, the ideology of radical Islam has attracted Muslims from a range of different positions to whom it offers what they see as advantages — self-confidence, the admiration of others, strong emotions and a sense of purpose, together with feelings of friendship and solidarity. Al-Qa’ida has achieved a degree of success in rallying Muslims to the cause, but its capacity for attracting new recruits will depend on its capacity for sustaining and encouraging the positive idea that violence is a viable strategy for achieving the global objectives of salafism, despite

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the negative consequences it might have for the Muslim wmma and on its ability to manage internal conflicts, tensions and rivalries between jihadists.

The origins of radicalisation in Algeria We shall try to show, in what follows, the stages through which the civil conflict in Algeria escalated until it reached the level of a quasi-war during the 1990s, which was followed by several stages which enabled the process of de-escalation to develop, thus leading eventually to national reconciliation.'° However, the fundamental question remains; namely, whether the experience of the conflict has fully been thought through. In other words, have the reasons that led to the popular uprising been properly understood today, in that a multi-dimensional policy — economic, social and cultural in nature — has been put into place in order to avoid a repetition of this tragic period which cost us more than we can know and which has produced a very perceptible regression in Algeria in terms of national cohesion and in Algeria’s role within the community of nations. The growth of political Islam

The literature put out by the Mouvement de la Société pour la Paix (MSP)'' has situated the birth of the movement supporting the ideas of the Muslim Brotherhood in Algeria in the period that immediately followed independence in 1962. Mahfoud Nahnah and Mohamed Bouslimani had formed a clandestine group at the university in the 1960s which was opposed to the ‘laic and socialist policies’ of Ahmed Ben Bella, accused of being the ally of world communism. Ben Bella, the first president of independent Algeria between 1962 and 1965, confident of his international prestige and his popularity, had declared war on radical conservatives, mainly the former leaders of the Association des Oulemas Musulmans Algériens (ASA).'* The most moderate religious leaders were integrated into the state system when President Ben Bella bought their loyalty by linking them to the system of traditional education under the control of the ministry of religious affairs. Mahfoud Nahnah and Mohamed Bouslimani considered that the ‘Islamic identity’ of Algeria was threatened by Ben Bella’s socialism and that the Arabic language continued to be marginalised after 132 years of a colonial embargo against its use. Indeed, the ‘struggle against secularism’ and other ‘francophone’ supporters were the two slogans under which they mobilised their own supporters for an exclusive Arab and Muslim Algeria. The discourse they created found an echo in some elements of the elite who considered the socialist policies of the regime to be overthrowing traditional structures in society. The arrival of Houari Boumediéne to power after the 19 June 1965 putsch did not alter the hostility of the Muslim Brotherhood towards the regime. At the same time, the new president was not known for his sympathy towards the Communist party, despite his alliances with the Soviet Union. He was surrounded by utilitarian attitudes; after having dismantled communist-penetrated

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organisations, he turned on the hydrocarbons and agricultural sectors, nationalising the first and profoundly reforming the latter. The hate directed towards him by the Muslim Brotherhood can only be explained by their rejection of Algeria’s alignment with the Eastern Bloc and of Boumediéne’s ‘socialist reforms’, such as the agrarian reform which they considered to be contrary to the ‘rules of ownership in Islam’. The emergence of the Muslim Brotherhood as an organised movement can be dated from the Boumediéne epoch between 1965 and 1978. It was mainly located amongst students from rural backgrounds, who threatened to be marginalised within professional life by the continuing preponderant official role of French, against all the odds, within the public sphere. The Muslim Brotherhood was to create a clandestine organisation in 1976, El-Mouwahiddoun (‘Unity’). It engaged in acts of sabotage, attacking electric pylons, for example, activities which earned its leaders sentences of 12 years in prison. Despite the repression, the influence of the Muslim Brotherhood continued to

grow and was reinforced by international events. The Arab defeat in June 1967 discredited progressive regimes, giving rise to new bourgeoisies anxious to ‘normalise’ relations with the Western Bloc. The Afghani resistance to the Soviet invasion and the Iranian Revolution gave new energy to Arab political Islam and offered it new ways of mobilisation. However, even as he burnt his boats with the regime through his membership of the Brotherhood, Mahfoud Nahnah continued to be a moderate rather than an extremist. He belonged to a faction of the international Muslim Brotherhood which rejected the jihadist discourse of Sayyid Qutb which today inspires radical Islamist groups. Thus, on his release in 1982, he did not support the Islamist rebellion of Mustapha Bouyali between 1982 and 1987.'° His attitudes were a consequence of both the moderate doctrines originally enunciated by the Brotherhood and by a new national context, created by the arrival of Chadli Bendjedid (1979-1992) to power. The new president abandoned the socialist orientation of the 1960s and 1970s and began the process of liberalising the economy. In another direction, he agreed to a new personal status code, inspired by Islamic law, and he encouraged the construction of mosques through the territory of the state. The Muslim Brotherhood was, thereby, able to agree to a tactical alliance with his regime. They were able to help it discredit the successes of Boumediénist socialism and to prepare to contain the Left. In exchange, they were less subject to state repression than other Islamist strands, with their ideological propaganda and charitable work being tolerated. In consequence their audience grew, extending beyond the universities and the lower fringes of the middle classes — teachers and the civil service, for example — into the new commercial bourgeoisie which was taking off. In the middle of the 1980s, many militants left the Brotherhood and joined a

dissident current, led by Abdallah Djaballah, which had objected to the subordination of the Algerian branch of the Brotherhood to its Egyptian counterpart. As a result of the relative liberalisation which had preceded the October 1988 revolt, the two currents of the Muslim Brotherhood were to create two associations which would act as their legal facades. Mahfoud Nahnah created

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‘al-Irshad

wa’l-Islah’

(Preaching

and

Reforrn),

while

Abdallah

Djaballah

founded ‘an-Nahda al-Islamiya’ (Islamic Renaissance). The October 1988 revolt,

which was bloodily repressed, was to open the road to a form of controlled multi-party political system in which the two currents of the Muslim Brotherhood agreed to form two political parties with very similar programmes — Mahfoud Nahnah’s Mouvement de la Société Islamique (MSI) in 1990 and Abdallah Djaballah’s an-Nahda al-Islamiya in 1989 — whose influence was to be threatened by that of the Front Islamique du Salut (FIS)."* The lengthy political supremacy of the

FLN

In 1965, just two years after he became president, Ahmed Ben Bella was overthrown by a coup d’etat led by Colonel Houari Boumediéne, head of the Algerian army staff. From then on, the army exercised power through the medium of the Front de Libération Nationale (FLN), the movement which had led the struggle for independence and was now converted into a single political party within the state at the behest of the regime controlling it. Thereafter, Algeria experienced a period of economic and social development characterised by the nationalisation of natural resources,'* major industrialisation'® and a remarkable effort to conquer illiteracy and to provide popular education.'’ Agriculture, on the other hand, was neglected.'* The protection and development of personal liberties were also neglected by the regime. The failure of development

At the end of the 1980s, Algeria’s economic dependence on hydrocarbons became ever more evident. Hydrocarbons formed 96 per cent of Algeria’s exports, 60 per cent of its budget revenues and 40 per cent of its GDP. To this picture should be added the facts that there was no political competition for the leadership of the Algerian state, the regime was corrupt, unemployment was worsening as a result of the oil crisis during the decade and the decline in the Algerian economy and a major housing crisis had developed. The collapse of purchasing power for the average citizen which resulted from this also led to the blossoming of a significant opposition movement within Algerian society.'° The 30-year period during which army officers governed Algeria through the FLN had much to do with the deterioration of the social climate there. In effect, Algeria had never known free elections or political parties other than the FLN since independence in 1962. This absence of democracy and the suppression of all political opposition to the military-backed regime for more than 30 years seem to have pushed the political atmosphere and the social conditions in which most ofthe population existed to its limits. For many, all the ills of Algeria could be laid at the door of the FLN government. The growth of radicalism in the Islamist movements in Algeria is best understood from the economic and social context which existed in the country when the FIS appeared on the political scene. At that time there had been a serious

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deterioration in the economic and social climate in Algeria which had created fertile ground for the development of radical attitudes. The Algerian middle classes had been literally crushed and unemployment had reached epidemic proportions of between 25 and 30 per cent with youth forming the majority. Despite its promises of change, the FLN government never achieved its objectives and was never able to adequately improve the economic and social situation within the country. Disillusioned and enraged, Algerians simply turned their backs on it for not only was a significant proportion of the population facing real poverty but many amongst them also held the FLN government primarily responsible for their plight. Profiting from the mistakes of the regime and the repeated economic crises which had weakened the country, Islamists opened food markets and religious schools, invested in mosques and lavishly provided cheap services, food and advice to Algerians. Their particular targets were youth, the first victims of unemployment and the dislocation of the school system and thus at the head of the generalised despair. Thus when the first free elections took place in 1989, the Islamist movement had already amassed a formidable political capital throughout the country. The particularly bloody armed conflict that Algeria subsequently experienced during the 1990s was, in short, the consequence of this deterioration in a whole series of socio-economic indicators and of a political situation which had exasperated public opinion for years, thus leading to the growth of a powerful radical Islamist opposition movement throughout society. This was the way in which Islamists, with the FIS in the lead, were able to profit from the rancour of Algeri-

ans towards the military-backed regime and the serious socio-economic problems which overwhelmed society and gain the support of a significant part of the electorate. The Islamists were able, simultaneously, to establish the hegemony of their discourse by seducing Algerians avid for change with a radical and populist narrative which encompassed their demands. By interpreting the writings of the Qur’an to their advantage, Islamists were able to pose as reformers, calling for the resolution of all the problems that Algeria faced by the creation of a religious government, guided by the precepts of Islamic religious law. Qur’anic doctrine thus expressed the ultimate objectives of the Divine. From that moment on, a vote for the FIS, the most radical of the opposition movements, became, simply,

for many Algerians a vote condemning the FLN and the regime in general. The October 1988 uprising — calls for radical change

In October 1988, millions of discontented Algerians filled the streets of major cities to denounce their economic situation and unemployment and, above all, to claim more liberty. The demonstrations rapidly grew into a massive movement of popular challenge which set the country alight, unsettled the military-backed regime and forced it to grant concessions in order to re-establish calm and, above all, to keep itself in power. Thus, at the end of the 1988 popular uprising, President Chadli Bendjedid authorised multi-party elections throughout the country in

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which political movements previously banned would be abletoaePatt abey alongside the FLN. A new constitution installing political plurality was Mica in 1989 and, amongst the opposition parties, the FIS as a party inspired by radical Islamic doctrines of governance was to achieve a striking success in the 1990 municipal elections. The FIS’s discourse demanding change convinced many amongst the population, overwhelmed by years of inflation, the housing crisis and impoverishment. A wave of Islamism rolled over the country with the FIS imposing Islamist doctrines by force and even terror tactics. In December 1991, the first round of the very first free legislative elections produced a majority of parliamentary seats for the FIS which, in turn, was to lead to crisis.

Suspended elections, repression and assassinations On 11 January 1992, the Algerian army, fearing a victory for the FIS and the disappearance of the Republic if the Islamists achieved power, cancelled the second round ofthe legislative elections, dissolved the FIS and ‘cashiered’ President Bendjedid. The FIS leadership was imprisoned and a policy of repression was unleashed against the Islamists by the military-backed regime. Mohamed Boudiaf, an historic and symbolic figure of Algerian nationalism who had been in involuntary exile for the previous 28 years in Morocco, since the earliest years of Algerian independence, and now proclaimed by the leaders of the National Popular Army as president in 1992, was assassinated in June of the same year in front of the television cameras by a soldier charged with his protection.”° For this former chef historique of the 1 November 1954 revolution, Algeria suffered from a triple crisis — intellectual (in terms of morality and identity), political (in terms of the state) and economic. As Mahfoud Bennoune says, Buffeted for 30 years between socialism and capitalism, between the secular Occident and the Islamic Orient, between West and East in the Cold War, between French and Arabic, between Arabic and Berber, between tradition

and modernity, between indigenous values and universal principles, our people no longer know to which saint to devote themselves.*!

Ali Kafi, as the head of the High Committee of State (HCS),” replaced Mohamed Boudiaf as the head of state. The HCS itself was subsequently to be replaced by the National Transitional Council (NTC) as an unelected legislative body, created through a national consensus as expressed in a conference which the regime organised. The NTC also replaced a National Consultative Council which had been unilaterally created by the military regime in April 1992 to replace the dissolved National Assembly. Only those close to the regime were allowed to take part in either body and the NTC itself was Sew dissolved in May 1997. Before its dissolution and after the conference for a national consensus in

January 1994, the HCS appointed General Liamine Zérouel as president.”’ His

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mandate was confirmed by a presidential election in November 1995 but his period in office was paralysed by the ongoing struggle between different informal groups within the regime.* As a result, President Zérouel was forced to resign two years before his presidential term ended, thus opening the way for the election of Abdelaziz Bouteflika with a large majority (in an election that was

condemned by his opponents as corrupt) in April 1999.” Throughout all the years of the fratricidal conflict that has characterised the contemporary history of Algeria, Algerian politicians, Algerian civil society and many foreign observers of the Algerian political scene have disagreed over the appropriate response to the electoral victory awaiting the FIS after the first round of the elections in December 1991. Should the voting process have been allowed to proceed to a second round, so that the FIS could have formed a government, since real power would have remained in the hands of a non-Islamist presidency? Or was it right to have done what actually happened, namely interrupting the electoral process and dissolving the FIS? Amongst supporters of the Islamist movement, the most radical elements who were organised in armed groups were convinced that Islam could only triumph through force of arms in Algeria. In reaction to military repression of the Islamist movement after the FIS had been dissolved, armed Islamists intensified their attacks on the authorities and the army, plunging the country into a bloody crisis where

massacres and atrocities were also carried response to this Islamist violence, militias and acted in a similar fashion towards the families Massacres and atrocities were repeated

out against civilian populations. In the military, security and police forces of Islamists and their sympathisers. and the country plunged into a real

blood bath, so that, after almost eight years of civil violence, it is estimated that between 100,000 and 200,000 persons died in the rounds of attacks, massacres

and conflict.*° The deaths were equally the responsibility of the official institutions of repression — police, gendarmerie and the armed forces — as of the armed insurgents. The former were regularly denounced by non-governmental organisations at home and abroad for their behaviour, being accused of imprisoning, torturing and facilitating the disappearance of more than 4,000 civilians during the conflict. The conflict winds down

On 29 May 1999, the new president, Abdelaziz Bouteflika, in an attempt to pacify the situation, announced the liberation of 4,000 common-law prisoners and promised to reintegrate repentant Islamists into Algerian civil society, provided that they had not committed murder or terrorist attacks. Two days after his speech, the leader of the armed wing of the FIS, Armée Islamique du Salut (AIS), Madani Mezrag, formally recognised the truce which his movement had observed since 1997 and agreed to lay down its arms and abandon the armed struggle. However, despite the submission of the AIS, the massacres and bloodbaths worsened whilst the GIA rejected calls for peace and continued its armed struggle.

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Civil concord

In response to this act of good faith by the AIS, President Bouteflika announced a proposal for a ‘civil concord’. This was to be a law intended to reconcile the divided population and to amnesty Islamist fighters and militants who had not committed so-called ‘crimes of blood’. On 11 June 1999, the historical leader of the FIS, Abbassi Madani who was then under house arrest, also rallied to the

initiative of the AIS leader and called on President Bouteflika to pursue his civil concord policy. The law for national reconciliation was adopted by parliament in July 1999 and then submitted to referendum. According to official figures, more than 98 per cent of the population who took part approved the law. Islamist terrorism, however, did not stop and some groups, such as the GIA and the Groupe Salafiste pour la Prédication et le Combat (GSPC), linked to al-Qa’ida, contin-

ued to massacre and fight.”’ National reconciliation — an illusion?

Since

1999, Algerians have tried, for better or worse, to recover their normal

lives through the law on civil concord, pushed by the president as part of a genuine national reconciliation.** Even if the law on civil concord has allowed thousands of fighters and radical Islamists to lay down their weapons and reintegrate into Algerian society since it was adopted by referendum in September 1999, it was introduced during a period of great unrest because, essentially, of the ongoing wave of attacks and massacres throughout the country.”” However, it was badly received by part of the population for, even if the vast majority of people wanted finally to live in peace, many of the victims, despite their bitterness, had to live with the fact that many jihadists and elements of the security forces had escaped trial. Within the population, therefore, there was a strong sense of the injustice created by the law; many felt that amongst the limited outcomes it provided, there were some Islamists who took advantage of this legal lifeline to pretend to changes in attitudes that they did not really endorse. The Islamist opposition in disarray

The MSP,*° which supports the moderate Islam of the Muslim

Brotherhood,

embodies the conservative values of the regime and belongs to the Alliance Présidentielle (AP), alongside the Rassemblement Nationale Démocratique (RND)°! and the FLN, but is actually in decline. The MSP had been in favour of the national reconciliation project put forward by the president and widely endorsed by referendum which offered amnesty to terrorists not guilty of murder or rape. It was, however, strongly opposed to changes in the Algerian family code, given the Islamic traditions that it embodied and which the president had wanted to reform. Yet, despite this ambivalence in presidential support, the MSP is-increasingly seen as the weak link in the AP because of its internal struggles and runs the risk of

becoming simply an alibi of the regime to show its Islamic sympathies.”

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The evidence of its weakness has been revealed by the disconcerting ease with which the party lost its most valuable political elite to a new dissident movement led Abdelmajid Menasra. Does this mean that the movement created by Mahfoud Nahnah is really to become an empty shell of its former self, as has happened over the years to En-Nahda and El-Islah, two parties created by the Muslim Brotherhood dissident, Abdallah Djaballah, both of which were successfully undermined by the regime? It is a possibility that cannot be excluded, particularly since the Islamist movement in Algeria is undergoing a process of fragmentation. Islamist moderation or compromise?

The participatory policies of the MSP do not hinder criticism of the regime, however. Nonetheless, the MSP has advanced a series of arguments to justify its participatory approach, amongst them the fact that to reject participation would lead to the marginalisation of the Islamist movement, not least because, since it

decided to collaborate with the regime, it has seen a growing integration of its cadres into the wheels of government. The success of dozens of MSP leading members to ministerial posts and to parliamentary seats has also meant that a militant aristocracy has grown up within the party which now benefits from privileges that it is loathe to lose by criticising the system. This modification in MSP policy practices has been accompanied by a parallel change in its ideological position which is still in its infancy. This change can only be properly appreciated if the party’s current discourse is compared with that of the Muslim Brotherhood in the 1970s and 1980s. Despite its fundamental conservatism, the MSP today no longer calls for an Islamic state. This is not because Islamists or salafists have disappeared from society-at-large; indeed in many respects, Algerian society is busy becoming gradually more salafist. The regime has some responsibility for this, leading to the question of whether the same factors as in the past will eventually produce the same outcome as it did then, at the start of the 1990s. Poverty and despair, it should be recalled, always provide a particularly fertile soil for radical Islam. The impossibility of reform

After a decade of attacks and massacres against civilians and military in Algeria, the country finds it difficult today to recover and to reconcile itself with itself. Despite the Bouteflika government’s reassuring speeches and efforts at national reconciliation, the shadow of Islamist violence lies heavily across the country. Yet, day-by-day, the state seems trapped by the great difficulty of creating the promised security and of overcoming the serious socio-economic problems that have become the major elements of the Islamist challenge today. Gas and oil revenues have significantly increased since 2003 because Algerian gas is of high quality, as well as the increases in hydrocarbon prices and in

export volumes.»

This situation has resulted in relative growth within the

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economy, with the GDP per capita rising from $1,555 in 1998 to $5,034 in 2008

—a growth rate of above 12 per cent per annum on average.’ Purchasing power has grown by 14 per cent during the same period, according to the UNDP report. The economy, however, remains strongly dependent on hydrocarbon exports and the non-hydrocarbon private sector is primarily directed towards the domestic

market. External debt has been almost completely liquidated** and the state has amassed considerable financial reserves.*° Nonetheless, unemployment continues to be a bitter daily reality, particularly for youth with university education. This endemic unemployment emerges through the growth of the informal economy, estimated as equivalent to 30 per cent of the formal economy in 2000. The situation has caused a growing gulf between the minority of ‘nouveaux riches’ and the majority which is increasingly crushed by its poverty. Algerian youth is also significantly and adversely characterised by social evils, such as delinquency, drugs, prostitution and suicide, which are now so serious that they have become a social phenomenon in their own right. An alternative vision

What security policies should the Algerian state adopt in order to confront a jihadist initiative in the light of the major steps taken to contain jihadism in the past? In short, the state has made use of a series of policies in succession: eradication (1992-1993), national dialogue (1994-1998), and finally national reconciliation from 1999 onwards. By suppressing the FIS and pushing back its supporters, eradication merely reinforced the GIA which had gathered in some ofthe activists of the Islamist party banned in 1992 and pursued until 1994. The second policy did succeed in creating political unity in 1995 by bringing together legalised Islamists, the major political parties and civil society around the banners of nationalism and national dialogue. The multiplicity of security policies used by the Algerian regime enabled it, on each occasion, to maintain itself by developing policies around nationalist political currents which included Islamists from an-Nahda, the MSP and the AIS. By opposing nationalism to jihadism, the regime very effectively reversed the balance of forces in its favour. The national reconciliation policy, rather than seeking to reconcile the jihadi vision with nationalism and the construction of the nation-state, limited itself,

from 2005 onwards, to a unanimist argument linking peace to fraternity between Algerians — ‘all Muslims’, as President Bouteflika declared. However, the attacks of April 2007, involving suicide bombers, created the fear that jihadism was coming to life again through the GSPC and its new al-Qa’ida affiliate. The limits betrayed by national reconciliation policies in political and security terms have posed, once again, the problems of definition and of mobilisation, in terms

of public policy, of instruments in the social, economic and cultural fields. These are, after all, the principal ways in which dissidence and radicalism can be prevented.

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Sufism — an anti-Islamist Islam In July 2009, the Algerian town of Mostaghanem received over 6,000 visitors

who had come to celebrate the centenary of the Alawiyya Soufia Tariga.*’ In fact, this was really an inter-Algerian event for it has become the symbol of a particularly sensitive struggle between two different versions of Islam. To fully understand this ideological confrontation, it is necessary to be aware that Sufism is a spiritualist and mystical current within Islam, organised in brotherhoods (tarigqas), each originally attached to a different spiritual leader and managed autocratically by shaykhs, or ‘guides’, linked to the founders by kinship or by spiritual links similar to apostolic succession for Christians. Among the characteristics of such orders, which displease both salafist funda-

mentalists and supporters of the secular and socialist state, are mysticism, devotion to the founder and to the shaykhs and a supra-national, quasi-feudal organisational structure. In this connection, it should be recalled that the Alawiyya Tariqa had suffered many rebuffs since Algerian independence at the hands of the FLN and that it was persecuted during the presidency of Houari Boumediéne because it was said to represent an obscurantist and anti-socialist version of Islam. Indeed, the congress that was held in Mostaghanem was preceded by a major salafist campaign calling for it to be banned. The campaign was carried out by Islamist parties through the High Islamic Council of Algeria and the Association des Oulemas Algériens, denouncing Bentounés and his supporters as semi-heretics. It is rumoured that the complaints ceased and the congress eventually held without further mishap only after a discrete but firm intervention by the president, Abdelaziz Bouteflika. His concern was said to be due to the fact that the

president himself is a member of a fariga. This could not have been the only factor, however. In recent years, the president has undertaken the rehabilitation of the Sufi orders because he knows that these institutions, despite their extreme traditionalism, could be of major help in the struggle by the Algerian state against Islamism, whether jihadist or political in nature. It was in this context that Khaled Bentounés was able to denounce the influence of Saudi ulamas in Algeria by highlighting the availability of Algerian ulamas instead, who could issue and enforce fatwas according to local Algerian tradition. He even announced that there would soon be a Sufist Islamic institute in Algeria, supported by the president, which would collaborate with the major religious universities in the Islamic world, such as al-Azhar in Cairo, the Zitouna

in Tunis and al-Qarawiyyin in Fes. The advantage of this would be, he explained, that its graduates would be able to formulate fatwas and thus influence, in a liberal and moderate way, the practice of Islam in Algeria. All that remains to be done, of course, is to transform such projects into concrete form and to construct a viable set of social, cultural and economic policies designed to involve and influence the whole population, particularly youth, trapped as it is at present in disarray and inactivity. Galtung, in his model of international relations, defined ‘negative peace’ as the complete cessation of

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violence, in comparison to ‘positive peace’ as the overcoming of structural and cultural violence as well.*® It is precisely these two invisible factors. that lead to direct and visible violence. The ultimate objective of policy in Algeria, therefore, must be to introduce policies that will have a significant impact on the attitudes and behaviour of the population. That is the real challenge for both government and society. Notes —

i

No attempt will be made here to categorise different forms of Islam. Instead the term is adopted from current demotic usage because it is this that this chapter seeks to analyse. Some recent publications which examine radical Islam are: * Efraim Inbar and Hillel Frisch, Radical Islam and international security challenges and responses, 2nd edn, Routledge, 2009; * Bernard Lewis and Buntzie Ellis Churchill, /slam: the religion and the people, Wharton School Publishing, Pearson Educational and the University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, 2008, (Chapter 15: Radical Islam); ¢ Brian R. Farmer, Understanding radical Islam: medieval ideology in the twentyfirst century, Peter Lang, New York, 2007.

WwW

In a manner similar to the way in which the term ‘religious fundamentalism’ is used with reference to all religions. After all, radical discourse has existed in all religions since the beginning oftime! Muslim rulers as successors to the Prophet Muhammad who united religious temporal and religious power within their persons (as ‘successors’ — khulafa — to the Prophet) and, as such, political and religious leaders of all Muslims. In essence, however, the term ‘caliph’ really applies to only to the first four ‘rightly-guided’ rulers (al-Khulafa al-Rashidun). The term should thus be reserved for Abu Bakr, Omar, Othman and Ali,

seen as ideal models of Islamic governmental leadership. It should be remembered that the jihadi project has as its objective the ‘installation of the law of God upon earth’, a vision which requires the disappearance ofthe ‘prince’ and the existing political order which is seen as impious. Sageman, Understanding terror networks, p. 1. NDThe author of the failed attempt to down an American aircraft on flight UA253 from Amsterdam as it was about to land on 25 December 2009 was a young Muslim from Northern Nigeria with a qualification in engineering from University College in London. His father was a rich banker, former minister and well-known personality in his own country. This was, however, an atypical case in terms of the profile of radical religious terrorists, in terms of the motives and causes leading to the adoption of this jihadist attitude. oo The GSPC was created in 1996 and, like the Groupes Islamiques Armés (GIA), sought the overthrow of the Algerian government and its replacement by a fundamentalist Muslim theocracy. \o A seminar on cyber-crime, organised in Algiers on 18 February 2009, revealed the gap between the legal situation and the reality of ‘Jihad on the Net’. This recalls the image of the bell-curve typical of the conflict escalation and deescalation phenomenon, as described by Galtung. See Ramsbotham er al., Contemporary conflict resolution, p. 11. — —_ The MSP was an Algerian political party with a platform close to that of the Ikhwan Muslimin (Muslim Brotherhood), founded and originally led by Mahfoud Nahnah. The ASA was an organisation created in 1931 to resist the French assimilation of nN

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Algeria because of the damage it did to Muslim society there. The ASA therefore sought cultural, if not political, independence from France, with its slogan, ‘L’arabe est ma langue, |’Algérie est mon pays, l’islam est ma religion’ (Arabic is my language, Algeria is my country, Islamic is my religion). Ahmed Ben Bella, for example, had placed Bin Badis’s second-in-command, El-Bachir El-Ibrahimi, who had also helped found the ASA, under house arrest. He is seen by some Algerian Islamist organisations as their spiritual father, even though he could not be qualified as Islamist in belief. Mohamed Bouyali had been an activist inside the struggle for independence in the 1960s. By 1979 he had become convinced that the Algerian regime had betrayed its promises to create an Islamic society and began to organise resistance to it. By 1981 he had decided that violence could not be avoided. It was the killing of his brother by police in 1982 that launched the rebellion around Larbaa which only ended with Bouyali’s death in February 1987. Some of his militants later created the Groupes Islamiques Armés (GIA) after 1992. Many FIS leaders, such as Ali Djeddi and Abdelkader Boukhamkham, for example, had been former activists of different Muslim Brotherhood organisations. For a detailed analysis of the hydrocarbon sector and of Algeria’s energy policy from independence to the start of the twenty-first century see, Aissaoui, The political economy of oil and gas. For an interesting analysis of this choice of the industrialisation policy, see Ikonikoff, “Trois théses erronées sur l’industrialisation du Tiers Monde’, p. 110, pp. 247-261, or

19

20

21 22

23

24

IBS

Destanne de Bernis, ‘Industries industrialisantes et contenu d’une politique d’intégration régionale’. Two sources which have the unique quality of being written by a former premier and minister of finance Ahmed Benbitour are (1992) L ‘expérience algérienne de développement: 1962-1991 and (1998) L Algérie au troisiéme millénaire, défies et potentialité. Two key references here are Bedrani, L’Agriculture Algérienne depuis 1966 and Bourenane, ‘Agriculture et alimentation en Algérie’, pp. 145—157. See the very relevant analysis of the causes of this social, economic and political malaise by Ahmed Benbitour, Radioscopie de la gouvernance algérienne. Killed in Annaba on 29 June 1992 whilst he was giving a speech, Mohamed Boudiaf never managed to get his message across. For Mahfoud Bennoune (‘Why was Mohamd Boudiaf assassinated?’ Confluences Méditerranée, 25 — Politique Algérie, Spring 1998), ‘those who ordered this crime were thus able to prevent this veteran from fulfilling his final mission which was designed to eliminate the mafias [corrupt elements within the structure of the state], neutralise the Islamists, democratise the “system” and save Algeria.’ Bennoune, ‘Why was Mohamed Boudiaf assassinated?; p. 163. This was a temporary body created to run the state after the military coup d’etat in January 1992. It was formed as a collegiate presidency and dissolved itself when its powers were transferred to Liamine Zérouel on 30 June 1994. The opposition to the HCS, consisting of the FIS, the FLN and the longstanding opposition movement created in 1963 by Hocine Ait Ahmed, the Front des Forces Socialistes (FFS), responded in January 1995 by agreeing a common programme calling for the opening of negotiations with the regime — an initiative which it rejected. Nonetheless, the intensification of the repression became a priority for the Zérouel regime and the radicalisation of the Islamist opposition led to a wave of attacks which plunged Algeria into instability and violence. At the time of writing, President Bouteflika is now in his third term as a result of the modification of Article 74 of the 1996 Constitution which had limited the presidential incumbent to two terms until it was modified in 2008 by the addition of the phrase that ‘The President of the Republic can be re-elected’.

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26 In 1999, the Algerian authorities admitted to a round figure of 100,000 deaths. 27 Several well-publicised incidents also gave rise to communiqués on the internet claiming responsibility, issued by the former GSPC and, after 2007, by al-Qa’ida in the Islamic Maghrib (AQIM). For example, there was an attack on 10 December 2006 west of Algiers against a bus carrying employees of an American oil services company, a subsidiary of Halliburton. Subsequently, there were two attacks against the French company, Razel, a public works company, followed by an attack on a Russian gas sector company, Stroitransgaz on 3 March 2007. On 11 April 2007, two attacks targeted the governmental complex in Algiers and the Interpol offices in El Harrach. Then, on 11 December 2007, there were major attacks against the Constitutional Court and the offices of the United Nations High Commission of Refugees, both in Algiers. 28 Ordinance No: 06-01 (27 February 2006) concerning the introduction of the term of the Charter for National Reconciliation and Peace, Journal Officiel, No. 11, 28 February 2006. 29 The law was particularly important in allowing the release from prison or house arrest of the two historic leaders of the FIS, Ali Belhadj and Abbassi Madani respectively. 30 Led since 2003 and the death of Mahfoud Nahnah by Bouguerra Soltani. 31 RND — a party created by the regime in 1997 when the FLN was thought to have endorsed an anti-regime radical agenda. The FLN, however, was taken in hand by the presidency in 2004 and has now joined the RND and the MSP in a pro-presidential coalition, the Alliance Présidentielle (AP).

32 This internal conflict seeks to define the attitude the party should adopt to the regime. The party leader’s deputy, Abdulmajid Menasra, has attacked the party leader for his support for the AP and for the president as a result of the latter’s decision to seek a third presidential term. The result of this internal conflict has been that several members of the MSP, led by Mr Menasra, have left the party and founded, on 16 April 2009, a new Islamist political party — the Mouvement pour la Prédication et le Changement (MPC) which Mr Menasra leads. 33 The ratio of hydrocarbon exports to total exports rose from 98.06 per cent in 2003 to 98.37 per cent in 2007. Hydrocarbon revenues cover almost 76 per cent of total budget revenues. 34 According to the overall results of the National Report on Human Development 2008, United National Development Programme, New York, 2008. 2. External debt as a percentage of GDP declined from 34.3 per cent to 3.0 per cent in 2008, according to the IMF. 36 Official gross reserves rose from $32.9 billion to around $140 billion in 2008. 37 This Alawiyya Tariga is currently led by Khaled Bentounés, who is the grandson of its founder, Shaykh Ahmed al-Alawi. 38 ‘Galtung defined “negative peace” as the cessation of direct violence and “positive peace” as the overcoming of structural and cultural violence as well.’ Ramsbotham et al., Contemporary conflict resolution, p. 11.

Bibliography Aissaoui, A. (2001), The political economy of oil and gas, Oxford University Press, Oxford.

Bedrani, S. (1981), L Agriculture Algérienne depuis 1966, Economica, Paris. Bedrani, S. (2006), Radioscopie de la gouvernance algérienne, Editions EDIF, Paris. Benbitour, Ahmed (1992), L’expérience algérienne de développement: 1962-1991, legons pour l’avenir, Editions Techniques de |’Entreprise, Algiers. Benbitour, Ahmed (1998), L’Algérie au troisiéme millénaire, defies et potentialité, Editions Marinoor, Algiers.

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Bourenane, N. (1991), ‘Agriculture et alimentation en Algérie — entre les contraintes his-

toriques et les perspectives future’, Le Centre International de Hautes Etudes Agronomiques Méditerranéeennes, CIHEAM-IAMM. Destanne de Bernis, G. (1966-1967), ‘Industries industrialisantes et contenu d’une politique d’intégration régionale’, Revue Economique Appliquée, 3-4 (July-December 1966), 1 (January—March 1967). Farmer, Brian R. (2007), Understanding radical Islam: medieval ideology in the twentyJirst century, Peter Lang, New York. Ikonikoff, M. (1987), “Trois théses erronées sur l’industrialisation du Tiers Monde’, Tiers Monae, 28.

Inbar, Efraim and Frisch, Hillel (2009), Radical Islam and International Security Challenges and Responses, 2nd edn, Routledge, Abingdon. Lewis, Bernard and Churchill, Buntzie (2008), Is/am: the religion and the people, Wharton School Publishing. Ramsbotham, O., Woodhouse, T. and Miall, H. (2007), Contemporary conflict resolution, 2nd edn, Polity Press, Cambridge. Sageman M. (2004), Understanding terror networks, University of Pennsylvania Press, Philadelphia.

7

Trajectories of radicalisation Algeria 1989-1999 George Joffé

The conventional narrative of radicalisation in Algeria normally looks at the evolution of movements based in political Islam to explain both the genesis and the subsequent success of the Front Islamique du Salut (FIS). It also usually postulates a linear progression between state suppression of the FIS in 1992 and the advent of clandestine groups committed to violence against the Algerian state thereafter. An alternative narrative, whilst not abandoning Islamist precursors, puts the success of the FIS between 1989 and 1992 down to its ability to embody a revolutionary legitimacy which the Front de Libération Nationale (FLN) — the original mass movement that had masterminded the struggle for independence between 1954 and 1962 and that had then become Algeria’s single political party — had lost in the wake of its victory in Algeria’s war of independence. The violence that then followed the suppression of the FIS in 1992 is attributed both to the de-legitimisation of the state by this act of suppression and to the continuation of the struggle for this contested legitimacy through violence, perhaps as an act of revolutionary purification as much as one of its Islamist reconstruction.' There is, however, a third narrative that has been largely marginalised by the two described above. Yet, in a sense, it brings the two of them together in a cohesive statement of both Algeria’s revolutionary struggle and the deep-rooted sentiments that made that struggle possible, sentiments that were to re-emerge in the 1980s and to discredit the normative claims of the state. It was both the conscious prerogative of a small elite that, from 1990 onwards, was to lead the FIS up to its fateful confrontation with the Algerian army and afterwards in exile, together with the innate aspirations of the population at large which were to be frustrated both by the violence of the civil war and by the post-bellum political dispensation. It is a narrative that still gives meaning and purpose to the FIS, even if, in practical terms, it can no longer be a partner as such in any future struggle to rebuild the Algerian state. Its essence is that it reflects both the conscious sense of betrayal of the FLN’s political promises and the active search for an alternative ideological vehicle through which they could — and still can — be expressed. This chapter seeks to describe this alternative, partly through interviews with former participants and partly by seeking to re-evaluate the significance of the al-Djaza’ara wing ofthe FIS.

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The failure of the FLN?

Between the revolutionary war, which took place between 1954 and 1962, and the countrywide riots of October 1988 which marked the end of the one-party state that had been created in its wake, the movement which had captured political hegemony during the war — the Front de Libération Nationale (FLN) — lost its popular credibility and legitimacy. In large part this was because the movement had been transformed into a political party entirely controlled by the presidential regime in power, so that its potential to act as the legitimising voice of Algeria’s post-revolutionary society, as opposed to that of the state, had disappeared. Thus Ahmed Ben Bella had brought the party under his control in 1963, as he had all of the autonomous organisations that had developed alongside it, particularly the Assemblée Populaire Nationale and the Union Générale des Travailleurs Algériens. Houari Boumediénne, after he seized power in 1965, did the same, whilst the way in which Chadli Bendjedid was to come to power ensured that the FLN should remain firmly under presidential control.’ This absorption of the FLN into the successive military-backed regimes that were to rule Algeria after the war for independence also meant that its popular legitimacy disappeared over time. Not only had it become the vehicle of the regime in power but its claim to revolutionary legitimacy as an expression of the popular will of post-revolutionary Algerian society was increasingly actively repudiated by those it claimed to represent. This “popular sovereignty”, as Hugh Roberts has termed it, had been undermined by the coup d’état masterminded, with army backing, by Ahmed Ben Bella, Algeria’s first independent president, immediately after the Evian Accords of July 1962 brought the conflict with France to an end.* This generated a critical contradiction in Algeria’s political life in that, although defined by a series of constitutions, it has, in reality been conditioned by the role of the Algerian army within the state as the ultimate political arbiter. The articulation of political power, in short, reflects neither a formal constitutionalism nor the general will of the Algerian people.° It is, instead, arbitrary, ultimately depending on military force supporting a selfselected elite through which have been constituted the lineaments of the state. Since achieving independence in 1962, Algeria has experienced four different formal constitutions, together with a long period in which government under a formal constitution was replaced by a more charismatic system, ostensibly stemming from the moulding of the Algerian state in a revolutionary crucible but, in reality, depending on presidential hegemony over the state and the political process through which it was articulated.° In essence, therefore, the Algerian state really

reflected the arbitrary interests and prejudices of the military-backed elite that controlled it, not constitutional provision nor popular aspiration and intent. At its base, therefore, the Algerian state was an arbitrary construct, lacking the legitimacy of its origins or the legitimisation of the support of those over whom it ruled. Yet the lineaments of the independent Algeria state also reflected the difficult and violent conditions under which it had been conceived, so that its constitu-

tional structures still bear the hallmarks of the intense debates that governed the

116 G. Joffé evolution of the war of independence, particularly the Soummam Congress in August 1956 and the Tripoli Programme drawn up in May 1962. 'In.addition, its political structures have also subsequently been influenced by the 1964 Algiers Charter, the 1976 National Charter debate, the 1984 Family Code and the informal discussions, hosted by the Sant’ Egidio Community in Rome, which led to the Sant’ Egidio Accords in January 1995. In other words, a constant preoccupation of its ruling elites was to challenge allegations of the arbitrary character of state by constant reference back to the popular and revolutionary legitimacy of its original objectives and its subsequent construction. All these constitutional and juridical projects, as well as the objectives of the founders of the state, explicitly or implicitly reflected the dual socio-political legacy that colonialism imposed on Algeria’s sense of identity. The key challenge was between pre-colonial and colonial Algeria as an Islamic society and the secular heritage of the French revolution. In Kay Adamson’s words: The Algerian nationalists were heirs to two concepts of community, the universal community

or umma

of Muslims,

and the notion

of community

derived from the French Revolution, where it was projected as a means of emancipation for the oppressed.’

Indeed, until the 1980s, Islam was very much the silent partner in constitutional debate, even though its role in fostering resistance to France had been vital and Muslim activists had been amongst the first in Algeria to demand a basic change in the relationship with France, although the secular and radical Etoile NordAfricaine had launched a call for independence amongst Algerian migrants in France four years earlier.’ Nor was the role of Islam uncontested during the colonial period. Ferhat Abbas, a famous Algerian intellectual, made this clear in 1936 when he wrote: Had I discovered the Algerian nation, I would be a nationalist and I would not blush as if Ihad committed a crime.... However, I will not die for the Algerian nation, because it does not exist. I have not found it. I have exam-

ined History, I questioned the living and the dead, I visited cemeteries; nobody spoke to me about it. | then turned to the Koran and I sought for one solitary verse forbidding a Muslim from integrating himself with a nonMuslim nation. I did not find that either. One cannot build on the wind.’

This ideological contradiction embraced a second as a result of the way in which Algeria achieved independence: namely, that the European-inspired tradition of emancipation was then itself reinterpreted in terms of the radicalism that informed many African and Asian national liberation movements. This meant that Islam was often seen as an expression of private, transcendent experience and not as part of the radical public sphere controlled by the state, whereas national identity expressed as citizenship was. Thus, the two aspects of personal identity within an independent Algerian state were linked as “paired adherences”, to use Anthony

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Appiah’s term, but the private dimension was subordinate to the public sphere — precisely the reverse of the initial promise of the revolution where the recovery

of Algeria as an Islamic society was the key to its popular appeal.'° Since, in reality, the FLN achieved its massive popular support largely because it was perceived as being Islamic in inspiration, particularly amongst the rural population, the subsequent Algerian state had to pretend to an Islamic tradition that increasingly sat at odds with its preferred socialist alternative, a difficulty that was reflected in its constitutional instruments. The explicitly socialist nature of the ideology for the future Algerian state was decreed in the Tripoli Programme, drawn up jointly by M’Hammid Yazid, Abdelmalek Temnan, Mohammed

Harbi, Redha Malek, Mustafa Lacheraf and

Mohammed Benyahia, although, as Harbi points out, they each had different concepts of what “socialism” might mean!" In fact, there was no question of the construction of a socialist society, rather “the control of the economy by the state” — a statement which foreshadowed the “state capitalism” of the Boumediénne era.'* The Algiers Charter was to be the most explicit statement of what socialism in Algeria was to mean but it also emphasised Algeria’s AraboIslamic past.'? Indeed, it could hardly do less as these features, alongside socialism, had been the essential promise of the FLN during the war. Yet these were not the only dualities that have underlain the constitutional process in Algeria. A third duality involved the allocation of political power within the FLN and its associated institutions, as they were transformed from a revolutionary movement into becoming part of the administration of a state.'* Although the Soummam Congress had established two crucial principles that were to guide the FLN’s struggle for independence, namely the “primauté du politique sur le militaire” and the “primauté de I’ intérieur sur l’extérieur avec le

principe co-direction”, the eventual outcome of the war was to reverse them.'° As independence approached in the summer of 1962, the GPRA (Gouvernement Provisoire de la Révolution Algérienne) sought to reassert its authority over the FLN by trying to downgrade the importance of the ALN (Armée de Libération Nationale) which had taken little part in the military struggle, being marooned in Tunisia and Morocco, and which, under the Tripoli programme, was to be reformed as a national popular army, bringing under its wing the guerrilla forces of the wi/ayas. Ranged against its efforts was a political bureau formed by the CNRA (Conseil National de la Révolution Algérienne — an FLN organisation) during the discussions in Tripoli that had produced the Tripoli Programme the previous May, together with the ALN and a minority of the wilayas. This was led by Ahmad Ben Bella who used the government-military crisis to become president with the army’s backing, thus marginalising the GPRA.'° The outcome of this struggle, at the very start of independence, was, in effect, to make the Algerian army, whether the ALN or its successor, the Armée nationale populaire (ANP), into the ultimate arbiter of political power in Algeria. In effect, Ben Bella’s actions in seeking presidential power reversed the principles established in the Soummam conference and set the pattern for the role of the Algerian army within the political process in Algeria thereafter, a pattern that

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still continues today. The army thus became, in Hugh Robert’s words, the “shame-faced sovereign”, in that it actually expressed sovereign power within the Algerian state, rather than — as the constitutions affirm — the people. However, it seeks to conceal its sovereign power behind the fiction that it is a servant of the people, itself the true sovereign power, as constitutionalism demands. The revolution, after all, as the basic constitutive act of the Algerian state, was carried out “par le Peuple et pour le Peuple” (Article 3 of the 1963 constitution).'’ In addition, insofar as a constitution is an enabling act for the construction of a system of the rule-of-law, an état de droit, within a given state, unless

the formal political domain sanctioned by the constitution prevails over military power, the exercise of legitimate political power is inevitably and inherently impossible, for the state becomes arbitrary and unaccountable. Power is, instead, essentially controlled, either directly or indirectly, covertly or overtly, by the military leadership instead. However, while the first generation of independent Algerians were prepared to tolerate present austerity for the promise of future prosperity, alongside this practice of revolutionary, arbitrary power, their successors in a country where the population was increasingly youthful were increasingly reluctant to tolerate either. At the same time, a significant proportion of young people were also increasingly reluctant to accept the severe public morality imposed by Islamic tradition, alongside revolutionary austerity. Others, however, tended to turn towards Islam as a means of confronting and condemning the arbitrary power of the state, as well as rejecting the secular aspirations of their peers.

The growth of political Islam The issue that concerns us here is the methods by which the latter group was to articulate its convictions, as the challenge to the Algerian state became increasingly overt in the wake of the collapse of the charismatic Boumediénne presidency with Houari Boumediénne’s death in 1979. The 1980s were to see a growing economic crisis in Algeria, as a combination of declines in oil revenues and developmental problems undermined prospects for the prosperity promised by Algeria’s ruling elites. This separated the poorest from those privileged through membership of the single political party and those who benefited from service to the state (which controlled over 60 per cent of the economy) or those who benefited within the private sector, creating major divisions in the hegemonic social consensus over Algeria’s future fostered by the FLN in the 1970s. These general circumstances were supplemented by specific political problems. The Chadli Bendjedid regime, which had succeeded the Boumediénne presidency in 1979, had attempted to encourage economic liberalisation in order to overcome consumer resentment and galvanise the stagnant economy without granting significant concomitant political liberalisation. The result had been an ever more tense social and political scene, particularly after serious rioting in April 1980 when demands for cultural representation by the country’s significant

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Berber minority had developed into country-wide protests over issues of freedom of expression and political liberalisation. Young people often embraced the Berber issue as a paradigm for their own sense of alienation, and during the 1980s Berber music became a powerful voice of popular political dissent. By the end of the decade, it had been supplemented by rai — a modernised version of traditional popular music originating in western Algeria. This group of alienated youth, linked to the wider demotic culture created by increasing globalisation, stood alongside the Francophone elite in opposition (particularly over the Berber issue) to another group, spanning the generations but predominantly youthful, of those increasingly disadvantaged Algerians educated solely in Arabic. Arab speakers also tended to be far more conservative and thus to support traditional attitudes towards public morality, thus expanding the growing influence of a clandestine Islamist movement in Algeria. They also rejected the inherent separatism of the Berberist movement, calling for a united Arabo-Islamic Algeria instead. As such, they were seen as natural allies by the increasingly embattled Chadli Bendjedid presidency which had embraced the rhetoric of its predecessors of Algeria as an Arabo-Muslim socialist state, although the socialist dimension was to be abandoned as economic liberalisation progressed.'® The Bendjedid regime, therefore, sought to mobilise Islamist opposition against those who supported the Berber protests and secular political liberalisation. In reality, the government’s actions in this respect merely created an evermore divided society. In the public domain, French continued to be the language of commerce, administration and high culture, with the result that Arabophone

Algerians felt increasingly marginalised. The government of President Chadli Bendjedid, despite being pressured into allowing a very cautious degree of political liberalisation compared with the era of his charismatic predecessor, Houari Boumediénne, continued to manipulate this cultural confrontation and, as a consequence, between 1980 and 1986 there was a series of clashes between proBerberist and pro-Arabist supporters, particularly in the universities where the Islamist movement that was developing in Algeria was putting down increasingly strong roots. At the same time, potential social and political problems were intensified since the modernist, educated Francophone elite was also marginalised by a regime that endlessly sought to capitalise on the symbols of the revolution twenty years earlier and, by its repressive policies, devalued the very symbols it sought to exploit as evidence of its own legitimacy as a government. Riots in Constantine in 1986 expressed frustration at the worsening economic crisis — caused by the Saudi-inspired collapse in oil prices that year which, together with the collapse in the value of the US dollar, meant a 20 per cent decline in Algeria’s all-important oil revenues, particularly as the government then compressed imports to compensate for reduced revenues, despite the hardship caused to the population — but also provided the first major platform for the country’s nascent Islamist movement, which had emerged in the early 1980s after repression

during the previous decade. Yet Islam had been one of the earliest strands of

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resistance to French colonialism in Algeria and thus enjoyed coasideradle popular support, pei Political Islam in Algeria has a long and honouradle history, It developed as a consequence of the wider Islamic response to European colonialism and techno logical superiority that had to be confronted in the nineteenth century, as the Ottoman Empire decayed, By the 1860s, this response had become codified into the Salefe movement, promoted by Jamal al-Atghani, which argued that Mustims should look into the traditions of early Islam, typified by the Rashidun

caliphate, to tind the inspiration through which to meet the intellectual and technological challenge of the West, His ideas, which were inherently a moder ist response to the shock of European intervention in the Islamic world, were immensely influential and were popularised throughout the Arad world by ind viduals such as Mohammed Abduh in Egypt and Chekid Arslan in Lebanon, In Algeria, in the wake of a visit by Mohammed Abduh to Algeria in 1903, the principles of the movement inspired the first wave of the use of Islam as a rallying point in trying to rebuild a sense of political and moral autonomy within the context of French settler colonialism there, The Algerian iver (reform) movement began in the 1920s under Shaykh Abdulhamid Bin Badis who had been inspired by Mohammed Abduh and, in 1930, it was codified in a political association, the association des oudemeas musadmans algérions (AUA), committed to reforming Islamic practice in Algeria in order to assert a sense of Algerian identity based on being an Islamic society within the context of the wider Muslim community, This approach was a response to the secular assimilationism of intellectuals such as Ferhat Abbas, who had been quite prepared to accept integration of Algeria into France, provided that Algerian personal and religious status could be preserved. The nascent Islamist movement in Algeria, therefore, was also an expression of Algerian par ticularity — a nascent nationalism founded in Islam, in short, In this respect it dif tered from the very similar Islamic reform movement created in Egypt in 1928

by Hassan al-Banna, the /dnnen Afastimde (Muslim Brotherhood) which also drew its doctrines from the earlier Salafivva movement, but set them within a specific political context which emphasised the global nature of Islamic sociery,© A further reason for the creation of the AUA was Christian missionary activ: ity in Algeria, encouraged by Cardinal Lavigerie and by the “White Fathers” = a Trappist order — that was particularly active during the 1920s and 1930s and was seen by Muslims as an attack on Islam itself) Furthermore, most converts were made in Kabylia, amongst the Berber population there, as part of France's polieies of dividing Berber and Arad populations in Algeria, In fact, despite a century of proselytism, there had only deen around a thousand converts in Algeria itself) even though French citizenship — Algeria from the 1890s onwards was considered a akpartemen of France, unlike Tunisia and Maoroceo which Were profectorafes, the equivalent of League of Nations mandates but in reality settler colonies, as was Algeria itself — was available on conversion because of the application of French personal status laws which did not recognise “Mustim”

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as a religious category. Algerian Jews, on the other hand, under the Decrét Crémieux, were entitled to automatic French citizenship.”° This coincidence of Berbers with conversion to Christianity has added to a popular conviction in the Arabophone parts of Algeria — picked up by extremist religious groups — that Berbers are not true Muslims. The textual justification for this is drawn from the fourteenth-century ‘a/im, Ibn Tayymiya, who argued that the Mongols could not be considered true Muslims because, although they had converted to Islam, they did not observe the full corpus of Islamic Shar’ia law, persisting in their loyalty to the Mongol traditions of hasa instead. In other words, to be a Muslim, one had to accept the complete corpus of belief and language because this had been the divine vehicle of transmission to man. The reform movement sought to re-Islamise Algerian society through social work and reviving religious practice, rather than through active political commitment — which would have been impossible in the colonial context. However, Bin Badis died in 1940 and the Algerian reform movement soon became caught up in more overtly political activity as Algerian nationalism came ever more openly into conflict with the French colonial authorities. After the Sétif massacres in 1945, which marked the beginning of the open struggle against French colonialism, secular nationalist movements filled the political arena and the Islamic movement was marginalised, but it continued to enjoy a wide dimension of support throughout Algeria as the natural vehicle for the expression of Algerians’ collective Muslim identity. Thus, although marginal in political terms, its significance for nationalist ideology, and particularly its rhetoric, was paramount. As a result, the Front de Libération Nationale that became the vehicle of

the war against France explicitly claimed to be an Islamic movement as well as a movement for national liberation. In the wake of the war for independence, which ended in 1962, as described

above, socialist ideas dominated Algeria’s new collective political life. However, the role of Islam was never far away and the new ruling elite, particularly after the 1965 coup which brought the army commander Houari Boumediénne to power, made space for a formal Islamic role within the state. Education was often placed in the charge of ministers known for their piety and commitment to Islamic values, and the role of Islam in the new Algerian identity — as an AraboMuslim state — was supported. Yet, at the same time, the slightest hint of Islamic political interest was stamped on and any formal political role for Islamic thinkers was marginalised. An Islamic association was, nevertheless, permitted and the al-Qivam (“Values”) organisation was established in the early 1960s, involving former members of the AUA, Malek Bennabi, a charismatic journalist and

intellectual, and Mohammed Khider, one of the nine chefs historiques of the Algerian revolution. It was subsequently suppressed by the Boumediénne regime which brooked no rivals for power, even implicit ones, but which adopted much

of its social agenda.”! The Islamic movement, however, became a political rival within the decade because of two other factors. One was the push by the Boumediénne regime for the Arabisation of Algerian collective administrative and intellectual life. One of

122 G. Joffé the consequences of French colonialism had been to make French, rather than Arabic, the administrative and intellectual language for the country and, as part of the process of nation-building, there was a conscious programme to reverse this. The Arabisation programme, however, required a large number of teachers that Algeria did not possess, so Egyptian teachers were brought in instead. They brought with them the /khwan Muslimin, so that the first appearance of the Muslim Brotherhood as a coherent organisation in Algeria dates from this time, under the name of the Jama’at al-Ikhwan al-Muslimin (The Association of Muslim Brothers). The movement had to make itself felt against the indigenous Algerian Islamic movements that had very similar agendas to its own but that harked back to the original Association created by Bin Badis in 1930, as well as to the principles of the Salafiyyist movement. Indeed, Algerians themselves never really distinguished between the Brotherhood and movements such as those that now developed from the old a/-Qiyam group which had finally been banned in 1970. The new movements, known in Algeria collectively as the Ah/ ad-Da’wa (The People of the Call), now emerged in opposition to the powerfully centralised state that the Boumediénne regime had created and, up to the end of the 1970s, quietly amassed their support base within the population, particularly amongst the urban poor and lower middle classes. Indeed, as popular discontent mounted with the Algerian experiment in political and economic development towards the end ofthe 1970s, the Islamist movement received ever-greater support, in part augmented by the relative leniency shown to it in social terms by successive governments. At the same time, its popularity was increased by the Arabisation programme undertaken in the late 1970s and early 1980s to counter the persistence of French in Algeria. However, those who were Arabophone in terms of education and training found themselves disadvantaged in terms of employment and isolated in terms of culture because of the continued dominance of French as a commercial language and because of the role that France continued to enjoy in Algeria’s wider cultural context. They were therefore drawn towards the authenticity of an Islamic alternative — something which was encouraged by the fact, as mentioned above, that many of the teachers employed in the Arabisation programme were Egyptian and linked to the /khwan Muslimin. By 1984, the movement had its own leaders — Shaykh Mahmoud Nahnah, subsequently the leader of Hamas, and Shaykh Ahmed Sahnoun, alongside Shaykh Abdellatif Soltani, who died in that year. Although his death, at his home in Hussein Dey on the outskirts of Algiers, where he was held under house arrest, had been kept out of the news media, within a few hours the surrounding streets were flooded with 25,000 mourners, indicating the depth of support that already existed in the capital for the Islamist movement. It also had its own ideologues. Shaykh Soltani had published a widely read attack on the Boumediénne

regime,” and Malek Bennabi was also known as Algeria’s own theoretician of an authentically Algerian Islamist vision. And the movement had its martyrs, which further increased its social prominence. In the wake of the Berberist riots

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of April 1980, clashes between Berberophone and Arabophone students in Algeria’s universities, which effectively set Francophone secularists against Arabophone Islamists, had resulted in deaths and arrests, particularly in 1981 and 1982. The government, despite the fact that it had exploited such tensions, responded to these incidents with considerable brutality, sentencing those involved to long prison terms. At the same time, the authorities also continued to try to placate Islamist supporters, appointing officials who were sympathetic to the underground movement and its values to senior positions in government, especially in ministries connected with religious issues, and encouraging the widespread construction of mosques. Since, in Algerian law, mosques came under state control only when their construction was completed, many Islamic activists left new mosque buildings deliberately uncompleted so that they could be used as centres for education and propaganda outside official monitoring and control. By the end of the 1980s, a majority of mosques were uncontrolled, a situation which persisted up to 1992, when the new post-coup regime brought in regulations that ended this anomaly. In addition, the authorities tried to adjust Algerian legislation to match Islamist concepts of public morality and social order. Thus, in 1984, the Chadli Bendjedid regime introduced new family legislation which undermined the independent status of women and reinforced their normatively inferior role in accordance with more conservative interpretations of shar’ia religious law. During the 1980s and particularly between 1984 and 1988, government ambivalence towards the Islamist movement allowed the movement to garner more popular support, particularly in poor urban areas where the level of youth unemployment was as high as 30 per cent of the youth labour force (and up to 70 per cent of the Algerian population were below the age of thirty). In 1986, in a precursor of the 1988 riots, trouble broke out in Constantine. Islamists did not initiate the disturbances, which had begun among students protesting at living conditions; but, by their end, Islamists were prominent in controlling and direct-

ing the rioters and they emphasised the need for the public segregation of men and women, particularly in the context of student residences where poor conditions had been at the root of the disturbances. At the same time, the more

extreme members

of the Islamist movements

began to question the legitimacy of the Algerian state on the grounds that the FLN had originally capitalised on Algeria’s Islamic heritage to justify its call to arms against French colonialism. Yet this legacy and source of legitimacy had been abandoned once Algeria became independent, so that the FLN had no right to claim a revolutionary legitimacy that was properly reflected in the vision of the Islamic movement. They also had the experience of the struggle in Afghanistan against Soviet occupation in the 1980s, which had been led by extremist Islamist groups with American and Saudi support. In the early 1980s, therefore, a clandestine group, led by Mustapha Bouyali — a former FLN militant during the war for independence — emerged in the Blida-Boufarik area and launched attacks on the security apparatus of the Algerian state.*’ Although the group was eliminated in 1987 and Mustapha Bouyali himself was killed, whilst his

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supporters went to prison, they were released in 1989, some becoming members of the Islamist political movements that had formed by then and. subsequently founder-members of the armed clandestine Islamist resistance after the armybacked coup in 1991-92.

The Front Islamique du Salut It is against this background that the crisis in October 1988 should be seen. Although the actual cause of the riots that confronted the regime is still disputed, there is little doubt that the widespread riots that followed reflected massive popular disaffection. The regime’s response, believed to have been introduced against considerable scepticism inside the army, was to introduce a multi-party political system and generalised political liberalisation. The president, Chadli Bendjedid, seems to have calculated that, in such a fragmented political environment, the ability of the presidency to dominate the political scene and to isolate its opponents would be enhanced by the reforms so that it would essentially remain in control. As part of this process, a new constitution was drawn up and the army was persuaded to abandon its traditional role, becoming instead the guarantor of the state’s territory and constitutional

order.” By October 1988, therefore, although the Islamists were as surprised as the government when riots that brought Algeria’s single-party state to an end exploded, they were ready to reap the rewards.”° Some leaders, such as Shaykh Sahnoun and, initially, Shaykh Nahnah, were determined to avoid direct political

involvement. They formed the Rabita al-Islah wa’l-Irshad (The Movement for Reform and Guidance) as a national association designed to influence the political process without taking direct part in it. Others, however, led by Abbassi Madani, who had been an FLN activist during the war for independence and was

by then the leading Islamist activist in the mosque at Algiers university, were determined to seize the opportunity. One of the results was the creation of the Front Islamique du Salut (FIS) in early 1989. The new movement was, in effect, an umbrella Islamist organisation, created

by a charismatic Salafiyyist preacher from Bab el-Oued in Algiers, Ali Bel Hadj, and Abbassi Madani who had been influenced by Malek Bennabi, as well as by his original mentors in the AUA and the Salafiyya. Both leaders had emerged from the revived, albeit illegal Islamist movement that had developed during the 1980s and, unlike their fellows, were determined to seize the new political opportunities offered by the constitutional changes to play a direct role in formal political life. The surprising fact was that the government and the presidency allowed the new party, the FIS, to register as a formal political party at all, as it did not conform with the requirements of the electoral law which forbad mention of religion, region or ethnicity in a party’s name or programme. Clearly, the presidency, at least, saw the FIS as a convenient lever against the traditional hegemony of the FLN and thus as a weapon in its attempt to fragment the political scene. The presidency’s mistake in this respect was revealed in June 1990

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when the FIS won a spectacular victory in municipal elections, the first to be

held under the new constitution.”’ It was the subsequent success of the FIS that persuaded Shaykh Nahnah to refashion the /slah wa’l-Irshad into a formal political party, first known as Hamas and subsequently as the “Movement for a Peaceful Society” (MPS), after the electoral law was reinforced in 1997 to exclude political parties that referred, inter alia, to religion or language in their platforms or names. Hamas sought to participate in the formal political scene that now emerged as, in effect, Algeria’s own branch of the Egyptian /khwan Muslimin, for Shaykh Nahnah had formal links with the Egyptian organisation’s international branch. Shaykh Sahnoun refused to join him in the formal political arena, holding firm to the position that an Islamist movement should not become a direct player in the political arena. An-Nahda, another formal Islamist political party, was created in the Constantinois (the High Plateaux region of central Algeria which extends to Sétif). It had a carefully worked out programme that sought to Islamise political life in Algeria and which was also based on the ideas of the /khwan Muslimin, but also accepted the democratic option. It was not, however, prepared to collaborate with the regime. In this respect it had been very different from Hamas, whose leader was even to stand in presidential elections in 1995. Hamas also enjoyed minor governmental representation as a result of its cooperation with the regime, while the an-Nahda movement suffered continual harassment and the arbitrary arrest of its cadres for refusing to comply with regime demands for cooperation until one of its factions accepted the constitutional reforms introduced in 1997

and broke away.”8 The FIS, although it was certainly concerned with political action, was, however, something more than a straightforward Islamist political party. Unlike the others, it sought to create a movement that brought together as many members as possible, whatever their specific political platforms, and which, furthermore, challenged the claim of the FLN to embody the legitimate inheritance of the Algerian revolution — a point which, incidentally, Abbassi Madani constantly emphasised.” As was often said in Algeria, “Le FIS est le fils de ’ FLN” (“The FIS is the son of the FLN’”). As part of this broad appeal, it attracted adherents of three major Islamist currents to its banner: the Salafiyyists who had been the backbone of the original Islamic movement; the Djazara’a group, sympathisers with the ideas of Malek Bennabi who sought a specifically Algerian Islamist solution, unlike the universalism of the Salafiyyists; and the Afghanistes, Algerians who had fought with the mujahidin in Afghanistan during the war against the Soviet Union, as well as a much larger number who sympathised with the mujahidin and their neo-Salafiyyist and salafi-jihadist ideas. Even though the FIS was an umbrella organisation, bringing together three very disparate elements, it managed to maintain an institutional coherence throughout the next three years and even to win two major elections, even though its more extreme elements were to fall away during 1991. In fact, the balance between its constituent elements was to constantly change over time, particularly after its two paramount leaders, Ali Belhadj and Abbassi Madani

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were arrested and subsequently sentenced to twelve years in prison in June 1990. This led to a decline in influence for the Salafiyyist wing of the movement and its replacement by the Djazara’a faction which had initially played a very minor role.*° In this respect, the FIS was quite different from an-Nahda or Hamas and it was its successes in municipal elections in June 1990 and in legislative elections in December 1991 that led to the military coup in January 1992 and to the subsequent civil war. The history of the FIS, therefore, is very much a story of the growth of the Djazara’a group within it and of the ideas it imparted to the movement which were to make it so unique.

The Djazara’a movement The core of the Djazara’a movement’s vision lay in the ideas of its leading thinker, Malek Bennabi. He had been born in 1905 and went to a Frenchlanguage school in Constantine in 1921, after a traditional kuttwb education. It was at secondary school that he discovered the major figures of the Salafiyya movement. In 1930, however, he left for France where he studied engineering and explored contemporary science as well as European thought. In 1947 he returned to Algeria and, until he left in 1956 for Egypt, he built up a reputation as an Islamic intellectual, writing in French. In Egypt he perfected his knowledge of Arabic and explored themes involving the developing world and anticolonialism, returning to Algeria in 1963 where he became director of higher education. Four years later, however, he was dismissed from his post, probably because of his criticism of Algeria’s socialist turn and his involvement with the al-Qiyam group, although he was never a formal member of the movement.*! Thereafter and up to his death in late 1973, he devoted his attention to Algiers University, where he held a professorship, and to the weekly seminars he organ-

ised on Islam and the modern world.*” Bennabi’s importance for the history of contemporary Algeria lay not so much in his involvement in the al-Qiyam movement, which really derived its ideas from the tradition of the AUA and the Salafiyya and which, in any case, was suppressed by the Boumediénne regime, although he was recognised as its most influential and original thinker. He had, in any case, been critical of its tra-

ditions and views.** His real influence over the politics of post-1988 Algeria emerged from his weekly student circle at the University which attracted not only students but at least one figure from the original FLN, Abbassi Madani. Other leading figures included Mohamed Said, later to be a prominent member of the Djazara’a group, Mustapha Brahimi, a future member of the FIS who still acknowledges his intellectual debt to Bennabi,** and Noureddine Boukrouh, the

founder of the Parti du Renouveau Algérien who saw himself as Bennabi’s intellectual successor.’* They also included Anwar Haddam, the future FIS representative in the United States, Rachid Benaissa, a future member of UNESCO

in

Paris, and Abderrezak Redjam. 2 Malek Bennabi considered that Muslim society had undergone a serious intellectual and moral decline in the wake of the new spiritual relationship created

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between God and man by the revelations of the Prophet Mohammed which, in turn, defined early Muslim society. The civilisation that emerged from this, typified by the Ummayyads, was based on rational creativity dynamised by spiritual revelation. To this extent, Malek Bennabi can be seen as part of the Mutazili tradition in Islamic philosophy, an approach which reflected his training as an engineer and one that was to set him at odds with some of his acolytes in the FIS later on.*® He, however, frequently emphasised the role of rationalism in his understanding of Islam during his weekly seminars and encouraged the study of

the natural sciences for this reason.*” It was the rupture of this relationship, beginning after the disappearance of the Almohad dynasty in North Africa in the eleventh century, that marked the emergence of intellectual and moral stagnation in the Muslim world, which needed to be reversed if that world were to recover its vitality and creativity. In addition, Bennabi rejected the universalism typical of the Ikhwan Muslimin, arguing instead that there were specific cultural entities with specific histories within the corpus of the wmma — nations, in short, of which Algeria was one. In other words, Algeria’s crisis after independence was not just the consequence of colonialism but of the spiritual corruption and collapse of Algerian society, given its materialist vision of development, and its creativity could only be

revived by a profound individual spiritual revolution.** Bennabi’s third insight revolved around the role of the individual in the spiritual and intellectual renaissance that he sought. He was not primarily concerned with the reformation or restructuring of social and political institutions but with the reworking of individual awareness as a process of inner jihad to recover the creativity innate in Islam. It was this spiritual vitality and creativity that he saw as the explanation of the progress made by other civilisations, such as the Japanese, and indeed by Europe itself. It was through the revival of the moral and spiritual self that societies and polities achieved progress. He also considered that governance itself was a reflection of such a spiritual revival and that the democratic impetus arose from this spiritual embrace of Islam. From such individual Islamic praxis would come the collective social and political engagement that would generate true democracy, a democracy presaged in the tradition of shura, as practised during the Rashidun caliphate. Conversely, the loss of this individual awareness would lead to the crisis of absolutism that faced the

Muslim world.°? Interestingly, this analysis of the nature of democracy recalls the conclusions reached by Alexis de Tocqueville, the nineteenth-century political analyst of French Algeria and, more relevant here, of the United States. He argued that democratic polities were not defined solely by their formal institutions but, more importantly, by the internalisation of democratic thought, habit and practice within the individuals who ultimately constitute both society and polity.*° He also pointed out that a shared Christian morality was essential to the survival of American democratic republicanism in the nineteenth century, since it was the only way in which unrestrained liberty could be checked and the danger of a descent into anarchy avoided, a sentiment that reflects Malek Bennabi’s ecumenicalism in accepting

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that it is individual eSptaetal understanding, whichever the creed, that generates collective creativity.*! The importance of Malek Bennabi to the Islamist movement in baleen lay in the way that his seminar group was institutionalised and in the nature of its membership. In 1968, he encouraged the creation of a student mosque in Algiers University which became an important meeting place. At the same time, the group published a review, Que sais-je de I’Islam, thus providing a forum for discussion, and in 1973 it also created a consultative council, thus formalising the

Djazara’a movement as an organised pressure group, despite the hostility they faced from leftwing students and from Arabophone Islamists, especially sympathisers with the Salafiyya movement and the Muslim Brotherhood, such as Mahfoud Nahnah.* Its role within the FIS after 1989, however, was to slowly

grow until, just before the military coup in January 1992, it was the dominant element within the party. Although the group initially rejected the idea of engagement in politics, refusing for instance to join Abbassi Madani, Shaykh Soltani and Shaykh Sahnoun in a major demonstration in the early 1980s against arrests of Islamists, its members soon realised the danger of being marginalised and, through Abbassi Madani, began to engage in the wider Islamist movement instead. As a result, once Algeria became a multiparty democracy in late 1988, members of the Djazara’a faction first joined the Rabita al-Islah wa’l-Irshad, thus initially rejecting direct political action in favour of influencing the political process. Thus, once Abbassi Madani formed the FIS in 1989, his initial partners were salafists and members of the Badisiyya — the group that traced its lineaments back to the AUA. However, he also realised that he needed support from the Djazara’a group in order to promote his belief in political plurality against the generalised rejection of such ideas by the more orthodox Islamists represented by personalities such as Ali Belhadj. The issue came to a head over the municipal elections in June 1990, for the Salafiyya faction within the FIS now called for the creation of a single Islamist movement in Algeria, bringing in the supporters of Mahfoud Nahnah and Adbul-

lah Djaballah as well.*’ Abbassi Madani opposed this because the FIS would lose the nationalist specificity of its popular appeal, and he looked to the Djazara’ists for support. He also needed support against the Badisiyya group over formal opposition to the revised electoral law,” particularly after its leading members broke away from the FIS and Madani and Belhadj faced arrest. Significantly, Madani designated Mohamed Said, a leading Arabophone member of the Djazara’a group, as his successor once the arrests took place, thus ensuring that the FIS would continue to engage with the state through an electoral process as part of the process of restoring Islam to its proper social and political role. Mohamed

Said’s role as FIS leader was short-lived, however, for he was

arrested within weeks of his appointment. He was succeeded by Abdelkader Hachani, a petroleum engineer who was not a member of the Djazara’a group, having been connected with Abdullah Djaballah’s an-Nahda movement instead. He was, however, increasingly sympathetic to Djazara’a ideals, having been Mohamed Said’s deputy before the latter’s arrest. His position and that of the

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Djazara’a group was confirmed at the FIS’s Batna conference in late July 1991, where many of the leading salafists and Badisiyya supporters were forced out of the movement, leaving the imprisoned Abbassi Madani and the Djazara’ ists firmly in charge, supporting the multiparty democratic option and arguing for an Algerian society and polity revitalised by Islam. That was, in essence, the inspiration that, later, informed the Islamic state it claimed to wish to install. As Ali

Djeddi said: [An] Islamic state is a state whose reference is to Islam. It is a state of a sov-

ereign people, free in its political and as well as its economic choices. The Islamic state does not have a unique and definitive form.*° It is a statement that mirrors the original promise of the FLN in its “Proclamation” issued on November 1, 1954, in which it stated that its objective, inter alia, was “National independence through the restoration of the sovereign, democratic and social Algerian state within the framework of Islamic principles.”*° As Anwar Haddam was to say later, after he had been exiled to the United States, “The FIS approach was laid out by the Association of Algerian Ulema of Ibn Badis, and by the school of thought of the Algerian scholar, Malek Bennabi.’”’*” Yet, given the collapse of Algeria into a savage civil war after 1992, two questions remain; to what extent was the FIS, now effectively led by the Djazara’a faction, responsible for or directly implicated in the violence that followed and to what degree have the ideals outlined above survived the conflict, despite the marginalisation of the FIS and its Djazara’a leadership from the political process in Algeria? In other words, how successfully has Malek Bennabi’s vision of a democratic Algerian society embedded within Islamic civilisation continued to provide an inspiration to those who challenge the Algerian state’s self-definition in terms of political Islam?

The consequences The issue of the links between the FIS and the armed groups that eventually emerged after the military coup of January 1992 is complex. Some commentators have questioned the genuineness of the FIS’s commitment to the democratic ideal, usually by reference to Ali Belhadj’s original contempt for it because of its association with temporal, rather than divine, concepts of sovereignty, rather surprisingly seeing in Mahfoud Nahnah’s Salafiyyism a more reli-

able potential for political pluralism instead.** Others have argued that the Mouvement Islamique Armé (MIA) and its successor, the Armée Islamique du Salut (AIS) were linked to the FIS, representing the party’s determination to force the Algerian regime to concede to its demand for the restoration of the aborted electoral process after the military coup — despite the fact that it had been banned by that time. Michael Willis probably comes closest to the truth when he remarks that, although the clandestine newspaper and radio created by FIS leaders still at large

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reported, often approvingly, on the activities of the MIA, there was never any evidence that they formally called for violent action in the name of the FIS, a call which would, in any case, have breached the declared principles of the party itself.” The reality was that many individuals, quite independently of party instructions, did move towards the violent factions as they developed but this was never the policy of the FIS and many of the leaders, particularly Abdelkader Hachani, made it clear that the leadership, whether Djazara’ist or not, had no

plans in this respect.*° This, of course, does raise the question of the degree to which, after the military-backed coup in January 1992, the Djazara’ist FIS leadership continued to represent the party rank-and-file. Given the growth in violence by the end of 1992, as a plethora of armed groups began to form, it would seem that the obvious conclusion should be that a clear gulf had opened up between the leadership and the mass of the party. Indeed, given the fact that the bulk of the party was made up of individuals predisposed to the Salafiyya and Badisiyya vision of what Algerian society and state should become — the original views of figures such as the charismatic Ali Belhadj, rather than his co-leader, Abbassi Madani —

this would be a reasonable supposition. It was also the case that, even if the Djazara’a group had captured the leadership of the FIS, its ideas and aspirations were still remote for the majority of Algerians in terms of an explicitly Islamic outcome to the Algerian crisis. It represented, after all, an intellectual elite which, in most respects, had been marginal to the Islamist movement in the

country before 1988. However, in one respect which spanned both committed Islamists and the wider public, this was not the case; the Djazara’a group joined the broad popular endorsement of the multi-party political system with its associated social and political freedoms in its insistence on a democratic political system. It was for this reason that, in the period between 1989 and 1992, it could

legitimately claim the leadership ofthe FIS. There was, however, one incident that did raise questions about the FIS’s commitment to non-violent action. As Hill points out, the issue of commitment to non-violence became increasingly entwined in 1992 and early 1993 with the issue of leadership. Rabah Kebir had escaped to Germany and Anwar Haddam to the United States, each purporting to represent the FIS abroad until Abbassi Madani, in a note smuggled out from his prison cell, confirmed Kebir as the official representative abroad. At the same time, tensions arose between leaders still inside the country, with Abderrazak Redjam, Mohamed Said and Ikhlaf Cherrati

collaborating on the FIS’s clandestine media and opposing the pretensions of Kebir and Haddam. The three also looked more favourably on the creation of the MIA as a movement dedicated to forcing the state to reverse its coup in order to

restore the electoral process.*! The MIA continued to be a quite separate organisation, however, with its own leader, Abdelkader Chebouti, never having been a member of the FIS although

the latter’s internal leadership was certainly close to the armed movement. The relationship, however, became

Islamiques Armés

critical once the much more extreme Groupes

(GIA) began to become

effective and made

its hostility

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towards the MIA plain because, linked as it was to the FIS, it was a constant

challenge to eventual GIA hegemony over violent Islamist opposition in Algeria to military rule. This hostility, in turn, led to a determined effort to expand the MIA and to restructure it by bringing in similar groups, thus giving rise to the AIS in its place. The new movement, formally created in July 1994, recognised the ultimate authority of Abbassi Madani and Ali Belhadj, although neither of them formally espoused it, but its formation also led to an apparent split in the FIS leadership, with Mohamed Said and Abderrazak Redjam apparently joining the GIA instead, claiming to associate the FIS with their actions — a claim which was immediately denounced by the FIS representation abroad.” Their actions also gave rise to renewed tensions within the FIS representation abroad for, although Rabah Kebir led the condemnation of Redjam and Said, another faction, led by Ahmed Zaoui in Belgium and supported by Anwar Haddam in Chicago, demurred.* It claimed that the real reason for the apparent defection inside Algeria was an attempt to bring the GIA back under the same banner as the MIA-AIS, so that there should be a unified resistance to the Algerian regime. Strength seems to be given to this claim by the fact that both Abderrazak Redjam and Mohamed Said were soon to be killed by the GIA leadership under Cherif Gousmi and Djamal Zitouni in December 1994. The incident, in turn, led to another split, again in the FIS representation abroad. By now Rabah Kebir was isolated, especially after he addressed an open letter to the Algerian president, Liamine Zérouel, proposing negotiations, and Ahmed Zaoui began to create an alternative external representation for the movement. Although Kebir tried to imply that Zaoui and Haddam had become open supporters of the GIA, the reverse was the case, as Ahmed Zaoui was directly responsible for the creation of the Sant’ Egidio reconciliation dialogue in Rome between the FIS and other major Algerian political parties in November 1994 and January 1995. Kebir did not participate, thus underlining the split in the external leadership of

the movement. The factor that seems to have dynamised the popular shift to violence — and the apparent growth in ambivalence within the FIS leadership over the issue — was not just the apparent loss of the multi-party political system as a result of the coup but the state-directed violence that was associated with it and that — on the part of the elite, at least — seems to have been completely unanticipated. Rachid Mesli, the lawyer who represented both Ali Belhadj and Abbassi Madani after their arrests in June 1991, is emphatic that it was not the coup, in itself, that radicalised the population, even if some individuals with prior experience of violence, for example in the Bouyali movement of the early 1980s or Afghaniste

supporters, had already made such a decision.’ He relates that Abdelkader Hachani actually met a group of future GIA activists, led by Abdelhak Lyada, one of the founders of the GIA, in a mosque in Bacharah in Algiers between the first round of the legislative election in December 1991 and the coup at the start of 1992, when it was already clear that the Bendjedid regime was under pressure from the military cabal led by Khalid Nezzar, the defence minister, and Larbi Belkhair, the minister of the interior. In response to questions about the sincerity

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of the government’s commitment to democratic politics, Abdelkader argued that, for the FIS, such a commitment was absolute and that, if the government’s commitment wavered, violence was not an automatic outcome.

Even though the first outbreak of violence occurred even before the legislative election had taken place, at Guemmar

on the Tunisian border where, in

1991, in a raid on a border post, a soldier was killed and arms stolen, the real start to the campaign of violence which was to engulf Algeria is usually dated from an attack in the casbah in Algiers in which six policemen died in February 1992.*° In fact, the campaign did not take off until the end of the year, when the

generalised popular support necessary to sustain it had developed. The factor that produced this change was the decision by the authorities to decapitate the Islamist movement, particularly the FIS — Hamas and an-Nahda were largely left untouched because of their preparedness to continue to cooperate with the authorities, despite the coup. Immediately after the FIS was formally banned at the start of March 1992, the army and the security services carried out wide-ranging arrests of its militants and sympathisers throughout the country, concentrating those arrested — between 5,000 (the official figure) and 30,000 (the FIS’s figure, although conventional figures in the literature range between 7,000 and 12,000) — in camps in the Sahara in very poor conditions.*’ The mass arrests and the severe ill-treatment that accompanied them certainly dynamised the elite and affected mass opinion as well because it demonstrated the contempt held by the regime for popular opposition to its projects. The brutal treatment of thousands of Algerians, guilty only of dissent from the hegemonic discourse of the regime, had a profound and widespread effect in radicalising the population.** It was then that violence became a popular option for confronting the regime. Yet, apart from the brief flirtation with violent action in the formation of the

MIA and, later, the AIS in 1993 and 1994 by one faction in the FIS leadership, the Djazara’a-dominated external leadership has remained true to its pacific ideals and its belief in democratic engagement up to today, even though the formal political movement was increasingly marginalised. In 2002, a convention of the FIS abroad removed Rabah Kébir from his official position as spokesman of the movement, replacing him by Mourad Dhina, a longstanding sympathiser with both the FIS and the Djazara’a group who had only actually joined the movement in 1998, after being persuaded to do so by Abdelkader Hachani, a few days before he was assassinated. The following year, Abbassi Madani and Ali Belhadj were finally freed from prison, giving rise to hopes that, with their release, the FIS in Algeria could be revived. Within a year, however, it was clear that the hostility of the Algerian government, now controlled by Abdelaziz Bouteflika, the former FLN foreign minister under President Houari Boumediénne in the 1970s, would make this impossible. As a result, in October 2004, Mourad Dhina stepped down from the FIS leadership and the formal party effectively disappeared from the political scene, both in Algeria and abroad.*° This would seem to suggest that both the FIS, as a political movement, and the Djazara’a group at its head, as an intellectual movement within radical

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political Islam, have become part of the archaeology of the contemporary Algerian state. In fact, despite the history recounted above, this does not seem to have

been the case. The ideals of the Djazara’a group continue to be expressed, most recently through a new movement, called “Rashad”. Translating as “integrity”, the name has close associations with the religious connotations of another word, “rashid” or “rightly-guided”, the term used to describe the early caliphate and its emulation of the Islamic ideal. The movement’s objectives seek “a radical change in the conception of power in Algeria, and will work to establish the rule of law and a management of public affairs ... that is effective, fair, transparent and accountable”. In Algeria, such a state, the founders believe, would “recognise and promote all the constituents of the Algerian identity”, amongst them Islam. It is as if the political dimension of Malek Bennabi’s vision, itselfa reflection of his conviction of the inner centrality of Islam, has been reified into a statement about democratic political engagement, similar to the views of Abdelkrim Soroush on “political democracy”.® Rashad, indeed, parallels developments in Morocco where the two radical movements there — the Parti de Justice et de Développement and ‘AdI wa’l-Ihsan — now prioritise democratisation as the genuine political expression of Islam in a collective context.°' In essence therefore, as Alexis de Tocqueville said of America, “political societies are not what their laws make them but what they are prepared in advance to be by the feelings, the beliefs, the ideas, the habits of heart and mind of the men who compose them.’ And, as Malek Bennabi proposed, it has been Islam that shaped those “habits of hearts and mind” and inspired the democracy that characterised the real Djazara’a project.

Notes 1 Fanon, The wretched of the earth; 74 (originally published in 1961 as Les damnés de la terre (Maspero, Paris)). Fanon’s concept of the role of violence in purifying and releasing the aspirations of the colonised and the oppressed supplements the extremist vision of the destruction of an impure state, betrayed by its failure to observe Islamic precept as part of the necessary process of the reification of the Islamist ideal through the installation of hukumiyya in its reconstruction. Ironically enough, of course, Fanon’s arguments were originally developed to justify the violence of the FLN in the war for independence. 2 This section of the chapter draws on Joffé, ‘Fanaticism: the Algerian experience’. 3 Hill, /dentity in Algerian Politics; 76-92. 4 Indeed, Roberts argues that this coup was inevitable precisely because of the way in which the revolution had evolved for, in reality, military power gained hegemonic control over political authority which was then consigned to a civilian political arena that was ancillary to military activity. In essence, the military leadership took over the process of political decision-making but lacked popular legitimacy because of the peculiar isolation of the ALN from the actual conflict within Algeria. It thus used the cloak of the FLN to compensate for this failure when, eventually, an Algerian state emerged from the revolutionary struggle and, in the process, voided the FLN itself of all significance as a political force within the state, even though this was constitutionally defined as its role. Roberts, “The struggle for constitutional rule in Algeria”; 22-24.

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G. Joffé Rousseau, The social contract or principles of political right. For a personal account see Yousfi, Le Pouvoir 1962-1978; 85-93. Adamson, Algeria; 87. It had been the “ulama” in the Association des oulemas algériens that had been formed in 1930 under the leadership of Shaykh Abdulhamid bin Badis who first suggested the slogan “Islam is our religion. Algeria is our country. Arabic is our language”, thus identifying three important principles subsequently absorbed into the ideology of the FLN (Front de libération nationale — the body that led and organised the struggle for independence). Ageron, Modern Algeria; 94-95. Cited in Horne, A savage war of peace; 49. Interestingly enough, Abbas soon altered his mind and became head of the Gouvernement Provisoire de la République Algérienne during the war for independence. At the time, Shaykh bin Badis riposted, “Algeria is not France, cannot be France and does not wish to be France!” Although the debate reflected the antagonism felt by many Algerians because Algeria was treated as administratively a sovereign part of France, there also lay behind this a much deeper argument about how Algerians should react to French colonisation, given this administrative status, and it is this essentially ideological confrontation that was carried over into the constitutional debate as two different constitutional traditions. Appiah, /n my father’s house; 236, quoted in Adamson, Algeria; 86. Harbi, Le FLN, mirage et réalité; 330-337. Tlemcani, State and revolution in Algeria; 74. Quant, Revolution and political leadership; 225. Alongside the FLN as the embodiment ofthe revolutionary struggle, the most important ones were the Armée Nationale de Libération (ANL), particularly its Etat Major, the six autonomous wi/aya guerrilla forces, the Conseil National de la Révolution algérienne (CNRA) and the GPRA. Harbi, Les archives de la Révolution algérienne; “Proces-Verbal du Congrés de la Soummam”; 160-167. See Chaliard and Minces, L’Algérie indépendante; 23-24 and Ruedy, Modern Algeria; 190-194. Roberts, “The struggle for constitutional rule in Algeria”; 22—23. Hill, /dentity in Algerian politics; 102. See Joffe, “The Islamist threat to Egypt” and “Political Islam”. Berque, French North Africa between two world wars; 221. See Roberts, “Radical Islam and the dilemma of Algerian nationalism”. He had sprung to fame in 1974 with his critique of Algeria’s policies; Mazdaqism is the origin of socialism, which had been banned in Algeria and had led to his house arrest until his death. See Shahin, Political Ascent. Willis, The Islamist challenge in Algeria; 72-73. Willis, The Islamist challenge in Algeria; 113. Stone, The Agony of Algeria; 58-101. Willis, The Islamist challenge in Algeria; 110. It won a crushing victory, gaining control of 853 of Algeria’s 1,539 municipal councils and 31 of 48 provincial assemblies. It gained 55 per cent of the vote, completely humiliating the FLN, which gained only 32 per cent of the vote and won control of 487 municipal councils and 14 provincial assemblies. It also soon began to make radical changes in local administration that increased its popularity, including providing cheap food and provisions through the new “Islamic souks”. See Willis, The Islamist challenge in Algeria; 133, 393. See Willis, “Algeria’s other Islamists”. Willis, The Islamist challenge in Algeria; 116. Walsh, “Killing post-Almohad man”; 214-215. Although most accounts suggest that Malek Bennabi was a formal member of the

Algeria 1989-1999 group, Mustapha Brahimi, who was very ber 2009. Walsh, “Killing post-Almohad man; 204. Malek Bennabi’s thought”; 107-112 democracy”. Willis, The Islamist challenge in Algeria;

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close to him, denies this. Interview Septem-

See also Zoubir, “Democracy and Islam in and “Algerian Islamists’ conception of 58.

Interview, September 2009.

Zoubir, “Algerian Islamists’ conception of democracy”. A confrontation that recalls the dispute between Ibn Sina and al-Ghazzali in the eleventh and twelfth centuries and the later polemic against al-Ghazzali by Ibn Rushd. Mustapha Brahimi. Interview September 2009. Walsh, “Killing post-Almohad man”; 205-206. Walsh, “Killing post-Almohad man”; 207. Zoubir, “Democracy and Islam in Malek Bennabi’s thought”; 109. Cited in Roper, Democracy and its Critics; 22.

Roper, Democracy and its Critics; 11. Walsh, “Killing post-Almohad man”; 209. Willis, The Islamist challenge in Algeria; 175. The prime minister, Miloud Hamrouche, had redrawn constituency boundaries to disadvantage the FIS and to benefit the FLN in an attempt to avoid a defeat of the latter as had occurred in the municipal elections. Walsh, “Killing post-Almohad man”; 218. Abbas Aroua, the founder of Hoggar Press in Geneva argued that, in the discourse of the FIS, an “Islamic state” was one in which there was political choice and social justice and it was this vision that actually had widespread resonance within the Algerian population. Islam was an essential component of this message because “social justice” was an intrinsic part of its own vision. Abbas Aroua; interview September 2009. Harbi, Les archives de la Révolution algérienne; document 13, 101. Pipes and Clawson, “Anwar N. Haddam: an Islamist vision for Algeria”. Zoubir, “Algerian Islamists’ conception of democracy”. Willis, The Islamist challenge in Algeria, 272-274. By 1993, it appeared this stance might change when Ali Belhadj implicitly endorsed the MIA. His smuggled letter was publicised abroad by the FIS’s external spokesman in Germany, Rabah Kebir, even though the Djazara’ists and Abbassi Madani condemned his actions. (277-278). Interview September 2009; Mourad Dhina; interview August 1998 Hocine Ait Ahmed. Hill, /dentity in Algerian politics; 140. Hill, /dentity in Algerian politics; 144. Willis, The Islamist challenge in Algeria; 367-368. Interview, Ahmed Zaoui, July

2006. Ahmed Zaoui, interview July 2006. Interview September 2009 with Rachid Mesli. Joffé, “Fanaticism”. Willis, The Islamist challenge in Algeria; 257.

Rachid Mesli regarded this as the key event that justified formalised armed resistance to the regime. He claims that a movement called Hijra wa Takfir, led by Mohamed Hattab, was a direct consequence of the arrests and sparked off the armed resistance. Mourad Dhina; interview September 2009.

“Islam and Democracy”, excerpts from a speech by Dr. Soroush to a conference in Mashhad on 6 November 2004; www.drsoroush.com. 61 Joffé, “Political dynamics in North Africa”; 947. 62 De Tocqueville, Letter to Corcelle; 81.

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Bibliography Adamson, K. (1998), Algeria: a study in competing ideologies, Cassell (London). Ageron, Ch-R. (1991), Modern Algeria: a history from 1830 to the present (trans. M. Brett), Hurst (London).

Appiah, A. (1992), In my father’s house: Africa in the philosophy of culture, Methuen (London). Berque, J. (1967), French North Africa between two world wars, Faber and Faber (London); originally published as Berque, J. (1962), Le Maghreb entre deux guerres, PUF (Paris). Chaliard, G. and Minces, J. (1972), L Algérie indépendante, Maspero (Paris). De Tocqueville, A. (1951), Letter to Corcelle, 17 September 1853, Oeuvres Completes, XV, 2, Gaillmard (Paris); 81. Fanon, F. (1967), The wretched of the earth, Penguin (Harmondsworth). Harbi, M. (1980), Le FLN, mirage et réalité, Editions Jeune-Afrique (Paris). Harbi, M. (ed.) (1981), Les archives de la Révolution algérienne, Editions Jeune Afrique (Paris). Hill, J.N.C. (2010), Identity in Algerian politics: the legacy of colonial rule, Lynne Reinner (Boulder, Colorado). Horne, A. (1977), A savage war of peace, Penguin (London). Joffé, E.G.H. (1996), “The Islamist threat to Egypt”, in Chapman, S. (ed.), The Middle East and North Africa 1996, Europa Publications (London). Joffé, E.G.H. (2005), “Fanaticism: the Algerian experience”, in Hughes, M. and Johnson, G. (eds), Fanaticism and conflict in the modern age, Cass (London). Joffé, E.G.H. (2009), “Political dynamics in North Africa”, /nternational Affairs, 85, 4 (September). Joffé, E.G.H. (2011), “Political Islam”, in Matthews, C. (ed.), The Middle East and North Africa, Europa Publications/Routledge (London). Pipes, D. and Clawson, P. (1996), “Anwar N. Haddam: an Islamist vision for Algeria”, Middle East Quarterly (September). Quant, W.B. (1969), Revolution and political leadership: Algeria 1954-1968, MIT Press (Cambridge, Mass.). Roberts, H. (1988), “Radical Islam and the dilemma of Algerian nationalism: the embattled Arians of Algiers”, Third World Quarterly, X, 2 (April). Roberts, H. (1998), “The struggle for constitutional rule in Algeria”, Journal of Algerian Studies, 3. Roper, J. (1989), Democracy and its critics: Anglo-American democratic thought in the nineteenth century, Unwin & Hyman (London). Rousseau, J.-J. (1762), The social contract or principles of political right, trans. D.H. Cole (public domain); www.constitution.org/jjr/socon.htm. Ruedy, J. (1992), Modern Algeria: the origins and development of a nation, University of Indiana Press (Indianapolis). Shahin, E.E. (1998), Political ascent: contemporary Islamic movements in North Africa, Westview Press (Boulder, Colorado). Stone, M. (1997), The agony of Algeria, London: Hurst. Tlemcani, R. (1986), State and revolution in Algeria, Zed (London). Walsh, S.J. (2007), “Killing post-Almohad man: Malek Bennabi, Algerian Islamism and the search for a liberal governance”, Journal of North African Studies, 12, 2 (June).

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Willis, M. (1996), The Islamist challenge in Algeria, New York University Press (New York). Willis, M. (1998), “Algeria’s other Islamists: Abdallah Djaballah and the Ennahda movement”, Journal of North African Studies, 3, 3 (Autumn). Yousfi, M. (1992), Le Pouvoir 1962—1978, YM (Algiers). Zoubir, Y.H. (1996), “Algerian Islamists’ conception of democracy”, Arab Studies Quarterly (Summer). Zoubir, Y.H. (1998), “Democracy and Islam in Malek Bennabi’s thought”, American Journal of Islamic Social Sciences, 15, 1 (Spring).

8

Morocco’s radicalised political movements Rachel Linn

Morocco is unique in North Africa in having two, radicalised political movements that are largely tolerated by the state.' One, which is derived from an extremist religious movement created in the 1970s, has now accepted the reality of the monarchical state and operates as a formal political party, the Parti de la Justice et du Développement (PJD). The other movement, al-‘Adl wa’|-Ihsan (Justice and Charity), also stems from the 1970s but has refused to formalise its political role on the basis of its continued rejection of the monarchy’s dominance over the political system. Interestingly, both movements have moved away from the religious principles that originally defined them, and at present seek definitively political objectives tied to ending the country’s political and economic stasis. In the following pages, I examine the specific, religio-cultural and historical conditions in Morocco that have enabled the parallel development of the PJD and al-‘Adl wa’l-Ihsan (henceforth, al-‘Adl), and influenced both to adopt a ‘radicalised’ stance that contests aspects of the state’s authority while accepting the continuance of the monarchy. I provide brief histories of each movement, focus-

ing specifically on how their critiques of the state and the monarchy’s position have evolved from their religiously intoned foundings into the structured, political movements they have become. I then examine comparative research on the adherents of Islamist movements and the available evidence from Morocco to develop a picture of the processes of radicalisation for each group’s supporters, and argue they, too, are predominantly political and individually rational in their motivations. Throughout the analysis, the concern is with understanding processes of radicalisation — conceputalised as alienation from and rejection of a hegemonic political discourse — at both an organisational and individual level, and the relationship between radicalisation and political extremism within the Moroccan context. Political extremism is taken to mean the assumption of an ideology explicitly opposed to and challenging the state, usually through violent means; while the term ‘Islamist’, where it is employed, designates groups that seek the establishment of an Islamically guided political order, as both the PJD and al-‘Adl commonly are described.

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The monarchy and its challengers The social and political context in which Morocco’s radicalised movements operate is, of course, important to understanding their development. The rhetoric of the PJD and al-‘Adl has taken a form unique to the hegemonic discourse they seek to challenge — which in Morocco involves the hegemony of the monarchy over social and political life. The ‘Alawi dynasty that rules Morocco first took control in the seventeenth century, and continues a tradition of sherifian rule begun in the territory with the Idrisid dynasty in the eighth century. The monarchy has proven remarkably adaptable to change under modern pressures. Gradual political reforms introduced by the palace have enabled the same system of governance effectively to be maintained since Moroccan independence in 1956. The political system is officially a constitutional monarchy, and regular, multiparty elections have been held since 1963. However, the king and the coercive, administrative apparatus of the makhzen — or royal palace — remain at the centre of the political system and control levers guiding all-important decisions. The constitution officially declares the person of the king ‘sacred’ and ‘inviolable’* — or effectively above the law — and the palace has been known to exclude opposition parties at will, interfere with elections, and take ad hoc legal decisions without parliamentary approval. In addition to these sweeping political prerogatives, the monarchy regularly uses its wealth and control over an extensive patronage and clientelistic network to co-opt its challengers into politically quiescent positions of either working for or supporting the palace. Such realities aside, the monarchy has allowed for a greater degree of pluralism to exist in Morocco than was permitted by its neighbours — notably, Algeria and Tunisia, where after independence single, state parties moved to quash all dissenting voices and (as many argue) facilitate the direction of all opposition sentiment behind a single, unified Islamist movement. Apart from its coercive powers, the Moroccan monarchy enjoys wide, societal esteem and derives its legitimacy in part from the king’s religious authority. The ‘Alawi family claims descent from the Prophet Muhammad and has actively maintained a perception of its religious legitimacy through carefully constructed ceremonies that re-enforce the king’s role as amir al-mu’minin (commander of the faithful). For example, during ‘7d al-’adha (the Feast of Sacrifice), the annual observance of ritual blood sacrifice is inaugurated nationwide by the king as he slaughters a ram on the nation’s behalf — a ceremony that is then repeated in public squares and homes throughout the country. Such ceremonies and other religious symbolism effectively tie the king to his subjects, and — as some argue — further legitimise the monarchy’s authority due to the requirement of submission to divine authority within Islam.* Other scholars contest the depth of ordinary Moroccans’ commitment to the religious person of the king, arguing such analyses tend to overlook the real, repressive aspects of the monarchy’s power.” For example, protesters and members of unacceptable opposition groups are frequently watched, and periodically detained or repressed. Whereas in the past, forced disappearances and torture were common tactics for dealing with the

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monarchy’s most vocal opponents, today less abhorrent — though no less repressive — measures are directed against those who cross what is often a vaguely defined red line for criticism and debate. Such realities aside, it is true that all opposition in Morocco has had to con-

front the social and religious prestige of the monarchy, and that the palace has done a better job of counterbalancing secularist tendencies with traditional sensibilities than its neighbours in the post-independence period. This latter aspect particularly has influenced the strength of the Islamist critique in the country. For example, in contrast to the Tunisian legislation adopted at the same time, the Moroccan code of civil status promulgated in 1957 was in strict conformity with Qur’anic prescriptions. Prayer in schools was made obligatory by the King, who in 1968 reintroduced the institution of Qur’anic schools. He repressed those who did not fast during Ramadan (800 imprisoned in 1965) and created a High Council of Ulama (in 1980, seven years before Bourguiba thought of a similar measure), whose approval he took the precaution of obtaining for all the major decisions ofhis reign, even if nothing obliged him to do so.° Such measures, along with the campaign for the Western Sahara in the 1970s — which popularised the king as a symbol of national unity — have complicated the ability of Moroccan opposition figures to challenge the state in Islamic terms, as the monarchy promulgates a popular form of Moroccan Islam itself, and has made fewer missteps in balancing cultural and religious traditions with modern challenges than its peer regimes in Algeria or Tunisia. What all this means for the nature of radicalised opposition in Morocco is that, though the discourses of the PJD and al-‘Adl can reject aspects of the monarchy’s authority — or at least certain outcomes of its decisions as abject failures —neither can reject the monarchy outright and expect to resonate widely with the Moroccan public, or anticipate much success vis-a-vis the monarchy’s power. The leaders of Jam‘iyat al-Jama‘a al-Islamiya, the precursor movement to the PJD, realised this limitation from the outset of their break with the clandestine Jam‘iyat al-Shabiba al-Islamiya in the early 1980s, while al-‘Adl has moved from provocatively questioning the king’s commitment to Islam — via Yassine’s letter, ‘al-Islam aw al-Tafan’ (Islam or the Deluge), to Hassan II in the early 1970s — to articulate a more political and social policy-based critique of the state which does not envision the monarchy’s removal. As Emad Eldin Shahin writes, the Moroccan movements cannot ‘advocate a total’ — extremist — ‘rejection of the values of the system, but propose partial changes that could be introduced to

the existing order’.’ It should further be noted that the parallel development of the PJD and al-‘ Adl has been facilitated by the pluralistic nature of Moroccan Islam. The movements, in fact, reflect different ideological traditions. The PJD and al-‘Adl have never

attempted to merge to present a unified, Islamist challenge to the monarchy, and openly compete with each other for support amongst similar population groups. Whereas the PJD presents a more legalistic orientation similar to classic Islamist movements in other countries, al-‘Adl places a strong emphasis on personal, spiritual development and the transformation of the individual before changing

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society — a distinctly Sufi concept.’ Al-‘Adl further resembles a Sufi order in several respects. For example, Yassine’s writings and charismatic leadership constitute the core ideology of the movement, and members often refer to him as murshid (guide). Given the religiously plural makeup of Moroccan Islam — Sufi orders and zawaya (religious lodges) remain widespread, and Sufism enjoyed a revival in Morocco in the 1980s at the same time Islamism was growing as an ideology elsewhere — many argue al-‘Adi has resonated with a different and arguably wider segment of the population than the PJD’s more orthodox Islamism. In particular, Yassine’s movement is thought to be appealing to the middle and lower classes, civil servants, peasants and workers who typically are also members of Sufi orders.’ Diverse traditions within Moroccan Islam thus also have facilitated the dual development of the PJD and al-‘Adl; though, again, the

prestige of the monarchy has significantly complicated the prospect for a mass, unified challenge to its authority. Al-‘Adl wa’!-Ihsan: moderation within exclusion

In order to understand the radicalisation of the PJD and al-‘Adl, I will briefly detail the history of each movement, focusing in particular on their evolving political discourse and stance vis-a-vis the monarchy. As will be seen, the political development of each brings to light several realities about the Moroccan example that challenge prevailing assumptions about processes of radicalisation and its link to extremism. To consider first al-‘Adl wa’l-Ihsan, it is unique amongst Islamist movements in that it derives its impetus from the protest of a single individual, Abdessalam Yassine. Yassine was born in 1928 and worked for 27 years as an inspector-general in the Ministry of Education, during which time he claims he observed widespread administrative corruption and other failures of Hassan II’s Morocco.’° In his forties, Yassine experienced a ‘serious spiritual crisis’ that led him to join the Budshishiya Sufi order.'' During this time, he also began reading the writings of Hasan al-Banna — the founder of the Muslim Brotherhood.” After the death of Shaykh al-Haj al-Abbas, the order’s leader and Yassine’s

personal

mentor,

Yassine

came

into conflict with al-Abbas’

son,

Hamza, over his own desire to turn the order into a political movement. Yassine left the Budshishiya order in the early 1970s to begin an activist career of his own. However, he never renounced Sufism and frequently refers to Sufi concepts in his speeches and writings — an aspect that is noteworthy in comparison with the hostility demonstrated towards Sufism by most twentieth-century Muslim

fundamentalists.” Yassine formally emerged as a political challenger to the monarchy in 1974 when he sent a provocative letter to Hassan II, and copied it to approximately 2,000 Moroccan professionals throughout the country. The epistle, entitled ‘alIslam aw al-Tiafan’ (Islam or the Deluge) is worth examining in some detail, as it expressed Yassine’s first, formal challenge to the monarchy and the source of his personal radicalisation. The letter was in many ways a traditional text — at 114 pages (114 equalling the number of chapters in the Qur’4n), it is a revival of

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the classical tradition of nasiha (advising the ruler). Yassine wrote; ‘[t]he duty of giving you advice is an obligation which God has imposed on the [“Ulama’] of the Umma’,"* and after sending the epistle he reportedly prepared his burial shroud — equating himself with a long tradition in Morocco of the righteous man of God who dares to defy an unjust sultan.'* However, the message of Yassine’s text was decidedly contemporary and political, and a public admonition of Hassan II’s record.'° In the letter, Yassine eschewed the king’s reverential titles and addressed him

as yd akhi (‘oh my brother’) and ya habibi (‘oh my sweetheart’).'’ These are provocative terms not typically used to address the sanctified king; and Yassine has stated they were a conscious attempt to place him and Hassan II on the same footing since they are both descendants of the Prophet.'* Yassine lambasted the monarchy’s excesses and Hassan II’s seeming disregard for the socio-economic conditions of his citizens. He referred to a speech in which Hassan II stated he did not like to see beggars, and asserted ‘Islam gives him who spends the night hungry the right to bear arms against him who has deprived him of the bounty of God. ... Your palaces, your properties, and the opulent class in the land all explain the presence of beggary and misery.’'” Yassine further highlighted elements of Hassan II’s rule as being incongruous with the ideal of aMuslim ruler. He referred to the memory of the first Rashidin (rightly-guided) Caliph Abu Bakr — who ‘gave his neighbours milk and continued to do the same when he became caliph and until he died’ — and told Hassan II, ‘[y]ou are unable to do that, not because you do not know how to milk cattle, but because you have no neighbours. Your palace is a city that stands in solitude.’”° Yassine thus intended to create a public image of Hassan II as aloof and out of touch with the daily needs of his subjects. Yassine’s prescriptions for what Hassan II should do included reforming ‘the wealth and honour [he has] unjustly taken’ by bringing the monarchy’s fortune back to Morocco (from investments and properties abroad) and selling the royal palaces. Yassine suggested Hassan II should ‘[s]wear allegiance to a council elected in an Islamic manner that will be guided by men of the call to God (rijal al-da’wa) after all the political parties have been banned’. He should also discard the imported ideas of liberalism and socialism to ‘create an Islamic economy based on ... the [equitable] distribution of rights and duties..., government use of wealth ... for the sake of general prosperity ..., and the elimination of social injustice and the poverty of the [umma’]’.”' Yassine’s epistle thus proposed a political and economic upending of the present situation in Morocco, in which Hassan II would hand over control of the state to a group of ‘elected’ Islamic leaders, and the wealth of the country and structure of the economy would be reconfigured to make social equity its foremost goal. Though Yassine’s message took a traditional form and was imbued with religious references, his critique was contemporary and posed an overt, political challenge to the king. His challenge was thus of a radical nature from the beginning — challenging the hegemony of the monarchy over the political and economic system, as well as the discourse commonly employed to underline the king’s sanctity. However,

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despite Yassine’s reference to a coming ‘deluge’ or people rising against Hassan Il if he did not reform, Yassine did not openly advocate violence or envision the forceful removal of the monarchy as the only acceptable outcome. Yassine’s posture in this first exposition of his political challenge hence was not extremist. However, it reflected a deep dissatisfaction with present circumstances and his

own alienation from a dominant discourse employed in Morocco to maintain the position of the monarchy above the tumult of political and social debate. Hassan II’s response was to have Yassine put in a psychiatric hospital for three and a half years.” Upon his release, Yassine began to build a circle of activists around him and in 1979 established the organisation that would eventually become al-‘Ad1 wa’|-Ihsan, calling it first al-Jama‘a (The Group) following the name of a review he began publishing in February of the same year.”? Over the next decade, Yassine struggled to gain legal recognition for the organisation, with his requests for legalisation routinely denied, the group’s publications banned, and new names adopted and publications issued only to be repressed again. Consequently, Yassine spent much of the 1980s in and out of prison, and in 1989 was put under a period of extended house arrest that lasted until after Hassan II’s death in 1999. The organisation adopted its current name, Jama‘at al-‘Adl wa’l-Ihsan (Justice and Charity Movement) in 1987, which added to the Sufi concept of ihsan (charity) a consideration for social justice that has remained central to Yassine’s opposition. Although the movement was formally banned in January 1990 and many of its prominent activists imprisoned,™ al-‘Adl grew considerably throughout the 1990s — particularly on university campuses. In February 1990, elections at the Union Nationale des Etudiants du Maroc (UNEM) — a former breeding ground for the country’s leftist opposition — were won by a member of al-‘Adl, Najib

Abderrahim.”> Al-‘Adl has been a dominant presence in campus politics ever since, and demonstrated its strength by staging several large protests at the start of the 1990s that alarmed the monarchy. For example, over 2,000 people gathered in Rabat in May 1990 to protest the political trials of six al-‘Adl leaders,”° and the movement organised — in conjunction with Harakat al-Islah wa’|-Tajdid, the precursor movement to the PJD — anti-American rallies surrounding the 1991 Gulf War with over 10,000 participants. Such demonstrations convinced the monarchy of the popular strength of Yassine’s opposition, and the palace subsequently tried to appease the movement by offering it legal recognition, the right to form a political party and participate in elections, and even substantial sums of money. In exchange, the movement would have to ‘publicly and explicitly recognise the authority and legitimacy of the monarchy’.”’ Al-‘Adl’s leaders rejected this condition due to their continued criticism of the monarchy’s infallible position — and, to some degree, recognition that a part of the movement’s popularity was due to Yassine’s sustained defiance. While refusing to be co-opted by the palace or participate in formal politics, al-‘Adl continued throughout the 1990s to organise chapters throughout the country, and run small, charity and welfare societies that, for example, provided food and medicine to the poor or helped arrange marriages.** Such associations

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and the afore-mentioned student networks helped the organisation spread its message outside the typical mechanisms of campaigning and parliament. The movement today can be described as ‘a large, well-constructed and wellsupported organisation, with a pyramidal structure and branches throughout the

country’.”? However, while al-‘Adl has maintained its radical posture, the movement’s discourse has evolved significantly, and in a manner that challenges the notion stated in the introduction to this volume that radicalisation exists in an antiphonal relationship with political extremism. One of the most illuminating means for tracing the evolution in al-‘Adl’s posture is by comparing the form and content of Yassine’s first challenge to the monarchy in 1974 with the analogous letter he sent Hassan II’s son and successor, Mohammed VI, in early 2000. Following the death of his father in July 1999, Mohammed

VI wished to present a fresh, reformist image of the mon-

archy, and took steps to resolve some of the more objectionable elements of his father’s rule. This opening included definitely ending Yassine’s house arrest in May 2000.* Prior to his release, Yassine posted publicly on his website a memorandum ‘to whom it may concern’ — by whom he meant Mohammed VI. Echoing his letter to the young king’s father, the memorandum deeply criticised Hassan II’s rule and offered advice to Mohammed VI. However, it also differed considerably from Yassine’s 1974 critique. Overall, the letter was shorter, less rhetorical and largely devoid of religious content and symbolism. It was also authored in French (Yassine’s 1974 letter had been written in Arabic), which Yassine sarcastically stated was to make it accessible to international diplomatic and media audiences, and a French-speaking Moroccan elite who regard Arabic as an ‘insipid’, ‘vernacular’ language used only for communicating with illiterates.*! The letter hence was a fully political and public redrawing of Yassine’s (and now al-‘Adl’s) stance against the monarchy. However, its content was updated to changed political circumstances and reflected a new strategy for al-‘Adl. For example, whereas in 1974 Yassine had criticised the monarchical regime as being contrary to Islam, 25 years on, the monarchy was still powerful, widely popular, and had produced a successful transition to a new king who inspired a degree of optimism in the country. Hence, Yassine’s approach was no longer to delegitimise the monarchical institution outright, but to challenge Muhammad VI to implement fundamental change while implicitly accepting the continuance

of the monarchy’s authority.** This challenge was presented via a more sophisticated, socio-economic critique, in which Yassine quoted development index statistics to highlight Morocco’s poor performance relative to its neighbours. Yassine argued the development of the Moroccan economy was being hindered by rampant clientelism, and the swiftest, first step to ending the country’s protracted economic crisis would be for Muhammad VI to use his family’s wealth to clear the country’s large foreign debt (over US$20 billion).** Such a gesture would ‘liberate Morocco from the yoke of the World Bank’ and make the country ‘immune from the dictates of [that] institution’, which had ‘forced it to undergo the ruthless restrictions of structural adjustment at great social cost’.** Funds previously

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earmarked for paying off Morocco’s foreign debt could then be used towards public investment, particularly in teaching and education — where Yassine highlighted the country was particularly failing — and for developing infrastructure and creating jobs in rural areas. Though the suggestion that Muhammad VI renounce the monarchy’s wealth undoubtedly remained far-fetched — it was more or less the same suggestion Yassine had made to Hassan II — it was couched in terms that demonstrated Yassine’s grasp of Morocco’s economic situation and the social cost of its continued reliance on international financing, for example. Comparisons to Islamic ideals or past rulers were wholly absent from Yassine’s assessment, demonstrating the degree to which his critique had evolved in a secular, modernist direction. Yassine’s proposal for what form of political rebalancing was required also had changed. He was less dismissive of democracy — having in 1974 proposed the banning of parliament and rule by an Islamic council — and in fact extolled that ‘democratic rule, that is the freedom and right of the people to choose their government, is for us the only way out of dark absolutism.’*> An embrace of democratic procedures would not, however, mean accepting secularism. Yassine did not devote space in the memorandum to explaining the intricacies of this position; however his central demand was for genuine, democratic procedures to be introduced in the political system. This updated — and arguably more Western-friendly — position reflected that in the intervening years al-‘Adl had set up its own political circle for the purpose of ‘communicat[ing] and propagat[ing] the opinions and positions of the movement regarding political, economic, and social issues’.*° Since 1998, the political circle had been headed by Abdelwahed El Moutawakil, who had worked as a journalist for a/-Sharg al-Awsat in London and was well placed to argue for the lessons that could be learned from Western

forms of government.*” Apart from providing the movement with a more modern position, the establishment of the political circle also can be seen as indication that al-‘Adl — though it remains radical in its rejection of the rules of the current political system — has developed to engage that system and Moroccan citizens in greater public dialogue. Supporting this assessment, Yassine implored his readers in his 2000 memorandum, ‘[iJs it not our duty, as citizens concerned about the future of their country, to denounce fraud and criminals? Does the young king not need to hear sincere voices...?’** Yassine hence portrayed political engagement — or, at least, discourse — as a moral responsibility. Despite having faced decades of repression, al-‘Adl’s mode of challenge thus has remained wholly political and non-violent. While still rejecting the total hegemony of the monarchy over the political system, the movement has become more accepting of its continuance in some form of authority, while also becoming increasingly secular and political in its articulated objectives. The case of al-‘Adl wa’l-Ihsan — from an organisational perspective — hence refutes the idea that radicalisation and political extremism are linked. Despite facing decades of repression, Yassine’s critique and the movement as a whole have not moved in the direction of total rejection or violence, and in fact have

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adopted positions that arguably make the movement more palpable to mainstream viewpoints. Before querying the supporters of the movement to understand the sources

and direction

of their individual

radicalisation,

I will first

discuss the trajectory the Morocco’s other radicalised political movement, encapsulated today in the participating Islamist party, Hizb al-‘Adala wa’l-Tanmiya (or, as it is more

commonly

known

in French,

Parti

de la Justice

et du

Développement).

The PJD: from extremism to participation In contrast to al-‘Adl, the roots of the PJD trace to the founding of the extremist

religious movement, Jam‘iyat al-Shabiba al-Islamiya (Association of the Islamic Youth; henceforth al-Shabiba) in i969 by Abdelkrim Mouti and Ibrahim Kamal. Mouti, like Yassine, had been an inspector of education, and was a member of the leftist Union Socialiste des Forces Populaires (USFP). His transition from the Left to militant Islam resulted from his deep dissatisfaction with socioeconomic conditions in Morocco, and view that the political parties were power-

less to do anything due to their preoccupation with playing within the highly restricted political game created by Hassan II.*? While Mouti presented alShabiba in public as an ‘apolitical religious association, advocating reform and non-violence as a means of preserving Islamic values’,”° it simultaneously maintained a militant, clandestine structure that called for the overthrow of the mon-

archy and an Islamic revolution to transform society.*' Al-Shabiba hence can be characterised as politically extremist, since its ideology was actively opposed to the continuation of the monarchy and prepared to challenge it through violent means. Although the palace initially tolerated al-Shabiba — seeing it as a vehicle to counterbalance the leftist opposition, particularly in schools and universities — it grew increasingly weary of its clandestine activities. In 1975, the palace blamed two acts of violence against prominent members of the secular Left on alShabiba — including the assassination of Omar Benjelloun, a USFP leader and prominent palace opponent. Despite the dubious nature of the accusations, alShabiba was outlawed, Kamal sentenced to 20 years in prison and Mouti exiled. Mouti continued to try to direct the movement from Belgium. However, his increasingly provocative line against the monarchy and the growing irritation of a number of the group’s members with his attempt to exert complete control

from abroad caused a faction to break with him.” Convinced of the inefficacy of violent rejectionism as a political strategy,* the breakaway faction, led by Abdelilah Benkiran, a future leader of the PJD, declared its separation from Mouti in January 1982 and pledged to continue Islamic activism within legal frameworks. Within a year, Jam‘iyat al-Jama‘a alIslamiya (Association of the Islamic Group; hereafter al-Jama‘a) was established, and declared itself to be a national ‘group of Muslims working on establishing religion in all walks of life’ through legal means — such as by undertaking charitable works, education initiatives and advocating the implementation

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of shari‘a (Islamic law).** The movement also professed a commitment to nonviolence and upheld the legitimacy of the Moroccan monarchy; thus indicating its desire to become a normal, social and political force in the country by playing within the rules set by the palace. Despite numerous petitions to the king and Interior Ministry throughout the 1980s, al-Jama‘a was not granted legal recognition, and — similar to the treatment shown to al-‘Adl — saw its publications banned. In February 1992, the group moved to convince the regime of its mainstream nature by changing its name to Harakat al-Islah wa’l-Tajdid (Movement of Reform and Renewal; henceforth al-Tajdid), removing any explicit reference to Islam from its title.*° Hoping to participate in the national elections of 1992, the leaders of al-Tajdid organised Hizb al-Tajdid al-Watani (The National Renewal Party) as the political wing of the movement. The party declared it would ‘participate in the political process according to the guiding rules: respect for democracy, the free choice of the people, accepting the concept of transfer of power, and respect for pluralism’.*° Such statements seemed phrased directly to conform to the existing laws for the formation of political parties. However, the Moroccan authorities rejected the party’s application. As part of a wider process of political liberalisation in the mid-1990s — and with the hope of avoiding the situations of neighbouring Tunisia and Algeria with regard to their Islamist movements — the palace sought to bring its Islamist current onside. This opening came first in an offer to al-‘Adl wa’l-Ihsan to form a political party, which, as mentioned, al-‘Adl rejected. The palace next indicated to al-Tajdid’s leaders they could enter discussions with Abdelkrim alKhatib about allowing some of their members to join his already legalised but dormant political party, the Mouvement Populaire Démocratique et Constitutionnel (MPDC). Al-Khatib was a long established figure in Moroccan politics with strong ties to the palace — he had been Muhammad V’s official doctor and jointly proposed (with Allal al-Fassi, the founder of the nationalist Istiqlal party) the

idea of ‘commander of the faithful’ in the drafting of the 1962 Constitution.*” However, he had refused to participate in what he saw as a failing system from the early 1970s following the attempted coups d’état, and criticised the government for failing to implement shari‘a and democratic procedures, as well as for abusing the legitimate conditions of the bay‘a.** While still maintaining good relations with the palace, al-Khatib hence became a conduit through which Islamists could make contact with it. Members of al-Tajdid hence joined the MPDC from a special congress in June 1996.” During this same period, the leaders of al-Tajdid merged with a group of smaller Islamist organisations and renamed the movement Harakat al-Tawhid wa’l-Islah (Movement for Unity and Reform; henceforth al-Tawhid). Al-Tawhid has continued its activities as a religious and proselytising organisation with the MPDC (and later PJD) recognised

as its political wing.”° Since the 1997 parliamentary elections, al-Tajdid (and later PJD) members have stood for office in every local and national election. Though they have occasionally limited the number of seats they stood for (whether due to political

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strategy or pressure from the palace), the party has consistently increased its parliamentary representation, winning nine seats in 1997, 42 seats in 2002, and

46 seats in 2007. The MPDC changed its name to Parti de la Justice et du Développement in October 1998 and since entering politics has shown a decreasing emphasis on religious issues in favour of a more political and economic agenda. Whereas under the government of Abderrahmane Youssoufi (the leader of the USFP) the party demonstrated strong activism surrounding religious issues — for example, PJD ministers opposed the charging of interest (which is prohibited in Islam) in a government program to provide micro-credit loans to the poor and took strong parliamentary action to try to stop the bill' — during the 2002—2007 parliamentary cycle the PJD took the politically historic step of accepting King Muhammad VI’s revision of the mudawana (family code). The 2004 law raised the legal age of marriage for wornen to 18 and permitted women the right to divorce, and had been opposed by more conservative Islamist elements in the country, as well as the party, itself —most notably in the MPDC’s 1997 election campaign. However, the PJD’s leaders argued the party should accept the new code because it had been arrived at through a legitimate and thorough democratic process, and would help families.” As suggested, since the founding of al-Jama‘a, the movement has always accepted the legitimacy of the monarchy and sought to convince the state to introduce greater democracy and other reforms via explicitly political means. It thus has moved definitely away from its extremist roots. However, like al-‘Ad1, the movement’s position on what type of reform is required has also evolved in an increasingly modernist, non-religious direction. For example, from comparing just the PJD’s 2002 and 2007 electoral platforms, substantial differences may be observed with regard to the party’s religious agenda. In the opening pages of its 2002 platform, ‘Towards a Better Morocco’, the party dedicates itself ‘to work towards six areas of priority’, number one of which is ‘the strengthening of an Islamic reference [al-marji ‘iva al-islamiya]’.°’ The measures proposed under this priority include, first, ‘Islamicising the constitution by giving the constitutional provisions relating to Islam their true meaning, and giving it [Islam] significance in all aspects of life, so the text states clearly that shari‘a is the highest source of all legislation and laws, and it regards anything that contradicts its [shart'a’s] judgments as invalid.’ Second, the party proposes to ‘work to reconcile laws, regulations and policies with the judgments of Islamic shari‘a and its purposes.’** The indication is clear, then, from the opening pages of the platform that the party seeks to implement a reform agenda based in Islamic law. In contrast, the PJD’s 2007 platform, ‘Together to Build a Just Morocco’,

places its emphasis on economic and social issues. The introductory section contains a detailed outline of the PJD’s economic program, and the first clear statement referencing the party’s ‘Islamic’ nature or objectives comes within a list of ‘major trends in the program’. Here, the party lists as its fifth priority, ‘strengthening the national system of values and reinforcing the Islamic cultural identity

in Morocco’. The specific ‘sub-trends’ that fall under this category include, ‘enhancing the role of the Ministry of Aqawf [religious endowments]

and

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Islamic Affairs, and increasing the effectiveness of religious establishments’; and ‘promoting the national culture and strengthening its presence in reform and development efforts’.*° These articulated objectives were in themselves, largely vague and uncontroversial, and echoed proposed reforms to the Ministry of Aqawf and Islamic Affairs — for example, improving the creation of fatawa (legal opinions) and the accessibility to religious experts and mosques in rural areas — that had already been announced by the Ministry, itself.°’ As Malika Zeghal argues, the ‘PJD’s proposal in terms of religious policy was thus following the direction already taken by the monarchy’,** while its strong proclamation of ‘shari‘a’ as a guiding source for all proposed reforms had been removed entirely. A number of factors may explain this shift in the religious content of party’s platform from 2002 and 2007. First, the May 2003 Casablanca bombings had presented a difficult period for the party, in which Islamist groups were accused of creating a permissible environment for terrorism. In response, the PJD bowed to pressure from the palace to support a new, anti-terrorism law that greatly restricted civil liberties, competed in fewer districts in the 2003 local elections,

and reorganised its leadership, appointing Saad Eddin Al Othmani — a centrist with close ties to the palace — as its Secretary General in 2004. These same pressures may have influenced the party to move further away from a religiousconservative agenda for the 2007 elections. Furthermore, the party had taken significant steps since the late 1990s to increase the distance between itself and its base, religious movement,

al-Tawhid. Membership in the PJD is not condi-

tional upon membership in al-Tawhid, and by the mid-2000s, the PJD had significantly increased its financial and personnel independence from the organisation. Personnel independence was accomplished through the continued entry of new party members not affiliated to al-Tawhid,” while greater financial independence was achieved via funding provided by the Moroccan state for the party’s electoral campaigns and money raised from the reallocation of 22 per cent of all PJD members of parliament and municipal councillors’ salaries —

which the party had made mandatory — and membership fees. The party’s functional separation had become such that, in fact, al-Tawhid did not even endorse

the party in the 2007 elections, which some PJD members admitted might have come at an electoral cost.°' The PJD’s increasing separation from al-Tawhid hence has enabled it to move in a more fully political direction, giving credence to statements such as Benkiran’s that, ‘our leaders are steeped in religion ... but they are concerned with political affairs.’ Regardless of what explanation one accepts as most plausible for the shift in the religious content of the PJD’s agenda, it is clear that the party has continued its oppositional engagement in Moroccan politics in a peaceful manner that supports the institution of the monarchy while challenging it to implement democratic, social and economic reforms. The party has articulated an agenda that is increasingly divorced from the religious principles that originally defined it, and today presents a reform agenda that is almost purely political and economic. Even given the party’s relatively modest gains in the 2007 elections — which

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many PJD members expressed dissatisfaction over — the party does not look likely to waver from this path. Benkiran, who was appointed Secretary General in 2008, has strong connections to the palace and has argued that the party should adopt a more cooperative approach to politics against more conservative elements who favour a staunchly oppositional stance or perhaps abandoning political engagement altogether. The organisational trajectory of the PJD, then, also provides an illuminating example with regard to the relationship between radicalisation and extremism. Whereas many of the PJD’s current leaders began their activism within the extremist movement al-Shabiba, their experience of repression within that movement convinced them of the inefficacy of violent rejectionism as a political strategy. After leaving the group, they adopted a ‘radical’ stance that sought to challenge the hegemonic discourse of the state in Islamic terms via legal and peaceful means. Further, the ‘radical’ nature of this challenge arguably has been diluted as the party has become increasingly integrated into politics, with the religious principles that originally distinguished Benkiran’s al-Jama‘a receding into the background of the PJD’s current political and economic agenda. This example would seem to suggest, then, that radicalisation does not necessarily precede extremism, and, in fact, individuals and organisations may move from an extremist stance to one that is more radical, and eventually, perhaps even mainstream. The factors that have influenced this quite opposite trajectory within the PJD — and to an extent, al-‘Adl, as well — in Morocco have been discussed

briefly. The prestige of the monarchy and its able management of political and religious challengers has forced rejectionist currents to moderate their opposition or face marginalisation. However, the profile of those who support Morocco’s radicalised movements and their concrete demands reveal a great deal more about these observations. Morocco’s ‘radicals’: the adherents of the PJD and al-‘Adl

It has been suggested that the adherents of radicalised movements are objectively irrational, or rather following mass, rejectionist sentiments that deviate from accepted norms of social and political behaviour. Although it is impossible to capture the motivations of every individual who supports al-‘Adl or the PJD in Morocco, the available evidence suggests a different view of movement adherents — namely, that they are frequently educated, alienated from the traditional political parties, and following an individually rational path to challenge pollitical and economic stasis in their country. While PJD members choose to challenge the balance of power in the state via supporting an opposition party that is working within the political system, al-‘Adl adherents maintain a position of protest outside a system they see as fully delegitimised. However, adherents of both movements essentially seek the same ends — that is, political engagement and an effective forum to challenge the hegemony of the monarchy over the

political and economic system. The fact that these movements frame their challenge in Islamic terms resonates strongly with the cultural identities of many

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movement participants. However, the religious aspects of the movements are, importantly, not a primary motivation for their support. Before delving further into individual motivations for joining radicalised groups, it is worth noting some development statistics that highlight the source of many Moroccans’ frustration with the current political and economic situation. As mentioned, unemployment is a continued, acute problem, particularly amongst young people in Morocco, who constitute a significant and growing portion of the population (roughly 30 per cent of the population is currently under age 14). Although the overall unemployment rate has dropped in recent years (estimated at 9.9 per cent in 2009),°? youth unemployment has been estimated to be as high as 33 per cent in urban areas.“ Furthermore, it is not just the poor or uneducated who are struggling to find work. Unemployed Moroccan university graduates formed an association in 1992, the Association des Diplémés Chémeurs, that has been consistently and publicly active in calling attention to what it is a too common plight. Many young people find that years spent in higher education do not lead to employment or a means of entry into a political and economic system that remains dominated by patronage and clientelism linkages. Many young people, hence, share the view that ‘a diploma has absolutely no value in Morocco’.® Furthermore, while economic growth has been mildly positive, the benefits of growth have not been equally distributed. Income inequality is increasing,’ while over 44 per cent of the adult population remains illiterate and per capita GDP (at US$4,108 at purchasing power parity in 2009) puts Morocco well behind neighbouring Algeria and Tunisia.*’ Within this context of general social and economic malaise, many in Morocco find the established political parties are either too corrupt or institutionally weakened to impact change. As mentioned, the many checks the monarchy has over the legislative system make any change the palace does not support virtually impossible to enact, while the palace continues to use extensive patronage (i.e. offering access to business opportunities, money or high-ranking positions) to induce its challengers to adopt politically neutral positions. The PJD, importantly, is not viewed as being as corrupted as the older, established parties,® but the lack of change seen even after the introduction of alternation in government in the late-1990s® has alienated many Moroccans from party politics, and some from the formal political system altogether. These disaffected individuals do still seek a change to present circumstances, however, and hence are receptive to an alternative forum for challenging a prevalent stasis in the country. Comparative research on the adherents of Islamist movements suggests that political (rather than religious) activism is a primary motivation for individual support. Mark Tessler cites evidence from public opinion research conducted in Egypt and Kuwait in the late 1980s that found ‘only a weak association between the strength of personal religious attachments and the degree of support for

Islamist groups and their political program’.”” As he documents, more than half of respondents in both countries ‘with higher ratings on the scale measuring piety and social salience ... expressed less favourable attitudes towards political aspects of Islam. Conversely, one-third of those who expressed greater support

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for Islamist political movements had lower ratings on the scale measuring religious piety and social salience.’’! As this pattern was consistent in both Egypt and Kuwait, Tessler argues it is plausible to conclude generally that the adherents of religious-toned, radicalised movements (such as Morocco’s Islamist movements) are not inspired by individual religious zeal so much as the discourse of political challenge the movements present. The available evidence from Morocco supports a similar conclusion. Mohammed Tozy’s doctoral work surveying religious attitudes and support for militant Islam amongst Moroccan university students conducted in the 1980s found far greater percentages of students supported common Islamist positions than practiced pious forms of Islam themselves. Out of a number of illuminating figures, Tozy found that, while only eight per cent of students surveyed stated they prayed five times daily, and 11 per cent said they opposed the mixing of the sexes in public (a common, religious-conservative perspective), 54 per cent supported the idea that ‘the backwardness of our society is due to our renunciation of the commandments of the true Islamic religion’, and 40 per cent agreed with the statement that Islam ‘can by itself organise all aspects of life’.’”> These are common, Islamist standpoints, and the far greater percentages of university students who supported these ideas than observed a particularly pious or conservative form of Islam themselves indicates support for such movements is more centred around the paradigm of challenge they represent than the personal, religious viewpoints of adherents. As Tessler concludes in his own piece, ‘what many North Africans and other Arabs appear to want is meaningful political change, and above all responsive and accountable government, rather than Islamic solutions per se.’”* Leaders of the PJD and al-‘Adl seem to understand this reality themselves. Asked about the demands of their core constituency after the 2007 elections,

PJD leaders expressed their main capital within Morocco was their integrity,” while anti-corruption and better public services were major concerns for their predominantly middle-class constituency. As one PJD leader stated, their constituents were thought to be mostly ‘[p]eople that have a house with two rooms, but would need three or four; that have a small car but would like a bigger one’ — in other words, Moroccans who are educated and moderately well-off, yet feel held back by a system that offers few, honest opportunities for advancement or good-quality public services.” Yassine similarly appears to comprehend the demands of his youth supporters as predominantly political and socio-economic. In his memorandum

to Mohammed

VI, he insists the youth in the country ‘who

acclaim Mohammed VI have turned away definitely from a political class complicit ... with the old Makhzen; just as they have turned away from Hassan’s democracy, which is drained of its substance.’’° He states simply that ‘young

people today want jobs and a place in the sun’.”” Both radicalised movements, then, view their supporters to be rational, selfinterested Moroccans looking for an effective vehicle to challenge a prevalent

stasis in the political and economic system that they perceive to be holding back their personal or professional advancement. Though undoubtedly the vast

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majority of supporters of both movements are Muslim,” they are not — nor do movement leaders perceive them to be — particularly ideological or extreme. Rather, they are average citizens who have been radicalised as a result of their personal frustration with the political and economic system, and look to support groups who will effectively challenge the actors who maintain it — namely, the monarchy and economic and political elite. Demographic data from the 2007 elections supports this assessment with regard to the political-economic rationale of PJD supporters. Overall, turnout in the elections was incredibly low — at only 37 per cent of registered voters, it was the lowest in Moroccan history and reflected mass voter apathy. A full 19 per cent of votes cast were invalid or spoiled ballots, with a high incidence occurring in districts where the socio-economic and educational profile of voters was high. This correlation indicates most spoiled ballots were protest votes (rather than a reflection of Morocco’s low literacy levels).” This reality aside, in urban and better-educated neighbourhoods with low turnout and a high incidence of spoiled ballots, those who did cast valid votes tended to vote for the PJD. Support for the PJD hence was correlated with an educated, protest environment. Overlaying 2004 census data with the 2007 district results, Miquel Pellicer Gallardo finds that the PJD performed better in neighbourhoods with higher education, where ‘the PJD obtained around 5 per cent of support whereas in [neighbourhoods] with low education, it obtained around 3 per cent.’ Furthermore, the ‘PJD won in

around half of the districts with high education, but only in around 10 per cent of the districts with low education,’ suggesting that ‘the relevant variable for PJD

support is education, not exclusion.’*° Those who support the PJD, then, do so predominantly from an educated perspective that views the party as the best vehicle to challenge stasis in the political system, and do not generally expect to receive any direct, personal benefits (for example, in terms of patronage, which is common amongst Morocco’s traditional opposition parties) in return. The ‘radicalisation’ of PJD supporters is thus rationally considered and politically motivated. However, as implied above, there are a large number of people remaining in Morocco who are similarly politically radicalised yet — regardless of their impressions of the PJD itself — perceive the political system as so hopelessly delegitimised that all political parties are incapable of affecting change. A number of these individuals may support al-‘Ad1 wa’|-Ihsan. Yassine’s organisation has repeatedly called for boycotting elections, and though al-‘AdI’s critique is fairly similar to that of the PJD, al-‘Adl’s leaders criticise the party for participating in what they regard as a sham process. Due to its extra-legal status and refusal to participate in elections, little formal evidence exists on the perspectives and background of al-‘AdI supporters. However, what evidence is available indicates that, like the PJD, al-‘Adl is widely popular amongst Morocco’s youth —the student organisations of both movements have become, in fact, the primary competitors in campus politics at Morocco’s universities since the mid-1990s. Also similar to the PJD, support for al-‘AdI is not strongly correlated with socioeconomic class. Al-‘Adl supporters are not characteristically poor, include both urban, unemployed and educated youth, as well as more rural individuals than

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the PJD lays claim to — the last of these populations some argue have found attractive the organisation’s openness towards Sufism. Perhaps most tellingly, al-‘Adl and the PJD compete with each other on university campuses — the one forum in which al-‘Adl activism can be observed — primarily by debating the relative benefits of working to achieve social and political change from within or without the political system.*' This reality indicates the supporters they are vying for are, indeed, politically radicalised, rather than ideologically so. Aware that their supporters are seeking an effective forum to effectively challenge the hegemony of the monarchy over the political and economic system and its associated stasis, the PJD and al-‘Adl have become explicitly political organisations. Religion, though it remains a marker of authenticity and an element of discourse in both movements, has effectively receded into the background. Conclusion

What can be concluded, then, about organisational and individual processes of radicalisation, and the relationship between radicalisation and extremism

from

this overview of the Moroccan case? First, the analysis supports the view that radicalisation is not an inevitable step towards extremism, or necessarily a part of that process whatsoever. The quite opposite trajectory of the PJD with regard to this suggested pathway provides a compelling example to the contrary. Furthermore, the increasingly political over religious-ideological orientation of both the PJD and al-‘Adl suggests continued activism may move radicalised movements further towards the mainstream. The peculiar situation of Morocco — in which the monarchy enjoys wide, social and religious esteem, and diverse religious traditions complicate the development of a mass Islamist discourse — has contributed to this pathway. Furthermore, this analysis should not be taken to suggest that all who are radicalised in Morocco eschew extremism — the rejectionist sentiments exhibited in the 2003 Casablanca bombings imply there are, indeed, those who consider neither the challenge of the PJD or al-‘Adl to be potent enough, and forebode of the direction certain segments of these movements’ supporters may move in if tangible political and socio-economic progress is not made. The growth of apolitical salafism in Morocco — which is documented in Chapter 9 of this book — is further evidence of the potentially troublesome alternatives for radicalised individuals. Nevertheless, it is the conclusion of

this chapter that the individuals who join Morocco’s radicalised political movements predominantly are seeking a political forum to challenge the hegemony of the monarchy and consequent stasis of the political and economic system — an intelligible objective given Morocco’s protracted socio-economic crisis, and the demonstrated inability of the entrenched political parties to make much headway in resolving it.

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Notes | Not withstanding the multiple, small political parties based on an Islamist agenda in Algeria at present (i.e. Mouvement de la Société pour la Paix/Hamas, al-Nahda and al-Islah); however, following the framework of this analysis, these movements should not be labelled as ‘radicalised’ due to their cooperation with and participation in the Algerian government from their founding. Pennell, Morocco since 1830, p. 11. Article 23, Royaume du Maroc, ‘La Constitution’. Waltz, Human Rights and Reform, pp. 44-45. See, for example, Munson, Religion and Power in Morocco, p. 135. Burgat and Dowell, The Islamic Movement in North Africa, p. 168. Shahin, Political Ascent, p. 173. Willis, ‘Justice and Development or Justice and Spirituality?’, p. 166. Shahin, Political Ascent, p. 195. Ibid., p. 193. Yassine.net, “Short Biography of Imam Abdessalam Yassine’. Munson, ‘The political role of Islam in Morocco (1970—90)’, p. 188. Munson, Religion and Power, p. 163. Burgat and Dowell, The Islamic Movement in North Africa, p. 166. Munson, Religion and Power, p. 163. Zeghal, Islamism in Morocco, p. 79. Munson, ‘The political role’, p. 188.

Yassine’s family claims sherifian descent. Quoted in Munson, Religion and Power, p. 164. Quoted in Zeghal, /slamism in Morocco, p. 100. Munson, Religion and Power, p. 167.

Perhaps in recognition of the actual, public resonance of Yassine’s message, and hence potential danger of making him appear a martyr were he to be silenced completely — as was not an uncommon strategy for dealing with the monarchy’s challengers in the 1970s. Zeghal, Islamism in Morocco, p. 120.

Zeghal, Islamism in Morocco, p. 120; Willis, “Justice and Development’, p. 152. Burgat and Dowell, The Islamic Movement in North Africa, p. 180. Munson, Religion and Power, p. 172. Willis, “Justice and Development’, pp. 156—7. Laskier, ‘A Difficult Inheritance’, p. 5.

Willis, ‘Justice and Development,’ p. 164. Ibid., p. 158. J’ai rédigé ces pages en frangais pour des raisons faciles 4 deviner; outre que seul ce qui est écrit dans une langue européenne est lisible dans les instances diplomatiques et politico-médiatiques, ces messieurs-dames ‘francophonisés’ tiennent pour bavardage insipide ce qui se publie en arabe, langue devenue pour eux un simple moyen vernaculaire pour communiquer avec le peuple analphabete. Abdessalam Yassine, ‘Mémorandum’

32 Maddy-Weizman, ‘Islamism, Moroccan-Style’. Central Intelligence Agency, “The World Factbook: Morocco’. L’acte décisif, le geste historique proposé au jeune roi émanciperait le Maroc du joug de la Banque mondiale. II mettrait le Maroc a l’abri des diktats de cette institution carnassiére qui a contraint le pays a se soumettre aux restrictions impitoyables de |’ajustement structurel avec le coat social qui a terrassé le Maroc. Yassine

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35 ‘La régle démocratique, c’est-a-dire en résumé la liberté et le droit du peuple de choisir son gouvernement est pour nous la seule issue de la ténébre absolutiste.’ Yassine. Yassine.net, ‘The Political Circle’. Willis, ‘Justice and Development’, p. 168. Oui ou non, notre devoir comme citoyens soucieux de l’avenir de notre pays est de dénoncer la fraude et les fraudeurs? Oui ou non, ce jeune roi a droit a entendre des voix non mercantiles avant que la propension a la suffisance et a la superbe propre au Prince courtisé n’en fasse un tyran abominable? Oui ou non, ce bateau ivre a la dérive, cette nation arriérée qu’est devenu le Maroc a droit a notre sollicitude? Yassine Shahin, Political Ascent, pp. 181-182. Ibid., p. 184. Ibid., p. 185. Ibid., p. 187. As Benkiran has explained regarding his faction’s decision to break with al-Shabiba, [fJrom the moment that we left for prison, many things happened. ... We began ourselves to admit that Islam was not only a story of regimes ... that even if the King or a head of state wanted things to go in a good direction, it would practically not be possible. ... So one could exhaust oneself by fighting against a political regime and afterwards one would find oneself in the same situation or perhaps even worse than before. ... At that moment, we understood that our duty was first of all to make those with whom we were in contact, and in priority the elite of the country understand the Isiam is indispensable. Quoted in Burgat and Dowell, p. 177 Shahin, Political Ascent, p. 189. Ibid., p. 190. Ibid., p. 192. Zeghal, /slamism in Morocco, pp. 74 and 177. Ibid., p. 75. The bay‘a ‘refers both to the act of delegating power to a new sultan or king and to the annual, symbolic renewal of allegiance’. Its renewal is, in principle, ‘predicated on the protection of basic individual and collective rights within the community’ and the ruler upholding his Islamic obligations. Abdeslam Maghraoui, ‘Political Authority in Crisis: Mohammed VI’s Morocco’, p. 13. Willis, “Justice and Development’, p. 157. Hamzawy, ‘Party for Justice and Development in Morocco’, p. 6. Willis, ‘Between Alternance and the Makhzen’, pp. 58-9. Hamzawy, ‘Party for Justice’, p. 10. Hizb al-‘Adala wa’l-Tanmtya, Al-barnamij al-intikhabi li’hizb al-‘adala wa’ltanmiya: nahw maghrib ‘afdal (Electoral program: towards a better Morocco), 5. (Author’s translation). Ibid., p. 6. (Author’s translation).

Ibid., p. 7. (Author’s translation). Ibid., p. 8. (Author’s translation). Zeghal, Islamism in Morocco, p. 267. Ibid. Already by the 2002 parliamentary elections, only 56 of the PJD’s 179 candidates were affiliated with al-Tawhid, while out of the 42 members of parliament elected in 2002. only 22 were also al-Tawhid members. Wegner and Pellicer Gallardo, ‘Islamist moderation without democratization’, p. 161.

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Ibid. Pellicer Gallardo, ‘Who Supports Islamist Parties?’, p. 19. Quoted in Zeghal, /s/amism in Morocco, pp. 205-6. Central Intelligence Agency, ‘The World Factbook: Morocco’. US Department of State, ‘Background Note: Morocco’. A young Moroccan university graduate quoted in Tessler, ‘The Origins of Popular Support for Islamist Movements’, p. 94. Morocco’s Gini index coefficient (which captures the distribution of income across a population) rose from 1999 to 2005, indicating while wealth has increased it remains controlled by a small elite. Central Intelligence Agency, ‘The World Factbook: Morocco’. United Nations Development Programme, ‘Human Development Report 2009 — Country Fact Sheets — Morocco’. 68 National Democratic Institute, ‘Final Report on the Moroccan Legislative Elections’, p. 51. 69 Following the 1997 elections, Hassan II invited the long-exiled socialist leader, Abderrahmane Youssoufi, to serve as a prime minister and form a coalition government after his party (USFP) won the most seats in parliament, engineering what the monarchy hoped would become the first in a regular pattern of a/térnance between the left and right coalitions in government. Pennell, Morocco since 1830, p. 376. Tessler, “The Origins of Popular Support for Islamist Movements’, p. 115.

Ibid., pp. 110-11. Munson, ‘The Social Base ofIslamic Militancy in Morocco’, pp. 272-3. Tessler, “The Origins of Popular Support for Islamist Movements’, p. 109. Wegner, ‘Islamist Inclusion and Regime Persistence’, p. 84. Pellicer Gallardo continues on the PJD’s views of their supporters: ‘They were assumed to see corruption as an obstacle to their advancement and to be burdened by bribe payments. Likewise better public services were key as’ the middle class was thought to be stuck ‘between the bad quality but cheap public services and the good quality but expensive private services’, for example in hospitals or schools. Pellicer Gallardo, “Who Supports Islamist Parties?’, pp. 7-8. 76 La jeunesse qui acclame Mohammad VI se détourne définitivement d’une classe politique complice, bon gré mal gré, du vieux makhzen menteur et traitre aux principes de I’Islam affiché, comme elle se détourne de la démocratie hassanienne vidée de toute substance. Yassine ‘La jeunesse ... réclame aujourd’hui du travail et une place au soleil.’ Yassine. 98.7 per cent of the Moroccan population is Muslim. Central Intelligence Agency, ‘The World Factbook: Morocco’. Willis, ‘Islamism, Democratization and Disillusionment, p. 18. Pellicer Gallardo, ‘Who Supports Islamist Parties?’, p. 14. Spiegel, /s/amist pluralism.

Bibliography Burgat, Francois and William Dowell (1997), The Islamic Movement in North Africa, Austin: Center for Middle Eastern Studies, University of Texas at Austin. Central Intelligence Agency, “The World Factbook: Morocco’. www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/mo.html (accessed 21 March 2010). Hamzawy, Amr (2008), Party for Justice and Development in Morocco: Participation and its Discontents’, Carnegie Papers, no. 93 (July). Laskier, Michael M. (2003), ‘A Difficult Inheritance: Moroccan Society under King

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Muhammad VI’, Middle East Review of International Affairs 7, no. 3 (September): pp. 1-20. Maddy-Weizman, Bruce (2003), ‘Islamism, Moroccan-Style: The Ideas of Sheikh Yassine’, Middle East Quarterly 10, no. 1 (Winter). www.meforum.org/519/islamismmoroccan-style-the-ideas-of-sheikh (accessed 12 February 2010). Maghraoui, Abdeslam (2001), ‘Political Authority in Crisis: Mohammed VI’s Morocco’, Middle East Report, no. 218 (Spring): pp. 12-17. Munson, Jr., Henry (1986), ‘The Social Base of Islamic Militancy in Morocco’, Middle East Journal 40, no. 2 (Spring): pp. 267-284. Munson, Jr., Henry (1993), Religion and Power in Morocco, New Haven: Yale Univer-

sity Press. Munson, Jr., Henry (1993), ‘The Political Role of Islam in Morocco (1970—90)’, in North

Africa: Nation, State, and Region, edited by George Joffé, London: Routledge, 1993: pp. 187-202. National Democratic Institute (2007), ‘Final Report on the Moroccan Legislative Elections: September 7, 2007’, Washington, D.C.: National Democratic Institute. Pellicer Gallardo, Miquel, ‘Who Supports Islamist Parties? The Case of Morocco’, Working paper. http://mpellicer.awardspace.com/Research/Isupport.pdf (accessed 14 February 2010). Pennell, C.R. (2000), Morocco since 1830; A History, London: Hurst. Royaume du Maroc. ‘La Constitution’. www.maroc.ma/NR/rdonlyres/B6B37F23—9F5D4B46-B679-B43DDA6DD125/0/Constitution.pdf (accessed 19 April 2010). Shahin, Emad Eldin (1998), Political Ascent: Contemporary Islamic Movements in North Africa, Boulder, Colorado: Westview Press. Spiegel, Avi (2009), Islamist Pluralism: Youth, Activism and the State in Morocco, DPhil.

thesis, University of Oxford. Tessler, Mark (1997), ‘The Origins of Popular Support for Islamist Movements: A Political Economy Analysis’, in /slam, Democracy and the State in North Africa, edited by John P. Entelis, Indianapolis: Indiana University Press: pp. 93-126. United Nations Development Programme, ‘Human Development Report 2009: Country Fact Sheets — Morocco’. http://hdrstats.undp.org/en/countries/country_fact_sheets/cty_ fs MAR.html (accessed 21 March 2010).

U.S. Department of State, “Background Note: Morocco. www.state.gov/r/pa/ei/bgn/5431. htm (accessed 21 March 2010). Waltz, Susan E. (1995), Human Rights and Reform: Changing the Face of North African Politics, London: University of California Press. Wegner, Eva (2007), ‘Islamist Inclusion and Regime Persistence: The Moroccan Win-Win Situation’, in Arab Authoritarianism: Dynamics and Durability in Nondemocratic Regimes, edited by Oliver Schlumberger, Stanford: Stanford University Press: pp. 75-92. Wegner, Eva and Miquel Pellicer Gallardo (2009), ‘Islamist Moderation without Democratization: The Coming of Age of the Moroccan Party of Justice and Development?’ Democratization 16, no. 1 (February): pp. 157-175. Willis, Michael (1999), ‘Between Alternance and the Makhzen: At-Tawhid wa Al-Islah’s Entry into Moroccan Politics’, Journal of North African Studies 4, no. 3 (Autumn): pp. 45-80. Willis, Michael (2007), “Justice and Development or Justice and Spirituality? The Challenge of Morocco’s Nonviolent Islamist Movements’, in The Maghrib in the New Century: Identity, Religion, and Politics, edited by Bruce Maddy-Weitzman and Daniel Zisenwine, Gainesville, FL: University Press of Florida: pp. 150-74.

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Willis, Michael, ‘Islamism, Democratization and Disillusionment: Morocco’s Legislative Elections of 2007’, Working Paper. www.sant.ox.ac.uk/mec/morocco/IslamismDemocratisation-Disillusionment.pdf (accessed 7 January 2010). Yassine, Abdessalam, ‘Mémorandum: A Qui de Droit’. http://radioislam.org/yassine/ memo.htm (accessed 26 January 2010). Yassine.net, “Short Biography of Imam Abdessalam Yassine’. www.yassine.net/en/ Default.aspx?article=bio&m=1 &sm=7 (accessed 26 January 2010). Yassine.net, ‘The Political Circle’. http://yassine.net/en/Default.aspx?article=political_ circle EN&m=1&sm=17 (accessed 18 March 2010). Zeghal, Malika (2008), /slamism in Morocco: Religion, Authoritarianism, and Electoral Politics, translated by George Holoch, Princeton, NJ: Markus Wiener Publishers.

9

Salafism in Morocco

Religious radicalism and political conformism Abdelhakim Aboullouz

This chapter is largely based on the author’s doctoral thesis, submitted at the Université Hassan II in 2008 and entitled ‘Les mouvements Salafistes au Maroc 1971-2004: Etude socio-anthropologique’. That study provided detailed access to the phenomenon of salafism and indicated other directions in which research into religious pluralism in Morocco could develop. The main text is preceded by an introduction provided by Dr Mohamed Tozy.

Introduction (by Mohamed Tozy) The difficult task of deconstructing the means that allow us to build up the profile of jihadism beyond that created by conventional rhetoric has been brilliantly achieved by Abdulhakim Aboullouz. The evidence collected by this promising researcher has been drawn from the ebb-and-flow of daily life by capturing facts, not remarkable in themselves, but leading us to a straightforward but shocking conclusion: the jihadist tendency was born within the matrix of ordinary society. Furthermore, the apparent archaism of salafism is a mere optical illusion. It is committed to tawhid and to a redoubtable modernism, insofar as it rejects territorialism, the tribe and the nation, promising to its militants the world of today and beyond. Abdulhakim Aboullouz, in this careful field-study of historical sociology, with all its attendant practical risks, has been able to describe the itinerary that leads rural youth from the depths of the Sous to traditionalist salafism. He has been able to highlight salafism’s challenges of interpretation, as much as its strategic and political challenges, through which it prides itself on its relevance within the complex reality of Morocco. The loss of illusion

An illusion was shattered in the evening of Friday, 16 May 2003, after Casablanca had finished removing the dead from the area between the Casa de Espafia and the Farah Hotel. Morocco was no longer the Arab.exception, it was no longer protected by its political uniqueness behind the figure of the ‘commander of the faithful’. It had now joined the parade of countries in thrall to terrorism. Its first reaction was to deny the evidence of its own eyes and claim that

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it was the victim of plots hatched abroad. Al-Qa’ida’s activities had increased, particularly after, some months before, Usama Bin Ladin had pledged the ‘Id alKabir festival to Muslims in his own particular way by listing the countries that might benefit from his attention; Saudi Arabia and Morocco being on his list. Claims of a foreign plot did not last for long, however, for, two days later, it became evident that Moroccans, most of them very young, had been responsible. They had come from a shantytown on the outskirts of Casablanca and had taken up religious activism no more than six months before. Hundreds were arrested in the days and weeks that followed as the state discovered, with growing concern, that this phenomenon was neither exceptional nor new. Since then, the true dimensions

of salafi-jihadism

are said to have been

revealed, but we still do not fully understand all the details. Well-known personalities that had been treated by the authorities with indifference, even if with some distrust as well, have now emerged at the centre of events; personalities such as an alim in Tangier, or another in Salé for whom somebody close to the Royal Palace had interceded several months previously to ensure his release from custody. The authorities also uncovered the activities of small groups, some of whose members had been arrested a year before. The press described them as small groups closer to criminality than to religious activism; an approach that relieved journalists from delving deeper into their doctrines which even Islamists themselves have considered to lack any doctrinal justification. The reconstruction of the pattern of jihadist activities during the trials which followed revealed encounters which did not occur simply by hazard. The trials were hasty and revealed a confusing kaleidoscope, throwing together established and well-off ulemas with little shaykhs from the outer suburbs and poorly socialised young activists barely surviving through casual employment. Yet, on the eve of 16 May 2003, frighteningly extremist tracts had been circulating in some of the mosques of Casablanca. A crude text using outdated and unbelievably violent language warned ‘unbelievers’ that the Army of God was about to arrive. ‘You will be the booty promised by the Prophet to the best of his companions. We shall rape your women and your daughters and punish your men.” Very few paid any attention to this text, made up as it was of a flood of vulgar and crude phrases of little resonance in a monarchy where the king is Commander of the Faithful. Nonetheless, in the event, Morocco was shaken at

the horror of the events that ensued. Different analyses have been proposed to explain the apparent familiarity of the youth involved with combination of extreme combative violence and a desire for self-destruction which we do not understand, bringing together, as it does, a morbid aestheticism and a romanticism typical of those enamoured of lost causes. Furthermore, the sources used for the theological justification of jihad have also given rise to contradictory readings. Some interpreters emphasise the promise of paradise by underlining the sublime desire for the houri which compensates for the privations of daily life. Others see in them the frustrated desires of the would-be seaborne migrant, those who seek to slip across frontiers but, deterred by a wall of indifference, turn to the sea instead. Those who survived

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the massacre see their survival as a failure and feel the greatest possible shame. ‘We feel so bad that even the fish of the Mediterranean want nothing to do with us,’ a pupil of the Lycée Moulay Ismail wrote in his French composition, reflecting on clandestine trips to the shantytown dwellers, to take part in games of death and sacrifice which would end up in suicide terrorism some years later. The triteness of jihadist ideas and the vocabulary of legitimate violence that surrounds us might suggest that Islam is characterised by these aggressive attitudes. However, the context of Abdulhakim Aboullouz’s paper engages directly with the issue of how and to what degree Islam is different or similar to other religions; is it more or less tolerant, more or less humanist or more or less violent? After all, all religions have humanising and universalist facets as well as sectarian aspects which look back to the seclusion of the community in which they have been nurtured. In this sense, Islam is no different from other monothe-

istic religions. It makes the same claim to a unique and universalist vision and has passed through a common historical evolution as a result of its prophetic origins, thus emerging through prophetic biblical continuity into an institutionalised religious reality. This, in turn, has evolved into intolerance and a need for political domination expressed through violence against the ‘other’. This conviction of supremacy amongst the self-selected members of a median umma is not a specifically Muslim obsession, even if they exaggerate it into a culturalist vision that leads to the concept of the ‘clash of civilisations’. There are two ways of analysing the system of violence that has resulted from such views. Either people engaged in such a vision must be observed, to see how they articulate it in daily life. Otherwise it would be necessary to examine Qur’anic texts and the hadith, through an erudition akin to Orientalism, even though the multiplicity of classical texts and their interpretation within appropriate historical contexts will create serious problems of interpretation. The jihadist discourse is one possible reading which has emerged in a quite specific such historical context. Salafism in Morocco

The pathway that has led from the salafists at the start of the last century to the suicide terrorists in Casablanca on 16 May 2003 is complex. The ambiguous implications of the salafi label cover different historical and sociological realities. At its inception, the salafist movement formed a project for the renaissance of Muslim thought, developed by thinkers such as Jamal al-Afghani and Mohamed Abduh who had been fascinated by the success of the West at the end of the nineteenth century. They did not hesitate to reconcile their ardent desire to return to the earliest practices of the companions of the Prophet with an unrelenting attack on the maraboutism of popular Islam, with its similarity to freemasonry. : In Morocco,

a version

of salafism

amenable

to nationalism

marginalised

another salafist tendency which had briefly echoed Wahhabi activism in Arabia in the mid-eighteenth century. The historical record contains a letter drawn up

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by Sultan Moulay Sliman and read in mosques throughout Morocco, condemning religious brotherhoods and calling for a return to the purity of original Islam. During the Protectorate, salafism provided the link that brought together traditionalist religious figures and groups of young nationalists who had been diverted into European universities. At independence, however, the movement did not resist political logic, whilst nationalism made way for other ideologies in vogue, such as Arab nationalism and socialism. As they were excluded from the political scene, salafists invested the educational sector through private schools or embraced the Royal Palace by engaging in the conservative and austere Islamic projects undertaken by King Hassan II as part of his attempt to dominate the political arena. Throughout the 1960s, salafism was a marginal and primarily autochthonous presence in Morocco, manifested through a form of apolitical pietism. Apart from emblematic personalities, such as Taki Eddine El-Hilali who came from Meknes and was an academic in Medina for many years after having worked at Radio Berlin during the Second World War, salafism was mainly confined to the northern part of Morocco, particularly at Tangier through the Benseddik family and at Tetouan through the Rissouni and Boukhoubza families. There were some magazines reflecting salafist interests, such as an-Nur in Tetouan and Michkat in Oujda, published by the Faqih Tajakani who taught at the University of Tetouan. The movement tended towards Hanbalism and depended on a literal reading of the Qur’an which excluded all use of reason. The reconstruction of these pious sentiments into a movement was the work of a network of institutes studying the Qur’an. The network itself was transformed when it encountered Saudi ambitions designed to diffuse Wahhabi Islam throughout a wider world. In 1971, two years after the Islamic summit in Rabat which, with encouragement from Egypt and Saudi Arabia, decided to promote the preaching of Islam, a Qur’anic centre opened in Marrakesh, designed to operate as a kind of modern Qur’anic school and managed by the Dar al-Quoran association. In 1976 a second association called the Association for the Qur’anic Call and for the Sunna was born, under the control of Shaykh Maghraoui who was close to Saudi Arabia. By 2001, the Shaykh was at the head of a network of a hundred schools in thirty different towns. This essentially pietistic network directed towards education was to become the starting-point for a radical, unstructured and nebulous tendency that claimed to be Wahhabist. It emerged locally under different labels, such as ‘at-Takfir wa’l-Hijra’ (Excommunication and Exile), ‘Jamma’at as-Sirat al-Mustakim’ (the Just Path Group) and ‘Jamma’a Salafia’ (the Salafi Group Association) or ‘Ahl Sunna wa al-Jamma’a’ (the Association of the People of the Sunna and the Group). Radicalisation and emotion

At the end of the Gulf war at the start of the 1980s, the Saudi salafist movement

split between those who remained loyal to the Saudi regime and those u/ema who condemned the presence of American forces on the holy soil of the Arabian

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peninsula. This had a direct effect on the situation of salafis in Morocco. The return of several ‘Afghans’ who had had direct experience of jihad in Europe and in the Far East led to the development of a new culture focused on jihad and symbolised by new personalities far removed from political Islam. New technologies were mobilised to diffuse this jihadi culture through dozens of web-sites, such as ‘Ansar al-Islam’ and dozens of CDs containing film of the wars in Chechnya and Afghanistan or of sermons mixing salafi doctrine and training manuals for Holy War. Jihadi discourse can no longer limit itself to the traditional salafist dimension, for it has been completely renovated by a group of contemporary Islamists on the basis of a powerful combination of past warlike activities by Western powers on parts of the Islamic world and a doctrinal system reinterpreted in political terms and linked to a relevant gecpolitical vision. The major emblematic figure in this process has been a Palestinian, Abdullah Azzam (1941-1989) for he served as the link between groups and issues scattered far apart — first the Palestinian issue, then Syrian Muslim Brothers victimised by the Ba’athist regime and finally the war against the Soviet Union in Afghanistan. He was responsible for the creation of an Arab army in Peshawar and for the emergence of the figure of Bin Ladin before he was assassinated in 1989.! His discussion of jihad provided an example of the linkage between three different dimensions of the issue which explains the efficacy of the argument and explains how easy it has been to convert cohorts of fighters drawn from poorly educated youth from poverty-stricken suburbs in major urban centres, whether Arab or European, and from middle-class youth educated in the best Western universities. The three dimensions ofthis discourse on jihad are:

1

2

A relatively classical theological dimension which is summed up in Azzam’s letter on jihad.? This combines doctrinal references with improving accounts drawn from the times of the Prophet which provide archetypes and glossary for the reader. Azzam has modernised his discourse by rejecting interpretations that make jihad a duty but not an obligation, particularly emphasising its warlike dimensions over ideological concerns and rejecting any question that struggle through discussion or by pious example could replace armed struggle. A political and geopolitical dimension which begin with a diagnosis of the political, economic and social situation in the Arab world and of the uncer-

tainties of dictatorial regimes there. This has been linked to a geopolitical vision that is rooted in the Israeli—Palestinian conflict and in the behaviour of colonial powers after the First World War. It is a vision that would further evolve after Abdullah Azzam’s death in 1989, particularly after the first Gulf war and the occupation of part of Saudi Arabia by American forces who were considered to have thereby profaned holy ground. It is articulated around a tripartite argument — the role of the United States in the Middle East and in the wider world, support for Arab dictatorships and for Israel, and the occupation of Muslim lands to ensure economic domination and the control of oil.

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It seems to me that the third dimension, which is romantic, even aesthetic in nature, is the most important in explaining the ‘modernity’ of the jihadi cause and its relevance to the contemporary situation. Azzam’s message was disseminated by modern techniques of communication which fragmented after his death into different locations of warfare and violence — initially Afghanistan, then Bosnia, Iraq and, above all, Chechnya. The imaginations of the suicide terrorists of Casablanca were fed for days at a time by CDs recorded in Chechnya, praising indestructible heroes as if they were Hollywood stars. Figures such as Dassiev and Zarkaoui replaced, little by little, Rambo in the collective imagination of youth. Images of these bearded figures, dressed in rags and with bazookas on their backs, immobilising tanks with massive caterpillar tracks and firing on their targets with a dis-

concerting accuracy embroidered the miracle. The grossness of the message had very little effect on elites for whom military engagement was seen in romantic terms, borrowing analogies for youth worldwide from the Spanish civil war for Europeans or from memories of Che Guevara in the 1960s for the rest. In effect, it represented a search for the heroic image in which religious and political objectives were mixed together and echoed the strategy of Abdullah Azzam. For him,’ the essence of the message was different for it recalled ardour in ways that only poetry can normally incite. His descriptions of the mountains of Afghanistan, like those of the resistance at Hama in Syria were powerfully effective. His account of meeting Commander Massoud is significant in this respect: I am writing to you of a village next door to the Panshir, after a journey which we greatly enjoyed, thanks be to God, in the company of Shaykh Rabbani ... the caravan left on Thursday 8, 1988 from Chatral in Pakistan ... on the Saturday, we climbed the first mountain, called the mountain of fools. It took us five-and-a-half hours to reach the house of a man who offered great hospitality to all ‘mujahidins’ passing through; all he wanted was to serve them without any recompense. The next day we crossed the second summit at four thousand metres — no horse or mule could make the climb if they had a rider, seven hours to climb it and three hours for the descent — at the bottom there was a little mujahidin camp. They were dressed in military uniforms and were guarding three aircraft. And there, in a little forest, we passed the night, in a

glacial cold after dining on game caught by our hosts. The next day we left the camp and, towards midday we encountered two mujahidins, Abu Taha, the Iraqi, and Abu Yunes, the Egyptian. Their welcome was warm, demonstrating great fraternal warmth — so great that Abu Taha - was weeping warm tears. They decided to accompany us and to abandon their retreat into Pakistan — Abu Taha told us that the Emir was only about an hour’s match away. When the word came to stop, we knew that Ahmed Shah Massoud was there. Shortly afterwards, Massoud, Aribour and Najm Eddin appeared

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on a neighbouring hillock and we went to meet them with Shaykh Rabbani. We exchanged warm fraternal embraces with these great leaders. For me it was as if I was seeing for the first time jihad incarnated in a battalion of a hundred well-equipped and well-armed soldiers, proud to defend this religion which brings us together under the slogan ‘There is no other God but God’. The battalion’s captain gave a military salute to Shaykh Rabbani. After a word of welcome from one of Massoud’s subordinates, Shaykh Rabbani gave a long speech and then presented me. | then evoked the role of jihad in the renaissance of Islam. It was an historic encounter which echoed to cries of ‘Allahu Akbar’ (God is great) and to cries of joy. Shah Massoud remained silent but we then mounted fine horses and left for his base. On the way, Ahmed Shah talked to Shaykh Rabbani and Abdullah Anas translated for me as we rode on, side-by-side. I asked Rabbani, as a joke, to ask Massoud what had happened to his body for he was nothing more than skin-and-bones. Then I recounted this verse from the Arab poet, Al-Muntanabi ‘Emaciation is fine for me, the man of whom/If you never mention it, no-one will realise

it!’ Shah Massoud smiled at me and said to Abdullah Ibn Anas, ‘If you had come alone, we would never have let you enter the Panshir...’

The account continues in this intimate tone which is full of poetry as Abdullah Azzam recalls Massoud’s feats of arms and his struggle against nature, the cold and the Russians. The reader finds himself sharing the experiences of this beautiful epic in which Islam is only present intermittently as a shared frame of reference. The shared emotion and the desire to be there are transmitted through a schema in which poets are more important than u/ema.> Violence is submerged in natural décor which allows the imagination to engage with the times of innocence so that Islam becomes an extension of the state of nature (religion as fitr) which resonates to the values of brotherhood and of a nature closer to the ethic of pre-Islamic Arabian chivalry than to the urban religion corrupted by its proximity to power. This detour through the literature produced by one of the first leaders of jihad whose biography is available on the internet, places the romantic quest at the centre of the mechanism engaging the fascination of candidates for jihad, and thus allows us to relocate the suggestion of the singularity of jihadi discourse because of its sole commitment to a religious argument based on a fanatical vision of Islam historically committed to bellicose violence. The brief analysis given here to these extracts does not allow us to explore all the aesthetic and emotional dimensions of these accounts. The promise of Paradise with houris and ephebes is not the sole means of mobilising thousands of youth; for youth from the middle classes and the well-off, the quest for heroic times, the desire to share the destiny of the brave and to struggle against the injustices of the world also plays a major role. Any discourse which understands how to play on these sentiments is highly effective and will persist as long as the state of the world makes them relevant. Abdulhakim Aboullouz has been able to capture in a brilliant fashion this difficult project of deconstructing the mechanisms which have

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constructed the profile of jihadism beyond the language of rhetoric. He has sought out his information in the tidal-race of life, capturing from anodyne indicators the support for a simple but terrifying thesis of how the jihadist current has been born within the matrices of society. Salafism in Morocco (by Abdelhakim Aboullouz)

It is often difficult to determine objectives in sociological studies dealing with religion. This is because it is both challenging to determine the ways in which religious experience occurs and because the intrinsic nature of the elements that must be observed in order to determine patterns of change is extremely complex. These difficulties are multiplied when salafist movements — the most acute concern today — are considered. Are such movements an ephemeral and socially insignificant phenomenon, as the Moroccan minister of habous® and Islamic affairs claimed just before the terrorist attacks of 16 May 2003 in Casablanca? Yet, if indeed this is the case, do

they not deserve to be considered an indication of the changing patterns of religious experiences for Moroccans? Or are they rather an indicator of social movements seeking to introduce changes in conceptions of individual behaviour and social relations? As such, they would appear to reflect a new dynamism within the reality of religious practice in Morocco. These difficulties of interpretation multiply under the massive pressures caused by the realities of the international scene which affect any study of this type. Thus, in effect, it has been the attacks of 11 September 2001 in the United States that has directed international attention towards these movements. Many specialists and researchers consider that the doctrines of those entities described as salafist lie behind what had occurred then for, so they argue, these doctrines

had always encompassed and even directed those events, through their theoretical arguments. In addition, many movements have been accused of being directly responsible for such events because they provided logistical support and the necessary human resources in order to put strategic plans into operation so as to realise salafi objectives. It is for these reasons that this very worrying phenomenon has become a topic upon which the strategies of states and international policies have been superimposed. This has particularly been the case after such attacks had increased in frequency, affecting not only Western countries but Arab and Muslim countries as well. Since this phenomenon has excited international interest, it has also given rise to a massive demand within international society to understand it and to understand its motivations. On the other hand, there has been a degree of drift away from trying to respond to this social demand through objective scientific research towards increasingly securitised approaches, expressed in journalistic or political terms. Although such approaches can throw light on what has happened, they are essentially confined within a partisan discourse, typical of the institutions through which they are

expressed. As a result, scientific objectivity suffers and such discussions end up

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by being purely ideological. The analysis given here, however, seéks.to provide a bridge between academic research and popular interest which, alone, cannot generate a real understanding of the salafi phenomenon. This debate in Morocco has become much more intense since the events of 16 May 2003. In practice, most contributions to the debate have fallen into one of two camps, between those who seek to justify or condemn what occurred, thus marginalising objective analysis. Yet objective understanding of reality is essential for academic analysis and the key to any theoretical approach towards sociological phenomena. This study, therefore, has taken a sociological approach towards analysing salafi movements in Morocco, in order to analyse the phenomenon by establishing how it operates and recruits its supporters in order to determine the role it plays within various social categories.

Conceptual frameworks Three basic themes — concepts of religion, concepts of salafism and the movements expressing it, and concepts of sect — run through this study and give its particular relevance. Religion as a social variable Definitions of the word ‘religion’ vary depending on the academic context in which it is used. Nonetheless, academic commentators agree that the components making up the phenomenon of religion should be analysed in social terms. Thus, religion is considered a social institution, whereas worship is a social activity and doctrine a social impulsion. Insofar as these elements are social variables, it follows that it is not the essence of religion that interests the social scientist but the fact that it is a phenomenon reified in a specific location at a specific time. Clearly it is influenced by economic, social, political and cultural factors as well. In this study, two concepts taken from the field of religious semantics — belief and doctrine — are mobilised for the purpose of sociological analysis. Religious belief is a term through which individuals and groups define what they consider as sacred. Such beliefs can be fluid in meaning for they can be interpreted or understood in quite contradictory fashions within the same religion. From an anthropological point of view, therefore, religious belief is a formulation that explains and reveals the nature of sacred matters; its characteristics, its history, its internal relationships and relationships with other sacred elements. The main distinction between religious belief and other forms of belief, such as ideologies, is that the former constructs an independent identity which is not the result of accumulated experience derived from social conscience, intellectual reflection or experimental observation. Religious belief for believers is a dogma which does not have to justify its own authenticity because belief, in itself, is authentication. Religious doctrine represents a belief situation in which a group accept religious ideas and concepts handed down to them which unite them with other groups and individuals. Such concepts are self-reinforcing and feed on constant evocation so

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that they form a mental or psychic state and a socio-cultural structure differentiated from other social contexts. The content of religious doctrines are distinguished to the degree that they explain the bases of religion in general in ways distinct from the beliefs of the majority of believers, or that they interpret the substantive content of belief, as defined by religious injunction and rules of behaviour without challenging completely the basic concepts of the majority of believers. It is generally the case that the historical development of religious movements involves the amalgamation of both characteristics. Thus adepts of religious doctrine develop their own vision of belief and, simultaneously, of patterns of worship required by religion. They also develop attitudes towards the reality of belief and such patterns as lived experience. The consequence is to transform religious doctrines based on elemental concepts and attitudes into social movements which develop concepts over the universe, life and social relations. As a result, these movements construct concepts of alternative societies which can be adopted either by the social movements themselves or by official bodies. The sociologist of religion, therefore, does not interest himself in the theological content of belief or doctrine but in the fact that they provide representations which generate social reality, giving it significance and energy sufficient for it to become an initiator and mobilising force. Thus it becomes possible to treat them as social and psychic phenomena and to analyse them through interpretation and critique. Salafism as conceptual anarchy Salafism is one of the most difficult concepts to define because of the diversity of interpretations given to the term, depending on the context in which it is used. It has become a hazardous term for researchers to use because of the intense ambiguity that colours it today, particularly as a result of the way in which it is used by the different social forces that have adopted it. Many researchers have preferred, in consequence, to broaden the semantic field covered by the concept so that they can apply it in different contexts. Thus one definition of the term proposes that salafism is a political and ideological initiative attempting to construct a representation of the present and the future in terms of an ideal image of the past, seen as the most perfect Islamic epoch which deserves to be reconstituted. Other definitions, such as those of Ibn Taymiya and Ibn al-Qayim al-Jawzia, conceptualise salafism as a reform project for both belief and social order. This approach was, initially at least, primarily a reaction to what had been seen as a deviation in the understanding of Muslim belief and in the interpretation of the sacred text. Centuries later, this definition recovered its vitality through Mohamed Bin Abdulwahab who used it to fight what he considered the infiltration of paganism into belief and the rules governing worship. Subsequently, it was transformed into an intellectual platform for all the intellectual and political movements within the Sunni Islamic tradition. Despite their neutrality, the definitions of reformists, whether eastern or western, are slightly vague and thus render judgements on these movements

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which are somewhat generalised, in that they do not take into acount the specific contexts in which such movements occur that can condition the import of the practices in which they engage. Such definitions have been widely criticised, particularly in the context of micro-sociological studies where great vigilance is exercised over this type of generalisation. Defining salafism as a concept is, however, essential both for clarity and to locate it precisely within the wider field of sociological research. This requires conceptual restraint, so that a workable definition can be formulated for the purposes of this investigation, In view of such methodological concerns, this study considers that salafism represents a disputatious tendency within the evolution of Islam affecting primarily the three levels of the intellect, organisation and worship. Salatism’s primary objective is to redefine religion in terms of belief so as to direct faith in metaphysical and ethical terms. An alternative approach targets religious practices in terms of models, languages and symbols in order to preserve what is presumed to have been the ‘original’ religious practice of Islam shorn of any innovation, In short, salafism is concerned with rediscovering an organisational structure which can transform a sectarian tendency into a social movement. Sects as movements of collective religiosity

Sectarian religiosity — an overt and explicit sectarian religious commitment — is a religious practice, or tendency, which seeks shelter from dominant social relations. It is a radical religiosity adopted by some social movements to demonstrate rejection of social and political institutions and to preserve autonomy, even freedom from the religious stances and traditions of ‘official’ society, It does this by seeking inspiration from other religious doctrines or different interpretations from those considered to be the ‘official version’, At the same time, it should not be assumed that sectarian religious expression seeks to rebel against established order or to radically change it; its primary concern is to focus on threats from outside. It wants, in short, to preserve its purity and to distance itself from everything that could contaminate its principles of belief and behaviour. It is with this tendency to retreat and the alternative vistas it generates that such a religious sect has been able to have an implicit but nevertheless real effect on Moroccan society, in that it proposes a lifestyle which is more just and harmonious. By aiding individuals, in that they generate ‘hope’ in a context of adverse social and cultural environments marked by acute uncertainty, these movements have been able to recruit sympathisers and committed adherents. Yet, parallel to this, such religiosity also encourages retreat and isolation into a commitment solely to worship and individual purification. In consequence, any close linkage to individuals or groups particularly involved in worldly affairs is lost. As a result, one of the criticisms directed at such groups is their isolation, Rather than engaging in a range of societal activities, Moroccan salafists encourage their adepts to retreat and to maintain only weak social links with others. They close themselves off in walled enclosures of personal purity so that anyone

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committed to such religiosity has no mental horizon outside of themselves and religion, as a social phenomenon, loses its traditional societal dimension. One of the characteristics of such sectarian religiosity, therefore, is the formulation of new symbolic worlds and doctrinal concepts to generate social and political dimensions based on religious ideas. It is on that basis that this religiosity can mobilise various social categories. Issues and locations

This study seeks to support the argument that the emergence and evolution of salafist sects are indicators of changes in the ways in which religious belief is expressed in Morocco. In so doing, it also seeks to avoid the kind of exaggerated debates on this subject typical of the media and the political world, both in Morocco and wider afield. There is no doubt that, in sociological terms, religious practice in Morocco manifests enormous diversity. As many studies have shown, there is more than one pattern of religious expression and it would be inaccurate, in terms of scientific analysis to subject them to a single doctrinal analysis. At the same time, given the fact that a new dynamism has weakened traditional patterns of religious expression in favour of other models in recent decades, salafist religious expression has broken away from its original local environment to adapt itself increasingly to the social reality in Morocco. It has done this by focussing on individual experience and self-realisation, to the exclusion of other socio-political domains. As aresult of detailed studies, some conclusions can be drawn, namely: 1

2

3.

The increased importance of salafism arises because, above all, it responds to a constant demand within the Moroccan religious milieu to compensate for the weakness in traditional religious institutions and for their inability to define new standards for religious values and symbols which would ensure continued mobilisation and recruitment under their aegis. Salafist actors seek to end societal pluralism in religious expression, by creating unified doctrine within their communities. This mechanism should overcome doctrinal dispute as a means to achieve their own legitimisation. This religious situation, marked by a striking proliferation in such communities, has encouraged the ways in which they organise and act, as well as the nature of their discourse and the mechanisms by which they mobilise their supporters.

The research arena

The original study on which this analysis is based was confined to a specific geographical zone — the city of Marrakesh which houses a surprising number of salafist groups. The different groups there have experienced conflicts over doctrine and over leadership. The oldest group, the ‘Association al-Qur’an alKarim’, first appeared in Morocco at the start of the 1970s. From it emerged in

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the 1980s a new group called ‘Association ad-Da’wa ila al-Qur’an .w-al-Sunna’. This, in turn, generated a new organisation in the 1990s, called the ‘Association

al-Hafid Ibn ‘Abd al-Barr’. Their locations are shown on the map in Figure 9.2. The town, in addition, also houses a mass of traditional religious centres,

involving brotherhoods and marabouts, as the map in Figure 9.1 shows. As such it seems to be the ideal geographic arena for the study of the issues discussed above. There have been two major periods in the development of salafism in the Maghrib; the first, which does not form the subject of this study, is the period of reformist salafism as it contributed towards the Moroccan national movement against colonialism. Allal al-Fassi was one of the founders of this branch of salafism. This study, however, concentrates on the second period of salafism which begins in the 1970s and was heavily influenced by Wah-

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habism. Its founder studied in the theological faculty of Medina and amongst its prominent personalities are El-Maghraoui and El-Houssin Ait Said. Salafism and traditional religious institutions In terms of organisational and recruitment activities, it seems that salafist groups

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the traditional religious arena as an open recruiting market because of the in which it has deteriorated, both in terms of its values and its structures. though structures and values are highlighted in its collective consciousthey lack any ideological base able to stimulate and support participants. decline in religious brotherhoods and in the role of marabouts, in ways

similar to traditional monastic establishments, at the start of the 1970s encour-

aged the spread of salafism. A new religious discourse imbued with a salafist interpretation of ‘Islamic’ principles and behaviour emerged instead. The blossoming of salafism throughout Morocco caused a decline in the number of visitors to brotherhoods with those in rural areas becoming practically deserted. This underlined the weakness of collective popular belief in them and demonstrated a comprehensive failure on their part to attract the faithful. Indeed the advance of salafist groups could be seen as foreshadowing a change in the classic pattern of religious expression in Morocco, away from the ‘ideology of sainthood’ as described by Ernest Gellner. Salafist doctrine considers the kind of religious practice within brotherhoods to be heretical and primitive and the passage of well-known figures from the brotherhoods to the sectarianism of salafism only encouraged the spread of the latter. Such reinforcements sustained and amplified the movement’s symbolic capital, thus improving its efficiency as a recruiting tool. In this sense, Salafism represents the reworking of the arena of belief in Morocco in a way that allows salafist groups to legitimise themselves as the most puritanical form of religious expression. Yet it should be noted that the salafist religious vision has not been able to fully replace the ideology of the brotherhoods because the latter continues to be widespread amongst rural populations despite its primitive ideological nature. The brotherhood is, after all, the classic form of religious expression but has been progressively weakened over time and, as a result, has lost its dominant position and its roles within society. Its belief patterns have become ossified and it seems doomed to lose its impact on social and religious life, to the advantage of new, indeed according to Olivier Roy, modern structures instead. The main advantage salafist movements possess in this challenge is an acute degree of collective mobilisation prioritising symbolic production. Their discourse is designed to achieve a series of outcomes through criticism of traditional patterns of religious belief by encouraging a purist ideology amongst its adherents, which leads to a different religious culture more able to interpret,

explain and reason about social existence without ever deviating from the ‘true path of religion’. Even if this ideology challenges significant parts of traditional religious culture, it strictly avoids politics and social questions such as social

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justice, unemployment or poverty — all dominant concerns, on the other hand, for political Islam. In order to ensure the effectiveness they need to propagate their ideology, salafist supporters also make use of traditional religious institutes which still enjoy a good reputation throughout society. Among the establishments that are targeted in order to propagate their discourse and achieve their objectives are Qur’anic primary schools; even the textbooks for these schools are now dominated by salafist literature. Mosques are also amongst the targeted institutions, although the authorities control the majority, for their fgihs (jurists) are increasingly salafist. Despite the efforts made by the state in controlling the appointments of fgihs and in the general management of mosques, the salafist vision continues to dominate and challenge through the associations that it exploits and that implicitly convey its objectives. Traditional religious schools are also a salafist target, not only as a place for salafist instruction but also as an opportunity for early socialisation of children. Students at such schools enjoy rights and advantages denied to other schools such as scholarships and employment after qualifying. All these factors ensure that the salafist movement effectively invades and overcomes traditional patterns of religious belief. Salafism and politics

Salafist movements have benefited from a social atmosphere that encourages the growth of such belief systems. They appeared at the same time as movements linked to political Islam and have benefited from the challenges that the latter movements offered to existing political systems.’ Salafist movements have generally defended the legitimacy of political systems, seeking in return from these ‘rivals’ that their Islamic legitimacy should be respected likewise. By exploiting these engagements with subtlety, salafist movements have become close allies of established government. At the same time, it should be noted that salafism in Morocco differs from that in Tunisia and Algeria because of the specificities of the social fabrics in which they are located. Nonetheless, in general, salafism has indeed become important for the state

because of its massive capacity to provide social support to elements within society that feel increasingly marginalised. It thus provides a kind of ‘therapeutic’ culture, preventing all possible attempts to exploit social discontent by other movements seeking to challenge the state. Salafist groups thus play the role of being an intermediary institution which can identify and respond to social need in appropriate ways, depending on size and economic absorptive capacity. The state, as beneficiary of this delegated attention to the social sphere, has, to a degree, connived in legalising its success. At the same time, salafism also suffers from its lack of a political discourse, given that its involvement is limited to teaching in schools and to publishing books. The movement’s dominant concern is the individual perfectibility of its supporters, for collective action or any other form of engagement in the public

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sphere is strongly disapproved of. By making this plain, the movement also makes it clear that it does not seek to threaten the state or mobilise society against it. Rather, it seeks to educate society into becoming a real community of the faithful based on values of personal perfection. In many respects, the salafists resemble Lubavitcher congregations — minority groups but remarkably integrated because they rely on a striking degree of collective solidarity and an intense personal religious experience. Even if, at first glance, salafism does not have a political discourse, this does not mean that it lacks links to the political world with which it conforms. Such links include its rejection of any kind of revolt against the state, however pacific it might be; its strictly religious obligation to discreetly offer advice to government, its categorical refusal to disturb state interests in any way — such as through strikes or demonstrations, its refusal to participate in any form of pollitical debate, and its mobilisation of Qur’anic schools to oppose Shi’ism, particularly after the success of the Islamic revolution in Iran from the 1980s onwards. As a result of these ‘free’ services to the authorities, salafist groups conceive of the state as an accessory to their real interests. As a result, its adherents have

learnt to negotiate with the representatives of the state over the religious activities they intend to organise. Thus, in the name of such conformism, salafist leaders become passive participants in politics and so avoid any confrontation with the authorities by absorbing any political objective into their religious discourse. Yet even if salafist success is due in part to this process of conniving with the state, the state itself is also a beneficiary of it. In fact, the state has particularly mobilised the movement to attack its Islamist opponents for it sees the salafists as a calming intermediary with social groups and classes. Compared to Islamist militants who are suspected of being rebels and revolutionaries, the salafists are seen as a foil to preserve social peace in the short-term. In other words, the state makes use of them through their charitable and humanitarian activities guaranteeing social solidarity. They thus take part indirectly in programmes designed for protecting society for, by calling on social delinquents to pray they also take part in ensuring social protection. In essence, however, salafists become junior partners in institutional strategies. Furthermore,

in the light of specialist and intellectual criticism of its strat-

egies that emerged in the wake of the events of 16 May 2003, the Moroccan state has begun to distance itself from salafi discourse and praxis. It has attacked them openly and provocatively for what it regards as their excessive and isolated religious practices, even treating them as fanatics. The state wants to demonstrate to all Islamist factions — whether salafist or based in political Islam — that it itself is the most radical model of Islamic praxis. It no longer wants to arbitrate between different religious protagonists. Instead it intends to be the sole possessor of Islamic verity. This monopolisation of the public space then justifies the state in punishing those it considers guilty of transgressing its bounds. In the wake of the Casablanca events in May 2003, relations between the

Moroccan state and the salafist movement in Morocco became very strained. The state, as a result of these events, reacted powerfully

against the movement,

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177

isolating it and closing down its separate groups. It now treated all activities of these groups as an attack on the official Islam as enunciated in the Royal speech of 30 April 2004 which laid down ‘Ashari theology, Malaki doctrine and Sunni mysticism as the key elements of Islamic praxis in Morocco. Conclusion In view of what has been said above, it is clear that salafism can be considered to

be a socio-religious movement. In adopting a discourse designed to change values and to renew inter-personal relationships by reference to a doctrine alleged to be more consonant with the essence of Islam, salafists can present themselves as the only true believers. Yet, in reality, against this ‘unified’ discourse, there is a multiplicity and plurality of successful movements in Morocco. This multiplicity essentially reflects diverse strategies, challenges and formal positions, as well as material and symbolic interests that have contributed to this fragmentation. Indeed, the salafi landscape, contrary to the stereotype, is very diversified as a result of the objectives and strategies that its various groups adopt. The major obstacle that impedes their success, however, is their own vision of politics which constantly causes them to make mistakes as a result of their preference to work outside the conventional political world. The consequence is that these groups are heterogeneous and, as a result, suffer from frequent conflict which leads to their social weakness and incompatibility. Traditional salafism, embodied in the Association for Preaching the Qur’an and the Sunna, is the most draconian current within the salafi corpus. It is based on the principle of persuading individuals to adopt the most pure — and therefore ‘correct’ — patterns of belief. The second most important salafist group is the ‘scientific’ salafism of the Association al-Hafid Ibn ‘Abd al-Bar which is based on the revival and the evocation of the Islamic heritage. It seeks to create or revive a salafi elite and is considered slightly more moderate than the former group. Both movements avoid all political action, thus enabling a minority of their disciples to be carried along by the winds ofjihadism into the salafi-jihadi movement instead. Notes 1 Al-Moujahidoun,

25 (December

1990) and 26 (1991).

gs

(25) saad! gyrtladll da.

GBM gall ezJK (26) aed) MES 5401990 jrasys ue 141 T Gry 2658) yall 2 1411 lsd golee 21991

2 In an open letter to Muslims entitled “Compensate the believers with the benefits of jihad’; stgatl Situads abel! Cala3! 3 This geopolitical argument is explicitly stated in the letter published on www.religioscope.com/info/doc/jihad/jihadfile.htm. 4 See the greater part of his writings as recorded on www.almeshkat.net/books/. 5 The same style was used in an older account called ‘The shadow of redemption’, which described the Syrian Shaykh Marwan al-Hadid at Hama in 1973, as he was surrounded by Hafiz al-Assad’s army.

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6 Wagqf; religious endowments. 7 One example would be the famous attack by Abdeslam Yacine in his open letter to King Hassan II in 1974, entitled ‘Islam or the flood’. The letter earned him long years of confinement to a mental hospital and, later, house arrest.

Bibliography Aboullouz, Abdelhakim (2008), Les mouvements salafistes au Maroc 1971-2004, doctoral thesis, Université Hassan II. Charnay, Jean-Paul (1977), Sociologie religieuse de | Islam, Paris: Sinbad. Champoin, Francoise et Martine Cohen (1996), “Les sociologues et les problémes des dites sects’, Archives des sciences sociales des religions, no. 96 (October-December).

Deconshy, Pierre (1980), L Orthodoxie religieuse, Paris: Mouton. Delong-Bas, Natana (2004), Wahhabi Islam, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Desroche, Henri (1974), Les religions de contrebande, Paris: Repéres. Elharnassi, Abdelbaki (1990), ‘La sociologie religieuse’, in La religion dans le monde arabe, Beirut: Centre de l’Unité Arabe. Eljourchi, Salah Dinne (1971), Ataatirate assalafiya fi ativarrate alisslamiya almoasira, Malta: Centre for Muslim Studies. Geertz, Clifford (1971), Islam observed: religious development in Morocco and Indonesia, Phoenix Books. Gurvitch, Georges (1968), La vocation actuelle de la sociologie, Paris: PUF. Lamssari, Mohamed Elaarbi (2003), ‘La couverture médiatique des événements de 16 mai 2003’, in Revue Wijhate Nadar, no. 21, Winter. Luckman, T. (1967), The invisible religion: the problem of religion in modern society, New York: Macmillan. Munson, Henry (1988), /s/am and revolution in the Middle East, London: Yale University Press. Roy, Olivier (2002), L ‘Islam mondialisé, Paris: Seuil. Scott, Thomas (2005), The global resurgence of religion and the transformation of international relations, Palgrave Macmillan. Tal, Nachman (2005), Radicalism: Islam in Egypt and Jordan, Tel Aviv: Jaffee Center for Strategic Studies. Tozy, Mohamed et al. (2007), Enquétes sur les croyances et les pratiques religieuses au Maroc, Casablanca, Prologue. Wilson, Bryan (1976), The contemporary transformation of religion, London: Oxford University Press. Wilson, Bryan (1963), ‘Typologie des sectes dans une perspective dynamique et comparative’, Archive des sciences sociales des religions, July-December.

10 The paradoxes of Islamic radicalisation in Mauritania Zekeria Ould Ahmed Salem

Although it provokes passionate debate in the West, the issue of whether Islamism can be incorporated within the modern state! or even within democracy seems to have advanced very little when compared with the observed reality of the Muslim world. In fact, and despite its remarkable diversity, the Islamist movement has generally evolved in a constant fashion towards political pragmatism, which suggests that it is far from being an eternal hostage of its apparent dogmatism or of the religious rigor of some of its variants. And now deradicalisation is a recognised process, a political programme and a strategic option for the most archetypical and deep-rooted Islamist organisations. That, at least, is what the experiences of the Muslim Brotherhood and its brotherorganisations in the reformist school of political Islam, in all affected countries demonstrate, even in the case of ‘modernisation despite everything’ — the approach of salafis in Yemen, as described by Frangois Burgat and Mohammed Sbitli.? It is certainly the case that this progressive transformation goes hand-inhand with powerful movements of counter-reform and an extremist reversion to its basic sources of inspiration. Indeed, confronted with the modernisation of some, converted to deliberative thought and electoral democracy,’ others have been re-radicalised as the self-proclaimed guardians of dogma, ready to denounce the compromises of their peers in ceding to political realism* at the price of diluting’ the Islamist project itself.° This pattern of development, however, is sometimes so tortuous that it leads some commentators to the provocative conclusion that these dynamics of re-radicalisation may themselves be the product of the internalisation of democratic norms at the fringes of what appear to be the most undemocratic of fundamentalist movements.’ Without adopting such an extreme position, the purpose of this study is to determine the way in which the evolutionary pattern described above applies to the western extremity of the Muslim world — the Islamic Republic of Mauritania. An attempt will be made to explore some of the paradoxical dimensions of the process of radicalisation in this small state balanced between the Arab world and sub-Saharan Africa,* which is allegedly threatened by armed Islamist extremism.” It will show, first, that in a country where the Islamic religion has structured for more than a millennium the popular imagination, the social structures and much of the religious practice, the emergence of an autonomous

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neo-fundamentalist movement has certainly been particularly difficult: however, it is worth noting at the same time, that the religious radicalisation of society has been reinforced, paradoxically enough, under the shadow of the repression of Islamism. Yet, in the final analysis, to the degree that the historical fundamentalists are converted to pluralist democracy, subjecting themselves to the outcome at the ballot-box, recognising the primacy of the state and acquiring legal status, dissident movements, which may or may not be confronting them, try to occupy the arena of radical contestation, sometimes by mobilising jihadist stances. Then, confronted with these extremist challengers, the reformist tendency once again places the praise of moderation at the core of its discourse and condemns violence in terms of religion whilst trying, paradoxically, to integrate the new activists by trying to make itself their informal defender! The limited success of this strategy will be shown to be due to sociological factors linked to the profile of the actors themselves. With the aid of concrete examples, I shall argue that in the

place of exclusively religious impulses, the extremism of some salafists is amply explained by individual social experiences in relation to the local political context in a country where democracy is itself an empty word and where the relations between religion, society and power are enriched by a complex history.

A radicalised Islamic republic? From afar, radicalisation in the Islamic republic of Mauritania is summed up as the sudden contamination of this small, under-populated and isolated desert country by the pressure of global terrorism in what appears to be a move southwards of the nebulous entity referred to as al-Qa’ida in the Islamic Maghrib (AQIM). This dynamic is said to be irresistible by some outspoken commentators who suggest that the ultimate objective of the famous AQIM is nothing less than to grab hold of this strategic country as the weak link in the Sahel and North-West Africa.'° This sober perspective is all the more plausible since the country concerned manifests features of instability and economic insecurity, with its share of repeated coups d’etat, cyclical unrest, endemic poverty and patterns of real or potential criminalisation. Yet, however convenient most of these hypotheses may be, they have limited explicatory power compared with a regional and national reality which is certainly complex but, more important, extraordinarily little known. In fact, when it comes to religion, the Islamic Republic of Mauritania is in no way a typical Sahelian state in the same sense as its neighbours. Its location certainly gives it a key historical role in religious processes, particularly in neofundamentalist radicalisation. However, it is a country in which, above all, the

majority of the population speak Arabic. It has also been historically at the crossroads of theological, cultural and intellectual connections linked to some of the global dynamics of the Sunni Muslim world. The Mauritanian context is undoubtedly the only one where the power of religious brotherhoods and their abilities to adapt is combined to a very large degree with the activism of classical reformism and the salafist breakthrough, including thejihadists, in a climate

Islamic radicalisation in Mauritania

of technical theological debate without parallel in surrounding countries.

18\

It

seems that the centuries-old role of this major centre of scholastic Malikism, its

religious schools, its u/emas and its citizens in the configuration of global and regional Islam has been poorly known by the outside world. It is true that such a role is disproportionate in respect of the country’s modest economic and demographic weight, but external observers are clearly ignorant of the recent evolution of the Islamist phenomenon there, which would have provided them with an ideal vantage-point to observe the relations between globalism and localism

within Islamist radicalism.'! Islam, societies and state

Islam in this country is at the root of social structures and the national cultural self-image. In fact, the historical trajectory of the country reveals that the religion was propagated in the Mauritanian region from the ninth century onwards through the networks of trans-Saharan caravans before the proselytizing activities of the Almoravids, backed up by force of arms in the middle of the eleventh century, gave it a global scope which extended well outside the region. However, it was really the spread of Sufi brotherhoods from the start of the eighteenth century onwards which ensured the popular entrenchment of Islam and the development of a religious framework to society.'? This historical background demonstrates that the religion of Mohammed has, to some degree, fashioned and even justified the physiognomy of social culture, imaginary and practices." Mauritania’s small society, three million-strong in all — whether the dominant Arabo-Berber Moorish population (70 per cent of the population) or the ethnicities on the right bank of the River Senegal (Halpularen, Soninke and Wolofs, making up less than 30 per cent) — grants a special place in its traditional social hierarchy to maraboutic tribes and orders who preserve religious power and knowledge and exercise spiritual power as well. At the base of the social hierarchy are dominated castes comprising slaves, griots and client preachers whose existence, no doubt, allows the dominant ‘clerics’ to give themselves over to contemplation and to the religious sciences. Mauritania’s social groups are often integrated into religious brotherhoods, such as the Shadhiliyya, the Tijjaniyya and the Ghadiriyya which possess regional networks, even if orthodox Malikite Islam is also central to the Mauritanian religious landscape, even within the brotherhoods.'* Knowledge, sanctity and religion thus have a considerable social and historical weight throughout the territory. Islam is a veritable ‘national civilisation’'* and coincides with the Bilad Shinqit, the name by which the country

was known until modern times.'® Since at least the seventeenth

century,

Mauritania’s

Moorish

society has

developed a widespread Islamic literature in its own unique way. Three consequences of this situation should be mentioned.

*

The first relates to the heritage that has resulted from this basic process of accumulation of a considerable body of works, in both quantitative and

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qualitative terms, in the form of manuscripts.'? Two examples are worth recalling; in the first, a German researcher recently revealed that his

‘researches had demonstrated the confirmed participation of more than five thousand Mauritanian authors in the production of around nine thousand authored works which represented the consolidated reflections of Mauritanian society on its religious, scientific, aesthetic and economic needs.’!* In the second, a professor at Nouakchott University has just published, in twelve volumes, almost 6,800 fatwas issued by ulemas in Mauritania since

at least the sixteenth century.'” *

The second consequence is linked to the remarkable continuity of this particular tradition for, even today, individuals, whether Mauritanian

or not

continue to place themselves at the heart of the global production of Islamic knowledge and of authoritative Muslim networks. Their role in the preservation and renewal of international Islam is such that very few African, or even Maghribi, personalities can take advantage of it by their participation. One example, however, can be mentioned here amongst dozens of others:

Abdoullah Bin Bayyah (born in 1935), former minister of justice in the 1970s, is today one of the rare non-Wahhabi u/emas whose fatwas are recognised by the Saudi government.”’ He continues to act as a professor at the University of King Abdelaziz in Jeddah and to act as vice-president of the International Union of Ulemas, which is presided over by the Egyptian, Yusuf al-Qaradawi. He also appears among the members of the International Body of Islamic Fiqh, created by the Organisation of the Islamic Conference. Bin Bayyah is also a member of several shari’a boards of major international banks, given his status as a recognised specialist in the Islamic law of minorities (figh al-agaliyyat) and Islamic finance. He is one of the principal patrons of the well-known Zaytuna Institute in California which is directed by an American convert to Islam, Shaykh Hamza Hanson. He was

himself educated in Mauritania, in the famous Islamic school (mahzara) of

*

al-Hajj Fahfou, which is located in the east of the country and is said by its many Western and Arab visitors to be very difficult of access.*! Shaykh Bin Bayyah is also the founder and president of the Global Centre for Guidance and Renewal, which is based in London.” The final consequence of the status of Mauritania as a Sahelian and Maghribi focal point within the cartography of the Islamic world is linked to the considerable attraction that its mahzaras exercise on dozens of Muslims across the world who come to perfect their religious knowledge in these veritable universities of the desert which continue to contribute to the country’s reputation.

State Islam?

Since the colonial period, in terms of the political implications of Islam, religious personalities — sufis and jurisconsults — have divided almost equally

between those skilled at accommodating with authority” and those adamantly

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opposed to the colonial authorities as a Catholic invasion which had to be confronted. During the post-colonial period, these contradictory positions evolved into a more elementary structure in which the body of religious authorities quite early on accorded a degree of relative recognition to political power. Members of Sufi brotherhoods kept their distance from central power, as well as from politics or the exercise of power themselves whilst accepting the favours which it accorded them. For their part, orthodox u/ema tended to be co-opted within the independent republic’s religious establishment and its institutions, for it had proclaimed itselfto be ‘Islamic’ from the moment of its birth. All religious figures were, in addition, part of the elite. Yet, contrary to received wisdom, Islam and the Mauritanian state were never coincident although the latter had never considered religion to be an autonomous sphere of action. Its policies had always sought to make of Islam a means of political and social control over the populations which it ruled, since it could not introduce, in any permanent fashion, a form of Islam as the religion of the state.*> Some regimes, nonetheless, showed

themselves sensitive to the significance of Islam within the state. For example, in 1980, President Colonel Mohamed Khouna Ould Haidalla (1979-1984) decreed that shari’a was the principle source of legislation. And even if this measure was never accompanied by attempts to provide a corresponding juridical framework, it was nevertheless never directly challenged by subsequent constitutional amendment.” In practice, the state more often distanced itself from the religious world, leaving to them the management of religious practice, although it had always tried, usually with success, to integrate the ulema and the heads of brotherhoods. The progressive revival of some clearly Islamist political demands was, however, to change this situation but the emergence of a recognised Islamist movement was to prove to be a particularly difficult and halting process.

The interminable emergence of the Islamist movement Islamic radicalism in Mauritania took root from the moment when it was challenged by the authorities. There are objective reasons for this paradoxical linkage which arise from multiple social, political and cyclical factors that need to be elucidated. The sources of political Islam: 1980-1999 Apart from its obvious cultural roots, the Mauritanian Islamist movement was

born from an aggregation of a diverse series of initiatives at re-Islamisation, mixing together pious speeches, the religious engagement of independent personalities, the interests of promoters of charity networks, the growth in power of youth emerging from traditional educational networks and the activism of elites in sympathy with Islamist movements elsewhere in the Muslim world.’ The movement only really began to take shape in the middle of the 1980s. It was first dominated by older personalities who had been close to the regime, such as

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Mohamed

El Moctar Ould Gaguih or Abdou Ould Maham, the very rich busi-

nessman linked into Saudi financial circles and the founder of the first Islamic bank in Mauritania, BAMIS, itself a subsidiary of Dallah al-Baraka. Maham was also the mentor and the power behind the local branch of World Muslim League,

the famous al-Rabita al-Islamiyya within which were found traditionalist Islamists and pious entrepreneurs often themselves linked to Sufi networks. This branch which was called al-Jamiyya al-Thaqafiyya al-Islamiyya (Islamic Cultural Association) was the real matrix of Islamism in Mauritania. Later, the hard-

cores of various small groups — the Tablighi, the Muslim Brotherhood, Wahhabis and Sufi leaders — engaged in a degree of political reconciliation and finally joined together as a group entitled Hasim (Haraka Siyasiyya Islamiyya fi Muritaniyya — Political Islamic Movement of Mauritania). This neo-fundamentalist movement preached an anti-establishment form of Islam under the patronage of Shaykh Sidi Yahya who had introduced, with considerable success, sermons on

cassette in the local dialect into Mauritania, an initiative similar to that of Shaykh

Kishk in Egypt.”® The cadres of the movement were educated from adolescence either in the context of Islamic networks or in Islamic schools. Afterwards they generally joined the Institut d’Etudes et de Recherches Religieuses (ISERI), a state institution financed by Saudi Arabia which thus became the crucible from which young ‘modern’ Islamists would emerge, some destined for leadership positions, such as Shaykh Muhamd al-Hassan Ould Dedew and Jemil Ould Mansour. The latter personality, who was openly more political and less theologically qualified than the former, is now an historic leader of the movement. As a charismatic president of the movement

and, later, of the party (see below),

Mansour

is not a

preacher or a religious leader, nor even a member of the social order of clerics (zawaya) from which most Islamists come. He is above all a passionate political figure, firmly anchored in neo-fundamentalist political thought. His politics relate to religion and count on religious mobilisation but he is not one who mobilises religious resources previously acquired in his political action. This aspect is important in locating Islamists. Mansour came from a warrior family and was trained in the scout movement (a/-kachafa) run by certain non-governmental organisations such as the World Muslim League and the Islamic Cultural Association (the Jamiya) before he joined ISERI. Another centre, the Ibn Abbas Centre, which is linked to the capital’s main mosque, the oldest in Nouakchott, has also been an important point of contact where it was possible to perfect the advanced education provided by ISERI under the major u/ema in the country. At this time the Hasim movement operated in private but, once multi-party politics became a reality in July 1991, it immediately delegated its influence to the popular preacher Ould Sidi Yahya in the hope, first, of being allowed to create a party along the model of the Algerian movement, the Front Islamique du Salut, but then opting for the title of the Hizb al-Umma (the Party of the Faith-

ful).” This initiative immediately collapsed in the face of the failure of the party to be registered by the authorities. However, the movement itself continued under this title as a political current (a/-tayar) despite its formal prohibition for a

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short period during which the number of inflammatory sermons in mosques increased, as did an explosion in associative activities. Two Islamic clubs gained decisively in importance in capturing the attention of militants: the Club Musab which Jemil Ould Mansour led and the Club Aisha, led by a little-known militant. These two institutions provided a welcome for Islamists the world over and acted as focal points for the political socialisation and the construction of reIslamisation networks. It was undoubtedly as a result of this that activists were placed under tight surveillance by the authorities and, in 1994, they undertook a major campaign of expelling foreign preachers — from Pakistan, Algeria and Tunisia — because their presence was said to have radicalised ‘habitually pacific’ Mauritanian Islamism. The many clubs, associations and Islamic foundations which had blossomed throughout the country were banned and a group of leaders were arrested and accused of plotting against the regime. The most overtly political activists were forced to give televised confessions in which they admitted to being ready to undertake terrorist actions in Mauritania with the aid of ‘foreign powers’. The most surprising aspect of this affair, however, was that these ‘presumed terrorists’ were simply released a few days after ‘confessing’ their intentions, to confirm after their releases what was already suspected — that their televised confessions had been obtained through torture, a common practice throughout the country. This event, rather than hindering the spread of radical religion, encouraged it and the banned associations simply reformed, often in different forms. The emblematic figure of radical discourse, Shaykh Mohamed Ould Sidi Yahya, was the first to renew his criticisms of the state, apparently without any anxiety, although the youngest political leaders quickly dispersed. Mohamed Ould alMokhtar al-Shingiti and Jemil Ould Mansour, each of whom

was about thirty

years old at the time, went to Yemen in the middle of the 1990s to teach at the al-Iman University, headed by the reformist leader, Abdel Majid Zendani in what was an essential stage of development for reformist apprentices in the Muslim world. Later they went to Sudan where they came under the influence of Hassan al-Turabi and were joined by Mokhtar Ould Mohamed Moussa, previously Mauritania’s ambassador in Syria who had resigned his post in order to rejoin his colleagues. Others emigrated to the Gulf, like the erudite Mohamed Lemine Ould Mezid or Bumiya Ould Boyah. Some, particularly the eldest leaders, enthusiastically joined the Parti Republicain, Democratique et Social (PRDS), a government creation, or melted into the bureaucracy of institutions managing official Islam, such as the High Islamic Council, the Ulema Associ-

ation of Mauritania or the ministry in charge of Islamic Affairs. In 1996, the most radical figures were encouraged by leaders such as Jemil Ould Mansour, of course, but also by Ould Saleck, El-Hacen Ould Moulaye Ely and Mohamed Ghoulam Ould El-Hajj Ahmed to join Ould Daddah’s Union des Forces Democratiques. The progress of the themes of Islamism and of its networks in Mauritania had simply not been weakened. Large numbers of urban and urbanised youth found in it a palliative for the collapse of pan-Arab tendencies, tendencies which had been bought up by the Mauritanian regime and mere orphans

186 ZOaStlem of their international flamboyance, long fed by a Saddam* Hussain or a Mu’ammar al-Qadhafi, both however more discreet at this time because of their

previous unsuccessful roles as mentors for many small and clandestine Nasserist and Ba’athist groups. Social integration

At the same time as the events described above were happening, the social fabric of Mauritania was being penetrated by neo-fundamentalist Islam by patterns resulting from the intersection of internal influences and external contacts. Even if the expansion of Islamism within society was an automatic consequence of religious culture and social impact, it is undeniable that other factors also played a role. Arabisation, started in 1966 had ended up orienting the population towards the Arabo-Muslim world as it evolved, having become almost universal in education. The consequent threat to bilingualism and the willingness of the state to integrate elites educated in traditional schools had created quite a large class of sympathisers of neo-fundamentalist reformist ideologies. Scholastic, intellectual and university exchanges with the Arab and Muslim worlds led to the integration of these elites into Islamist political and ideological networks alongside the propagation of the same tendencies in the Maghrib and South of the Sahara. Above all, the period between 1989 and 2001 was one of striking success for Islamist discourse. The Jamaat Tabligh was easily able to work within society under its apolitical cloak, which thus enabled it to gain official recognition. The successful fall-back of Mauritanian Islamists on da’wa enabled the movement not only to anchor itself socially but also — and most importantly — to transform itself peacefully through such a religious discourse, into a political force concealed beneath its own apolitical cloak.*° The political consequences of this refocus were all the more impressive in that, from then on,

Islamist themes cleverly gave the impression that they had renounced immediate political ambitions, impressing certain social strata with their symbolic, political and demographic reach — amongst youth, women, disadvantaged segments of the population and those suffering urban poverty, particularly the h’ratin (descendents of slaves or ex-slaves)’' who represented a major demographic group.” To be a member of the tablighs and/or to emulate Shaykh Sidi Yahya, or to be a neo-fundamentalist, even only on occasion, became an important moment in the

lives of a certain number of Mauritanians from all social groups from this time on. Furthermore, even if the spectacular penetration of the Islamists into dominated social groups is evident today, it should be borne in mind that it is built upon the much older success achieved in the lower middle classes of the country, a success which, in addition, has always been recognised. In a similar fashion, since the 1980s, cultural, religious and financial networks

with the Gulf, in particular, have supported, encouraged and specifically targeted the activism of Islamist preachers. As part of an inquiry on this aspect of the phenomenon, undertaken in 2004—2005,** I revealed the role of three channels of re-Islamisation; the spectacular growth in the number of mosques, the effect of

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national and international social activism and the determined globalisation of Mauritania’s mahazir (singular: mahzara) and their international links. Today, it appears that the situation on the ground and its social consequences have been consolidated. A figure which reflects the massive extension of the associative structure of Islam and the importance played by prayer is that in Nouakchott, the capital, the number of mosques had gone from forty-six in 1989 to 617 in 2002.4 In 2010, if a statement of the ministry of Islamic affairs on television on 7 June 2010 is to be believed, it has reached 7,643 at the national level! To accurately measure the social extension of religious practice this implies, it should immediately be noted that 99 per cent of these mosques were built with foreign finance —as part of global Islamic charity — and local finance over which the state has no control at all. Furthermore, the leaders of the movement

with their Maghribi

continue to have close relations

‘brothers’, namely with Rachid Ghannouchi’s

Ennahda

movement, originally based in Tunisia and now in London, and Mohamed Ben

Kirane’s Parti de Justice et du Développement in Morocco. The continuing links with Hassan Turabi in Sudan, who regularly invites them to meetings, allows them to maintain international links with their colleagues in the rest of the Muslim world. This intensification of international exchanges is undoubtedly at the origin of their clear co-optation, in circumstances of which we are unaware, by the ‘mother house’ of the international section of the Muslim Brotherhood.** This emerges in the refocusing of their discourse on themes which are partly new and the broadening mobilising slogans towards combat — for example, solidarity with Palestine — which have been neglected by those classical Mauritanian Arab nationalists which the regime has abandoned since the 1990s. As a result of this change in tactics, the identity of the movement has been affirmed and its leadership partially changed. A new departure: 1999-2003 It is public discourse and preaching (da’wa), the success of which is unchallenged, which is currently prioritised by the movement. The themes used concern combat against cultural ‘alienation’, particularly by reinforcing Arabisation — already introduced into the country in 1966 — and the insistent appeal and commitment to youth to ‘return to the mosque’. The purpose is, above all, to re-educate the population in Islam and in its daily practice without making this into an aggressive process of politicisation which could lead to confrontation with the authorities, at this stage in a project which is, more than ever, under surveillance, as a result of the events of September 11, 2001. At the same time, the

shared ideas of the global Muslim Brotherhood, already well learned in Yemen and Sudan, allow Jemil Mansour and his companions to refine the concept of Islah (reform through religion), which has been the clear heart of their political discourse ever since. Ideas on democracy as a form of shura (political consensus, recognised in the Qur’an) and thus fully Islamic are equally well adopted and then refined. But the activists in the movement do not specifically seek to

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confront the authorities on the classic themes of poor administration, corruption or authoritarianism which have already been co-opted by the traditional opposition. Indeed, in contradistinction, the most consensual of mobilising themes has

allowed the movement to distinguish and to recreate itself with success around a renewed leadership. Thus, when Mauritania established diplomatic relations with Israel in 1999,

Islamists recovered control of the extremely popular Palestinian cause in the context of the disengagement of the state and the Arab nationalists from it, which led to the weakening of the pan-Arab movements. It was in this context that a young alim and preacher, Mohamed El-Hacen Ould Dedew (born in 1965) was to emerge on the scene. Despite the political risks involved, he issued a fatwa (a juridical statement) intended to show that it was forbidden for Islamic

states to have diplomatic relations with the state of Israel as it currently existed. This new arrival on the political scene thus began by engaging with a subject which was taboo for the authoritarian Mauritanian regime. In the wake of his return from Saudi Arabia, where he had been for a time a professor at the Mohamed Ibn Saud University in Mecca, Dedew was already well known in the Gulf, particularly because of the satellite channels there. Nevertheless, his likely intervention on the political scene had not been so obvious. Even if he had begun to penetrate the market of sermons on cassettes, his recordings in literary Arabic, although widely diffused, were too technical and theological for the average Muslim. Yet, he offered an unknown social profile as a result of his origins — he was the nephew of the venerated Shaykh Mohamed Salem Ould Adud, one of the most celebrated u/ema of the country who died in 2009 — his extraordinary career and the credibility he enjoyed. This allowed him to guarantee a theological authenticity available to few Islamist leaders at the time. His engagement in neo-fundamentalism legitimised the Islamist option in the eyes of many because he represented in himself a perfect synthesis between traditional juridical authority and reformist protest. His fatwa petition against diplomatic relations with Israel which he persuaded a large number of personalities to sign, even brought in u/ema who had previously supported the regime in all circumstances. This symbolic political victory provided him with additional notoriety and political weight but it was also equivalent to opening hostilities with the regime of Maaouya Ould Taya, who had been in power since 1984. The latter had established new diplomatic relations with Israel in order to please the United States which had always contested his legitimacy in power and had denounced the abuses of his regime. Now Taya saw an opportunity to end this distrust and to engage in his turn in the worldwide hunt for Islamists which was to become globalised official policy after September 2001. In this context, the then Mauritanian

regime had always wanted to

implicate the Islamist movement in the widest sense in real or imaginary plots of

which he would become ever more the victim. This situation is well illustrated by the really vertiginous succession of political events in which the country was implicated from this period onwards.

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The crisis: 2003-2005 In one sense, the Mauritanian Islamist movement benefited from a hidden bless-

ing; its ability to continue a political existence through the paradoxical reality of repression of which the movement itself was the victim. The protracted end of the Ould Taya regime was marked by the confrontation with the Islamists which many saw as the voluntary scapegoat of the difficulties the regime faced.*° In April 2003, the government decided for a second time since 1994, but in a much more brutal fashion, to take in hand the situation of Islam in the country. Nongovernmental organisations, university institutes, associations and other religious

networks were brusquely banned. After having been threatened by the ministry of culture and Islamic affairs with seeing their mosques ‘destroyed and transformed into bakeries’, dozens of imams who up to then had been outside state control were arrested and accused of diffusing ‘subversive messages’ and of indulgence towards ‘parasites officiating in mosques’ — an allusion to the famous

preachers (du’at).’’ The thirty-five persons initially arrested in this context included numerous judges, qadis, teachers, non-governmental organisation personnel and, last but not least, the well-known leaders Ould Dedew, Ould Mohamed Moussa and Jemil Ould Mansour — the latter having also been shorn

of the municipal responsibilities to which he had been elected in 2001 and where he had gained an estimable reputation as the mayor of the commune of Arafat, the most densely populated commune of the capital, Nouakchott. The arrests of Islamists sparked off, for the first time, a lively popular protest because of the size of the sweep and the personalities of those arrested. When a bloody military putsch on 8 June 2003 failed with fifteen deaths in Noukchott, the president did not hesitate to link it directly to the activities of Islamists. However, at the time, no formal link could be established between the two issues, even though the putsch leader, Commandant Ould Hanenna, was known

for his closeness to the Islamist tendency. During the coup, the situation in the capital was so chaotic that the prisons were opened and all the inmates escaped. The Islamists returned home and, once ‘republican order’ was restored, presented themselves afresh at the prison gates as a reflection of their civic duty. Two figures failed to do this, however: Jemil Ould Mansour and Ahmed Ould Wedia the director of the Islamist weekly, initially called al-Raya and later entitled Essiraj and the most important of the Islamist publications. They took flight and became political refugees in Belgium for a year. During this exile, it seemed that the Islamists had the opportunity not only to create an external opposition movement that was very varied and active but also to discover the Islamist movement in Europe. Ould Mansour thus created a ‘Forum for reform and development’, together with a dynamic internet site (www.islah.com), which provided

a degree of visibility to the movement.** His colleagues, such as Ould Dedew, Ould Mohamed Moussa and their companions, eventually benefited from being released into provisional liberty. When the presidential election campaign began in a state of high tension in November 2003, the Islamists decided to support the candidacy of the former

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president, Mohamed

Kouna Ould Haidallah, because they recalled. his Islamist

leanings. The defeat of Ould Haidallah, who came second, occurred in a context where not only Ould Dedew had spoken out but also Jemil Ould Mansour made anti-regime declarations on Arab satellite channels from Brussels. Some of his colleagues located in the United States, such as the academic Mohamed Ould El-

Moctar Echinguitty, created a human rights observatory on the internet where both the real and the alleged shortcomings of the authorities were highlighted. The electoral campaign, however, had provided the Islamist movement with an opportunity to demonstrate its superior ability to mobilise its supporters, compared with their political competitors. The movement, therefore, felt mature enough to try once again to create a political party, this time enlarged to include non-Islamist figures as well. The government once again refused to register the party, now known as the Parti de la Convergence Democratique (PCD). On 9 January 2004, Jemil Ould Mansour returned from exile, to be briefly arrested at the airport and then released. The new calm between the Mauritanian regime and the Islamists was only relative, however, and only lasted until 8 August 2004. On that date, the government thwarted an attempted coup d’etat clearly organised by officers close to the 8 June 2003 putsch leaders under the title of the ‘Cavaliers of Change’. The Islamist aspect of that attempt was quickly recalled and the regime also arrested the leaders of the Islamist movement — Mohamed El-Hacen Ould Dedew, Jemil

Ould Mansour and Moctar Ould Moussa, together with lesser-known figures — along with the leaders of the 8 June 2003 putsch. When they were released from prison a month later, the Islamist leaders launched a campaign declaring that those detained had been tortured. The government reacted violently when the internet site of the Observatoire Mauritanien des Droits de 1l’7Homme, close to

the Islamists, published photographs of alleged detainees who had been tortured. The Islamist leadership was arrested anew and accused of making false statements. It was expected that the Islamists would be sentenced alongside the putchists when their trial opened in November 2004 at Naga, close to Nouakchott but this was not the case. Instead they remained in prison until the end of the trial and were then freed in February 2005 after having undertaken a hungerstrike. Their freedom, however, was to be short.

Hints of jihadism and the successful coup against Ould Taya

Nineteen young jihadists who had begun to go between the camps of the Groupe Salafiste du Predication et du Combat (GSPC) in Algeria and Mauritania itself were identified and arrested by the Mauritanian authorities between March and April 2005. In the reconstruction of their political itineraries during interrogation, the role of networks engaged in the socialisation of neo-fundamentalism was mentioned. The veneration of the accused for the great figures popularising such doctrines made the latter into automatic suspects and thus, in April 2005, Islamist leaders such as Ould Dedew and Ould Mohamed Moussa were rearrested. Only Jemil Ould Mansour escaped, managing to flee the country before

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he was picked up. The arrests allowed the Ould Taya regime to claim that it was involved in the global struggle against terrorism in its dying days. On 4 June 2005, the small garrison of Lemgheity, 600km away from the Mauritanian

town

of Zouerate

and

350km

from

the Algerian

border,

was

attacked at dawn by heavily armed men. The clash ended with fifteen deaths and seventeen persons injured on the Mauritanian side and nine deaths amongst the assailants. The Algerian armed movement, the GSPC, claimed responsibility for the attack on 6 June, justifying its action in these terms: ‘This operation was undertaken to avenge our brothers imprisoned by the miscreant regime in Nouakchott.’ The attack, therefore, served precisely to validate the official thesis of the jihadist threat which had been claimed for the past ten years. In 3 August 2005 a coup against the Ould Taya presidency succeeded. In its aftermath, the coup was largely seen as a reaction to the Islamist crisis and some commentators even claimed that the GSPC had indirectly been able to change the political leadership in Mauritania by underlining the fragility and disarray of the previous regime. Whatever the real reason, the new authorities, under the control of Colonel Ely Ould Mohamed, the director-general of national security for the previous twenty years, decreed an amnesty from which Islamist leaders and some jihadists benefited. Indeed, even the leader of the ‘Cavaliers for Change’, the unhappy putschist of 8 June 2003, Salah Ould Hanenna, and his companions were freed, even though they were serving heavy sentences of up to life imprisonment. Yet, even though all political parties which asked for official recognition at the time were accepted, the Islamists were explicitly excluded from this dispensation. Nonetheless, when the new authorities decided that their role would only be provisional and introduced a democratic system through equitable and transparent municipal, legislative and presidential elections, the Islamists, who had regrouped under the name of the ‘Initiative of the Centrist Reformers’, took advantage of the new conditions to stand and capture a dozen municipalities, including four in Nouakchott, together with four seats in the Senate and four seats, out of ninety-six, as deputies in the National Assembly.

One of the new deputies was the leader of the movement, Jemil Ould Mansour himself. It was noted with interest that the Islamists won mayoralty in Tevragh Zeina, the richest district of Nouakchott, indeed throughout Mauritania, and that

the new incumbent, Yaye Ndaw Coulibaly, was a woman of Afro-Mauritanian origins. The rest of the movement had won 150 municipal council seats throughout the country, a stock of elected positions that was to prove very useful to it in the future, as we shall see. In the presidential elections which took place in March 2007, the ‘centrist

reformers’ supported their longtime fellow-traveler, the former commander and unsuccessful putschist of 8 June 2003, Salah Ould Hanenna, and followed his

decision to commit his votes to Ould Daddah as candidate in the second round of the election. In the event, it was Sid Ould Cheikh Abdellahi who was elected and

accepted by the country’s political movements. For Mauritania, as for the Islamist party, the new era which now began was to bring major upheavals. Radicalism was now well rooted in the legal political landscape, at the same time as

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jihadism became a reality, alongside the unexpectedly rapid rertewal of the era of coups d’etat. A party like the others?

The ‘centrist reformers’ found in the personality of the new head-of-state, Sidi Ould Cheikh Abdallahi — a member of the Tijjaniyya Order and a pious personality (he built a mosque in the presidency building, the first of its kind since the independence of the country) — an opportunity to obtain official recognition of their party, under the name ‘Parti National de la Réforme et du Développement’ (RNDD, better known under the Arab acronym ‘Tawassoul’ (encounter or connection). The deputy, Jamil Mansour, acted as leader for this legal entity and voluntarily proclaimed his commitment to pluralist democracy. Once it had been recognised on 8 August 2007, Tawassoul was also to state its programme in a

precise triplet — ‘Our inspiration is Islam; our commitment is to Mauritania; our choice is democracy!’ On the party’s website, a ballot-box faces this

proclamation.*® President Abdallahi even took advantage of his first cabinet reshuffle to suggest to the Islamists to co-opt them into the new initial government led by Yahya Ould Ahmed El-Waghf in June 2008. The higher education portfolio fell to Tawassoul. It was the first time that Islamists had entered government in Mauritania as such as previously they had been based in the opposition. The experience was to be short-lived, however, because the government, nominated in a

time of an aggravated crisis between the president and his parliamentary majority, covertly supported by the army, was hardly ever able to operate uninterruptedly between its appointment and the coup which finally overthrew the president on 6 August 2008. The conspiracy had been led by General Mohamed Ould Abdel Aziz who became president ofa military High State Council. In the new political context created by yet another coup, the parties which had been close to the former president immediately formed a new political front, the Front National pour la Défense de la Démocratie (FNDD), in which the Islamists took the lead, and the new front began a battle to reverse the putsch. This is not the place to go over the outlines of the profound crisis into which the country was plunged, but once an accord between the junta and its opponents was signed, after negotiations in Dakar in June 2009, new presidential elections were set for 18 July 2009. The relationship between the FNDD and Tawassoul now changed abruptly — Jemil Ould Mansour broke with the oppositional Front which was to present a single candidate for the elections. Instead he stood himself as a candidate for president, gaining almost 5 per cent of the vote. Afterwards and again in contradistinction to the rest of the opposition, he rapidly recognised the new power centre created by the elections — none other than the general in charge of the putsch, Ould Abdel Aziz! ’ The Islamist party made its interest in a rapprochement with the authorities plain, even in its incorporation into the new system that was taking shape. When the time came to re-elect one-third of the Senate in November 2009, the party

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immediately allied itself with the Union pour la Republique (UPR), the muchfavoured party of the new head-of-state. This allowed the Islamists to reinforce their position in the Senate by capturing two more seats in addition to the four they already had. During the campaign, Tawassoul’s president, who had uninterruptedly opposed every regime for the past twenty years, praised the president and his ‘actions’. With reference to this relationship with the established power, Jemil Ould Mansour voluntarily suggested that it could ‘evolve towards a political alliance’.*° However, it is well known that such a choice was the

concrete evidence of a plan to associate the party with the exercise of power which ‘centrist reformers’ had long fervently but tacitly sought. This approach, after all, corresponded to that laid down in the international plans of the Muslim Brotherhood. Indeed, Jemil Ould Mansour had taken on this similarity in goals on the internet site of his movement with its Egyptian origins. ‘The RNRD’,

he stated, ‘is a Mauritanian party based on Islam. This is how we

present the matter. And it belongs to the school of thought of the golden mean (al-wasatiyya), the spine of which is formed by the Muslim Brotherhood.’*' In this context, Tawassoul has clearly indicated, in a written programme called ‘The Intellectual Vision’ (a/-Ruy’a al-Fikriyya) that it has adopted a progressive and gradualist approach in its strategy to conquer power and has rejected the rule of ‘all or nothing’ which has been adopted by other extremist tendencies. It recognises representative democracies which it adopts as the sole path towards political responsibility; in this text one can read that, ‘We have decided to affirm our choice of moderation and our adherence to the school of the

golden mean.’ In short, even though it only existed in an embryonic state at the end of the 1980s, the reformist movement has known an expansion which has nothing short of vertiginous. If they now seem really modern and moderate, the historical Islamists of Mauritania must not only monopolise the national Islamist discourse but also confront, with religious and political weapons, all radicalisation initiatives that risk to take the movement into a situation that it has already discarded or which quite simply challenges it on the social and political plane.

Reformism against salafism: an impossible de-radicalisation? A large part of the efforts of classical Islamists has been to distance themselves from fanaticism (ghuluw) and to become apologists for moderation (alwasatiyya). If, in addition, such a capacity for controlling the new activists on behalf of the regime can bring Tawassoul closer to government, as it hopes, this would be a considerable political achievement. In practice, however, such matters have turned out to be complicated. A turn towards jihad

The threat of terrorism only became a reality with the attack on Lemgheyti, discussed above although fears that this would happen had been endlessly expressed

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by the authorities from the mid-1980s onwards. Then on 24 December 2007, four French tourists were killed in the surroundings of Aleg, 250km to the east of Nouakchott.

Their

murderers,

Sidi

Ould

Sidina,

twenty

years

old, and

Mohamed Ould Chanarnou, aged twenty-six years, were arrested in January 2008. A third accomplice, Ma’arouf Ould Haiba (twenty-five years old) was arrested much later in Nouakchott in April 2008. In addition, on 27 December 2007, a patrol of the national army suffered a violent attack with three deaths, close to al-Ghallawiya, in the north of the country but closer to the historic town of Shingit, 300 km away. This turn towards jihad continued to be confirmed but it was not the result of a Mauritanian jihadist movement.

Instead, various elements were responsible,

including young Mauritanians belonging to al-Qai’da in the Islamic Maghrib (AQIM). In April-May 2008, a house was discovered in a residential part of the capital, in which was found the alleged local leader of AQIM, al-Khadim Ould Semane (thirty-six years old). He had been sought by the police of all the surrounding countries since his escape from prison in 2006. He was found with Sidi Ould Sidina who had escaped from prison some weeks earlier. The assault on the house by the security forces resulted in three deaths — one police officer and two terrorists — and ended up in hot pursuit operations with exchanges of fire in the centre of Nouakchott at the end of the afternoon. Several caches of arms and explosives were discovered in the following days in the surroundings of the incident. The dead terrorists were young — Moussa Ould Ndoye (twenty-four) and Ahmed Ould Radhi (twenty-five and the group’s armourer) — and had never been arrested before. Ould Semane, the apparent amir of the cell and Sidi Ould Sidina, one of the murderers of the French tourists, together with Ma’arouf Ould Haiba, another of the murderers, were arrested several days apart in Nouakchott during

April 2008.% In September 2008, an attack against a Mauritanian patrol at Tourine, also in the extreme north of the country and 80km north of Zouerate, saw twelve deaths amongst the local military. There were said to be at least a dozen Mauritanians amongst the assailants.** On 23 June 2009, in mid-morning, an American citizen, Christopher Legget, was murdered in the middle of a market at Ksar in Nouakchott. His alleged murderer was arrested but had still not been judged by mid2010. Mauritania also experienced its first suicide bombing on 9 August 2009 when a young hartani, Ahmed Ould Vih al-Barka, aged twenty-two years, blew himself up close to the French embassy in Nouakchott. All these terrorist actions were duly claimed by AQIM. In November, three Spanish humanitarian workers were kidnapped on the busiest road in the country between Nouakchott and Nouadhibou. The following December, two Italian tourists were also taken hostage on Mauritanian territory, in the east of the country, close to the Malian

border. They were liberated in April 2010. Finally, it should be noted that in May 2010, during the trial of dozens of persons arrested in this matter, the three murderers of the French tourists were condemned to death by the criminal court in Nouakchott. But, as has been the case with many other death sentences, it is

unlikely to be enforced in the short run.*°

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Who are they? The question as to who the ‘salafists’ and the Mauritanian terrorists are is frequently raised. Their sociological profile is now better known; if those arrested are taken as a representative sample, it can be seen that all tribal and ethnic categories are represented, even if the dominant group consists of Arabo-Berber white Moors of various tribes, both maraboutic (clerical) and warrior tribes. All the information about their personal trajectories into violence highlights a journey through unemployment, informal semi-skilled and unskilled work, the army, delinquency and then the discovery of religion and the initial recruitment to become a jihadist abroad, most frequently in Algeria and Northern Mali. For example, Sidi Ould Sidina, a former soldier who took part in the murder of the

four French tourists, was originally a local petty tyrant and a drug dealer now and then before he drifted into religion.*° He wanted to go to Iraq but found himself in the ranks of AQIM instead. Al-Khadim Ould Semane himself, the leader of the group that claimed to be part of AQIM, had been a longtime operator in the secondhand car market before he found himself at the start of the 2000s amongst the pupils of several u/ema and preachers including Ould Dedew himself, for whom he acted as a recognised bodyguard. He then became more radicalised and was recruited by the GSPC. The suicide bomber at the French embassy,*’ whose father was a retired night watchman, according to his parents, had failed to be recruited for the army before joining the environment of salafist mosques. From the first arrests of Mauritania’s first terrorists, their discourse was gathered through interviews in which their ideology was clearly expressed, something which was not without interest within the context of the Mauritanian political scene. If one takes, for example, the terrorist Sidi Ould Sidina, it is clear that he uses a discourse of self-justification and of the defence of his position which borrows both from the repertory of jihadism and, more important draws a parallel between the legitimacy of the armed activities of Mauritania’s military putschists and his own crime: I am a young Mauritanian. I have a message. I seek to transmit it. I call for the application of God’s law. I am a soldier of the al-Qa’ida organisation. I fight to establish shar’ia ... | am a young Mauritanian who loves his community ... On the other hand, I am against the impious dictatorial generals (Tawaghit) who control this country and refuse to apply God’s law. I will fight them until they return to the Law, if not until I die on this road ... General Ould Abdelaziz forced out Ould Cheikh Abdellahi because he had arms, Saleh Ould Hanenna is now a political leader because he took up arms to fight injustice. They all became leaders. Why is that when we do precisely the same thing, we become criminals? Did they not say, when Saleh Ould Hanenna carried out his putsch, that he was a criminal and see him today as a great political leader? You will see that many of those we accuse today wish us the best and publish new fatwas on new legal bases in our

favour.**

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This example clearly shows that radicalisation can also be explained by the anger of young men, frustrated by social injustice, the blocks in the educational system and the lack of work, as well as the effects of social transformations that

pass them by — the urbanisation of a society previously nomad in its majority until the middle of the 1970s — and a political context marked by authoritarianism. Basically, the radicalisation of jihadists is simply motivated by material demand, for money for example, coupled to the internalisation of the capture of power through violence, in terms of models that have nothing to do with Islam. To legitimise the murders and the attacks on the army, Sidi Ould Sidina cited the long list of coups d’etat in Mauritania and not doctrinal texts linked to jihadism. By referring to the recent past of the country, he presented armed revolt as the sole source of social respectability, as the case of the celebrated putschists who today rejoice in the status of respected notables demonstrates, even though their acts on occasion caused loss of life. The fact of taking up arms becomes the reference that is invoked, not the religious nature ofthe act itself. In the wake of the case of this young terrorist, the body of the Islamist tendency launched a national debate from the prison of Nouakchott during 2009. It seemed that their sustained debate was considered by the authorities as positive, for they allowed them to express themselves freely, despite the vehemence of their attacks on the state*’ and their use of the rhetoric of takfir — excommunication with lethal consequences. This discussion relaunched the debate inside the nebulous Islamist world on the justifications for violence and moderation but also on authentic pacifist salafism and the terrorist interpretations made from it. All strands of Islamist opinion actively participated in this debate, of which the main themes were to show how moderate Mauritanian Islamists, then committed to pluralist democracy, could interact both with the authorities and with those

detained to become intermediaries between them and what this would mean for the Islamist cause overall. The Islamists of the Tawassoul movement, as well as

their spiritual leader, Mohamed al-Hacen Ould Dedew, even wanted to convince the authorities of the need to launch a direct dialogue with the seventy prisoners held for sympathies with, support for or complicity with the terrorists. This debate, which began finally in January 2010, is worth studying here. Talking with jihadists: from indirect debate to direct dialogue

The presence of several dozen prisoners who were brought together as a result of their arrests formed a group dynamic. Some of them began to launch polemics and accusations in the press to justify their attitudes, calling for a debate with socalled moderate Islamists and giving their points of view about the situation of the country. The dialogue between salafists and moderate Islamists first took place indirectly, through the press, before taking place face-to-face, officially under the sponsorship of the government within the civil prison in Nouakchott.

Mohamed Salem Ould Mohamed Lemine, known as ‘al-Majlissi’*° who was thirty years old was one of the preachers most sympathetic to salafism. It was on this basis that he regularly published columns in the Mauritanian press from his

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cell in Nouakchott’s Central Prison. On 9 August 2009, for example, he wrote an article entitled, ‘To make the Constitution the source of legitimacy is an obscurantist technique and a defeatist approach’.*' The article was directed towards criticising the sermons of the imam of the Great Mosque in Nouakchott whom he attacked for having compared Islamic shura (the principle of consultation and consensus) to democracy during a khutba (sermon) at Friday prayers a short time before. His principal argument against this confusion of terms was that Islamic shura should not be concerned with what was not explicitly in the text of the Qur’an, unlike democracy ‘where you vote on everything and where power belongs to the people and not to Allah’. Al-Majlissi also took the opportunity to reply in the name of his tendency to the many ‘attacks’ to which he had been subjected because of his extremism, particularly from those who he called the Muslim Brothers and their moderate thinkers. Subsequently, in September and October 2009, Islamists from Tawassoul organised a series of meetings, led by one of their younger thinkers, Mohamed Ould El-Mokhtar Ech-Chinguitti, who was forty years old and had lived in the United States since the mid-1990s where he had founded the Observatoire Mauritanien des Droits de 1?Homme, as mentioned above. This modernist intellectual had followed a classical education — mahzara, ISERI, University of Nouakchott,

Institut Ibn Abbas — before writing several provocative works in Arabic on, particularly, the political differences between the companions of the Prophet, or on Islamism in Sudan, a country where he had lived under the influence of Hassan al-Turabi. Giving a presentation on Saturday, 3 October 2009 organised by the Islamist daily, Essiraj, Ould El-Mokhtar commented on the theme of moderation and political violence. According to him, political violence was due to a simplistic approach to religion typical of salafi-jihadism which he regarded as a regressive step in Islamic thought. He distinguished between ‘monarchical’ salafism and ‘anarchic’ salafism, the former justifying the power of the sultan and the latter seeking to challenge the former but without any real intellectual project by which to do so. These two faces of the same coin justified one another, he suggested. However, Ould Mokhtar went on, the response to salafi violence could not be only intellectual and spiritual through theological discussion, persuasion, dialogue and constructive debate.” The salafist response was not long delayed and it was al-Majlissi who defended his camp in an article entitled, ‘The attack on Salafiyya and the real object of the struggle’ (as-Salafiyya alMustah’'dafa wa Haqiqatu as-Sira).” The high point of the strategy of the ‘centrist reformers’ in defending moderation was undoubtedly the organisation in Nouakchott in March 2010 — under the auspices of the al-Mustaqbal Association (‘The Future’), an NGO chaired by Ould Dedew — of an enormous international conference devoted to promoting ‘al-wasatiyya’ and denouncing extremism. A good 100 u/ema and imams from all over the world, including Mecca as well as Africa south of the Sahara, Pales-

tine and the Maghrib, together with known figures of Islamic reformism, such as Issam al-Bashir from Sudan, succeeded each other at the tribune to debate this

theme under the patronage of the head of the Mauritanian state himself.

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It is not possible here to examine in detail the debates and similar events that have taken place recently in Mauritania and which echo what has happened elsewhere

in many

other

Muslim

countries.**

From

the salafist

point-of-view,

mention should be made of the publication between the end of October and the end of November 2009 by the Arabic daily, al-Akhbar, of a long essay by the alleged leader of the Mauritanian cell of AQIM, al-Khadime Ould Semane. This took up, in essence, current salafist arguments and their responses to moderate specialists.°° In this text, Mohamed El-Hacen Ould Dedew is taken to task in a semi-familiar, semi-respectful fashion but always subject to criticism: “I warn you, Oh son of Dedew, return to Allah and repent the sins that you have knowingly committed when you plead for democracy in the place of the law of Allah.’ Elsewhere, Ould Semane explains that a change of regime in Mauritania will never come through demonstrations but only through jihad and ‘popular armed revolts’.*° The attacks against the ‘evil ulema who produce distorted fatwas’ are much longer and more vehement so that the reader discovers, in this self-satisfied text, a degree of arrogance alongside the simplistic mobilisation of Qur’anic references taken out of context and of theological references in the pure salafi tradition of da’wa (preaching).°’ Despite the fact that many Mauritanian authors are cited, the majority of the references in this discourse are drawn from the purist tradition that one encounters amongst the young ideologues in Saudi Arabia,

Yemen or Jordan.* None of the personalities targeted by the diatribes of imprisoned salafi extremists has responded directly to them. On the other hand, Ould Dedew gave a long interview to the semi-official journal of Tawassoul, Essiraj,°? in which he refers in detail to the arguments used by jihadists in order to invalidate them and to reaffirm his belief in democracy as an incarnation of shura, the mode of consultation for Muslims as consecrated in the Qur’an. Above all, the theologian denounces the usurpation of the label ‘Salafiyya’ (salafism) by those who terrorise and kill. For him, takfir consists of excluding groups and whole countries from the Muslim religion with no distinction between individuals, something which, in practical terms, is impossible. It is so complicated and technically so delicate a procedure to decree a Muslim apostate that he doubts the ability of persons with little religious qualification to be able to do it. Furthermore, Shaykh Dedew considers that the jihadists are divided into various categories such that they cannot be considered to be a unified group; he believes that those committed to violence demonstrate a profound ignorance of shar’ia and thus believe that they are engaged in jihad but must be convinced of the error of their ways by shrewd advice and a particular effort at explanation and persuasion. Those, however, who are only interested in spreading disorder, murder and desolation because of takfir should be tried and punished in accordance with shar’ ia.

Some of those who give themselves over to these acts do so through simple ignorance, even through some kind of mental illness or schizophrenia, which leads them into becoming the enemies of society and the world at

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large. They would even be ready to turn against themselves by simply committing suicide,

he said.°° With respect to the salafi detainees accused of sympathy with or closeness to charged terrorists, he believes that they should be released in order not to increase the frustrations within this tendency. Ould Dedew considers that the best approach to the ‘Jihadist problem’ is not one based on security but better based on dialogue, a method which has proved its worth with extremist groups such as the Libyan Islamic Fighting Group or the Gama’at Islamiya in Egypt.°! This therapy, which has also been followed in Saudi Arabia,” revolves around certain key concepts, such as al-murajaa (revision), al-munasaha (mutual advice) and al-muhawara (dialogue). Indeed, this approach was adopted by the Mauritanian government from the second half of 2009 onwards, on the advice of Mohamed El-Hacen Ould Dedew who had by that time become very close to the president, Ould Abdel Aziz. It should be remembered that, in the wake of the requests of some ulema, such as Ould Dedew, to resolve the cases of the imprisoned salafis, the majority of the detainees themselves had begun to send out messages of goodwill from the end of 2009 onwards. These were Islamists not implicated in the violent incidents but persons who had been detained and sentenced for proselytizing activism or complicity. They had begun to propose a dialogue with government, in letters addressed to the media. In these letters, the salafi activists declared that

‘They followed in the heels of the ulema, as learned Muslims in categorically rejecting destructive violence with all the ills it inflicted upon society.’ On 12 November 2009, twenty-five of them explained in a collective letter that salafism was not synonymous with violence, underlining that all the violence of recent years had taken place after they had been detained in 2004. After stating that they ‘were against all activity or organisation that could threaten peace in Mauritania’, they also made it clear that they ‘had no links with any organisation inside or outside the country’, and underlined their commitment to the integrity and security of their country. For their part, the authorities in Nouakchott confirmed that they were ready for dialogue with Islamist detainees in order to secure the security situation, although it had not yet provided convincing results. It was in this context that, in the same month, the government decided to engage in this dialogue officially. An inter-ministerial committee was created to this end and it charged a panel of well-known u/ema and imams under the direction of Ould Dedew, as the president of the panel, to undertake a religious debate with all the detainees in order to challenge them on theological grounds. The engagement was opened in the presence of the media in prison, with the first session being officially inaugurated by the minister for Islamic affairs under the eyes of television cameras. The ceremony was retransmitted the same evening and grabbed public attention because four or five members of the group which claimed allegiance to AQIM, admitted their membership of it from the start and demanded that the media should remain present to cover all of the event and that

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the actual dialogue should be transmitted live. Naturally, the government could hardly accede to these demands, even though the dialogue lasted for a good two weeks. The reports of the outcome of the dialogue made it clear that detainees who accepted that they had committed crimes nonetheless held to their jihadist positions, claiming, in particular, that the w/ema had not won them over on the question of the religious illegality of the option they had chosen. As far as the fifty other detainees were concerned, they announced that they wished to renounce all radicalisation in their discourse and to apologise for the violence. The Dedew Commission, at the end of this exercise, which has never been

made public, decided that it had been a success, with only three persons refusing to be convinced by it. The others had been open to the theological arguments of the ulema over the impossibility of religiously justifying jihad, takfir or terrorism in a Muslim country not occupied by foreign forces. The report has remained secret after it was handed over to the head-of-state but, according to certain sources, it recommended that salafists not implicated in acts of violence should be set free and that clemency should be shown to the others. It was, no doubt, for

this reason that the spiritual leader of Mauritania’s Islamists, Mohamed ElHacen Ould Dedew — after having claimed that the authorities had given him assurances that his commission’s recommendations would be applied — was said to have been particularly shocked by the death sentences announced in May 2010 on the authors of the attack on the French family of tourists — Ould Sidina,

Ould Chabarnou and Ould Haiba — and at the heavy sentences of between five and ten years passed on several of their colleagues. In other words, the clemency solution suggested over several months and in different forms by moderate Islamists and their religious authorities had been rejected by the political authorities in favour of a more classical option in handling the matter. It remains to be seen whether or not the sentences pronounced will be reduced during subsequent stages of the judicial process. Meanwhile, it is clear that this affair has produced a certain coolness between the Tawassoul party and the authorities, with Ould Dedew blaming the head of state for not

having honoured his promises.®? Nonetheless, the event had allowed moderate Islamists to improve their relations with the salafists under detention and to appear as conciliators. Despite its intensely political significance, the defence put forward to aid the jihadists was purely religious. Ould Dedew described the terrorists, not as murderers but as bughat (singular baghi, meaning a rebel, somebody disobeying authority), the name given by the Prophet Muhammad to groups responsible for the murder of other Muslims at the time. Nonetheless, many salafi sympathisers continued to put out on the internet documents that were strongly critical of those they described as the ‘Mauritanian Muslim Brothers’ and of Ould Dedew personally, whilst describing the state as impious and an apostate (kafir). For the mass of participants in the Islamist tendency, however, these voices represented the minority. As far as the imprisoned salafists themselves were concerned, their aim was above all to recover their

liberty and to leave prison — what they would then do with their freedom was a mystery known only to them. Yet it already seems clear that the Mauritanian

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state has deployed considerable material means to contain the terrorist threat and to pursue candidates for jihad. In these conditions, one might ask what will be the future role of the Islamist tendency which still wishes to remain within the lap of the state. Every pointer to date suggests that this is a matter to be followed up! Conclusion

The breakthrough made in the past fifteen years by the ‘centrist reformers’, as Mauritania’s Islamists call themselves, has outpaced, in terms of its success, the

political gains in the country of those who had been their national political peers, namely Arab nationalists or the activist Left since at least the end of the 1960s. Quite apart from the details of the unstable and event-strewn course of Mauritanian politics itself, we have tried here to reconstruct the political de-radicalisation of the Islamist movement. It should be added that, at the same time, the move of some groups, previously close to this movement but, since the beginning of the 2000s, overtly salafist in sympathy, towards jihadism has forced the Islamists to

take over the moderate arena and thus confront the discourse and radical praxis which, ironically, they would have wanted to make their own.

We have seen how a space has emerged for a religious debate on the legitimacy of extremism and radicalism in which the real objectives are clearly the control of the political Islamic arena, which can only be achieved by controlling religious discourse in the political arena as well. This competition for hegemony over religious discourse has taken place in a political environment where Islamism, in the widest sense of the term, has a real significance and must therefore

take into account the structural realities of the political arena, too. The way in which the situation has evolved, even in its most conflict-ridden aspects, is there-

fore not explained simply as the result of tactical responses but rather as a strategic re-orientation dictated primarily by the demands of current circumstance. And the future of political Islam itself depends on how these processes evolve, in Mauritania as elsewhere. Notes 1 See for example, Bayart, L’/slam Républicain, Dakar, Istanbul, Téhéran. 2 Burgat and Sbitli, ‘Les Salafi au Yemen ou la modernization malgré tout’. 3 See, for example, Hefner, Civil Islam.

4 For a collection of approaches towards these contradictory dynamics, see the lucid study by Meijer, ‘Towards a political Islam’. 5 This term, a/-tamayu, is the most widely-used term in numerous polemics of this kind which exist throughout the Islamic world. 6 The comment on ‘Salafistes contre Fréres Musulmans’ by Francois Burgat in Le Monde Diplomatique (June 2010) deals with this. See also Salaoman N. (2009), ‘The Salafi critique of Islamism: doctrine, difference and the problem of Islamic political activism in contemporary Sudan’, in Meijer R., “Towards a political Islam’; pp. 143-168. 7 This provocative question has been posed, for example, by Ahmad, /s/am and democracy in India; p. 7.

202

Z.O.A. Salem With respect to this limitrophic identity, see Ould, ‘Mauritania’; pp. 491-506. Thus an American study, cited by Le Monde (27 May 2010), suggests that, in terms of terrorism in Africa, ‘Mauritania is the second risk-zone after Somalia’. See, for example, ‘Al-Qaida prend ses aises’, Courrier International, 21 August 2009. On this, see Ould, ‘Islam in Mauritania between political expansionism and globalization’; pp. 27-46. On this complex of historical processes, see Norris, “The wind of change in the Western Sahara’; 1-14; and The Saharan Myth and Saga; Cheikh A.W. Ould (n.d.), Nomadisme, Islam et pouvoir politique dans la société maure pré-coloniale (XlemeXIXeme siécles). Essai sur quelques aspects du tribalisme, Doctoral thesis in sociology, Université Paris V. Stewart, /s/am and social order in Mauritania. See Ould, ‘Mutations des formes de religiosité: sources et débats’; pp. 207-239. This expression comes from Traoré, *L’Islam en Mauritanie’; p. 155.

N

Shingit is the name by which Mauritania is known throughout the Muslim world. It is the name of an old caravanseri city in the north of the country, about which the article on ‘Mauritanya’ in the Encyclopaedia of Islam (French edition) (1992, Leiden, Paris: E.J. Brill and Maisonneuve & Larose, VII; p. 623) states: ‘The town of Shingit or Chinguitti is reputed to be the seventh most holy town of Islam.’ Lydon, ‘Inkwells of the Sahara’; pp. 39-71. Rebstock, ‘La littérature mauritanienne’; pp. 179-184. Ould Al-Bara (ed.) (2010), Al-majmud al-kubra li fatwa wa Nawazil wa ahkam ahl gharb wa janub gharb as-sahra [The major collection of fatwas, judgements and cases from the south-west of the Sahara and the Western Sahara}. Oliver Roy claims that one of the four most influential personalities in Saudi Arabian Wahhabism is a certain ‘Shingiti, Mauritanian’ as his name suggests. Roy, L’/slam mondialisé; p. 152. For example, an interesting account of a journey to this School by an American convert, see Khalil Abu Asmaa (Christopher Moore), ‘Before His Death: A Quest for Sacred Knowledge’, at www.reflectonthis.com/blog/writings/. www.binbayyah.net. With respect to strategies of accommodation with the colonial authorities, see Robinson, Paths of accommodation. See Alioune Traoré concerning the resistance of Shaykh Hamahullah; Traoré, /s/am et colonization en Afrique, or Soares, Islam and the prayer economy. See Rahal Boubrik on the resistance of Shaykh Ma Al-Ainine; Boubrik, Saints et société en Islam. Hames, ‘Le réle de I’Islam dans la société contemporaine’; p. 46. On this issue, read the careful study by Monteillet, ‘L’Islam, le droit de |’Etat dans la Constitution Mauritanienne’; pp. 69-100. Details on the various stages of this era are in Ould, ‘Islam in Mauritania between political expansionism and globalization’; pp. 27-46. For a study of this preacher, see Ahmed Salem Z. Ould (2001-2002), ‘Précher dans le désert: P'univers du Shaykh Sidi Yahia et l’évolution de I’Islamisme Mauritanien,’ Islam et Sociétés au sud du Sahara, 14-15; pp. 5—40.

Article 4 of the ordinance on the liberty of the press and political parties states that ‘Islam cannot be part of the agenda of a political party in the Islamic Republic of Mauritania’, Textes réglementaires relatifs aux parties politiques et la liberté de la presse, Imprimerie Nationale (Nouakchott) (25 July 1991); p. 2. 30 On the relationship between politics and da’wa, see Gaboriau, ‘Renouveau de |’Islam ou stratégie politique occulte?’; pp. 211-229. See also his article ‘Tabligh djama’at’ in Encyclopedie de I’Islam. 31 Singular ‘hartani’. See Colin, ‘Hartani’; pp. 230-231; U.P. Ruf (1999), Ending

Islamic radicalisation in Mauritania slavery: haratines

changing

configurations

and masters

in central

of hierarchy Mauritania,

and dependency PhD

among.

thesis, University

203 slaves,

of Bielfeld

(Germany); M. Brhane (1997), Narratives of the past, politics of the present: identity, subordination and the haratines of Mauritania, PhD thesis, University of Chicago (Illinois), On the anti-slavery wars, see Ahmed

Salem

Z. Ould (2009), ‘Barefoot

activists: transformations of the anti-slavery movement in Mauritania,’ in S. Ellis and I. van Kessel (2009) (eds), Movers and shakers: social movements in Africa, Brill (Leiden); pp. 156-177. On this, see Marty, ‘Les multiples usages de |’Islam dans le camp politique mauritanien’; pp. 51-68. Ould, ‘Islam in Mauritania. According to the results of several enquiries, including one I undertook with Yahya Al-Bara of the University of Nouakchott in 2004 (unpublished). For an overview of the history of the Muslim Brotherhood until the Second World War, see Lia, The society of the Muslim Brothers and Kepel, The Prophet and the Pharaoh. See, for example, International Crisis Group, Contestation islamiste en Mauritanie: menace ou bouc émissaire? Middle East/North Africa Report No: 41, 11 May 2005. Statement heard on Radio Mauritanie and constantly repeated at this time. On these incidents, see Jourde, ‘Politique des recits de l’islamise en Mauritanie’; pp. 67-86. See the interview with Jemil Ould Mansour in a/-Asr on 10 February 2004. hy The site, http://tawassoul.net, also offers a poor translation into French of the party’s basic documents. Al-Akhbar, 879 (5 May 2009) (Arab daily newspaper) which cited an interview given to Tajdid, the newspaper of Moroccan Islamists from the Parti pour la Justice et la Démocratie. See the interview with the recognised site of the Muslim Brotherhood at www. ikhwanonline.com/Article.asp? ArtID=39265&SecID=270. Read this document on line at http://partitawassoul.net/documents/Vision%20 Intec%@20AR. pdf. See the detailed account by Ould Semane himself in www.akhbar.info (consulted 7 May 2008). La Tribune, 464, 10 August 2009.

Le Monde, 27 May 2010. Read the long and very detailed report on his biography by Nicholas Schmidle, “The Saharan conundrum,’ New York Times (15 February 2009).

Read ‘The family reclaimed the remains of their son’, published 28 August 2009 on the www.ani.mr site and in Jeune Afrique online (consulted 9 September 2009). Interview collected in prison by Rabi Ould Idoumou and published in the Arabic daily, al-Akhbar. A French version was published in La Tribune, 450, (26 May 2008), from which this translation was taken. 49 On salafism as a means of contesting the state, see M. Al-Rasheed (2007), Contesting the Saudi state: Islamic voices from a new generation, Cambridge University Press (Cambridge); pp. 22-58. 50 All the salafists and jidadists have pseudonyms modelled on the names of the Prophet’s companions or famous u/emas. This one, for example, refers to a tribe, the Midlish and was used two centuries ago by a famous d/im from the very same tribe to which Mohamed Salem belongs. www.ani.mr consulted on 5 August 2009 and in Akhbar-Nouakchott (Arabic daily) on the same day. Read the report in La Tribune, 469, 5 October 2009. www.ani.mr consulted on 14 and 16 September 2009. On the debates in Jordan, see Wiktorowicz, The management of Islamic activism:

pp. 111-146.

204

55 56 57 58

Z.O.A. Salem

Al-Akhbar, 865 (21 October 2009). Al-Akhbar, 873 (2 November 2009). Al-Akhbar, 877 (8 November 2009). In the case of Jordan for example see the analysis of the discourse of al-Makdisi by Joas Wagemakers, ‘Framing the ‘Threat to Islam’; pp. 1-22. For Saudi Arabia see Meijer, ‘Yusuf al’Udyairi and the making of a revolutionary Salafi praxis’;

pp. 422-459. 59 This long interview is published in Essiraj, 814 (5 November 2009) and continued in the five following editions of the newspaper. The complete interview is available on www.essiraj.net at www.essiraj.net/?menul.ink=37693cfe748049e45d87b8c7d8b9aac d&idInterview=64. 60. Essiraj, 819 (11 November 2009). 61 This position was expressed in a television broadcast on 9 August, just after the suicide bombing of the French embassy in Nouakchott. 62 Boucek, ‘Extremist reeducation and rehabilitation in Saudi Arabia’; pp. 212-223. 63 Read his piqued reaction in Le Monde (27 May 2010); p. 5.

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Boucek, C. (2009), “Extremist reeducation and rehabilitation in Saudi Arabia’, in Bjorgo, T. and Horgan, J. (eds), Leaving terrorism behind: individual and collective disengagement, Routledge (New York); pp. 212-223. Burgat, F. and Sbitli, M. (2002), ‘Les Salafi au Yemen ou la modernization malgré tout’, Chroniques Yéménites, No. 10, Sanaa; pp. 2—28. http://cy.revues.org/137. Colin, G.S. (1971), “Hartani’, Encyclopaedia of Islam, Brill (Leiden); pp. 230-231. Ellis, S. and van Kessel, I. (eds) (2009), Movers and shakers: social movements in Africa, Brill (Leiden); pp. 156-177.

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Marty, M. (2002), “Les multiples usages de I’Islam dans le camp politique mauritanien’, L’Afrique politique; pp. 51-68. Meijer, R. (2007), “Yusuf al’ Udyairi and the making of a revolutionary Salafi praxis’, Die Welt des Islams, 47, 3-4; pp. 422-459. Meijer, R. (2009), “Towards a political Islam’, Clingendael Diplomacy Papers No. 22, Netherlands Institute of International Relations ‘Clingendael’, The Hague, July. Monteillet, V. (2002), *L’Islam, le droit de l’Etat dans la Constitution Mauritanienne’,

L’Afrique Politique’; pp. 69-100. Norris, H.T. (1964), ‘The wind of change in the Western Sahara’, The Geographical Journal, 130, 1 (March); pp. 1-14. Norris, H.T. (1972), The Saharan Myth and Saga, Clarendon Press (Oxford). Ould, Ahmed Salem Z. (2005), ‘Mauritania: a Saharan frontier state’, Journal of North African Studies, 10, 3—4 (September); pp. 491-506. Ould, Ahmed Salem Z. (2007), ‘Islam in Mauritania between political expansionism and globalization: elites, institutions, knowledge and networks’, in Soares, B. and Otayek, R. (eds), Islam and Muslim politics in Africa, Palgrave Macmillan (New York); pp. 27-46. Ould, Al-Bara (ed.) (2010), 4/-majmud al-kubra lifatwa wa Nawazil wa ahkam ahl gharb wa janub gharb as-sahra [The major collection offatwas, judgements and cases from the south-west of the Sahara and the Western Sahara], Imprimerie Al-Manar (Nouakchott), 12 volumes. Ould, Al-Barta (2004), ‘Mutations des formes de religiosité: sources et débats’, in Ould, Ahmed Salem Z. (ed.), Les trajectoires d’un etat-frontiére: espaces, évolutions politiques et transformations sociales en Mauritanie, CODESRIA (Dakar); pp. 207-239. Rebstock, U. (1999), ‘La littérature mauritanienne. Portrait d’un héritage négligé’, L’Ouest Saharien, 2; pp. 179-184.

Robinson, D. (2000), Paths of accommodation. Muslim societies and French colonial authorities in Senegal and Mauritania 1890-1920, Athens (Ohio). Roy, O. (2004), L’Islam mondialisé, second edition ‘Collection Points essais’, Seuil (Paris); p. 152. Soares, B. (2005), Islam and the prayer economy: history and authority in a Muslim town, Edinburgh University Press (Edinburgh), University of Michigan Press (Ann Arbor). Stewart, C.C. (1973), Islam and social order in Mauritania, Clarendon Press (Oxford). Traoré, A. (1979), ‘L’Islam en Mauritanie’, in CRESM/CEAN, Introduction a la Mauritanie, CNRS (Paris); p. 155. Traoré, A. (1983), Islam et colonization en Afrique: Cheikh Hamaoullah, homme de foi et resistant, Maisonneuve et Larose (Paris). Wagemakers, J. (2008), ‘Framing the “Threat to Islam”: a/-wala’ wa al-bara in Salafi discourse’, Arab Studies Quarterly, 30, 4 (Fall); pp. 1-22. Wiktorowicz, Q. (2001), The management of Islamic activism: Salafis, the Muslim Brotherhood and state power in Jordan, SUNY Press (Albany NY); pp. 111-146.

Index

Note: Arabic names beginning with a/- are alphabetized under the element following this particle e.g. al-Abbas is alphabetized under Abbas; al-Qa’ida under Qa’ida and so on.

Abbas, Ferhat 116, 120 al-Abbas, Hamza 141 al-Abbas, Shaykh al-Haj 141 Abdellahi, Sidi Ould Cheikh 191, 192 Abderrahim, Najib 143 Abduh, Mohammed 120, 162 Aboullouz, Abdelhakim 6, 160—78 activist salafism 63 ad-Dawa’a wa’t-Tabligh 61, 62 Adamson, Kay 116 al-*Adl wa’l-Ihsan 6, 133, 138, 139, 140-6, 154; adherents 143, 150, 152-3, 153-4; banning of 143; democratisation proposals 145; economic agenda 142, 144-5; ideology 140-1; and monarchy 138, 139, 140, 141-3, 144—S; rejection of co-optation strategies 143, 147; social welfare activities 143—4; student networks 143, 144, 153 Adud, Mohamed Salem Ould 188 Al-Afghani, Jamal al-Din 95, 120, 162

Ajedabia 17, 18 Akef, Mehdi 84 al-Akhbar 198 Alawiyya Soufia Tariqa 109 Algeria 4—5, 6, 14, 18, 71, 72, 88, 95, 100-13, 114-37; agricultural sector 101, 102; Ahl ad-Da’wa (The People of the Call) movements 122; Alliance Présidentielle (AP) 106; an-Nahda al-Islamiya 102, 108, 125, 132; Arabisation programme 121—2; Armée

Afghanistan 3, 48, 63, 75—7, 165; Algerians

war(1992-9) 4, 105, 114; communists 100-1; Conseil National de la Révolution Algérienne (CNRA) 117; constitution 115-16, 124; economy 101, 102-3, 107-8, 118, 119; education 102, 107-8, 121; elections 102, 103-4, 105, 124-5; and Evian Accords (1962) 115:

and 75-6, 123, 125; as jihadist training ground 97; Libyans and 19, 22, 75, 76; Soviet invasion of 76, 97, 101, 123, 164: Tunisians and 4, 56, 75—7 agricultural sector: Algeria 101, 102; Libya 15 al-Ahbish 62 Ahl Sunna wa al-Jamma’a (Association of the People of the Sunna and the Group) 163 Ahmad, Abdullah 16 Ahmed, Mohamed Ghoulam Ould El-Hajj 185 Ait Said, El-Houssin 174

de Libération Nationale (ALN) 117;

Armée Islamique du Salut (AIS) 4, 5, 105, 108, 129, 131, 132; Armée nationale populaire (ANP) 117; Assemblée Populaire Nationale 115;

Association des Oulemas Musulmans Algériens (ASA) 100, 109, 110—11n12, 120; Berber minority 119, 120, 121,

122-3; bomb attacks (2007) 98-9; Christian missionary activity 120; civil

Family Code (1984) 116; FIS see Front Islamique du Salut; and French colonialism/colonial legacy 116, 120-1,

122, 134n9; Front de Libération Nationale (FLN) 102, 103, 106, 112n31, 114, 115-18, 121, 123, 125, 126, 133; gas revenues 107; Gouvernement Provisoire de la Révolution Algérienne

Index (GPRA) 117; Groupe Islamiques Armés (GIA) 4, 5, 59, 73, 75-6, 105, 106, 108, 130-1; GSPC see Groupe Salafiste du Prédication et du Combat; Hamas 122, 125; High Committee of State (HCS) 104; High Islamic Council 109; hydrocarbons sector 101, 102, 107, 108; Islam, role of 116; and the military 102, 103, 104, 105, 115, 117-18, 133n4; mosques 101, 123; Mouvement de la Société Islamique (MSI) 102; Mouvement de la Société pour la Paix (MSP) 100, 106-7, 108, 125; Mouvement Islamique Armé (MIA) 129, 130-1, 132; Muslim Brotherhood (Ukhwan Muslimin) and 100, 101—2, 107, 122, 125, 128; National Charter debate 116; National Consultative Council 104; national reconciliation (civil concord) policy 106, 107, 108; National Transitional Council (NTC) 104; nationalism 120, 121; oil revenues 107, 118, 119; Parti du Renouveau Algérien 126; personal status laws 101, 120-1; and political liberalisation 118, 119, 124; political parties 102, 108, 124, 125; see also Front de Libération Nationale (FLN); Front Islamique du Salut; Mouvement de la Société pour la Paix (MSP); Rassemblement Nationale Démocratique (RND); al-Oiyam (Values) organisation 121; Rabita al-Islah wa’l-Irshad (The Movement for Reform and Guidance) 124, 128; Rashad movement 133; Rassemblement Nationale Démocratique (RND) 106, 112n31; repression, policy of 104—5, 119-20; riots (1988) 103, 115, 124; salafism 107, 175; Sant’ Egidio reconciliation dialogue 116, 131; security policy 108; Sétif massacres (1945) 121; shar’ia law 123; social climate 102-3, 107-8, 118-19; socialist policy/discourse 100, 101, 117, 119, 121; and Soviet Union 100; sufism 109-10; unemployment 102, 103, 108, 123; Union Générale des Travaillleurs

Algériens 115; war of independence 116-17, 121; women in 123; youth (alienation 119; unemployment 102, 103, 108, 123) Algerian fighters in Afghanistan 75-6, 123, 125 Algiers Charter (1964) 116, 117

207

Ali, Ahmed Haj 58 alienation 1, 2, 23, 29, 34, 75, 187; youth 48, 49, 65, 82, 92, 103, 119, 187 ‘Allah Akbar ma yemshih’ demonstration (Tunisia, 1961) 52 Allani, Alaya 73 Amar, Moukhlas 90 Amnesty International 38 an-Nahda al-Islamiya (Algeria) 102, 108, 1250132 an-Nahda movement (Tunisia) 3, 54—S, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 64, 65, 67, 68, 69, PBT ASONSB LST, an-Nur magazine 163 Anas, Abdullah 166 Anderson, Lisa 10, 15 Ansar al-Islam website 164 Appiah, Anthony 116-17 Arab-Israeli conflict (1967) 54 Arab nationalism 10, 12, 17, 23, 28, 33-4, 44, 83, 163 Arab Socialist Union 11 Arab unity 33 Arabisation: Algeria 121—2; Mauritania 186, 187 armed forces see military/military regimes Armée de Libération Nationale (ALN), Algeria 117 Armée Islamique du Salut (AIS), Algeria Awl OS OSm1 295 18s 132 Armée nationale populaire (ANP), Algeria 117 Arslan, Chekib 120 “Ashari theology 177 al-Asmi, Abderrahmann 99 Assassins (Shia millenarians) 18 Association ad-Da’wa ila al-Qur’an w-alSunna, Morocco 172 Association al-Hafid Ibn ‘Abd al-Bar, Morocco 172, 177 Association al-Qur’an al-Karim, Morocco 171-2 Association des Dipl6més Chémeurs, Morocco 151 Association des Oulemas Musulmans Algériens (AUA) 100, 109, 110—-11n12, 120, 124, 126, 128 Association Internationale de Soutien aux Prisonniers Politiques (AISPP) 83 Association Internationale de Soutien des Prisonniers en Tunisie (AISPPT) 65 Association of Muslim Brothers 122; see also Muslim Brotherhood

208

Index

Association of the People of the Sunna and the Group (Ahl Sunna wa al-Jamma’a) 163 Association for Preaching the Qur’an and the Sunna, Morocco 172, 177 Association for the Qur’anic Call and for the Sunna, Morocco 163

at-Takfir wa’l-Hijra (Excommunication and Exile) 163 AUA see Association des Oulemas Musulmans Algériens az-Zaytouna radio station 55, 67 Aziz, Mohamed Ould Abdel 192 Azzam, Abdullah 164-6 Ba’athists 34, 164, 186 Bab Souika events (1991) 60, 81 Badisiyya group 128, 129 Bali bombings (2002) 99 al-Banani, Walid 75 banks: Mauritania 184; Tunisia 55, 67, 68 al-Banna, Hassan 16, 79, 120, 141 Barham, Sami 85 Barka, Zine Mohamed 4, 95-113 al-Barka, Ahmed Ould Vih 194 Bedouins 10, 32 Belgium 77 Belhadj, Ali 125-6, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132 belief, religious 168, 169

Belkhair, Larbi 131 Belliraj conspiracy 6 Ben Ali, Zine El-Abidine 3, 54, 58, 68, 80 Ben Bella, Ahmed 100, 102, 115, 117 Ben Khamis, Sami 72 Ben Kirane see Benkiran Ben Othman, Noman 76 Benaissa, Rachid 126 Bendjedid, Chadli 101, 103, 104, 115, 118, 119, 123, 124

Benghazi 17, 18, 41 Benjelloun, Omar 146 Benkiran, Abdelilah 146, 149, 150, 156n43 Bennabi, Malek 121, 122, 124, 125, 126-8, 133 Bennoune, Mahfoud 104, 111n20 Benotman, Noman 21

Benseddik family 163 Bentounés, Khaled 109 Benyahia, Mohammed 117 Berbers 28, 32, 119, 121, 122-3 Bin Abdulwahab, Mohamed 169

Bin Badis, Abdulhamid 120,-121, 122 Bin Bayyah, Abdoullah 182 Bin Baz, Sheikh 91 bin Laden, Osama 22, 98, 161, 164 al-Bishti, Sheikh 16 Bosnia 56, 77, 97, 165 Boudiaf, Mohamed 104, 111n20 Boukhoubza family 163 Boukrouh, Noureddine 126 Boumediéne, Houari 100-1, 102, 115, 118, LOS 1232 Bourguiba, Habib 3, 50-1, 51-2, 54, 73, 74, 75, 80 Bouslimani, Mohamed 100 Bouteflika, Abdelaziz 105, 106, 107, 108, 109; 111n25, 132 Bouyali, Mohamed 111n13 Bouyali, Mustapha 101, 123 Boyah, Bumiya Ould 185 Brahimi, Alia 3, 9-27 Brahimi, Mustapha 126 Britain: and Libya 11, 12; and Tunisia 59 Budshishiya Sufi order 141 Burgat, Frangois 12, 179 Casablanca bombings (2003) 99, 149, 154, 160-1, 176-7 Chabarnou, Mohamed Ould 194, 200 Chad 17, 38, 39 Charfi, Mohamed 57, 58 Chechnya 48, 56, 63, 165 Cherrati, Ikhlaf 130 Chiboub, Selim 68 Christian missionaries, Algeria 120 civil society, Libya 15, 16, 35-6, 42, 43 civil war, Algeria (1992-9) 4, 105, 114

clash of civilisations 162 clerical establishment see ulema Club Aisha, Mauritania 185 Club Musab, Mauritania 185 co-optation strategies, Moroccon state 6, 139, 143 colonialism/colonial legacy, Algeria 116, 120-1, 122 communists 97, 100-1 conflict resolution 37 Conseil National de la Révolution Algérienne (CNRA) 117 constitution: Algeria 115-16, 124: Morocco 147 3

Coulibaly, Yaye Ndaw 191 criminality/criminal networks 5, 6 Crozier, Michel 69 cyberterrorism 48

Index Cyrenaica 3, 10, 11, 17, 18, 21, 23, 32

Daddah, Ould 185, 191 Dar al-Quoran association 163 Darnah 41 de Tocqueville, Alexis 127, 133 Dedew, Mohamed El-Hacen Ould Dedew 184, 188, 189, 190, 195, 196, 198, 199, 200 democracy 127, 179, 180, 187; ‘popular’ (Jamahiriyah) model, Libya 3, 13, 15-16 democratisation, Morocco 145, 147, 148 deradicalisation 179; Libya 44; Mauritania 179, 193-201 Derna 17 Destourian Socialist Party 53 Deutsch, K. 29 Dhina, Mourad 132 divorce 67 Djaballah, Abdallah 101, 102, 107 Djazara’a movement 5, 114, 125, 126-9, 130, 132 Djeddi, Ali 129 Djerba synagogue bombing (2002) 4, 72, 82 Dowell, William 12 dress codes 48, 62, 68

Easton, David 31 Ech-Chinguitti, Mohamed Ould

El-Mokhtar 197 Echinguitty, Mohamed Ould El-Moctar 190 economy: Algeria 101, 102-3, 118, 119; Libya 9, 12, 15, 20, 24, 37-8, 39-40, 41, 42: Morocco 142, 144—5, 151; Tunisia 73 Eddin, Aribour and Najm 165 education: Algeria 102, 107-8, 121; Libya 28, 32-3, 34; Tunisia 57

Egypt 12, 14,33, 38,77, 79, 85, 97, 120, LSE SZ G3 5199. Eickelman, Dale 9 El-Baz, Shaykh 63 El-Fateh University (Tripoli) 17 El-Hilali, Taki Eddine 163 El-Kikhia, Mansour O. 34

El-Maghraoui 174 El-Matri, Sakher 55 El-Mogherbi, Mohamed Zahi 3, 28-47 El Moutawakil, Abdelwahed

145

El-Mouwahiddoun 101 El-Waghf, Yahya Ould Ahmed 192

209

elections: Algeria 102, 103—4, 105, 124-5; Mauritania 189-90, 191-2: Morocco 139, 143, 147-8, 149-50, 153 elites, political 1, 2, 49 Ely, El-Hacen Ould Moulaye 185 Ennahda movement see an-Nahda movement (Tunisia)

Essiraj 189, 198 Etoile Nord-Africaine 116 Evans-Prichard, E. 10 Evian Accords (1962) 115 exclusion/inclusion 29 Excommunication and Exile (at-Takfir wa’l-Hijra) 163 exiled opposition groups, Libya 38—9 extremism 3-7; defined 1, 138; network expression of 2; and radicalisation, interlinkage between 2; violence and 2

Fallaci, Oriana 14 Fanon, F. 133n1 Farid, Abdelraouf 90 al-Fassi, Allal 147, 172 fasting tradition 51—2 Fatimids 50 FIS see Front Islamique du Salut Jqihs (jurists) 175 France 59; and Algeria 116, 120-1, 122, 134n9 freedom of association and movement, Libya 35-6, 39, 40, 41 freedom of expression, Libya 36-7, 39, 41 French Revolution 116 Front de Libération Nationale (FLN), Algeria 102, 103, 106, 112n31, 114, 115-18, 121, 123, 125, 126, 133n4 Front Islamique du Salut (FIS) 4-5, 61, 82, 84, 102, 103, 104, 105, 108, 114, 124-6, 129-33, 184; Armée Islamique du Salut (AIS) 4, 5, 105; Djazara’a movement 5, 114, 125, 126-9, 130, 132-3; as formal political party 124—5 Front National pour la Défense de la Démocratie (FNDD), Mauritania 192 al-Furat, Assad 72

Gaguih, Mohamed El Moctar Ould 184 Gallardo, Miquel Pellicer 153, 157n75 Galtung, Johan 109-10 Gama’at Islamiya 199 Ganczarski, Christian 82 gas, Algeria 107 Gellner, Ernest 174 al-Ghad (Tomorrow) Company 36, 37, 42

210

Index

Ghadiriyya 181 al-Ghannouchi, Rachid 56, 60, 78, 79, 80, 187 GIA see Groupe Islamiques Armés Global Centre for Guidance and Renewal 182 globalised Islam 48 globalism 49 Gousmi, Cherif 131 The Green Book (Qadhafi) 13, 14, 15, 16, 37, 40, 43 Groupe Islamiques Armés (GIA), Algeria 4,5, 59, 73, 75—6, 105, 106, 108, 130-1 Groupe Salafiste du Prédication et du Combat (GSPC) 4, 5, 72, 82, 85, 86, 88, 99, 106, 108, 190, 191, 195; see also (al-)Qa’ida in the Islamic Maghreb Gulf war (1991) 98, 143

Habermas, Jiirgen 64 Hachani, Abdelkader 128-9, 130, 131, 132 Haddam, Anwar 126, 129, 130, 131 hadith 9, 13, 14, 63 Hadj, Ali Bel 124 Haiba, Ma’arouf Ould 194, 200 Haidalla, Mohamed Khouna Ould 183, 190 Hajji, Abdullah 79 al-Hamaidi, Redwan 90 Hamas (Algeria) 122, 125 al-Hamidi, Hachmi 78 Hanbalism 163

Hanenna, Saleh Ould 191, 195 Hanson, Shaykh Hamza 182 Harakat al-Islah wa’l-Tajdid (Movement of Reform and Renewal), Morocco 143, 147-8 Harakat-al-Tawhid wa’|-Islah (Movement for Unity and Reform), Morocco 147, 149 Harbi, Mohammed 117 al-Harrath, Mohamed Ali 79 Hasim (Haraka Siyasiyya Islamiyya fi Muritaniyya) 184-5 Hassan II, king of Morocco 140, 142, 143, 144, 146, 163 High Islamic Council, Mauritania 185 Hill, J.N.C. 130 Hizb al-‘Adala wa’l-Tanmiya see Parti de la Justice et du Développement Hizb al-Tahrir al-Islami (Islamic Liberation Party), Libya 16, 17, 38, 64, 74

Hizb al-Tajdid al-Watani (National Renewal Party), Morocco 147

Hizb al-Umma (Party of the Faithful), Mauritania 184 horizontal integration 30 human rights, Libya 17—18, 38, 40 Huntington, S. 30, 32 hydrocarbons sector, Algeria 101, 102, 107, 108 ibadites 62 Ibn Abbas Centre, Mauritania 184 Ibn al-Qayim al Jawzia 169 Ibn Tayymiya 121, 169 identity, national 30 Idris, king of Libya 11, 32, 34 al-Idrisi, Khattib 91 al-ihtitab 59 Tkhwan Muslimin see Muslim Brotherhood inclusion/exclusion 29 Ingat (National Salvation Front for Libya) 16 Institut d’Etudes et de Recherches Religieuses (ISERI), Mauritania 184 intelligentsia, Tunisia 53, 58—9 International Body ofthe Islamic Figh 182 International Union of Ulemas 182 internet 48, 91, 98-9, 164; Libya 37

Iranian Cultural Centre 63 Iranian Revolution 56, 97, 101, 176 Iraq 48, 63, 90, 165; Libyan fighters in 41, 44; Tunisian fighters in 83 al-Irshad wa’l-Islah 102 Islah (reform through religion) 187 Islam 95; Algeria 116; globalised 48; Libyall2 M3 5145 15a 16s 17423) 28: 181-3; Mauritania 179, 180, 181-3 Islam Channel 79 Islamic Action Front 79 Islamic Cultural Association (al-Jamiyya al-Thagafiyya), Mauritania 184 Islamic Liberation Party (Hizb al-Tahrir al-Islami), Libya 16, 17, 38, 74 Israel 82, 188 Israeli-Palestinian conflict 164 al-Issawiyya 62 Istiqlal party 147 Italy 77; and Libya 10-11, 12 Jaama’at al-‘Adl wa’l-Ihsan see al-‘Adl wa|-Ihsan Al-Jama’a al-Islamiyyah al-Mugatilah see Libyan Islamic Fighting Group Jama’a Islamiyya 53, 56, 78

Index Jama at al-Ikhwan al-Muslimin (Association of Muslim Brothers) 122; see also Muslim Brotherhood Jamaat Tabligh, Mauritania 186 Jamahiri model 3, 15—16 Jam‘iyat al-Jama’a al-Islamiya, Morocco 140, 146 Jam‘iyat al-Shabiba al-Islamiyya, Morocco 6, 140, 146, 150 al-Jamiyya al-Thagafiyya (Islamic Cultural Association), Mauritania 184 Jamma’a Salafia (Salafi Group Association) 163 Jamma’at as-Sirat al-Mustakim (Just Path Group) 163 al-Jibali, Hamdi 79 Jihad/jihadism 21, 56, 95, 96, 97, 167; Abdullah Azzam and discourse on 164—5, 166; global 22, 48, 86, 95, 96; see also salafi-jihadism/jihadists al-Jilaniyya 62 Joffé, George 1-8, 16, 19, 114-37 Jordan 99 al-Jourchi, Saleh Eddine 79, 80, 81 Jund Asad Bin al-Furat (Soldiers of Asad Bin al-Furhat) 72, 86 jurists (fgihs) 175 Just Path Group (Jamma’at as-Sirat al-Mustakim) 163

Kafi, Ali 104 Kairouan mosque 50, 52 Kamal, Ibrahim 146 Kaplan, Jeremy 7 Karkar, Saleh 78, 79, 80 Kashmir 97 Kebir, Rabah 130, 131, 132 Khaled, King 14 Kharijites 62 al-Khass, Nizam 79 al-Khatib, Abdelkrim 147

Khider, Mohammed 121 Kishk, Shaykh 184 Klif, Shaykh 52 Knomeini, Ayatollah 97 Kousouri, Basreddine 88 Kuwait 98, 151, 152

Lebanon 120 Legget, Christopher 194

modernisation and 31

Lemine, Mohamed Salem Ould Mohamed

(al-Majlissi) 196-7 Libya 3, 9-27, 28-47, 88; and Afghanistan 19, 22, 75, 76; agricultural sector 15; Arab nationalism 10, 12, 17, 23, 28, 33-4, 44; Arab Socialist Union 11; Arabisation of 28; and Britain 11, 12; and Chad 17, 38, 39; civil society organisations 15, 16, 35-6, 42, 43;

conflict resolution 37; deradicalisation process 44; economy 9, 12, 15, 20, 24, 37-8, 39-40, 41, 42; education 28, 32-3, 34; freedom of association and movement 35-6, 39, 40, 41; freedom of expression and access to information 36-7, 39, 41; Great Green Charter on Human Rights in the Era of the Masses 40; hadith 9, 13, 14; Hizb al-Tahrir al-Islami (Islamic Liberation Party) 16, 17, 38; human rights 17-18, 38, 40; and Iraq 41, 44; Islam, role of 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 23, 28; Italy and 10-11, 12; Libyan Islamic Fighting Group (LIFG) 19-21, 22, 44, 71, 73, 74, 76, 77, 199; and Lockerbie bombing 20; media 28, 36-7, 41; and military 11, 17, 34, 43; modernisation 29, 3 1—4; monarchical regime 11, 31-4; and Muslim Brotherhood 16, 19, 23, 44; National Planning Council 42; National Salvation Front for Libya (Ingat) 16; oil 11—12,

15, 29, 32, 34; opposition groups, attitudes to 37, 38-9, 40, 41; People’s Congresses and Committees 13, 34, 36, 41, 42, 43; political participation 32, 34-5, 36, 42, 43, 44; political parties 35, 40, 43; ‘popular democracy’ (Jamahiriyah) model 3, 13, 15-16;

population, ethnic/religious composition 28; private sector, abolition of 38; privatisation measures 39, 40; professional groups/asssociations 35, 39; public sector 38; religion and politics, historical relationship 10—11, 28; Revolutionary Committees 15-16,

Lacheraf, Mustafa 117 Lavigerie, Cardinal 120

legitimacy 1, 2; crises of

211

31, 44;

17, 18, 38-9, 40, 41; Sanusiyyah order 10-11, 12, 16, 17, 22, 28, 31-2; secularism 3, 8; security services 40, 41, 43; shar’ia law 12, 13; social change 29, 32-4; socialism discourse 12—13, 17, 23, 37, 40; trade unions 35; tribalism 10, 28, 32, 43; ulema (religious establishment) 9, 12, 13, 14; United States and 11, 12, 17; see also (al-)Qadhafi, Mu’ammar

212

Index

Libyan Islamic Fighting Group (LIFG) 19-21, 22, 44, 71, 73, 74, 76, 77, 199 Linn, Rachel 6, 138-59 Lipset, S.M. 31 Lockerbie bombing 20

Convergence Democratique (PCD) 190;

189-90, 191-2; Front National pour la

Parti National de la Réforme et du Développement (Tawassoul) (RNRD) 192-3, 196, 200; Parti Republicain, Democratique et Social (PRDS) 185; salafi-jihadists 180, 193-201; Shadhiliyya 181; shari’a law 183; Sufism 181, 183, 184; Tijjaniyya 181; Ulema Association of Mauritania 185; ulema (religious establishment) 181, 182, 183, 199-200; Union des Forces Democratiques 185; Union pour la Republique (UPR) 193 al-Mawdudi, Abu Aala 16 al-Mehdi, Muhammad Ahmad 10 media: Libya 28, 36-7, 41; Tunisia 57, 67 Menasra, Abdelmajid 107 Mesli, Rachid 131 Mezid, Mohamed Lemine Ould 185 Mezrag, Madani 105 Michkat magazine 163 military/military regimes: Algeria 102, 103, 104, 105, 115, 117-18, 133n4; Libya 11, 17, 34, 43 Misrata 17, 18 modernisation 29; and legitimacy 31; Libya 29, 31—4; and political participation 29-30; Tunisia 75 Mogherbi see El-Mogherbi Mohamed, Ely Ould 191 Mohamed, Khaled Sheikh 82 Mohammed VI, king of Morocco 144, 148, 152 al-Mokni, Habib 79 monarchy: Libya 11, 31-4, 44; Morocco 5, 6, 138, 139-43, 144—S, 147, 149, 150, 154

Défense de la Démocratie (FNDD) 192;

Monastir hotel bombing (1987) 79

Ghadiriyya 181; Hasim (Haraka Siyasiyya Islamiyya fi Muritaniyya) 184—S; High Islamic Council 185; Hizb al-Umma (Party of the Faithful) 184; Ibn Abbas Centre 184; Initiative of Centrist Reformers 191; Institut d’Etudes et de Recherches Religieuses (ISERI) 184; Islah (reform through religion) 187; Islam 179, 180, 181-3; and Israel 188; Jamaat Tabligh 186; mahazir 187; Malakism 181; marabouts/ maraboutism 181; Moorish society 181—2; mosques 186—7; Muslim Brotherhood 184; neo-fundamentalism 180, 184, 186, 188, 190; Parti de la

Mongols 121

London bombings (2005) 99

Lubavitcher congregations 176 Lyada, Abdelhak 131 Maaroufi, Tarek 72, 77, 82 Mabrouk, Mehdi 4, 48-70, 80 Madani, Abbassi 106, 124, 125-6, 128, 1295 180813 132 Madrid bombings (2004) 6, 99 Maghraoui, Shaykh 163 Maham, Abdou Ould 184 mahazir, Mauritania 187 al-Majlissi see Lemine, Mohamed Salem Ould Mohamed Makam, Mohamed 86, 89 Malakism 177, 181 Malek, Redha 117 Maliki mandhab 62 Mansour, Jemil Ould 184, 185, 187, 189, 190, 190-1, 192, 193 marabouts/maraboutism 162, 174, 181 Martinez, Luis 19-20, 21 Marxism: Algeria 5; Tunisia 53, 54 Massoud, Ahmed Shah 77, 165, 166 al-Matri, Sakher 67, 68 Mauritania 7, 179-205; al-Jamiyya al-Thagafiyya (Islamic Cultural Association) 184; Arabisation 186, 187;

Club Aisha 185; Club Musab 185; coups d’etat 180, 189, 190, 191, 192; de-radicalisation 179, 193-201; democracy, ideas of 187—8; elections

Moorish society, Mauritania 181—2

Moroccan Islamic Fighting Group 77 Morocco 5—6, 69, 71, 91, 120, 138-59; al-*Adl wa’l-Ihsan see (al-)‘Adl wa’lIhsan; ‘Ashari theology 177; Association al-Hafid Ibn ‘Abd al-Bar 172, 177; Association al-Qur’an al-Karim 171—2; Association des Diplomes Chomeurs 151; Association for Preaching the Qur’an and the Sunna 172, 177; Association for the Qur’anic Call and for the Sunna 163;

Casablanca bombings (2003) 99, 149, 154 160-1, 176-7; civil status code

Index

(1957) 140; co-optation strategies 6, 139, 143; constitution (1962) 147; Dar al-Quoran association 163; democratisation 145, 147, 148; economy 142, 144-5, 151; elections 139, 143, 147-8, 149-50, 153; family code (mudawana) (2004) 148; Harakat al-Islah wa’l-Tajdid (Movement of Reform and Renewal) 143, 147-8;

Harakat-al-Tawhid wa’l-Islah (Movement for Unity and Reform) 147, 149; Hizb al-Tajdid al-Watani (National Renewal Party) 147; independence 163; Istiqlal party 147; Jam‘iyat al-Jama’a al-Islamiya 140, 146-7; Jam‘iyat al-Shabiba al-Islamiyya 6, 140, 146; Malaki doctrine 177; monarchy 5, 6, 138, 139-43, 144-5, 146, 147, 149, 150, 154; Moroccan Islamic Fighting Group 77; Mouvement Populaire Démocratique et Constitutionnel (MPDC) 147, 148;

Parti de la Justice et du Développement (PJD) see Parti de la Justice et du De[‘] veloppement (PJD); political liberalisation 147-8; salafism 154, 162-78; secularism 140, 145; Shabiba Islamiyya 6; shar’ia law 147, 148, 149;

students/student organisations 143, 144, 152, 153, 154; Sufism 141, 154; Sunni

mysticism 177; ulema (religious establishment) 140; unemployment 151; Union Nationale des Etudiants du Maroc (UNEM) 143; Union Socialiste des Forces Populaires (USFP) 146 Moroccon fighters in Afghanistan 76 mosques 99-100; Algeria 101, 123; Mauritania 186—7; salafist use of 175; Tunisia 50, 51, 52, 54, 55, 56, 59 al-Moudkaliyya 62, 63 Moulay Sliman, Sultan 163

Mouru, Abdel Fatah 78 Moussa, Mokhtar Ould Mohamed 185, 189, 190 Mouti, Abdelkrim 146 Mouvement de la Société Islamique (MSI), Algeria 102 Mouvement de la Société pour la Paix (MSP), Algeria 100, 106-7, 108, 125

Mouvement de Tendance Islamique (MTI) 53, 54, 55-7, 60, 73, 74, 75, 77, 78-81, 84; coup plan against Bourguiba regime 80; Islamic Jihad group 79; National Salvation Group 79, 80; see also an-Nahda movement

213

Mouvement Islamique Armé (MIA) 129, 130-1, 132 Mouvement Populaire Démocratique et Constitutionnel (MPDC), Morocco 147,

148 Movement of Reform and Renewal, Morocco 143, 147-8 Movement for Unity and Reform, Morocco 147, 149 MSP see Mouvement de la Société pour la Paix MTI see Mouvement de Tendance Islamique (MTI) al-Mudhafar, Abu Abdullah 84 al-muhawara (dialogue) 199 al-Mukhtar, Umar 11, 22 al-munasaha (mutual advice) 199 al-Mundhir, Abu 22 al-murajaa (revision) 199 Musa Kusa 21 Muslim Brotherhood 3, 14, 41, 56, 73, 77, 78, 96, 179, 187, 193; and Algeria 100, 101-2, 107, 122, 128; and Egypt 77, 79, 120; and Libya 16, 19, 23, 44;

Mauritania 184; and Saudi Arabia 84; Syria 164 Muslim World League 14 al-Mustaqbal Association (“The Future’) 197 Mutazili tradition 127 Nahnah, Mahfoud 100, 101—2, 107, 122,

2AM I 25285129 Nasser, Gamal Abdel 14 12 Nasserists 186

nation building 30-1, 44 national identity 30 National Renewal Party (Hizb al-Tajdid al-Watant1), Morocco 147

National Salvation Front for Libya (Inqat) 16 nationalism: Algerian 108, 120, 121; Arab 10, 12, 17, 23, 28, 33-4, 44, 83, 163 Nawar, Nizar 82 Ndoye, Moussa Ould 194 Neifar, Mohamed Salah 55 Nenghazi 17 neo-fundamentalism, Mauritania 180, 184,

186, 188, 190 neo-salafism 23-4 networks 1-2; criminal 6 New Left 5 New York Times 71 Nezzar, Khalid 131 9/11 attacks 22, 82, 167

214

Index

Nizam al-Khass 79

Noyon, Jennifer 75 Observatoire Mauritanien des Droits de l’Homme 190, 197

privatisation, Libya 39, 40° public sector, Libya 38 al-Qadhafi, Mu’ammar 3, 9, 11-14, 15,

oil 164; Algeria 107, 118, 119; Libya 11-12, 15, 29, 32, 34 Organisation of the Islamic Conference 182

17-20, 23, 36, 39-40, 42, 76, 186; assassination attempts on 21; The Green Book 13, 14, 15, 16, 37, 40, 43; and religious establishment (u/ema) 9, 12, 13, 14, 23; Third International

Al Othmani, Saad Eddin 149

(Universal) Theory 12-13, 40; Zuwara

Ottoman Empire 120 al-Ouaer, Bouraoui 77 al-Oudha, Salman 68 Pakistan 77 Palestine 63, 82, 164, 187 Pargeter, Alison 4, 17, 22, 71-94 Parti Déstourien Socialiste (PDS) 53 Parti de la Convergence Democratique (PCD), Mauritania 190 Parti de la Justice et du Développement (PJD), Morocco 6, 138, 139, 140, 141,

143, 146-50, 154, 187; adherents 150, 152-3, 154; economic/political agenda 148, 149, 150; and elections 148, 149-50, 153; extremist roots 146, 150; religious agenda 148, 149, 150 Parti du Renouveau Algérien 126 Parti National de la Réforme et du Développement (Tawassoul), Mauritania 192-3, 196, 200

Parti Republicain, Democratique et Social (PRDS), Mauritania 185

Paz, Octavio 92 personal status laws: Algeria 101, 120-1; Tunisia 52 Perspective Movement, Tunisia 58 Piscatori, James 9 political institutionalisation 30 political integration 30 Political Islamic Movement of Mauritania (Hasim) 184—5 political liberalisation: Algeria 118, 119, 124; Morocco 147-8 political participation: Libya 32, 34—5, 36, 42, 43, 44: and modernisation 29-30

political parties see under individual countries political systems: effectiveness of 31; legitimacy of 1, 31 polygamy 52, 67 ‘popular democracy’ (Jamahiriyah), Libya 3, 15-16 private sector, Libya 38

speech 15 al-Qadiriyya 62 al-Qa’ida 22, 71, 72, 82, 96-7, 161; recruitment strategies 98—100 Al-Qa’ida in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM) 4, 5, 68, 85, 86, 98-9, 180, 194, 195, 199 Qaradawi, Shaykh 68 al-Qaradawi, Yusuf 182 Al-Qiyam (Values) movement 121, 126 Que sais-je de |’Islam 128 Qur’an 13, 28, 51, 103 Qutb, Sayyid 16, 96, 101 Rabbani, Shaykh 165, 166 Rabita al-Islah wa’|-Irshad (The Movement for Reform and Guidance) 124, 128 Al-Rabita al-Islamiyya (World Muslim League) 184 Radhi, Ahmed Ould 194 radicalisation: defined 1; and extremism, interlinkage between 2; and social movements 2 Ramadan: Morocco 140; Tunisia 51—2, 73 Rapoport, David 7 Rashad movement 133 Rassemblement Constitutionnelle Démocratique (RCD), Tunisia 58 Rassemblement Nationale Démocratique (RND), Algeria 106, 112n31

al-Raya 189 recruitment strategies 98-100 Redjam, Abderrezak 126, 130, 131 religion 7; sectarian 170-1; as a social

variable 168-9; see also Islam religious belief 168, 169 religious doctrines 168—9 religious institutions: dismantling of, Tunisia 51—3; see also mosques; ulema

Revolutionary Committees, Libya 15-16, 17, 18, 38-9, 40 Revolutionary Council of the Prophet of God 14, 15

Index al-Riabi, Hatem 86 al-Riabi, Ziad 86 al-Riabi, Zuhair 86, 89 Ricoeur, Paul 56 Risqallah, Wajih 90 Rissouni family 163 Roberts, Hugh 115, 118 Ronen, Yehudit 9 Rouissi, Moncer 58 Roy, Olivier 174 Rushdie, Salman, The Satanic Verses 97 Saddam Hussain 186 al-Sadiq, Abu Abdullah 22 Sahnoun, Ahmed 122, 124, 125, 128 Said, Mohamed 126, 128, 130, 131 Said, Qaeri 75, 76, 77 al-Said, Ziad 89 al-Salabi, Ali 44 Salafi Group Association (Jamma’a Salafia) 163 salafi-jihadism/jihadists 3, 6, 7, 57, 58, 63-4, 65—6, 82, 85-92, 96-7, 98-100, 125, 161-2, 177, 180, 193-201 salafism/salafists 4, 6, 48, 49, 50, 55, 96; activist 63; Algeria 107, 175; anarchic

197; as conceptual anarchy 169-70; globalised 49; Mauritania 180; monarchical 197; Morocco 154, 162-78;

as political and ideological initiative 169; and politics 175—7; reformist 169-70, 172; scientific 63, 68, 83, 177;

and traditional religious institutions 174-5; Tunisia 4, 57, 58, 59, 60-1, 624, 65-6, 67, 68, 72, 78, 83-92, 175; Yemen 179

Salafiyya al-Ilmia 62 Salafiyyah movement

14, 16, 120, 124, 126, 128 Salah, Ahmad Ben 55 Salama, Abdelkader Bin Omar 84 Saleck, Ould 185 Salehi, Fathi 88 Salem, Zekeria Ould Ahmed 7, 179-205 Sant’ Egidio reconciliation dialogue 116, 131 al-Sanusi, Sayyed Muhammad bin Ali 10,

14, 32 Sanusiyyah order 10-11, 12, 16, 17, 22,

28, 31-2 Sassi, Ali Bin Saleh 89 al-Sassi, Lassad 79, 86, 87, 88 al-Sattar, Dahmane Abd 77

215

Saudi Arabia 76, 84, 98, 123, 163, 163-4, 189 Sayyaf, Abdul Rabb al-Rasul 20, 76 Sbitli, Mohammed 179 scientific salafism 63, 68, 83, 177

sectarian religiosity 170-1 secularism 95; Libya 3, 28; Morocco 140, 145; Tunisia 54, 72, 73, 74—5 security services, Libya 40, 41, 43

Seeray al-Mujahideen 77; see also Libyan Islamic Fighting Group Semane, Al-Khadim Ould 194, 195, 198 Sétif massacres (1945) 121 Shaban, Anwar 77

Shabiba Islamiyya see Jam‘iyat al-Shabiba al-Islamiyya al-Shadiliyya 62, 181 Shahin, Emad Eldin 79, 140 shar’ia law 95, 96, 121; Libya 12; Mauritania 183; Morocco 147, 148,

149 Sheikh, Samira 84 Shi’ism 63, 176 al-Shingiti, Mohamed al-Mokhtar 185

Sidina, Sidi Ould 194, 195, 196, 200 Smaoui, Naceur 58

social movements 1—7, 169 socialist discourse/policy 163; Algeria 100, 101, 117, 119, 121; Libya 12-13, V5 23, 3 AW Soldiers of Asad Bin al-Furhat (Jund Asad Bin al-Furat) 72, 86

Soltani, Abdellatif 122, 128 Somalia 48, 63 Soroush, Abdelkrim 133

Soummam Congress (1956) 116, 117 Sousse hotel bombing (1987) 79 Soviet Union 15, 61; and Afghanistan 76, 97, 101, 123, 164; and Algeria 100 state 1, 2; hegemony of 1; legitimisation of 1; violence 2, 5 state building 30, 31, 44 State Corporatism Model 35 students/student organizations, Morocco 143, 144, 152, 153, 154 Sudan 10, 14, 28, 38, 187 Sufism: Algeria 109-10; Mauritania 181, 183, 184; Morocco 141, 154 Suleiman Group 71, 72, 82, 85-92 Sunni mysticism 177 Syria 164

Tajakani, Fagih 163 Takfir Wal-Hijirah 41

216

Index

Taliban 22, 97 Tawassoul (Parti National de la Réforme et du Développement, RNRD), Mauritania 192-3, 196, 200 Tawil, Camille 19, 76 Taya, Maaouya Ould 188 television: Libya 36—7; satellite 91 Temnan, Abdelmalek 117 terrorism 2, 7; cyber- 48 Tessler, Mark 151-2 Third International (Universal) Theory 12-13, 40 Tijjaniyya 181 tourism, Tunisia 75, 82 Tozy, Mohamed 152, 160-8 trade unions: Libya 35; Tunisia 53 traditionalism 31 tribal systems, Libya 10, 28, 32, 43 Tripoli 17, 18 Tripoli Programme (1962) 116, 117 Tunisia 3-4, 6, 38, 48-70, 71-94, 120; and Afghanistan 4, 56, 75—7; “Allah Akbar ma yemshih’ demonstration (1961) 52; an-Nahda movement 3, 54—5, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 64, 65, 67, 68, 69, 72, 73, 77, 80, 83; arrest campaigns 72, 83, 89-90: Bab Souika events (1991) 60,

81; banks 55, 67, 68; and Britain 59; Djerba synagogue bombing (2002) 4, 72, 82; dress codes 62, 68; economy 73; education 57; exceptionalism 71-2, 73; Hizb al-Tahrir al-Islami (Islamic Liberation Party) 74; intelligentsia 53, 58-9; and Iraq 83; Islamic Jihad 74; left-wing/Marxist movements 53, 54, 58; Malikism (school ofjurisprudence) 62, 83; media 57, 67; modernisation policies 75; Monastir hotel bombing (1987) 79; mosques 50, 51, 52, 54, 55,

56, 59; Mouvement de Tendance Islamique (MTI) see Mouvement de

Tendance Islamique; and Palestine 82; Parti Déstourien Socialiste (PDS) 53; personal status law 52; Perspective Movement 58; political management of

radicalism 66~9; political parties 3, 53, 58; see also an-Nahda; Ramadan fasting tradition 51-2, 73; Rassemblement Constitutionnelle Démocratique (RCD)

58; religious cleansing 57-62; religious institutions, dismantling of 51-3, 73; see also mosques; religious terminology, banalisation of 51; salafists/salafism 4, 57, 58, 59, 60-1, 62-4, 65-6, 67, 68, 72,

78, 83-92, 175; secularism 54, 72, 73, 74-5: social policy 67; Sousse hotel bombing (1987) 79; Suleiman Group 71, 72, 82, 85-92; tourism 75, 82;

‘Tunisification’ of Islam 50-1, 52, 56; ulema (religious establishment) 51, 52, 54; Union Générale des Etudiants Tunisiens (UGET) 53; Union Générale des Travailleurs Tunisiens (UGTT) 53; youth alienation 48, 49 Al-Turabi, Hassan 185, 187, 197 Ulema Association of Mauritania 185 ulema (religious establishment): Libya 9, 12, 13, 14; Mauritania 181, 182, 183, 199-200: Morocco 140; Tunisia 51, 52, 54

umma (global Muslim community) 95, 97, 116 Ummayyads 127 unemployment: Algeria 102, 103, 108, 123; Morocco 151 Union des Forces Democratiques, Mauritania 185 Union Générale des Etudiants Tunisiens (UGET) 53 Union Générale des Travailleurs Tunisiens (UGTT) 53 Union Générale des Travaillleurs Algériens 115 Union Nationale des Etudiants du Maroc (UNEM) 143 Union pour la Republique (UPR), Mauritania 193 Union Socialiste des Forces Populaires (USFP), Morocco 146 United Nations 11, 97

United Nations High Commission for Refugees bomb attack (2007) 98 United States 96, 97, 98, 127, 164, 188; and Afghanistan 22, 123; and Gulf war (1991) 98; and Libya 11, 12, 17; 9/11

attacks 22, 82, 167; and Saudi Arabia 164 Uthman, Ammi Ibrahim Abu 99

Vandewalle, Dirk 15 veiling 68 Verba, Sidney 30 vertical integration 30 violence 1, 2, 5, 7; state 2, 5

Wahhabis/Wahhabism 55, 68, 85, 162, 163, 172, 174

Index

war on terror 22 Wedia, Ahmed Ould 189 Weiner, Myron 30 Willis, Michael 129 women, Algeria 123 World Muslim League (al-Rabita al-Islamiyya) 184 Yahya, Mohamed Ould Sidi 184, 185, 186 Yassine, Abdessalam 6, 140, 141-3, 144-5, 152, 153, 155n31 and 34, 157n76 Yazid, M’Hammid 117 Yemen 179, 187 Youssoufi, Abderrahmane 148, 157n69

youth 165, 166, 187; alienation 48, 49, 65,

217

82, 92, 103, 119, 187; engagement in debate 64; unemployment 102, 103, 108, 123, 151; see also students/student

organizations Zaoui, Ahmed 131 Zarqawi, Ayman 63 Zaytouna mosque 50, 51, 52, 54, 55, 56,

13 Zaytuna Institute 182 Zeghal, Malika 149 Zeitouna see Zaytouna Zendani, Abdel Majid 185 Zérouel, Liamine 104—5 Zitouni, Djamal 131 al-Zuwawi, Emir 20

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